Discover Top Posts Tagged with #hell connection

Hell Connection, Ch. 22

Pairing: Jason/Tim Summary: The Finale. Comments: OMGOMGOMG THE LAST CHAPTER, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?? ...I can’t. Thank you so very much for sticking with me, and for new readers, welcome to the roller coaster that is this supernatural au. I lost myself for a while there; this story felt so big that it kind of overwhelmed me, and it’s taken me too long to give it a proper ending. I appreciate all of the love it has gotten though, and I am so grateful to have such amazing readers and friends. IMPORTANT NOTES: -This was originally going to carry into a sequel series, and because it no longer will, I had to go back and make some edits to previous chapters. These edits have only been made on my AO3 posting though, so please head that way if you’d like to start from chapter one. -The epilogue will be posted tomorrow. :) __

Something rescued Tim from the onslaught of terrifying images invading his mind.

Crumpling to the floor, he breathed deep and felt chaos surrounding him - and in the dark, could only imagine what was happening. Footsteps fell beside him and he heard Jason ask if he was all right, but his voice was muffled under the sound of screeches and thick, fluttering wings that sounded like bolts of tarpaulin slapping together.

Tim wondered what the creatures looked like; this league that Ra’s had, that was now frantically swarming the small hallway leading to the bedrooms.

He wondered where Talia had disappeared to, and how far separated he was from Jason and Dick.

The darkness whispered.

Eyes watched him.

The floor reverberated with the steady thump of moving feet and crash landings, and for a moment, Tim could have sworn something stood behind him, breathing down his neck.

Crawling on the floor, he fumbled forward, knees knocking against hardwood. He did his best to get as far from the hushed voices as possible. He felt for a wall, even heard Ra’s call out to him. He ignored it, adrenaline rushing as he scrambled to find a safe place.

“Tim, where the hell are you?” Jason barked, and then snapped, “Just hold out a bit longer - any minute—” A sharp screech drowned out his words, and Tim swallowed.

Any minute what?

Something slid past him, thick-skinned and hot against the fabric of Tim’s shirt. The sheer surprise of it sent him tumbling sideways, feeling for something, anything to grasp onto, so that he could pull himself to his feet.

“Get back to the others,” Ra’s’ voice cut through, and Tim stared blankly into the darkness.

Easier said than done, he thought. It was impossible to see anything.

At least until the generator kicked in.

Scores of blackened shadows took to the walls; unearthly creatures raced to every dark corner they could find. Tim watched them with quiet fascination, his heart thudding against his chest.

From across the room, Dick huffed a sigh of relief.

Tim gasped as cold fingers gripped his arm and yanked him to his feet. Painful images dredged to the forefront of his mind, but somehow he managed to look at her - to see Talia, even though he’d only seen her in memories.

He’d expected her to be stunning. In Jason’s memories, she was all fire, with flushed cheeks and winding curves and a gaze that could bring empires crumbling to the ground.

This Talia was different. Dark hair still fell in groves over her shoulders and her presence was perilously regal, but the flesh beneath her eyes peeled to reveal bone. She’d devolved to sharp angles, all skin clinging to bones, human only in silhouette - a walking death driven by willpower alone, eyes half-devoured by time, lips beginning to rot.

“Follow me and I will kill him,” Talia stated, her voice grating as if she had little of one left. She was staring at Jason and Tim when the lights flickered off once more.

Tim winced when she yanked him forward and dragged him through a nearby door, into a room.

Dick’s room.

Tim knew because his eyes immediately found Damian - powerful Damian whom had had powers Tim could hardly believe, whom Tim had never doubted could handle himself.

That same Damian was staring at Talia, white as a sheet, eyes made bright by a sigil glowing from the floor below him.

It was the first time Tim had seen him at a loss for words.

Talia’s fingers bit into the skin of Tim’s neck and she forced him down to the ground not far from where Damian sat. He was fully prepared for an onslaught of images the moment his fingers touched the hardwood flooring – but nothing came. He imagined there was a luathindri knot drawn somewhere and counted his blessings, however small.

“I made a promise once, that I would always protect you,” Talia spoke to Damian, and Tim stared at the teenager, trying to gage his reaction. The teenager was glued to her, his expression torn between terror and shock and Tim decided that Damian must have felt it too – the pure power that seeped out from her, unchecked and unimaginably dangerous. “My son. My Damian. We’ll kill him together, yes?”

Damian’s eyes left Talia’s in favor of Tim’s. He looked terrified; Damian had no idea what to do. He had no power, was surviving off whatever life Dick had to give - couldn’t fight, couldn’t act.

That, and the woman – the bony, skeletal figure looming behind Tim, was his mother.

Or what was left of her, at least.

Tim clenched his eyes closed for one moment and took a deep breath. He had to stay calm - had to think. When he opened them, he saw movement to his right. Beyond the doorway.

Jason and Dick?

Catching Damian’s attention once again, Tim mouthed, “Buy time.”

