Chapter Text
“I really hope you aren’t just roping me into some group therapy session,” Jason complained. “My job description is crime lord, not shrink.”
“What would we even call that group? "Ex-cultists who gained new powers’ anonymous?”
Bernard rolled his eyes at his new vigilante mentor, who sat practically gripping the bar to keep his distance, a glass of water gathering condensation as the ice cubes evaporated, untouched. They’d only been waiting a quarter of an hour, and already Jason had become antsy. His foot twitched, and his eyes flared at every slight movement, not helping to ease the equally nervous Bernard.
They were only five minutes from the agreed-upon time, and so far, they were alone. No familiar face sat at any of the seats; nobody stood outside the door, nor did anyone seem to be in the back room.
Bernard wondered if maybe it were his fault they hadn’t shown- he imagined most would blame him for the dissolution of the cult and, if Esen’s views were any consolidation, at least some of them were still devoted to the cause. Perhaps it was counterproductive to work with people who still wanted to be in the cult; either way, they could at least have given Bernard some idea of what they were facing.
A nudge, and Jason gestured towards the door.
The bell rang as it opened, and three figures stepped in, two of whom had familiar faces- Esen, their tall frame filling the doorway, and Thomas, one of the quieter members of the cult. The third, a mousy brunette woman in her thirties, held no familiarity, but there was no doubt she had been in the cult judging by the half-faded scars that lined her face like a map. After a quick examination, Bernard saw that none had a Thing attached to them.
Bernard stood, going to shake their hands, before realizing that was maybe a bit awkward. He settled for a wave.
“Hey Esen, Thomas, and..?”
“Anastasia, dear, but Ana works. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I feel that may be a touch inappropriate.”
Ana offered her hand with a soft smile, and Bernard shook it, grateful to be able to follow someone else’s direction.
He thought absently of how easy it was to follow someone in even the smallest of interactions, something each person in the group had done, one brainwashed mind after the other.
He held back a laugh. Kind of like a fucked up conga line.
The group of five all took seats at a nearby corner booth, Esen gesturing for a round to the bartender. Jason stayed in his seat, swiveling around to face them but otherwise not moving.
Esen seemed to have kept to the brief; they wore a hoodie–obviously stressed on purpose–and skinny jeans that showed off their model-long legs. A green hat sat low over their face, and thick sunglasses flashed in the low-hanging light above their table. Naturally, they couldn’t bear being seen anywhere that didn’t suit them, but Bernard appreciated the effort.
The other two seemed much more authentically down to Earth, though each was covered quite heavily, even considering the autumn weather. Ana had her hair tied up in a brown scrunchie, light, natural makeup doing nothing to hide her scars, and a gray trench coat done up to her neck. Thomas wore a blue turtleneck, woolen gloves, and tan brown trousers that were just too short to cover his ankles, his black hair left loose around his jawline.
The bell above the door rang again, and two more people slid into the booth, a blonde Russian girl Bernard recognized, Yekaterina, and a tall, muscled woman he’d only seen a few times. Tattoos hugged her biceps, and Bernard wondered if they were the size of his head.
Yekaterina nodded, characteristically quiet, face still. The tall woman smiled, eyes slightly crinkled.
After a round of muttered greetings, three others joined the group within the next ten minutes. The bartender perked up, seeing the amount of drinks they were about to be paid for, only to deflate when most people ordered the cheaper alcohol-free options. Esen, Yekaterina, and Bernard were the only ones in the group to choose alcoholic drinks, and even then, Bernard only had a weak glass of wine.
The atmosphere became tense as the ordering finished, and they had no reason to avoid the conversation, so Bernard stood.
“Sit down; this isn’t town hall,” Jason said, rolling his eyes with reproach.
“Uh, sorry. Anyways.” Bernard took a deep breath. “I only know, like, half of you, so can we do introductions? If y’all are comfortable.”
“I’d say you should also state what powers you have, given that’s why we’re really here,” Jason added.
His tone stayed flat, keeping to his usual to-the-point delivery he seemed to prefer, but when Bernard looked at him, he nodded. It wasn’t much, but the encouragement was still there.
“Sounds good to me,” the muscled woman said. “I’m Luciana, and I found out I can make people dance with just a touch. If I concentrate, I can even make them dance a specific way, though usually it’s just erratic and uncontrollable for them.”
Yekaterina stood. “Hey, my name is Yekaterina, and last Wednesday, I woke up to find I’d turned into a snake. Since then, I’ve turned into a tiger, lion, goat, bull, and a panther too. I can also grow certain aspects if I try, but it can hurt. Here.”
