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schizoauthoressTitle: What's Dead is Alive
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Spoilers: probably none? Call it a David Cronenberg-flavored Elseworlds take on Jason Todd
Prompt/Fill: for the whole story -- Author's choice, author's choice, did the devil make the world while God was sleeping? and fills "Body Hatred" on my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hc_bingo card.
Warnings: horror, body horror, violence, mentions of suicide, blood, disease, body horror, yes I warned for it twice I'm serious
Word Count: 942
Summary: What's dead stays dead. Except... it didn't.
Word of the Day: educe, verb:
1. To draw forth or bring out, as something potential or latent.
2. To infer or deduce.
What's Dead is Alive
Part One
Love makes us do things that, to an outside observer, seem to have no reason. Love makes us do things that sometimes go against what we would rather do. Love, Zachary Zatara decided, was probably a reasonable facsimile of insanity. He could find no other explanation for why he found himself standing on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, dressed in his very best and breathing through his nose to try warding off the rising need to vomit out of sheer nerves.
He had no cause to be this nervous! He was meeting people who he could crush with clever application of his will and magic. He was a homo magi, and these people were mere normal human beings, not even metahumans!
Except they were also Timothy's beloved family, and if they hated him, Zachary had no illusions that Timothy would choose him over them. And if he didn't immediately dump Zach, he'd only be suffering through their disapproval. Zach didn't want that. Tim had suffered enough from life, and he didn't need his boyfriend adding to that.
Zachary gritted his teeth and thought sternly, 'Stop thinking in circles and knock on the door.'
Given just who he was visiting, he was sure that they knew he was here already. But Zach wouldn't put it past Bruce Wayne to allow him to torture himself. He was dating the man's son, after all. He had to prove his worth, or some such thing that made sense to a man like Bruce.
Zachary raised his fist and rapped on the large front door, three times.
"I've got it, Alfie!" he heard, faintly, from the other side.
His mouth twisted into a sour frown. He knew that voice -- Jason Todd, once the outcast son of Bruce Wayne and, as far as Zachary was concerned, still the shame of the family. He hadn't taken well to the addition of Timothy into the family, a bitter jealousy that had led to him attacking Tim several times. Jason had professed regret for his actions recently, but Zachary was not as willing to forgive as Tim's family was. Why they allowed such a mentally unstable creature to live with them was beyond Zachary's understanding. He was rather certain that Timothy didn't understand it either, for he had been spending quite a bit more time in Zachary's presence. (That, admittedly, was a pleasant side effect to Jason living in the Manor, but it did not balance out the fact that he shouldn't be there. In Zachary's not-at-all humble opinion.) He wasn't looking forward to finally meeting the man, and he reminded himself once more how important it was that he be civil.
The door opened.
Zachary started to scream.
****
"I didn't do anything!"
"You are so full of bullshit!"
"I didn't do anything!"
Zach moaned and tried to get away, an animal response to threat, not reasoned at all. His limbs felt heavy and awkward. His head throbbed with pain.
"I believe you, Jason. Look at it logically, Tim. Zatara doesn't have a mark on him--"
"He fell down the stairs!"
A cool cloth was applied to Zachary's forehead when he groaned with pain again. The raised voices were doing nothing good for his horrible headache.
"If you'd let me finish. Zatara doesn't have a mark on him that would account for passing out like that. He didn't get hit on the head or anything, and part of that is thanks to Jason grabbing him."
Dick Grayson. Zachary deciphered his words and hated the man with all his heart. How dare he defend that-- that--
His stomach roiled, and Zachary's eyes flew open -- the light stabbed pain through his eyes, obliterating the throbbing headache with even greater pain -- and he sat up, retching. There was a rattling somewhere out of his line of sight, and he caught a glimpse of a basin being pushed toward him-- too late. He emptied the contents of his stomach on the blankets -- it wasn't much, he hadn't been able to bring himself to eat much breakfast -- shuddered, and vomited again, bringing up stomach acid.
Zachary whimpered with distress and closed his eyes again.
"It's all right, Mister Zatara," a calm voice, British-accented, said nearby. It had to be Alfred. The old butler stripped off the heavy old blanket and took it away. A few moments later, the man returned, and Zachary heard water being poured into a glass.
He opened his eyes again -- with a wince, the light still hurt -- and croaked out, "...Still sorry..."
"I do appreciate that," Alfred replied, handing over the water glass. "Rinse and spit," he ordered, indicating the basin that sat beside Zachary. The young magician complied without argument. His mouth burned and tasted foul.
'As foul as--' he started to think, but his mind shied away from the thought. There was a twinge from his stomach, and Zachary spat out the water, rinsing and spitting repeatedly. Eventually, Alfred liberating the glass from his grip and refilled it from a nearby pitcher. When he got the glass back, Zachary forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls, in an attempt to quell the pain and sickness in his gut.
"I'll bring in Master Timothy, if you feel up to seeing him."
"Just Tim." Zach whispered. "Please?"
"Master Bruce may want to check up on you, sir..."
Zach closed his eyes again. "A-anyone but J--" He cut himself off, as what he'd seen in the dark of the foyer flickered across his mind's eye again, and crushing the impulse to scream again took all his will. He drew in a deep breath. "Just them."