And Damian, swallowing thickly, decided to obey.

“Where…” Damian’s gaze lifted, and his pale lips moved to form the rest of his question. “Where have you been? All of this time – everyone thought you were dead.”

Laughter fell in ripples, and Tim hissed when she pressed a knee to his back, forcing him lower.

“I’ve been…” she grew serious as she thought about it. “I woke in my coffin the moment that I felt him. I rose to protect you. God surely heard my prayer, my dying wish. And so I was bestowed with demons – that man’s demons – and one by one, they’ve sought him out. And now, here, I’ve found him.”

Tim swallowed and waited for Ra’s to say something – anything. To lend him advice or wisdom - to give direction, because Tim was hesitant to do anything, knowing Talia’s strength, knowing that so many lives were in her hands.

“I’d say it’s a shame that this man must die with him,” Talia stepped away from Tim, and circled him. Arms crossed over her chest, she breathed, “But I can feel it. They’re one now.”

Tim tilted his head to look her in the eye and felt his gut twist when he realized that she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring towards the blackened outer hallway, irritated. Lifting an arm, she motioned something forward, and Dick came skidding across the floor, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as Talia lifted the palm of her hand to face him.

“You can’t hide from me. Not in this house, with Damian’s blood circulating the seal. His blood and my blood are the same, or have you forgotten, Richard?”

Dick’s expression was nothing but controlled fury. “I’m the only thing keeping him alive right now, so I’d avoid doing anything hasty,” he stated, still within her power’s grasp.

The smallest sliver of quiet passed before Talia simply hummed to herself. “That won’t be a problem for long. And Jason,” her words grated, “do not be childish enough to assume that you can kill me with that.”

Tim twisted his head, just barely, and saw Jason standing in the doorway, arm outstretched, pistol in hand. The look in his eyes was calculating and composed. He wasn’t threatened; he was doing what he did best, holding his ground.

“Who’d be dumb enough to try and kill you?” Jason asked. “You’re already dead.”

Tim winced when Talia slammed a stiff foot into his back, a sharp pain erupting over his ribs. “I can kill him faster than you can shoot me.”

“Sure about that?” Jason questioned, and Tim, swallowing hard, finally found his voice.

“Jason, kill her.”

Talia drove her foot down against Tim, causing him grit his teeth as a sharp sound came tumbling from his throat.

Jason looked agitated, gaze drifting between Talia, Damian, and Tim.

Reluctantly, he dropped the gun.

“Good boy,” Talia sighed, and then she moved just enough to sink to a crouch, running her bony fingers through Tim’s soft, matted hair.

“Recreate my son’s diadem,” she ordered, soft and delicate, like her words alone might bring the command to life.

It took Tim a moment to realize that she was talking to him. He twisted his head to look her in the eyes, baffled.

“What?” he asked, before throwing a bewildered look to Damian.

Unsurprisingly, Damian wasn’t looking at him, he was staring intently at Talia. “There’s no way he could create something so complex.”

It was a half-truth, and Tim couldn’t tell if it was meant to save his life or keep him from using Ra’s’ power.

Talia rolled her eyes and tossed a quick look to Jason before lifting her arm and whipping it to the side. Jason’s body mimicked the movement, and he was sent flying across the room before a wall broke his momentum.

Tim whirled, following the movement, heart pounding. “Jason -”

Sharp nails dug into his shoulder, drawing blood. “The diadem,” Talia snarled.

From behind them, Jason’s voice half-wheezed, “Fucking hell…”

A slow panic began to set in, causing Tim to shake his head. “I don’t know how,” he said. “I don’t know how to make a diadem, I haven’t -”

“Maybe next I’ll break Jason’s back,” Talia sighed airily.

Tim bowed his head down and clenched his eyes closed. Tell me how to do it, he thought, reaching for Ra’s. I need to you tell me.

His mind was quiet.

Ra’s, he tried again. Please.

Damian’s voice sounded when Ra’s’ didn’t.

“I can show you.”   From across the room, Jason cursed, and even Dick breathed, “Damian, don’t—”

Stretching out his hand, Damian motioned for Tim to take hold of his fingers. The invitation had Tim’s eyes widening, and slowly, he shook his head.

“But if I -”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” Damian stated. He didn’t look happy about it, but his mind was on the same track as Tim’s. They’d been backed into a corner, and their options were limited.

Reluctantly, Tim threw out his arm and touched his fingers to the teenager’s.

Blue colors, intricate designs. A web of symbols that Tim didn’t understand or recognize flooded his mind. Nothing too difficult to remember – at least not for someone with a memory like Tim’s – and so he broke contact with Damian before pushing in further than he needed to, but still found himself panting, as if separating himself was harder than he would have expected it to be.

“The house is taking a lot of my power,” Tim found himself whispering, eyeing Damian with worried eyes. “I don’t know if what I’ve got will be enough.”

