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“It is not our scheduled time.”
Tim blearily squints at Fright Knight. Or it's Death telling him it isn't his time to die yet. The jury is out while Tim’s brain refuses to get with the program.
Falling isn't so bad. Tim is familiar with falling. Scraped knees and palms. A payment to the god of gravity until you stick the trick. The nature of being a growing boy whose limbs didn't always match where he thought they should be. The falling part did not suck. Hitting things hurt.
Like hitting multiple crates while falling. Tim thinks it is the ladder to the catwalk that he bounced his head off of.
Oh yeah, Fright Knight said something. Why is Fright Knight here? Tim frowns. It makes his head and mouth hurt. But he wants to frown, so he keeps it up.
“Have you sustained an injury?” Boots barely brush the dusty warehouse floor as he drifts closer. Tim wishes Fright Knight had a face. Then he could know what the spirit's expression was. And it'd be nice. It'd be nice to have a friend with a face.
“Yeah, I'm definitely concussed.” Talking hurts. Tim spits out a tooth. Nice. “I think this is my last baby tooth. Or it's an adult tooth and now I'm down one.”
Surprise is a vague fuzzy thing as Tim notices the blood on his shirt. From his mouth, his tooth? Probably. Ah, now it makes sense.
“Look!” Tim presents the ugly pewter amulet, smeared with blood. He's taken to wearing it everywhere. You know, in case. “Wait, if I summoned you with my lost tooth, does that mean I can't also cash it in with the Tooth Fairy?”
If Fright Knight breathed, he'd sigh. Tim is sure of it.
“What occurred that you are alone and injured?” Fright Knight lands. His helm is angled at the tooth on the floor in what Tim assumes is interest. Do spirits have teeth? Has Fright Knight ever lost a tooth?
Back on track! Tim corrals the cottony flock that is his thoughts. “I was practicing parkour and freerunning. At your advice.” Hah, nailed it. Actually, did not nail it. Tim's concussion confirms otherwise.
“I believe I stated with the appropriate company and facilities. This does not appear an adequate facility for training.” Ooooh, true? True. Tim nods, agreeing easily. Stops because that hurts.
“So, favor? I get one now. Can you take me home?”
“The offering is sufficient.” Tim wants to snort. As if he hasn't been summoning Fright Knight for weeks with strategic stabs with a sewing needle to go birdwatching. As if there was logic or consistency to what Fright Knight considered ‘sufficient’.
The flight is awful. Usually it is awesome but there's something distinctly unpleasant about the woosh of air past his head and ears that Tim really hates while concussed. The nausea bubbles at the back of Tim’s throat and the familiar oily feeling of Fright Knight's intangibility nearly makes him hurl.
Tim doesn't even know if he has anything in his stomach to hurl. Dry heaving with a concussion induced headache? That sounds like a bad time. Really bad time. Tim purses his lips against the sensation and focuses on Fright Knight gently depositing him on top of his half made bed.
Tim kicks off his shoes. He should probably change out of his sweaty and now bloody shirt. Later. Later is good. Later is much better than now while he’s acutely aware of how much his head hurts. Tim remembers he has homework to do and school tomorrow. That’s gonna suck.
“School tomorrow is going to suck.” It needs to be said aloud. Tim’s feelings on how much school is going blow tomorrow needs to be spoken into existence.
“Attending school is ill-advised.” Fright Knight sounds a bit cranky. Tim shrugs at him. An approximation of a shrug while splayed out on his bed.
“I need an adult to call me out. Can’t, like, call myself out. If I play hooky, the school will call my parents. And then I have to explain why I skipped.” Not good. That sounded awful. There’s another possible outcome that is way worse though.
“Or! Or they call, can’t get ahold of my parents, and then call other people like Child Protective Services.” Fright Knight tilts his head. “Because I’m an unaccompanied minor in need of medical care, and schools are mandated reporters.”
