(no subject)

[123youreit]

*Tim goes very still for a moment, to the point where Fleuret has to bat at his fingers to get attention and a resumption of pettings - heaven forbid he forget the pettings. He's not... exactly keen on opening up his mind again, as much as the last time wasn't bad. It still feels like a betrayal of his training and a foolish step to take. But... he needs to know, as well. Whether it really is the thing that haunts Bruce, or something else entirely - either way, he needs to know.*

I... yeah. I think that's a good idea, if you don't mind. So that I know - what it is, and why it's there. Just, you know. Be careful.

--

*Of course, he doesn't mind, why would he? It isn't like taking a brief look around someone else's mind is hard, especially when they let you in. As for being careful, he resists making a comment about that since it's pretty much a given.* All right.

*Knives stands then, setting aside the now-empty bowl of ice cream and his book, and sits himself next to Tim. Absently, he scratched the area behind Fleuret's ears before devoting his attention to the task at hand. Once more, soft, ivory feathers line his palm, in preparation for what is about to happen. But first, a word or two, just so Tim understands.*

This will be slightly different from last time since I'll be exploring your mindscape instead of looking at memories. You'll still be able to hide things, though, in the- *He pauses, searching for a word* ...compartments you have. The shadow will probably be elsewhere since it doesn't belong; I'll let you know when I find it.

*The explanation out of the way, he looks at Tim expectantly for confirmation, and once he has it, Knives rests his fingers gently against Tim's forehead, closes his eyes, and slips into the other's mind, careful to guard himself before doing so. After all, there's no telling what he'll find in there.*

--

*Tim closes his eyes as well, trying to just - relax, stay focused and open whilst keeping his thoughts quiet. Let Knives look around without ditracting him with unnecessary noise... if that was even a concern. He pushes those questions away for a distant corner of his mind to work on until he can give it his full attention.

And really, it's more like he just filed something away and set a little computer ticking over it, because when Knives gets inside and starts looking at Tim's mindscape, that's the kind of thing he sees. Tim's mind stretches out like something between a filing archive and a morgue, byzantine but oddly organised pathways cutting neat lines between cabinets housing drawers, little screens scrolling unreadable text over some of them - mostly the ones that are red and green and gold. Robin things - and there's no better word to describe it than things, though Tim's mind forces the information into the form of sheets of paper sometimes barely visible through a partially open drawer. But the cabinets open like body drawers in the morgue, and often there's a sense of a body attached. A person, but that feeling of death hangs in the air next to a clinical cool, both existing in a chilling blend, heavy but peacefully coexistant.

The paths branch out but all lead inwards, and as Knives progesses deeper, it becomes more like a museum. There are still cabinets, but they're not being updated, and around one turn is a line of glass cases, glinting in the now golden light like some kind of display. In each one is a person, peacefully asleep, or in the suspended animation of science-fiction films, floating in the cases. One is Batman, recognisable from Tim's memories, and another is the younger man - Nightwing. The blonde girl, the dark-haired one... they're being kept alive, if silent, through Tim's memories of them, in his mind and heart. These are his important people.

There are some Knives doesn't recognise, of course, and at the end someone different. Or perhaps, calling it someone is inaccurate - it's Robin, the people and the ideal, the uniform and face shifting, the domino mask a black-green-red constant shape amidst the subtle shifts. It barely ever takes a form recognisable as Tim himself - this is an enshrinement of the role, his predecessors, his heroes and family and everything it stands for. He doesn't see himself as being a part of it as much - or perhaps it's that he doesn't think he's as good as he can be yet, that with his potential unfulfilled he doesn't deserve a place in there as often as they do.

Beyond that, the air starts feeling warm and alive again. If music were playing, it would feel just about right, but Tim's mind remains silent. Or... mostly silent. There's a soft sliding sort of noise coming from somewhere up ahead. As Knives follows the path right to the centre of Tim's mind, a large black pearl comes into view. Curled up in the middle, floating like a galaxy in space but spinning less, is Tim himself, in the purest mental sense. The naked truth at his core.

And crouched on top of the pearl, stroking the surface with one slow, clawed hand, is the shadow - it looks like some demonised image of Batman himself, all inky blackness and red eyes and an animal mouth, a sharp white slit in the shadow that is practically oozing over the pearl, the part that resembles Batman's cape trailing inky strands down to the floor, where they sink into the fabric of Tim's mind, the ground running under it all.*

Get out.

--

*The world external dissolving away at his fingertips, Knives opens his eyes once more, a new picture being painted before him as the realm of Tim's mind comes into focus. The last time he was here, his only purpose was to view whatever memories Tim chose to show him; thus, Knives only saw the slightest snippets of this thought world last time. However, he is on a mission now, the way paved before him, and Tim's allowance of this is what is enabling Knives to perceive the details he already figured were there. Despite himself, though, as he wanders through the hallways, noting the papers, the drawers, the general feel of his surroundings, Knives can't help but be impressed. It's very complex - ridiculously so, almost. For a human, anyway. He's curious too, and more than once he finds himself staring at the files, wondering what secrets they hold. He reminds himself why he's here, though, and in the end, he lets the opportunity pass him by, respecting Tim's privacy as the scenery gradually shifts into something else entirely.