Damian gave him a look that meant he wasn’t all too sure either, but Tim realized that it didn’t matter. Whether or not he had it, he needed to try, because no alternative existed. At the moment, they all seemed to be at the mercy of Talia.

“Chalk,” Tim said, louder so that Talia could hear it. “I can’t do anything without making a sigil.”

Impatience drove Talia to bark orders at Dick, demanding that he retrieve what Tim needed.

Dick looked tempted to refuse.

“Just do it,” Tim told him. Ignoring the fact that Dick’s face had paled a bit, revealing dark circles under his eyes, Tim swallowed and added, “Dick, do it. We don’t have much time.”

You don’t have much time is what he meant to say, because the chalked markings below Damian were wearing out. How much time did either of them really have?

Luckily, Dick obeyed - scoured his bedroom for a stick, teeth visibly clenched behind pinched lips.

“Give it to me,” Talia demanded, holding out her hand, causing Dick to pause and meet her gaze briefly, frowning. The debate was evident in his eyes, but once again, Tim broke his train of thought.

“Dick.”

A plethora of emotions flickered through Dick’s eyes - fear, anger, reluctance, guilt. He passed along the chalk and Talia looked annoyed as she dropped it next to Tim, from a height that it cracked into two pieces.

“Work,” she demanded.

Tim’s heart pounded. The images Damian had given him were clear in his mind. It was hard to believe that he’d first come to Gotham less than two weeks ago - he’d always thought that the thing he had to fear most was himself.

But this, he thought, gaze dancing between Dick and Damian – this, he considered, feeling the weight of Ra’s’ power inside of him, remembering all of what Jason had done as a means to protect him.

This was worse.

Talia made a sound – an annoyed sigh that brought Tim back to the present, to the task at hand. His mind raced as he crawled forward, lips pinching together.

He began drawing, the movements coming easily enough. He wondered again if he had enough power; his own diadem kept so much of Ra’s’ contained, and he had no idea what would happen if he exhausted what was accessible to him.

Would he die?

Don’t do something stupid, Ra’s finally came forward enough to be heard, and Tim swallowed while drawing slow, tenuous lines on the floor.

Ra’s, Tim thought, feeling his pulse go sluggish. Is there a way to fix this?

The room around Tim had faded, the sounds surrounding him turning hazy and distant. The electric buzz of pure energy had Tim’s arms standing on end, and the feel of Talia was like a seeping shadow, a darkness threatening to blanket him.

I thought you didn’t trust me, Ra’s stated, bemused.

I don’t. Tim chewed his lower lip. But I remember what you first said to me - that one day I would need you, and that you’d want something in return. So…what do you want?

Markings came to life under Tim’s fingertips as he waited for Ra’s to answer. He wondered what it meant to make a deal with the devil; thought that maybe it would be worth it to protect Dick and to keep Damian alive.

Timothy, Timothy, Timothy… Ra’s sounded less teasing than usual, and unusually serious. Why risk so much for people you hardly know?

Tim thought the answer was easy. I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.

Thinking it felt like overturning a rock, finding mold beneath it.

This all started because of the gate – because I let you out. Damian…he wouldn’t have broken the bond with Dick if my powers hadn’t…if he hadn’t seen…

A cold sweat erupted on Tim’s forehead, and goosebumps pebbled his arms. His entire being was a lead weight, sinking under a strong tide he couldn’t stop.

I altered the house’s wards, Tim thought. Everything is my fault.

Jason had once called him dangerous.

Tim had been stupid enough to think he had everything under control.

What do you want from me? Ra’s questioned, waiting for Tim to say the words, to commit to the request.

Tim’s vision blurred, only to come into focus on his shaking hand. His fingers were caked in chalk dust, and he could distantly hear Dick’s voice, low and concerned, calling his name.

He understood what Ra’s was asking for.

I want you to fix Dick and Damian’s bond, Tim thought, throwing a loose smile Dick’s direction before continuing to draw. He didn’t let his gaze linger, didn’t want Dick to see through him, to figure out what he was doing. I want you to remove your power from this house’s wards. I want you to swear you will never come back here, that you will never step foot within this estate again, and that you will leave Damian alone.

The demand barely sat for a moment before Ra’s laughed, and the sound resonated through Tim like something tangible.

And what exactly am I getting in return for all of these requests?

“Me,” Tim breathed, not noticing the way Damian’s head raised, one eyebrow lifting in question.

A thread of approval came weaving; it was a string of power that Tim knew he could grasp. He looked up as he finished the last marking and caught Damian’s eyes with his own.

“I’m sorry.”

Damian’s eyes went wide as he caught on, and his lips moved to speak.

Tim didn’t hear the reprimand. He let himself fold back and into the darkness, drowning in the darkest recesses of his heart as Ra’s came forward to take control.

***

Jason assumed, after spending so many years with the Chival, that eventually, things would just make sense. He’d have enough knowledge that there would be no paranormal mysteries, that handling things like the undead would be textbook. Stake through the heart, salt over the shoulder – situation resolved; moving forward.