She held her hand up, and the group gathered in to shield it from the view of other patrons in the bar.
Fur sprouted from the back of her hand, sparse at first, but soon becoming a thick, golden mass that spread out until all the skin up to her elbow was covered. She smiled.
“That’s the lion part for you. Who can outdo that?”
Esen waved a hand in the hair. “You can become animals;, well, I can create them. Watch.”
They covered their mouth with a napkin hidden in their sleeve, beginning to cough and hack, until a snake with golden eyes and vermillion scales slid out, curling around their wrist. It scanned the table, blinking as the other ex-members and Jason inched away, no longer caring to try to hide what they were doing from other bar patrons.
Esen clicked their tongue, and the snake turned to him. They stared into each other’s eyes, and a look passed between them, before the snake shook its head, took the napkin Esen held out to it, and disappeared into their sleeve.
With a smile, Esen’s gaze rose to the group. “I can now control how they look, and with practice, I can now make larger snakes if I try. They do what I make them, and I hear their voices in my head.”
“If I turned into a snake, do you think you could tell what I was saying?” Yekaterina asked. “I can’t speak in animal form.”
“I suppose we could always try alone sometime,” Esen suggested.
“I can make people drunk with a touch!”
The… well-covered man who sat in the middle raised his gloved hand. Bernard couldn’t tell, given he was covered head to toe in clothing, but he imagined underneath all the fabric was a massively blushing guy. While he had raised one hand, the other was held up to his chest in a fist, pinching the fabric like a nun clutching at a rosary.
“My name’s Thomas,” he blurted, “and I can make people drunk. Like, if I touch them. With my skin on their skin. Or my hair. I found that one out when I went to the hairstylist’s last week. That’s why I’m wearing the hat.”
Thomas chuckled, ducking his head.
“Sorry, joking. I, uh… I kinda figured covering up was best, to reduce contact. I felt bad about it, I guess?” He shrugged. “Shame my power isn’t more like yours. Being a snake sounds cool. Spitting them out… not so much. No offense.”
Esen waved a hand.
Ana, sat in the corner, raised her hand. “Hi, I’m Ana. I can make people dance uncontrollably when I hum or sing. It’s kind of annoying, though., I was working in the office two weeks ago, and I hum while I work. I turned around to see the intern pirouetting, throwing coffee everywhere.”
Bernard snorted, and a few others at the table chuckled. Even Jason smirked.
“Hi,” a girl about Bernard’s age with cute bantu knots waved. “I’m Sonia, and I can… I still don’t know. I think I give people seizures? Sometimes it means they convulse really hard;, others, they just go still and drop.”
“Absence seizures,” Jason noted. “Not too fun.”
Sonia grimaced. “I had a guy pee on me the third time. That’s when I decided there was something wrong with me.”
“Not wrong,” Esen chided, “we’re gifted.”
“Don’t start,” Bernard scowled.
But the model just shook their head, reaching out a hand to Bernard, who pulled back. They redirected, cupping both of Sonia’s hands in their own.
“You remember what we did. Don’t you think it’s just paying off, dear? We have so much, and now we get to become so much more. It will be glorious. Those of us who gave and expected nothing in return, the ones who didn’t falter-“ their eyes flickered over to Bernard- “will surely only have more to gain—“
Before he knew it, Bernard had leapt up, snarling as he went for Esen’s face. Maybe he could scratch them, get a punch in. They liked pain still, clearly, so a little more wouldn’t make them too mad—-
A tug, and he was sitting back down, Jason holding onto his shoulders. He stood tall, drawn to his full height, and a swell of nerves rose in Bernard’s stomach.
“ Not. Here.”
Jason jerked his head for Bernard to look behind him, where the bartender stared them down, one hand under the table. If this were Metropolis, they’d be reaching for a button under the desk to alert authorities. In Gotham, things tended to be different. Bernard erred more on the side of it being a rocket launcher than a little SOS button.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “To Jason, not you, Esen.”
“Naturally,” huffed the model, flipping their hair like some dramatic teenager.
Bernard sighed. “Alright, let’s be efficient. What’s your name and power?”
He nodded to the furthest person to the left, a guy in his mid-tTwenties, whose dark brown hair ended just past his ears in neat twists.
“I’m Mikhail, and so far, all I can do is make people dizzy. I don’t have to touch them;, I just will it to happen. It can get pretty severe, but it’s not much.”
“Cool.” Bernard turned. “And you?”
“I’m Cendrillion,” the bald girl replied, “and I can cause people to hallucinate. I need to be pretty close, but I haven't tested exactly how close, though.”