“Human children,” the spirit sneers. There’s also a hint of affection in it. Closing his eyes, Tim smiles at his ceiling, idly worries his tongue over the tender new gap in his teeth. Of course, the Spirit of Halloween loves kids. Who else loves Halloween more than kids?
The bedroom is just shy of chilly. Tim is comfy. Drifting, the pounding of his head isn’t so bad now that Tim’s stationary. Ah shoot, his tooth got left behind at the abandoned warehouse. No Tooth Fairy for Tim.
A pang. Not that there was anyone here to shove money under his pillow while he slept.
Something heavy lands on his stomach. The shock of it makes Tim jolt and fully diverts the beginning of his well-worn lonely looping. The phone sits innocently on his belly. “Uh.”
“Call your academy. I shall speak with those in charge to expect your absence tomorrow.” Fright Knight looms over him.
“Sure. Yeah, ok. You're an adult, technically? Adult shaped. Works for me.” The ramblings fall easily from his brain and out his mouth. Wow, concussions make Tim chatty apparently. “Timothy Drake, by the way.”
The image of the primordial embodiment of fear holding a cell phone is going to haunt Tim for the rest of his life. He needs a picture. Shit, where's his camera?
“Greetings,” and Tim totally forgot about the ringing quality of Fright Knights's voice. That poor secretary. “The student Timothy Drake shall not be in attendance of lessons on the morrow.”
Tim wheezes. What the fuck. The morrow.
“Correct.” Fright Knight pauses. Tim watches the suit of armor like its prime time TV. “Homework.”
Homework? Oh, homework! And class notes. He can ask Jason Todd for those. They're neighbors, so it won't be weird. Totally normal neighborly classmate things, Tim isn't a complete creep and stalks him. Light stalking. Friendly stalking. Fright Knight is staring at him. Oh, yeah, that's right. Homework.
“I'll text a classmate to bring me our homework tomorrow.”
“Timothy will ‘text a classmate’ to gather this ‘homework’.” Another pause. “My gratitude for your assistance.” Then because metal digits are not compatible with touch screens, Fright Knight throws the phone back. Deftly, Tim catches it, thumbs ‘end call’ and opens a text in a few quick swipes. The light of the phone screen does Tim’s headache no favors.
“Can I ask questions? I have lots of questions.” Fright Knight does not reply and that’s as good as resounding permission in Tim’s book. The aura of exasperation does nothing to dissuade him either way. “So like, spirit. The Ghost of Human Terrors Past and Future can use a phone? How does that work? Did the academy secretary hear the screams of the damned during that call?”
Damn, focusing on the screen is difficult. Tim closes one eye as he types. “The High King is very progressive in his utilization of technology. All ghosts sworn to his service have been taught how to interact with mortal inventions. Additionally, an element of human fear is a rejection of the ‘new’, which includes technology. I have some… control over such items.”
Huh? What the fuck is a High King? That’s a great question, so Tim asks.
“The High King rules over the Infinite Realms and all things that exist there within.” Is Fright Knight reading from something? Nah, Tim decides the timeless spirit is just like that. It’s endearing. A feature not a bug.
“Didn’t you say something about the Infinite Realms being the inbetween of all the dimensions and universes? Sounds like a huge job, kind of impossible to rule over it all,” the pre-teen hums, closing his eyes.
“The main function of the High King is to maintain the balance and protect the veil between the realms. The council and Observants stand in opposition of the High King to prevent tyranny. I serve the High King and his wants.” The pride in his role is obvious in an almost tangible sensation. The press of warmth in Fright Knight’s aura makes Tim smile.
“Cool. You like serving him. What’s he like?” Rejecting the idea of getting up, Tim wiggles and pulls at his covers until he manages to get them out from under his body.
“High King Phantom is young, even by mortal measures. He is more suited to rule than he gives himself credit for.” Tim succeeds in getting the blanket over himself. “The mantle of High King has been a heavy burden, though he toils endlessly to be fair and merciful. The power he now wields was a reward of circumstance, not by his pursuit.”