That wasn’t the case.

It was never the case.

The Chival only taught underlings what it deemed worth knowing, even though thousands of texts existed. Texts that probably explained what to do when things like this happened – when some halved-demon managed to survive in a host for nearly a decade; what needed to be done in order to get rid of it.

Damian made the situation even more complex – after all, since he was the second half of said demon, who was to say that killing Talia wouldn’t kill him as well?

All mysteries, never any answers. Things only the council knew, the council Bruce trusted so much, the council he so often left to consult regarding the seals that he was in charge of.

The seals that had recently broken, releasing Ra’s – the seals that had been fixed, using that same demon’s power.

Everything was a mess.

Everything had always been a mess.

And all it took was one goddamn psychic to come tearing down the mask of control they’d managed to keep in place.

Jason blinked when the lights flickered, the darkness causing his vision to strain. He hated not being able to act, hated waiting. Hated watching Talia loom over Tim as he traced patterns onto the floor – hated the way Dick and Damian kept throwing glances at each other because they were so damn bad at talking, and couldn’t just say what was on their mind.

Tim paused, just enough that Jason caught the break in movement. He was close enough to hear Dick voice Tim’s name in concern, and Jason felt his own heartbeat take a galloping step forward.

Tim.

Tim had nothing to do with this.

At the same time, he had everything to do with every single thing that had gone wrong.

Jason swallowed, because he knew that wasn’t right. It never had been; Tim wasn’t really to blame. It was their fault, Bruce’s fault – Ra’s’ fault, even – but not Tim’s. Jason hated to admit it, but Tim was different than other psychics – he didn’t feel deserving, or entitled to anything because of his gifts.

If anything, that pissed Jason off more.

How was he supposed to feel about someone so powerful, who seemingly lived for everyone except himself? It was annoying, because here they all were – once again, battling things they didn’t understand.

Jason felt the change though, the sudden shift in room temperature. It only took him a second to find Damian’s white eyes in the dark room, momentarily wide before infuriated – but Tim looked like Tim, and he was leaning forward, placing his palms flat to the sigil he’d drawn…

…and the power that came out sent a cold chill racing Jason’s spine because it was copious and flooding, and seemed to consume the room.

Jason tasted sulfur before he recognized the blank look in Tim’s eyes – could see him clearly now because the power came back on. Talia stumbled back, eyes intent on Tim, and Jason wasn’t surprised when she said, “Oh. So you’ve decided to say hello.”

Jason crawled along the floor, rounding the island in order to get closer to Dick and Damian. He was quiet about it, though he figured Talia would have enough of a distracted from Tim – and tried not to think about the fact that Tim had slipped under – again.

Only he hadn’t. This was different.

“In all honestly, young Talia,” Tim said, though the lilt to his words gave away the control Ra’s so obviously possessed, “We are a bit past hello’s now, aren’t we?”

The tone’s effect was immediate; Dick’s eyes flickered to Tim’s rising form just before dancing to find Jason’s – and whatever he saw on Jason’s face, he didn’t like. Jason couldn’t blame him, after all, his connection to Tim made the danger all-the-more obvious.

There was something else though - a stunned look, paired with Dick’s splaying a hand flat against his chest.

Jason’s gaze darted to Damian, who looked equally as surprised.

It wasn’t rocket science.

It was, perhaps, a miracle. Their diadem had been restored.

“Impossible,” Talia slipped backwards a step, the remains of her lips pinching together. “What is it you’re trying to do? Drive your precious host to an early grave?”

Tim sighed, and eerie sound that didn’t belong to him. Ra’s was obviously entertained, and Jason hated to admit that he was in line with Talia.

All this power, the pure, saturating weight of Ra’s - how could Tim possibly survive it?

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Tim looked old as he spoke, and Jason could see Ra’s in the way the corners of his mouth lifted. “A long time ago, the wonderful and glorious Chival realized they’d done something amazing. That, after centuries of diadems and demons, they’d begun to inherit power themselves.”

Jason’s stomach turned. He felt lost for a moment, stumbling to grasp what Ra’s was implying.

Ra’s, speaking through Tim, clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid you’ve been looking at this whole situation a bit too black and white - Bruce’s doing, I suspect. He often sees what he likes to see, and not what actually exists around him.”

“I don’t...” Dick said, looking back and forth between Ra’s’ smiling eyes and Jason’s frown. “I don’t understand…”

It was impossible. That’s what Jason thought as he watched Tim move - saw him crouch to pick up the fallen pistol he’d arrived with, only to examine it with distant interest.

To him, it was probably archaic.

Of course, that didn’t matter. What mattered was what he’d said - what he was implying. What it meant.

A perfect host.

An impossible ability.

Jason swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “He’s saying that Tim’s power isn’t psychometry,” he stated, hating the way the realization hit him, felt so damn obvious, made the words burn on his tongue. “Tim’s Chival. Real Chival. Like, direct descendant.”