“Okay, wonderful. I’m Bernard, and I can see these… well, I call them Things—-“
“But that’s a dumb name.” Jason interrupted.
“—- which I think are, like, physical manifestations of people's souls or something. But I can interact with them. None of you guys have any, though, which is… odd. Now we’re done with intros, how about we address the elephant in the room. How many of you know about Asher?”
The group looked down, some clutching their glasses, others fidgeting with their clothes and hair.
“That answers that,” Jason drawled. “So, I’m assuming you all don’t want that to happen to you. We need theories.”
Cendrillion cocked her head to the side. “Of what? We all know he died of thorns in his veins. Not like we’re still wondering if it was the flu or something.”
“Yes, but how?” Bernard shook his head. “We need to tell whether Asher had powers like us, and if those powers killed him, or if someone else with powers came after him.”
“The news says they think Poison Ivy did it,” Thomas supplied.
In his corner, Jason groaned, and held his glass to his head like he’d been hit.
“Dude, she’s not the one who did it, I can promise you that. I’m calling it now:, either Asher lost control of his powers, or another ex-member came after him.”
“Well, I'm not sure whether to hope it’s the first or the latter,” Luciana commented. “What it sounds like is that either we’re going to die because of our own powers, which we can’t escape, or we’re might be being hunted by some deranged dude who wants to fill us up with foliage for some unknown reason.”
A slight wave of pain rose in Bernard’s head, and he winced. He’d hoped the low lighting and cool drink would stave off the headache that had been building since his morning date, but that seemed, unfortunately, to not be the case. It rested just behind his eyes, running along his head from temple to temple.
Ana sighed. “Love the go-get-em attitude, Luci, however—-“
“It’s Luciana.”
“Fine. Love the go-get-em attitude, Luciana . However, I think I’d prefer to know which one of the two it is so we can deal with it, rather than freaking out about either possibility. How do you guys think we can figure this out?”
“Well,” Jason began, “I’d say we get a better idea of the time span y’all were in there, what your first contact was, and what changed about you while you were there. So let’s start time- wise—- who was there longest?”
“I joined about a year ago,” Esen offered.
“I joined five years ago,” Thomas added.
“It was about seven for me,” Luciana said.
The group all put forward their starting dates, ranging anywhere from a few months to ten years, but only one person stayed silent until the end.
“I have something to confess,” Ana blurted, silencing the rest.
She bit her nails, eyes darting around the table.
“Go on,” Bernard nodded.
“I joined in early October, 1983.”
Bernard blanched. Forty years ago? But…
Jason laughed, eyes crinkling. “No way, lady., You’re no older than twenty. You’d have to be what? At least triple the age you are, unless your power hasis something to do with immortality.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I just… I joined then, and came out with the rest of you, only while you all went back to a relatively recent year to what you joined, I had no explanation for how it was forty years later, and I’d barely changed. One, five, seven years is a long time, but the way you lose track of time in there, it might have made sense to you all. Not to me. I’ve been lost, but how could I ask any of you for help? We were connected by those days, and they’re over–- I think. I don’t mean to blame you, of course, but it’s so… it’s so hard to know what to do.”
Ana sighed, her head sinking into her hands as she began to rub her eyes. Her nails were bitten raw, the skin around them even peeled off. No lines etched her face, but the stiffness of her shoulders, the defeat in her half-hidden expression, and the mix of faded and new scars all over her pale skin seemed to make those extra decades on her life span seem more plausible.
Bernard reached over the table and squeezed her hand.
“I’m sorry you felt so alone, Ana. You didn’t do anything to deserve it.”
She smiled back, eyes watering slightly. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you could tell us about youryou joining? It seems you’re the one who joined earliest, so you may be closer to when the cult started.”
Ana nodded. “I joined in Greece. I first met some party-goers in this underground club in Athens, when I had just moved to the city from my small town. I had no one else I knew there, so it just felt… comforting, to have friends there. I had someone I could talk to in the day, go for coffeecoffees with, or someone to watch my back partying. It could’ve been days, weeks, months, maybe even a year or two, but after some time, I just gradually went out with them more and more until I didn’t even realize the party never stopped.”
It was a feeling Bernard had known all too well. There was an ease to the partying;, once he met the people who took him in–- he became easily reliant on them, and the feeling of safety while at a party where he’d usually be scared of being spiked, having his valuables stolen, or getting hurt at, lowered his defenses. Before long, he was… yeah .