Author: D.L.SchizoAuthoress
Rating: R
Spoilers: probably none? Call it a David Cronenberg-flavored Elseworlds take on Jason Todd
Prompt/Fill: for the whole story -- Author's choice, author's choice, did the devil make the world while God was sleeping? and fills "Body Hatred" on my
hc_bingo card.Warnings: horror, body horror, violence, mentions of suicide, blood, disease, body horror, yes I warned for it twice I'm serious
Word Count: 942
Summary: What's dead stays dead. Except... it didn't.
Word of the Day: educe, verb:
1. To draw forth or bring out, as something potential or latent.
2. To infer or deduce.
What's Dead is Alive
Part One
Love makes us do things that, to an outside observer, seem to have no reason. Love makes us do things that sometimes go against what we would rather do. Love, Zachary Zatara decided, was probably a reasonable facsimile of insanity. He could find no other explanation for why he found himself standing on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, dressed in his very best and breathing through his nose to try warding off the rising need to vomit out of sheer nerves.
He had no cause to be this nervous! He was meeting people who he could crush with clever application of his will and magic. He was a homo magi, and these people were mere normal human beings, not even metahumans!
Except they were also Timothy's beloved family, and if they hated him, Zachary had no illusions that Timothy would choose him over them. And if he didn't immediately dump Zach, he'd only be suffering through their disapproval. Zach didn't want that. Tim had suffered enough from life, and he didn't need his boyfriend adding to that.
Zachary gritted his teeth and thought sternly, 'Stop thinking in circles and knock on the door.'
Given just who he was visiting, he was sure that they knew he was here already. But Zach wouldn't put it past Bruce Wayne to allow him to torture himself. He was dating the man's son, after all. He had to prove his worth, or some such thing that made sense to a man like Bruce.
Zachary raised his fist and rapped on the large front door, three times.
"I've got it, Alfie!" he heard, faintly, from the other side.
His mouth twisted into a sour frown. He knew that voice -- Jason Todd, once the outcast son of Bruce Wayne and, as far as Zachary was concerned, still the shame of the family. He hadn't taken well to the addition of Timothy into the family, a bitter jealousy that had led to him attacking Tim several times. Jason had professed regret for his actions recently, but Zachary was not as willing to forgive as Tim's family was. Why they allowed such a mentally unstable creature to live with them was beyond Zachary's understanding. He was rather certain that Timothy didn't understand it either, for he had been spending quite a bit more time in Zachary's presence. (That, admittedly, was a pleasant side effect to Jason living in the Manor, but it did not balance out the fact that he shouldn't be there. In Zachary's not-at-all humble opinion.) He wasn't looking forward to finally meeting the man, and he reminded himself once more how important it was that he be civil.
The door opened.
Zachary started to scream.
****
"I didn't do anything!"
"You are so full of bullshit!"
"I didn't do anything!"
Zach moaned and tried to get away, an animal response to threat, not reasoned at all. His limbs felt heavy and awkward. His head throbbed with pain.
"I believe you, Jason. Look at it logically, Tim. Zatara doesn't have a mark on him--"
"He fell down the stairs!"
A cool cloth was applied to Zachary's forehead when he groaned with pain again. The raised voices were doing nothing good for his horrible headache.
"If you'd let me finish. Zatara doesn't have a mark on him that would account for passing out like that. He didn't get hit on the head or anything, and part of that is thanks to Jason grabbing him."
Dick Grayson. Zachary deciphered his words and hated the man with all his heart. How dare he defend that-- that--
His stomach roiled, and Zachary's eyes flew open -- the light stabbed pain through his eyes, obliterating the throbbing headache with even greater pain -- and he sat up, retching. There was a rattling somewhere out of his line of sight, and he caught a glimpse of a basin being pushed toward him-- too late. He emptied the contents of his stomach on the blankets -- it wasn't much, he hadn't been able to bring himself to eat much breakfast -- shuddered, and vomited again, bringing up stomach acid.
Zachary whimpered with distress and closed his eyes again.
"It's all right, Mister Zatara," a calm voice, British-accented, said nearby. It had to be Alfred. The old butler stripped off the heavy old blanket and took it away. A few moments later, the man returned, and Zachary heard water being poured into a glass.
He opened his eyes again -- with a wince, the light still hurt -- and croaked out, "...Still sorry..."
"I do appreciate that," Alfred replied, handing over the water glass. "Rinse and spit," he ordered, indicating the basin that sat beside Zachary. The young magician complied without argument. His mouth burned and tasted foul.
'As foul as--' he started to think, but his mind shied away from the thought. There was a twinge from his stomach, and Zachary spat out the water, rinsing and spitting repeatedly. Eventually, Alfred liberating the glass from his grip and refilled it from a nearby pitcher. When he got the glass back, Zachary forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls, in an attempt to quell the pain and sickness in his gut.
"I'll bring in Master Timothy, if you feel up to seeing him."
"Just Tim." Zach whispered. "Please?"
"Master Bruce may want to check up on you, sir..."
Zach closed his eyes again. "A-anyone but J--" He cut himself off, as what he'd seen in the dark of the foyer flickered across his mind's eye again, and crushing the impulse to scream again took all his will. He drew in a deep breath. "Just them."