Dick froze.

Damian drew back in disbelief.

“I do love how careless his family was,” Ra’s said, whimsically. “Leaving the Circle, thinking the order wouldn’t come after them.” He came closer to Jason, brandishing the pistol, looking amused as he prodded the barrel against Jason’s chest. “They must really have wanted to get away.”

Every detail about Tim’s ability raced through Jason’s mind, the pieces fitting together perfectly. It was a terrible truth.

“The Chival, with all of their secrets,” Ra’s went on, speaking through Tim’s lips. “A boy whom, with one touch, could expose them all.”

Jason looked at Dick, who so visibly broke, shaken by the revelation he’d never once pieced together.

“And now Timothy is mine,” Ra’s said.

It was one of the easier decisions Jason had ever made; one he didn’t really have to think about. Maybe they were cornered, maybe not - but he knew diadems better than Ra’s at least, and, well, he’d already died once, right?

He was quick - he always had been; was always the one to catch others off guard.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said, looking Tim straight in the eye - hoping that somewhere in there, Tim heard it.

It was easy enough to catch Ra’s by surprise - he probably didn’t think Jason was the desperate type; he certainly didn’t know Jason well enough to predict his thoughts or figure him out.

Jason grabbed Tim’s arm and lurched forward, making sure he fell flush against the pistol.

Ra’s, caught off guard, fired.

Bone shattered, blood spilled.

Jason smirked against the explosion of pain, thinking the surprised look on Ra’s’ face was worth every firing nerve.

“See you in hell, you sonofabitch.”

***

The sensation was that of sinking, of drowning under his own weight. Power seeped from every fiber of Tim’s being, pouring out and flooding the sigil beneath him, sprawling up and around him, dragging him into a drugged stupor.

Is this what it felt like to die? Slow, ragged breaths burned his lungs and his skin was surely peeling away; it was as if he was fading to nothing, dissolving into an incandescent darkness. Memories fell through his consciousness like sheeting rain, too small and vivid to make sense, too elusive to catch. In one he thought he saw his mother, her soft eyes paired with a sad smile.

“Everything will be okay,” she had said, and her words had been feathers lifted against a cloudless sky. “One day you’ll understand.”

Tim’s lungs felt heavy, like stones in his chest. His throat was raw, stuffed with cotton. It was with crystal clarity that he heard his mother’s voice again, a warm breath across his ear.

“I’ll always protect you.”

The world collapsed, but it was only a dream; Tim came gasping from his dive towards death, blinking hazily, recognizing Jason at first, blearily, the white of his shirt stained with blood.

It felt like a concussion, the way everything moved in slow motion; the way Tim’s thoughts slowly pieced together, as if words were new, as if language was unfamiliar. He’d fallen to his knees, somehow; his body ached. His lips were wet, and his heart trudged so slowly that he was surprised each time it thudded against his ribs, clinging to life.

Were Dick and Damian okay? Tim wondered, though it was a wisping thought. If their connection hadn’t been restored, there was nothing left for him to do. He felt paralyzed, exhausted - and he thought, with only warmth in mind, that maybe he might sleep and leave all of this behind.

Timothy.

It came as a demand, and Tim had no energy to grant it. It blurred with real-world sounds; the room around him was a hazy static of muffled voices, and his name was a mantra that echoed in various notes.

Jason’s was too, which was odd; his stomach twisted.

Was someone worried? The idea seemed funny, because Tim wasn’t worried at all; he was content, he was tired, he was ready for the dark tunnel ahead of him, the hands reaching out for him, eager to pull him in.

Turn around, Timothy.

Something in the darkness wrapped around him, a whispering wind that cradled his cheek and drew his attention backwards. The darkness clung to his back, but a bland, saturating white crawled over him, a garish, stark figure standing in its midst.

Ra’s.

Tim simply knew.

The demon was long-lined, sharp in a way that painted Damian docile. Black-eyed and thin-lipped, Ra’s stood tall, draped in robes that caught light that didn’t exist, flickering like flaming embers of a dying fire. Tim found that if he looked too hard, he could see the individual threads, that he could hear things; it was a stitchwork of souls.

Come with me, Timothy.

Ra’s was mad; it showed in his face. Desperate, even.

Tim watched Ra’s’ arm lift; the simple shift of fabric brought a sudden, faded cacophony of sound; silent screams that rippled to fill the space around him just before the darkness smothered them to silence.

Tim felt fingertips trace shapes against his back, following the contours of his spine. The darkness called to him, and he felt drawn to it.

Still, he felt the need to reply.

I gave myself to you.

Hadn’t he?

You were meant for greatness, Ra’s said, and his fingers folded as if to say, come closer. You will only fulfill your true potential with me.

Tim, dazed and tired, shook his head. I’m not meant for anything, he thought.