“It wasn’t hard to get in, just like falling asleep after a long, hard day,” Ana explained. “But getting out? It’s felt like I’ve spent the last few years groggy and disoriented, like I’ve woken up at three a.m.am with no idea where I am or what I’ve done to get there.”
Jason shifted, the new information almost breaking his casual facade. Bernard knew he had no Thing to gauge his emotions off of, but the way Jason bit the inside of his cheek, or the way he seemed to go somehow even more still, as if controlling his reactions, ledlead to the natural conclusion of one thing–- he had no clue what was going on, and needed to know more.
“So,” Jason drawled, “that leaves us with two pretty important bits of info- what can we do with this, though? I mean, there could be decades, maybe centuries, of this shit before Ana. How, how do we know her extra few decades can actually offer any insight?”
“It feels important,” Thomas offered, before quickly ducking his head. “I- uh… I mean, I know it’s not solid evidence, but something does make me feel like it’s significant. The year she joined… it kind of makes me feel a little carsick to think of, in a way.”
“Myself included,” Esen concurred.
“Mhmm,” Yekaterina agreed.
All the ex-members murmured their assent, Bernard included. For him, the thought of 1983 just made him… itchy.
Jason nodded. “Ok, so if your weird vibe check thingies are all in agreement, then Ana is the main person who could tell us about all this shit. As much as this seems like a jackpot, I’m guessing you weren’t really taking notes on what was happening as you were partying it up in the 80s, were you?”
Ana shook her head. “No, not really. I don’t even remember the names of the people who who took me in. I think they were women. It all kind of melts into one dream, where I know things happened at some point, but can’t actually remember how, in what order, with who, why… all those things, I guess.”
The quickly melting ice clinked in Bernard’s glass as he swirled it around, unsure how to react. He got the feeling- they all did, but some new, sick feeling riled up in his gut. The thought of how long he could’ve been stuck there was only just beginning to settle, and he wondered if he’d still be nineteen if he hadn’t managed to get out, or if he would have stayed that unsure eighteen-year-oldeighteen year old that went in. The thought of never changing from who he was, stuck for decades, maybe longer, made his leg bounce under the table.
“Well,” Ana bit her lip, “there is one thing. When I joined, I think there were definitely way less people in the cult than there were when we disbanded. Like, I don’t remember when I never stopped partying, but I do remember one time… whoever I was with had convinced me to go to a new place to party. We never really strayed from the places they brought me, and I remember being put out when I got there, ‘cause there were maybe only twenty people or so. There were a few others not so happy, too, I believe. The people I was with, I don’t remember what they said or did, but they seemed, I don’t know, anxious, or frantic almost?”
“Like they were conducting a delicate mission, and it looked as if they were worried their work wouldn’t pay off?”
Ana shrugged. “I guess? Not really an expression I’m specifically familiar with per se, but sure, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what they were worried about. Reminds me of when I’m doing an event planning job, and someone wears white to a wedding.”
She laughed, but there was little mirth to the sound. Her hands began to twitch, and she began to pick at her already raw nails.
“Did they change anything else from when you began until the end?” Esen asked, making themself useful for once, to Bernard’s surprise. “Perhaps they changed a routine, or the food and drink. Maybe they were preparing us for the next great step, towards the end, and you’ll have been able to notice what us newer disciples couldn’t.”
There it is, Bernard sighed internally. They can’t go more than a sentence without dick-ridingdick riding the cult.
“As creepy as that was, they have a point,” Jason offered.
“Hey–-“ Esen protested.
“Did you notice any change, then?” Bernard interrupted.
Ana shrugged, hands still twitching as she peeled more skin off. “I guess… Therethere was more fruit. They always offered fruit, almost as much as they offered drink, but towards the end, it felt as if they couldn’t fill us up enough. They just… they just kept plying us with it.”
Bernard nodded in agreement. “True, I felt like they were trying to force-feedforce feed me when I met them at the parties, before I fully joined. It creeped me out a bit. Maybe if they’d been a bit more forceful, I’d have been chased off…”
He bit his lip, averting his face from the others to the table. No one ever tells you in all those articles about leaving a cult, just how embarrassed you feel about it. How much of a dick am I? ‘If they gave me too much fruit, I might not have signed up for a torture cult.’ How bright.
“I always noticed the change in fruit, too,” Ana said. “At the start, I was eating everything you could imagine and more. The variety was… astounding. But towards the end, it was almost all grapes and pomegranates. Red fruits.”
The twitching in Ana’s hands had seemed to intensify over the last minute, slowly creeping up as her arms began to jerk, then her shoulders, then her neck, side to side to side to side. A slight tapping had begun to creep silently into the hum of the pub, and Bernard realized her foot was jiggling under the table.