It’s the most Fright Knight has ever spoken at once, beyond explaining his origins as the Lord of Fear. Tim considers it closely. It must be important information. Though the part of Tim that knows ‘children are seen and not heard’ feels like Fright Knight is only humoring him. He catches himself worrying the sore gap in his mouth and deliberately makes himself stop.
“He sounds like a good king. Isn’t it that people who seek out power are the people most likely to abuse it?”
Fright Knight does not answer. The silence stretches long, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, just thoughtful. Eventually, Tim cracks an eye open. Fright Knight’s glowing eyes are dim, angled hazily in his direction. Then shakes himself of the reverie with a small clatter of his armor.
“Very wise, Tim.” The praise is unexpected and all the more genuine for it. Tim tucks it away in his brain, hoping he can remember it. “You are correct. It is precisely why Phantom is a good king. It is my regret that I played an adversary role to Phantom originally.”
There’s shame, nearly imperceptible, in the way Fright Knight holds himself. He’s as stiff as ever - standing proud and tall, hands behind his back. But Tim can see something in the set of the armor’s shoulders that gives it away. “Yeah? Can’t have been that bad if Phantom has you as his knight now, right?”
“I tortured a great number of the humans under his protection.” Tim gapes. “It was my own selfish pleasure to spread terror after I was freed from my imprisonment, released by Phantom in error. I served the previous High King and led the charge on the assault of Phantom’s home universe.”
None of that fits in Tim’s brain right. Maybe the concussion is to blame, but he can’t circle the square that Fright Knight just revealed.
“That’s… a lot.” If Fright Knight had eyebrows, they’d be judging Tim. “Obviously, alright? But have you done it since? I’m guessing not. Phantom doesn’t seem like he’d be chill with that.”
The knight recoils minutely. “No. After Phantom defeated Pariah Dark, I conceded defeat. I swore fealty to Phantom when he assumed the throne. It is an honor to serve.”
“Then that’s all that matters. I mean, obviously your opinion of yourself matters the most. But Phantom’s does too and he seems to think you're a good knight or he would have rejected your oath. I think. Does it work that way? Can he reject an oath?” Honestly, Tim has no clue. He’s twelve. Why is he giving the Lord of Fear emotional advice?
Either way, Fright Knight seems to consider the matter closed. He inclines his helm and accepts Tim’s little speech. Fright Knight actually cares about his opinion. Tim considers their weird little relationship. Fright Knight protects him, makes time to go birdwatching with Tim, listens to his info-dump rambles. It’s nice. Really nice.
He starts to drift off again. With a small gasp, he jerks himself back to wakefulness. Tim read something about concussions and not sleeping right after. Or being woken in intervals? Something like that. He mentally prepares himself for a sleepless night. Tim doesn’t mind, he’s used to pulling all-nighters. Between birdwatching, editing photos, and obsessive research, Tim’s more of a stranger or distant acquaintance to sleep.
Fright Knight drifts towards the window. The setting sun warms the oily black of his armor. “I’m not keeping you away from your duties, am I? I can’t have offered that much blood.”
“You are injured. I am… unfamiliar with human medical needs.”
Tim watches the darkening ceiling for what feels like a long time. Resists fiddling with the place his tooth was. Fright Knight is worried about him, hesitant to leave. “I really shouldn't sleep unsupervised after a concussion.”
“Then I shall stand guard over your sleep to ensure the condition does not worsen.” Wow. Easy as. Tim resists smiling. Well, he fails and instead opts to smother it into his pillow.
“Oh. Oh, you sure?” Fright Knight nods, and stalwartly posts himself at the foot of Tim’s bed. He looks like the world’s scariest night light, gently glowing green and throwing odd shifting shadows onto the walls. “Thanks, that's the payment all done then?”
“It is a sufficient exchange. Rest well, Tim.”
When Tim wakes up in the morning, Fright Knight is gone. But there is a strange old silver coin under his pillow. Score, the Tooth Fairy did come. Tim reminds himself to thank Fright Knight the next time they go birdwatching.
Or maybe not. Teasing Fright Knight for it sounds better.