It occurred to Tim, when Ra’s spoke next, that his mouth didn’t move. In this strange space, only thought existed; it was as if Tim existed inside of himself, as if he’d been dragged to the very core of his being, where Ra’s had existed all along.

Timothy, Ra’s said. His black eyes seemed glossy, as if they saw much more than Tim could even imagine. You must know by now.

The words weighed worlds. Tim felt them sink into him like hooks, and the darkness behind him became agitated. Fingertips turned to palms, as if the shadows wished to grab him, drown him.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

You do.

I don’t-

Timothy. Think.

Tim didn’t, but Ra’s did it for him. They shared this place, and Ra’s knew how to navigate the abandoned territories of Tim’s mind, the memories he’d locked and stored and all but thrown away the key.

“Everything will be okay,” he heard his mother say, again. Her voice was loud, echoing in the space between Tim and Ra’s, folding over Tim’s skin like it was meant to consume him.

Ra’s’ fingers twitched.

The memory came with such intensity that Tim felt starved for breath; he came up coughing at five years old, Janet Drake’s fingers combing his hair.

“One day you’ll understand,” she said, and Tim’s eyes followed her other hand, watching it lift as if to paint a landscape midair - and across the room, a box of tissue rose from a coffee table and drifted to them, ghostlike.

“We’re special,” she had said. “I’ll always protect you.”

A tissue had tugged itself free from the box and sifted down to his hands, and Tim had grasped it tightly, marvelling his mother. The tears that had wet his cheeks began to dry.

Protect me from who? Tim wanted to ask, but the memory clawed at parts of him he wasn’t ready to see. He’d forgotten about that. He’d forgotten about her. He’d tried so hard not to remember that she had been different too - because in the end, he’d killed her, he’d -

Timothy.

Ra’s’ voice, a lifeline. It dragged him back to the white space, only this time, Tim felt like he was being peeled raw. He didn’t want to see this, he didn’t want to go back -

Remember, Timothy, Ra’s commanded, his fingers twitched again.

Another memory.

A gunshot, loud. Tim tucked in a closet, his father begging for more time. Light came through the slats and Tim told himself not to look, but he couldn’t help it.

Weird clothes. Robelike. Odd symbols, long necklaces with crosses, beads, and funny metal engravings that Tim didn’t understand.

“I’ll get you the money, just don’t -”

“A deal is a deal,” a voice said. “And our deal was that you’d pay us to forget.”

“I will pay you,” Jake Drake had begged.

The click of a briefcase. “It’s barely even half,” one of the men laughed.

“Too bad for him.”

Tim had watched his father fall to the ground, red-faced, pale. “Don’t take her.”

“Go live a normal life with your normal kid,” a man had said.

“Don’t take her!” Jack had yelled. One of the men moved and Tim didn’t remember the punch, just the blood that had exploded from his father’s nose. He was crying, clawing forward, disappearing from where Tim could see. “Don’t take her,” he kept repeating. “Don’t take her away from me!”

The words echoed in the white space and the memory faded, leaving Tim alone, once again, with the demon that possessed him.

Why are you showing me this? Tim wasn’t speaking, but his words came out weak. He took a step backwards, and Ra’s’ expression darkened - every step closer to the shadow was distance between them.

You are not a fool, Timothy Drake. Put the pieces together.

There are no pieces, Tim said, because he’d dedicated his life to solving other people's’ mysteries; he didn’t want to think about his own, he didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to remember -

How disappointed your mother would be, Ra’s stated, his words a far-reaching truth, to know that she worked so hard to keep you from the Chival, and that you fell straight into their hands?

The realization came like a sudden drop, Tim’s heart climbing to his throat, the world spinning as small, discarded details came into focus. Smaller recollections of his mother’s ability paired with memories of his father, stern-faced in the aftermath of losing her.

“Remember what happened to her,” he’d said, countless times, afraid the same thing would happen to Tim. They’d taken her, after all, and all Tim knew was that he’d never see her again.

Those men had meant death.

Somehow, they’d thought he was Jack’s kid. Normal.

“You must never let anyone know,” his mother had said.

And Tim’s father…

He hadn’t been able to let her go.

Tim remembered now. Jack had kept at it, kept trying to find her, kept getting found himself. Left Tim for days, weeks at a time so he could search, until the men came searching for him, and all Tim could remember was that he couldn’t get caught.

He couldn’t.

So he’d used his ability on his father, and taken all the pins his father had collected as they travelled state-to-state, memorabilia for a child that soon after became a map.

Dick existed in there, somewhere - after all these years he simply bled into the background. Tim had shown him his ability - had been so alone, had pressed his palms together on more than one night, hoping Dick would always be there, would protect him.

What am I? Tim asked, feeling like he was drowning.

Ra’s’ eyes glinted. You, Timothy Drake, are a weapon.