“Alright,” Jason clapped his hands, beginning to stand. “I’m tired as shit. It’s been a long day, and I think we’ve got a good grasp of what’s going on. We have a vague idea that it started in the eighties, gives people wack powers, there may be a team working on recruits, and a load of other fun stuff. All in all, I think we’ve learnt enough for now, and if we need more, or you remember anything, then we can learn that as things go.”
The sudden announcement left Bernard vaguely confused, but he just downed his drink and stood.
The rest of the group followed suit, beginning to nod and wave their goodbyes, shrugging on coats and zipping up bags as they quickly fanned out of the booth, and headed towards the door. One of the arms of Esen’s sleeves twitched, and Bernard kept a wide berth in case the snake decided to pop out again.
Outside, the cold air brought back the clarity that his drink had begun to wear away at, and he took in a deep breath before following Jason, who was already making his way down the street.
The vigilante’s hands were pushed deep into his pockets, and he grunted a brief acknowledgment as Bernard caught up to him.
“So that was… unsettling.”
Bernard tilted his head. “What do you mean? As in Esen still being such a suck-upsuck up to the cult? That’s old news. Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”
Jason laughed. “You think Esen was the only creepy part of that whole shindig?”
“Was there something I was missing? Ana got a little shaky recounting her story, sure, and I guess with good reason, but surely you’ve seen shit like that and stuff a dozen times creepier, let alone just hearing about it.”
“Are you serious?” Jason stopped, eyebrows furrowed. “None of you… Nonenone of you breathe right. The whole time we were there, you blinked three times. I counted. It was the same with the others.”
“Fuck off,” Bernard laughed. “What, like we’re just part of some horror story or something? Don’t try to spook me, Jason; it, it won’t work.”
“ I’m being serious .”
At that, Bernard’s mouth dried slightly. He hadn’t heard that tone from out of Jason before, and he fully believed him after that.
When Bernard tried to speak, his voice sounded much smaller than it had previously been.
“So when you say we didn’t breathe right…”
“All of you were so still . Then, one of you would look at me, or some loud noise would go off, and you’d take in a breath in sync, all around the table. When you launched at Esen, it’s like you all took your first breath of the evening. I only called it a day early because I was so creeped.”
Jason shivered, lips curling in a look of revulsion.
“Like you said, I’ve seen- and done- and been- some creepy shit in the past, but that is up there. Big stuff can be heavy to deal with in my line of work, but the smaller, subtler scary shit? That’s what tends to get me. With all the deaths, and the fighting, and the injuries, you want to know what I get nightmares about? Mud and smoke. It’s… yeah. It’s something.”
The two fell silent.
Bernard’s face scrunched in contemplation.
“None of them had… Things, either. Now that makes you and the ex-members the only people who I haven’t seen with one.” He hesitated. “You died, right?”
“Something along those lines,” Jason grunted.
“Do you think that maybe people who have died lose them? Like maybe me and the others died or something back there, and just haven’t noticed? Or maybe we lost our souls, something like that.”
“Are you saying you think I have no soul?”
“No! No, I don’t think that’s quite… no.”
They turned a corner, down a street where the only source of light was a neon ‘closed’ sign in a shop window, and a flickering street light. Bernard was familiar with the street, and though it wasn’t far from his apartment, he realized they were going in a different direction fromto where he should be heading home.
Bernard’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, to see a text from Tim light up the screen.
Hey Bear, want to go out sometime this week? I’m free…
The rest of the text didn’t show in the notification, and instead of finding out what else his boyfriend was saying, Bernard pocketed the phone with a sigh. With the night they’d had, he was too tired for dates. Besides, if he didn’t blink all date, or forgot to breathe, Tim would be immediately suspicious. Or worried. Either way, it wouldn’t be good. He just had to avoid the issue.
Bernard looked up to Jason.
“Are we done for the night, or are we off somewhere else? ‘Cause my place is back that way.”
“We’re heading to one of my safe houses,” Jason said, jerking his head in the direction they were headed. “I figure itwe would be smart to start putting all the pieces we have together, and seeing if any of the books I have could shedspill some light on this shit.”
“I mean, books sound good to me, but also, I’m hoping you have Wi-Fi so we can Google it first, dude.”
Jason scoffed. “I don’t think Google has what I have, kid.”
“What, about three different complexes and the inability to show affection outwardly when you very obviously feel it for those you care about?”
The punch he received to his shoulder was, in Bernard’s opinion, very well deserved if he was being honest.