The cryptic morgue/archive vanishes, replaced but what can only be described as a mausoleum - or at least that's what it feels like to Knives. He walks slowly but doesn't stop, looking at the people Tim has preserved here and understanding that these are the ones he thinks of, the individuals who influence his every thought and action. Knives pauses maybe once the entire time he's drinking all of this in, and this is in front of the Robin figure - the ideal Tim aspires to. He stares at it for a moment, mulling over what it all means, when a soft rustling sound reaches his ears. His eyes narrow, and he moves on, wreathing himself in psychic shields as he proceeds towards the core.

And there it lies, suspended in the air, the essence that is Tim apparently dormant and unaware of the intrusion. However, Knives's gaze only lingers there for a moment, drawn instead to the dark, grotesque figure perched atop the sphere of Tim's being, the claw dragging possessively over it - over him - and the tendrils tangling themselves in the base of the boy's mind. A wave of disgust and fury washes over him at the sight of it, eyes blazing and completely intimidated by this...thing's presence. Whatever it is, it has no right to be here, and he'll be damned if some damned shadow scares him off of his prize.

Thus, Knives doesn't budge at the order, only reinforces his own defenses, though for all intents and purposes, he seems unchanged in appearance, his own voice taking on an ugly cast as he response to the creature's demand.*

What are you?

--

*The figure hisses and narrows its eyes to red slits, claw gripping the surface of the pearl with a slick scraping noise before it stands and leaps down to stand before Knives, almost drifting through the air with its cape billowing around it in the shape of bat wings for a moment. When it lands, it looms tall and dark, every part a solid shadow in front of the pearl, deliberately standing between Tim's essence and Knives. Cool twists of white grave mist begin seeping up from the ground at its base - there are no visible feet to speak of, only the trailing ends of the inky cape, still sinking into the floor where the tips touch it.*

I am the night. I am vengeance. I am the cool embrace of reason in the dying chaos of the abyss. I am his destiny, and he is mine. *The cape ripples around it at that, flowing around the base of the pearl, and inside Tim just barely twitches, a shadow of discomfort passing over his face.*

You are nothing but a temporary distraction. A dalliance without place in the Mission. You will leave him to me.

--

*Knives says nothing, his attention fixed on the thing before him even as he analyzes the situation. He's inside someone else's mind so he has less power to influence events here than he would in his own so he lacks that advantage already, but it's worse because this creature already has a firm hold. It's been here for some time, the tendrils embedded in Tim's mind damning proof of that. However, the brief contortion on Tim's face makes one thing quite clear to him - whatever this being thinks it is, it is unwanted and doesn't belong.*

He doesn't need or want you. *Several blades appear, curving elegantly and glimmering wickedly in the twilight of Tim's mind.* GET OUT.

--

*It grows taller in response, the ends of the cape swirling and spreading outward, rolling like a ragged-edged puddle of oil across the ground, covering the red and gold flooring in inky black and growing clouds of that cold grave mist. Indistinct faces start to take form in the mist, made of it, or perhaps just obscured as yet, translucent and rotten things with their expressions, where they can be glimpsed, stuck in rictus grins or wide with unheard screams.*

His wants are irrelevant, and his needs are clear. He will come to accept this destiny - he is the only suitable heir. His life has already set him on this path, and it cannot be stopped. You will leave.

--

*It's trying to intimidate him, their surroundings taking on a much darker cast, grotesque sounds and visages haunting the periphery of his awareness. They're a danger, and the entire atmosphere seems press in about him, trying to crush him. He stands firm, though, his own power coming to bear around him. The blades elongate, a strange brilliance gathering about them. It clashes with the encroaching blackness, the glow encompassing him as well, and Knives just smiles, the expression an eerie mix of disgust, rage, and determination.*

You first.

*And with that he lashes out, aiming to cut the main body of the shadow to pieces*

--

*The shadow just laughs, a low grating sound like the creaking of coffin lids, and opens its arms to accept the blade. Its body absorbs the light, and in fact it's like the blade is plunging into an icy cold ocean rather than a solid being. The depth of the thing is greater than it seems, like a true walking abyss, and the longer the blade stays in there, the deeper it goes, the more the cold and darkness will creep back up it towards Knives himself. The cape ripples with the laughter, and it points one clawed finger at him with a mocking grin.*

Pathetic. Filth such as you cannot hope to fight me. I exist to rid the world of those such as you, who hurt the innocent without care. You can do nothing here. GET OUT.

--

*Knives's eyes widen as his blade is caught - caught - in the thing's shadow. He tries to length it, to cut through the body of the creature, but it's all for naught. He's being pulled in despite his attempts to yank himself free. Infuriated, more ivory tendrils sprout from his left arm, embedding themselves in the floor in an attempt to anchor himself, and as the suction increases, it takes just about everything he has to remain where he is.