The white room quaked. Though Tim existed in his subconscious, he struggled to keep balance. Ra’s’ arm dropped and he turned his attention upward, as if he’d been caught off guard himself, and Tim watched as the whiteness began to crack, as if he’d been boxed by walls the entire time. Over his shoulder, he turned to look at the darkness - it retreated, disappeared into the distance, and Tim thrust his hand out, reaching for fingers that had long since slipped too far from his grasp.

Who thought he’d be so reckless, Ra’s’ lips curled, agitated. The crackling collapse around them was loud and booming and nearly frowned out Ra’s’ comment. He seemed thoughtful, and his tone matched his intrigue.

In his head, Tim stumbled. In the real world, Tim’s eyes flew open and he went gasping for air, hands clawing until fingers gripped his own. They were Damian’s, and his eyes were wide. He’d lost the gaunt look he’d had before, gained back the sense of power that Tim remembered from when they’d first met. It was an odd feeling, to be so close to it again, to recognize it.

“What…” Tim wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask.

“Shut up,” Damian snapped, his eyes giving away his worry. Tim was on his back, and the boy was hovered over him protectively, Dick standing in front of both of them - and Tim, drawn back to life, was suddenly slammed with the pain that came with it.

Tears flooded his cheeks.

Was his arm broken? His chest? Something was wrong, and he felt it in ways he couldn’t describe - the way he’d grown used to feeling Ra’s’ power had changed, and it was back to tidal waves of uncontrolled energy, leaking like a dam that had suffered a massive rupture.

Talia was ahead of them, smiling raggedly. Tim thought, for a moment, that it was odd.

Couldn’t she feel it?

She wasn’t a match for Ra’s at all, and it was Ra’s power that was surging to life.

It was confusing.

Nothing made sense.

“Come out, come out, father,” Talia urged, and Tim felt an unseeable gravity dig into his stomach, as if she was planning to drag Ra’s out with willpower alone.

A strangled gasp poured from Tim’s lips and Damian yelled at her to stop. His fingers dug into Tim’s skin hard enough to leave bruises, and Tim, still somewhat dazed, only half lucid due to the pain, heard Damian curse.

The power inside of Tim churned.

For some reason, he felt unafraid.

Without really knowing why, he suddenly understood the sensation - knew it was Ra’s power leaving, felt the separation with an odd sense of disbelief and relief.

“Get out,” he barely managed to breathe.

Inside his body, he felt Ra’s react.

Tim’s perspective bled into something unimaginable, what he felt and what he saw were two entirely different things. The feeling was like falling into a frozen lake, getting caught beneath the ice, banging against the underside of a frosted surface hoping that it might splinter. What he saw was fire, great curling tendrils that rose from his skin, that brought to life the shape of a man with glinting eyes and an aura that was death incarnate.

Dick was beside him in an instant, crouched to the side opposite of Damian. The throw of power sent his hair upward and Tim felt the sudden rush of heat bring color to his face.

To Tim, it wasn’t overwhelming - he’d been living with Ra’s inside of him for enough time that it was familiar, and in some abstract way, comforting. He thought, for a moment, that maybe he’d never quite understood how powerful Ra’s was because Damian was left shaking above him, the whole of his being stunned to silence in the wake of something great and vicious.

“Impossible,” Talia said, skirting backwards a step as she watched Ra’s take form. Dick shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“The Unholy Days,” he murmured.

A demon strong enough to take physical form.

“No,” Damian murmured. “No, no, no…” and his eyes darted to Tim’s, only he looked baffled - surprised, caught in crushing disbelief. “How are you…”

Still alive, Tim supplied. He wasn’t sure. The absence of power was a real thing, the cold finally claimed him, and he started shaking, his teeth clacking through shivers.

“I don’t…” Damian started, but the situation had changed, and Talia only had eyes for her father, who swept across the room, looking quite human as the power pulsed and retracted, disappearing into the figure he’d taken.

Tim’s entire being ached.

It felt like something was missing - not Ra’s’ power, but something deeper.

His heart pounded.

Where was Jason?

“Jason -” he tried to gasp, and arms folded around him from behind. It reminded him of something, the second time they’d met - waking to find Jason behind him in the tub of the hotel.

“Breathe,” Jason told him.

Tim hadn’t realized he’d stopped, and when he inhaled, it sent an icy curl of pain flooding his lungs. Dick and Damian pressed against him from either side, and the expression on Dick’s face held so much pain-

“Just keep breathing,” Jason demanded, and his breath felt like fire on the skin of Tim’s neck. His voice rasped and his chest felt wet, and Tim remembered - it had felt like his shoulder had cracked, and it made sense-

“The diadem,” he gasped, and true panic grasped him.

Jason.

Tim wondered how time could slow, how one moment could last so long. His thoughts sprawled like a canvas, and even though he was navigating what was sure to be shock, he was somehow able to focus. It was the same feeling he got whilst using his powers, an odd sense of the world around him, the slightest changes causing his skin to prickle.