“Stop being a little shit.”
“Noted.”
———————-
When Bernard thought about what a safe house looked like, he imagined a small basement under a government building, plain white walls, maybe a crappy bunk bed in one corner, and a lot of things made out of metal.
Instead, he was directed to an apartment on the edge of the park, tucked in between an old deli and a set of flats. The middle of the three slightly rotted windows had a soft orange light, glowing behind a white translucent curtain. The lobby was mostly plain, bar a small table decked with a stack of magazines that were probably about Bernard’s age, and two comfy-lookingcomfy looking but slightly deflated red couches.
The apartment inside was similarly understated in design choices, but comfort was clearly a priority for whoever designed the place. Assorted couches and armchairs of various shades of blue were scattered amongst the many large metal boxes that lined the walls, and piles of books, all hardbacks, populated every surface- the small bookshelf in one corner, the arms of the couches, the floors and the kitchen island counter.
The kitchen was simple:, one wall lined with the sink, cupboards, and a washing machine, and an island with different pots filled with spices and teabags stood in the center next to a block of knives.
A few doors lined the walls, presumably leading off to bathrooms, bedrooms, and storage cupboards.
Jason strode in as Bernard took in his surroundings, the older vigilante shrugging off his coat as he settled into the kitchen.
“You want a drink, kid? I don’t have much, but I’ve got the basics. Tea, coffee, some orange juice, I think is still in date, whatever you want.”
“Just some water will be nice, thanks.”
“Coming right up,” Jason replied, flipping on a kettle as he went to get some glasses from an overhead cupboard.
After a few minutes, he poured himself a cup of tea, sliding Bernard's water over the counter to him, and the two went to sit, each to their own couch in the corner.
“Ok, so this place is pretty disorganized,” Jason started, placing his cup on the floor, “but all these books can be useful for research, pretty much. The piles are organized into different areas of interest- this one is on Roman mythology, that massive fuck-off pile is on runic inscriptions from the Middle Ages, this one focuses mainly on Greek myths, but there arethere’s some Ancient Roman crossovers, as well as one volume that focuses more on neo-paganism and its ties to Greek myth–-“
“And this one is about a family that are all dickheads, who killed a girl and are being grilled by a spooky inspector,” Bernard grinned, holding up a copy of An Inspector Calls that came from a pile by his couch. “I’m guessing this is more the fun reading pile than the useful reading pile.”
“Useful reading can be fun,” Jason mumbled.
“I remember Tim telling me you were a nerd.”
“He’s just jealous I can read.”
Bernard rolled his eyes, picking up a book that looked vaguely useful- The Consequences of The Moon by H. Larrikin- and began flicking through.
It was an illustrated piece, dozens of sketches on brown paper, photographed and cataloged to such a precise degree that Bernard wondered if a sketch was made for every centimeter the moon rotated, and another two for every rotation of the Earth. He mainly focused on the drawings, after a while of attempting the long, small-letteredsmall lettered paragraphs and finding himself zoningto zone out.
He shifted every few minutes, a habit of fidgeting that had always annoyed his father, not that he couldn’t understand.
In his own corner, Jason sat quite still, relaxed but posture perfect, and Bernard was reminded of a soldier. His dad had a knack for recognising anyone with even a day’s military training, and after so long of trailing behind his father, Bernard had begun to notice the same things. The set of shoulders tended to prompt him to mind his own posture, shake hands a bit more firmly, all the things his father taught through example.
ItIt’s was this lesson in observation that had caused Bernard to pickpicked to Tim out from the crowd, all those years ago onat their first day of school together. His questions about what clique he got into really meant nothing. He wasn’t trying to figure out where the boy fit; he, he already knew he didn’t. If he had got somewhere, he’d have easily just let him walk on by.
“This might be something,” Jason commented, pointing to an illustration of a Satyr-like man. “Pan seems like the kind of god who’d like madness, a guy that can spit snakes and a girl that can turn into different animals.”
“Too old,” Bernard dismissed, moving on toonto a different book. This one had fewer drawings. Shit.
“Hold up, what do you mean ‘too old’?” Jason’s voice rose at the end, aghast. “You were just looking at pictures of the moon- don’t pretend you were reading shit aside from the labels- and the moon is way older than any spoken word tales, last I checked.”
“Pan is too old of a god. He’s not interested.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason spluttered, “have you met the guy? Maybe asked him his opinions of the cult over a nice coffee and lunch perhaps?”
Bernard shook his head. “I just know.”
“How?”
“I…” he thought.
How do I know?