Gritting his teeth, he still refuses to budge, unwilling to believe that this entire trip has been for nothing - not when he's finally found something worth holding onto. However, as much as he hates to admit it, he can't do this on his own. So, with as much concentration as he can afford to spare, Knives reaches out to Tim's conscious mind, trying to direct him to the struggle currently taking place. Then, glaring at the towering figure before him, he responds, his answer a snarl.*

NO.

--

*In the outside world, Tim kind of twitches a little as he feels his mind being called out to and pulled inwards. He realises it must be something important - even though Knives had said he was just going to look and come back, perhaps something had happened... inside his mind. Not good. He lets himself be refocused and drawn to Knives, an embodiment of his conscious mind fading into place next to the Plant with enough focus and grounding in his physical reality to appear dressed just as he is in the outside world right now.

And he quickly sees what's going on around him, eyes widening in shock at the situation, let alone the fact that that thing is inside him at all.*

What is - what - get off him! *Tim tries to focus on the fact that Knives appears to be in danger, to need his help, in order to stop himself from panicking. He moves to try and pull the blade free, or to pull the shadows off of it, or something - only for the figure to release it by itself, smiling sharply.*

Fine. After all, it's you I want. *The thing reaches out, and Tim jerks backward, only to find that he can't move - the shadows have pooled around his feet and it's like he's standing in black ice, frozen in place and helpless to avoid having that - that creature touch his face. He winces at the feel of it, a harsh clawed stroke of cold sliding across his skin like a film of oil, the icy touch lingering and sinking into him. He's stuck and afraid in the face of the endless darkness from his nightmares, something too primal and powerful to fight.*

--

*Sensing Tim materializing next to him, Knives turns, any relief he might have felt blunted by the panic that washes over the boy's face the moment he sees what's happening. NOT the ideal response, which is why Knives didn't want to contact him prior to this. Frustrated, he can only watch as Tim rushes to help him, still trapped by the grip of the creature. Idiot!

The shadow lets go suddenly, though, and Knives nearly tumbles back, the blades anchoring him the only reason why he's able to maintain his balance. Staggering upright, breathing hard, Knives sees the situation unfold with increasing rage as the whatever-it-is seizes Tim, trapping him where he stands. Raging now, he stalks forward, the glow emanating from his left arm intensifying as feathered fingertips curl tightly about Tim's shoulder.*

This is your mind. Take control NOW.

--

*Tim looks between Knives and the Bat - when did he even start calling it that inside his mind - face stricken as he tries to overcome his fear. He knows this is his mind, that he should have ultimate control over what happens here, but this - this is the thing from his nightmares, the undefeatable void and the inevitable fate that consumes him, sends him sinking into darkness every time. The faces swirling in the grave mist clarify, solidfy into some of the people from his mausoleum, their faces and bodies suffering from deathly pallor and rotting flesh, bloodied and bruised, every one broken in some way, and it's like staring at the consequences of his mistakes and having his heart laid out in front of him. All these deaths happened because of him.

As he thinks that, gulping for words, he starts sinking into the shadow at his feet, feels it pulling against the grip Knives has on his shoulder.*

You know how this will end. You know what awaits you. You know you cannot deny me or the Mission. You have dreamed it a thousand times.

*The Bat smiles cruelly, but it's the wrong thing to say, right at the end. Anger flares up inside Tim, and he pulls back, away from it and the ghosts it brings with it.*

So that's been you, all this time. Reaching into my head and throwing those memories at me just so you can use me for yourself! Knives is right, this is my mind and I don't want you here! Get out and leave me alone! *Tim is surprised to find himself glowing by the end, more softly than Knives right now but still bright, and somehow his clothes have changed, replaced by the Robin uniform - his original one, red and yellow and green. The Bat hisses and moves back, the shadows retracting to the size of an ordinary man, though the tendrils still sink into the ground.*

You think to refuse me, child? When your life is dedicated to the Mission, when it leads only to misery and death, how can any but I be waiting for you? Your mind is already taking the shape I need, and some day you will be part of me just as I am a part of you now. You cannot escape it.

*Tim shudders for a second, light dimming, but then firms his resolve and stands tall, and the light in the chamber grows, not just centred on him any more but coming from all around to chase the shadow away. His cape unfurls behind him like golden wings.* I'll choose my own destiny. I don't need anything from you, so get the hell out.

*The scenery around them doesn't change so much as it begins to feel different - alive and focused, sharply. And birds begin landing on the cabinets around them, red-breasted robins as a matter of obvious symbology, their song ringing out clearly in the chamber. The Bat's barely-present features contort in rage as it is driven back further, growing smaller and having its tendrils forced out of the ground.*

You cannot resist this forever. You will return. I will be waiting, Timothy. *It hisses, a final warning before it fades into a black smudge of shadow in the shape of a bat and disappears into the ether, finally expunged.

Tim exhales in deep sigh and almost sags from the exertion. He glances up at Knives wryly.*

I thought you said you were just going to tell me when you found it?