He could feel Ra’s and Talia - thought that maybe he’d been able to feel things like this all along. How many objects had he stumbled across that had inherently felt bad? How many people had he avoided for the same reason?

Tim felt Ra’s’ power like it was his own. Around him, he felt the walls move. It was a strange sensation. He accepted it, teeth clenched.

“Ah, my daughter,” Ra’s said, his words curling like ribbons. “Let’s end this, once and for all.”

Tim felt it; in his mind’s eye, he could see Ra’s’ plan. One of the League demons peeling off the wall behind them, it’s bladelike claws destined for Damian’s heart.

It was a decent strategy.

If Talia didn’t have Damian, she had no purpose.

But Tim felt it - he heard the sound in slow motion, talons scraping against wood paneling. Only seconds to act before Damian would die.

“Tim?” Dick was staring at him, and the word came slow, lethargic.

Tim felt an anger that he’d never felt before.

“STOP.” Tim growled the command and he knew it worked, could sense that the demon had stopped midair, had gone crashing to the floor, desperate to obey.

We’ll always be connected, Ra’s had once said.

It meant Tim would always carry at least a piece of the demon’s power.

It meant that the League couldn’t tell the difference between them.

“Hmm?” Ra’s said aloud, and his attention drifted from Talia in order to take a look at Tim’s handiwork.

Talia gaped. “You would kill him!” she yelled, and her broken voice made Tim’s skin crawl. “Your own grandson. You were going to kill him!”

“He’s useless,” Ra’s stated, as if it was a known fact. “Timothy, on the other hand-”

Tim grit his teeth when he felt it again, another movement, another wordless command from Ra’s. And, once again, when goosebumps littered his skin, Tim ground out, “I said, stop.”

He felt the shadows go still.

Ra’s donned the look of a man so utterly pleased with himself that the corners of his lips couldn’t help but lift.

“Tim,” Jason murmured, quietly. So quietly that it hurt, and Tim couldn’t keep his grasp on the demons he’d managed to stop from moving. Shadows collapsed around them, and for a moment, Tim thought this is it. But the demons didn’t come for him, didn’t try for Damian, or Dick, or Jason.

Talia seemed to expect the flood, but there was little she could do. She barked demands, so used to having the League obey, stunned and toppled and devoured by the creatures that had once shown her allegiance.

A chill raced Tim’s spine when the realization took over - that this could be the end, that Ra’s had regained control of his League, stolen it from Talia, and that at any moment, he could command the death of anyone in this room.

Jason’s arm slipped weakly to Tim’s lap and Tim desperately searched for that feeling, for the shadows, for something he didn’t understand but somehow knew. If he could control them, maybe he could make them fight, maybe he could win.

Ra’s must have read his intent, felt his reach. He turned and gave Tim a knowing eye.

“You should know by now that you are as good as mine,” he stated.

Tim spat, “I will never go with you.” He could feel every subtle shift in the demon’s power. He reached out for the League, for the ones he could touch with his mind, and drove them to stop mid-fight, their snarls so sharp and savage that Tim could practically feel the bloodlust soaking the room.

There was something else, too - a different power, one that came bleeding from a darker depth. One only slightly familiar, because Tim had never felt it whole, unleashed and uncontrollable, like some fury set loose into the world, inhibition lost.

“Get out of my house,” Damian growled from behind. He’d come away from Dick with loathing intent, the whole of his human form swallowed by that of the demon he’d inherited.

Energy flooded. Floorboards ripped up and into the air and a sharp crack split the ceiling. Furniture splintered and devil’s heat sprawled like a wildfire, and Ra’s was left staring, wide-eyed in shock.

“Damian -” he started.

“GET OUT!”

Tim lost his grip on the demons; it severed with such intensity that he was left sucking in sharp breaths of air; he reached reflexively for Jason’s hand and twined their finger together, watching Ra’s frown, just before disappearing altogether.

One minute Tim felt the League, the next, nothing.

A chandelier creaked, pieces of bubbled glass falling, shattering.

Tim heard Damian’s huffed breathing, saw him fall forward. Dick caught him before he hit the floor.

Across the way, he saw Talia’s mangled body, and stranger, thought he saw her twitch.

Tim summoned every ounce of his energy to turn, to get a look at Jason. His pulse raced, he felt the world spin, he thought of everything he’d ever wished for and how this was the one thing he wanted, that Jason couldn’t die.

“Jason…” Tim could barely get the name out; his hands pressed to Jason’s shoulder, where blood had soaked his shirt through. Jason was propped against one of Dick’s dressers, and he took measured breaths, his skin pale.

Tim tangled their fingers again, hoping for something aside from white, wanting more, desperate for it.

“Don’t give me that look,” Jason said, tired. “You psychics cause so much damn trouble.”

Tim’s eyes blurred, wet. “You’re an ass.” He heard sirens and wondered if he was imagining it, if wishful thinking had stolen his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Yeah, I am.”

#hell connection

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#hell connection