“I just do. Pan isn’t it. It’s like when we were in the bar, saying that ‘83 felt relevant. Except instead of there being some kind of feeling there, there’s just… nothing. Not a suspicious lack of anything; I, I just feel the same way as if you said Tony the Tiger was behind it all.”
“You know what? Fine. I’m assuming–hoping–- hoping- that you know how ridiculous that sounds, and will take your word for it. Also, breathe, please.”
Bernard inhaled. “Sorry, got distracted reading. I’ve never been able to focus with small writing. Audio books are my kinda vibe, and comics.”
Jason sighed. “Fine, just… do the jelly bean method.”
“The jellybean method?”
A small bag flew at his head, and Bernard let it hit his face, bouncing onto the open book in front of him.
“Damian’s the same, ADHDadhd and all that fun stuff. Put a jellybean at the end of every paragraph, and once you’ve read it fully, eat it.”
“Like the reading version of a donkey with a carrot on a string.”
“Shut up and read.”
————————-
“Why did you put that book down without even reading it?” Jason asked, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with werewolves.”
He got a grunt in reply.
—————————
“What about Odin? Not Greek, but here it says he’s the god of mead,” Jason suggested, after reading two more books.
“Nah. You were closer with Pan.”
“Fucks sake.”
Jason picked up the last book he’d put down.
—————————
Jason sighed. “It’s five a.mam. I’ve almost run out of tea, and I’m tired. I’m saying we call it.”
Bernard shook his head. “No, there’s answers in this room, I’m sure of it. Or do you doubt your book collection, Jason?”
“Don’t try to goad me. I’ve had years of resistance training from… literally all of my siblings.”
“Fine, but I’m not stopping. You can, but all I’m saying is you have two teabags left, and I know you don’t work or socialize or anything during the day, so you being a night owl more than usual won’t hurt. Come on, there’s going to be something .”
Jason sighed. He liked to do that.
“Fine. One more book.”
“Not quite. I was thinking of switching things up.”
Bernard swung his legs off the couch, picking a pen and notepad off one pile, and making his way to the kitchen counter. He began to scribble as Jason made his way over.
“Fuck are you doing? This is not as enjoyable as reading.”
“It’s called writing.”
“Those are words?” He leant over, squinting.
“Yes, they are! Oh, just–- look. It’s a mind map.”
“So glad I’m not telepathic. Looks confusing.”
Bernard groaned. “Look.”
He pointed to the word in the middle. “The starting point is these three points- cult, Greece, 1983. Then I’ve noted the main things we know- the powers, the aging, the partying, excessive alcohol and fruits, basically everything we said at the meeting, and the not breathing thing.”
“Ohhh, I see it,” Jason said, pointing. “That says Greece.”
“I hate you,” Bernard glared. “Look, we’ll use these to have as a visual aid, so we don’t not forget anything while we’re looking, and add to if we find anything I get a feeling about–-“
“Wait! I just remembered something:, the third book I read mentioned something about the Bacchanalia. It didn’t expand, but if I’m right…”
He pulled out his phone, beginning to tap at the screen. After a minute of searching and scrolling, he held up a screen for some university website. With an illustration of women dancing naked.
“Nice?”
“Why do you only look at pictures?” Jason grumbled. “Look, it ticks off almost every box- the drinking, the parties, the frenzy, the magic, the rituals. I think Dionysus is who gave you guys powers.”
“Holy shit! I saw something about it in the first book I read- ok, looked at the pictures of. A harvest moon in September. If Ana joined sometimesome time in late September, she’d have joined after the harvest moon. Maybe the reason it was so empty wasn’t because it was new, but because it had been emptied. Think about how old Dionysus is. He’s not just gonna start up a random cult in the eighties;, it’s going to go back years, centuries at least. Maybe every time the cult reaches full capacity, everyone gets sacrificed. Maybe I left just before they started to… empty it again.”
Bernard began scribbling again, much more furious than when he started, as the dots connecting started to give him a new energy to pursue the answer with. Even Jason had perked up, and he leant over the counter to peer at what was being written.
“If you left just before he needed you, then that means you guys leaving will have pissed Dionysus off big time. So why is he giving you powers? That seems more of a reward to me. We should look back on reports of people turning up with powers in Greece in the eighties, see if anyone else got out then.”
Bernard shook his head. “Feeling nothing about that one. I think… people have left, but I think they left before being pulled fully in. There areThere’s people alive who escaped. I, I can feel them, kind of like if a blanket could feel loose threads. They’re out there, but not in the area we are.” He got quiet. “Lucky for them, in a way.”
They went silent for a moment, Bernard regretting decisions he didn’t make, and Jason staring intently at the notepad.
The older vigilante took in a quick breath, snatching the pen, and began to fill a new page with neat calligraphy.
“So you know how I was dead?” He asked, not turning away from his writing.
“Yeah, I figured you were, what with the explosion and that.”
“And you know how I have no Thing?”
Bernard snickered. “Yeah.”
“Shut up. Well, I was resurrected in this thing called a Lazarus pit–- sort of, it’s a long story, but after I came back, I was fully revived by being submerged in it. It healed and strengthened me. The only thing is, a few years back, I wanted to figure out how it worked. I, I just couldn’t let it rest. That’s how I stumbled upon Dionesuim.”
Jason placed the pen down, turning with his back to the counter. He couldn’t quite tell what, but something in his posture shifted, and he felt a slight urge to step back.
“Dionesium,” Jason sighed, face drawn, “is a liquid metal typically found buried pretty deep underground, and is the source for the Lazarus pits I was revived in. Its natural healing properties are so strong it brings back the dead. From what I understand, its history far predates Greece itself, let alone its myths. The researcher who discovered it, Paul something, just named it after Dionysus because he was god of rebirth, and until now, that’s where the link is assumed to have ended. Now I’m not too sure.”
The new information was just sufficient enough to make things click in Bernard’s head, but there were still many things he didn’t truly understand about the situation. They were just putting together a jigsaw that still had missing pieces.
“Bernard?” Jason asked, voice hesitant.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t–- Damian, he has one of those Things, right?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to Bernard before–- he’d never seen the young Wayne-Al Ghul with one before. Since his abilities had surfaced, he’d only seen the kid twice, once being when he FaceTimed Tim on a small coffee date, asking where his sketchbook had vanished to.
“I, uh… I haven’t seen him with one, the few times I’ve seen him since, but it just kinda made sense, so I didn’t think too much.”
Jason bristled. “Made sense? What does that mean?”
“Nothing bad! Just… he seems like a guarded kid. He obviously tries to keep himself to himself, even when being affectionate, so I figured his was always hidden out of sight. You’d be surprised how many I always catch a glimpse of. Or not. It is Gotham, after all. I mean, I didn’t even pay much attention to you not having one, so Ii don’t think you need to worry about him, ok?”
“Of course I do. The, the little snot is my brother.” He sighed. “Look, it’s hard to explain, but just because I don’t get along with all the other Batkids doesn’t mean I don’t care about them being safe. They deserve to at least be as safe as they can be, even if they do throw themselves off of rooftops every night. I did, so they do, too.”
Bernard nodded, turning to flip through the book. As an only child, he’s always figured he got how siblings cared for each other, through watching his father and aunt, and in a way, he could see how the two families were similar. His father wasn’t friendly with his sister, but Bernard knew he still checked the news of whatever country she was in, back in her architectural days. The only difference between the Wayne siblings and the Dowd siblings was; with the Waynes, they bickered, but it never seemed overly hostile. His father, on the other hand, despised his sister. Every time she was brought up, his mood soured, and he always had something to say about Bernard if he saw any resemblance between his son and his sister. Jason talked about them in a much different way, quite as did Tim talk about the Waynes, too.
“I think Damian will be alright,” Bernard said quietly.
“I hope so.”
The pair stared at the paper, neither makingmakign another move to add any notes.
“I think we can carry on another day,” Bernard suggested.
Jason just nodded, and flopped down on the nearest couch. He gestured to a door by the entrance.
“There’s a bedroom in there. Get some rest. Be quiet.”
Jason hesitated.
“And maybe reply to Tim? We have agreed terms to me coaching you.”
“Sure. Night.”
——————————
The bed was a comfort Bernard hadn’t felt since his nights at Wayne Manor. The mattress was in that happy middle ground between soft and supportive, and the quilt was weighted but breathable.
He’d left the windows cracked open, not that they went out far, being on the top floor, and the blinds were shut just enough to block out the nearby streetlight, but not enough to hinder the breeze that cooled his flushed cheeks and forehead.
Bernard clutched a pillow, arms wrapped tight around it, wishing it were a warm body, something solid beneath his hands to let him drift off in comfort. He wanted hair beneath his fingertips, warm breath on his shoulder, skin on his own. Just a reminder of someone else, really.
Maybe he should reply to Tim. Ask him how his photography gallery was going, ask him if he wanted to meet up, get some greasy pizza, and watch a shitty movie.
His head began to throb, and he sighed, rolling over.
He could message in the morning.