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He hated waiting. He always did.
The night crawled on - slow and heavy as he stood under the flickering streetlights.
He tugged again at his worn-out pink shirt, feeling the cool air brush his exposed skin where it rode up.
"Could this shirt ride up any higher? Go on, expose my soul while you're at it."
Exasperated, he slumped against the cold brick wall and watched the club's neon lights flicker and pulse.
Trixie’s.
Funny.
He hadn’t thought about her in years, but her name still popped up from time to time in weird places like this. What would she think of him now?
No. He couldn’t go there. Not now.
Timothy pushed off the wall, feeling the ache of another long night.
"Why do I keep doing this?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the distant thumping bass of the club.
Walking on autopilot, he wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, but the motion helped ease his nerves.
His hands dug into his jean pockets, fingers playing with the loose threads inside, a nervous habit he never quite grew out of.
His phone buzzed, luring him into a message from a contact he didn’t remember saving:
“I can help you remember. Meet me at the corner of Pine and Maple. Tonight. 13:00. Tell no one.”
Timothy raised an eyebrow. Unsaved numbers weren’t unusual in his line of work, but this seemed overly cryptic.
Another buzz: “Don’t make me wait, Timothy Turner.”
He blinked at his name. Whoever this was, they also knew him more than his current self. Someone from the past? But who?
Timothy checked the time. It was nearing midnight, and Pine and Maple was a long walk away. He should ignore it – let it slide like he did with everything else. But something about the message crawled under his skin and stayed there like a virus.
When Timothy reached the corner, it was deserted. The streetlights above cast eerie shadows that mocked him across the cracked pavement.
He frowned, scanning the space. Was this some kind of sick joke?
“I see you got my message…” a sudden voice came from the darkness.
From the shadows emerged a stranger wearing a navy coat, his face partially hidden beneath a hat with sapphire hair barely visible. There was something off about this guy, something… otherworldly.
“...Timothy Turner.”
That made him pause.
Hand dramatically over his heart. "Oh, we’re on a first-name basis now? Cute, I can work with that," he added a wink for good measure.
The man seemed stunned and disgusted.
Seeing the man's hesitation, Timothy stepped forward and dramatically checked the time, "Well, get on with it, Sherlock- in my business, time is money.”
The man sighed, clearly regretting every decision that led to this moment. "You’ve forgotten something important.”
Timothy looked unimpressed. "Yeah? Well, I forgot to pay my electric bill last month, but I don’t see the universe sending trench coat guys to give me a lecture." Timothy smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Now, if you don’t plan on paying for my time…”
The man cringed and started his speech again. “You don’t remember me, but I know you, Timothy. I know what you’ve lost - ”
Timothy rolled his eyes, his overly flirtatious tone quickly dropping to a low annoyance. “No, I don’t want any of this cryptic crap. Just tell me what you want and how you know me.”
His instincts told him to walk away, to shut it all down, tell the stranger to fuck off.
But a small voice inside of him was begging him to stay.
The man hesitated before looking at him with pity.
“...when was the last time you felt truly happy?”
Timothy’s mind went blank. That was not the response he was expecting. The words hung in the air like a challenge he didn’t want to face.
Timothy’s fingers dug into his pants pockets, playing with the threads.“Look, if you’re trying to get me to spill my secrets, I charge by the hour, cutie.”
The man looked repulsed, but Timothy couldn’t resist the urge to wink.
The man, visibly annoyed and uncomfortable, pulled out his phone and started muttering something about trying anti-Wanda’s idiotic idea.
He started to play a retro pop song.
The opening chords of a familiar melody filled the air, and - then, something clicked.
For a moment, the heavy weight of this adult life lifted, "I remember this song from when I was a kid! This was my jam! Who knew Chip Skylark would be the soundtrack to my existential crisis?"
How could he have forgotten something as stupid as a song about shiny teeth? A little voice inside him harshly reminded him that he had blocked everything he once knew, forcefully suppressing memories of his childhood and past life.
And yet, it was like the floodgates had opened, and a part of him that had been locked away for so long was coming back to life.
Vicky.
She was a nightmare babysitter. Probably psychotic. Didn’t she kidnap Chip?
… and then…
..then…
No, something was missing.
Something was wrong.
There was more to the story.
His knees buckled.
His heart hammered in his chest as the fuzzy memories surged forward like a tidal wave. He saw them— Cosmo, Wanda. Vague images of how they had been with him, protecting, helping, and loving him during his childhood.
And then they were gone.
The man stepped forward, his voice soft and gleeful. “Starting to remember?”
Timothy clutched his head. The pain was immense.
The stranger crouched down beside him, “Da rules are cruel, Timothy. Once a child loses their fairies, the memories are erased. It’s meant to protect you, stop you from missing something you can never have again. But all it does is leave … a void.”
The man smiled faintly revealing a set of fangs “ But I can help you Timothy. Your past isn’t just something you’ve forgotten. It was taken from you, ripped away so violently that your mind had to fill the gaps with something else. The more you remember, the more your current reality will start to fall apart.”
But what choice did he have? His current reality sucked - in all senses of the word. No, he needed to try anything to escape.
He turned to the man, grinning. “What could possibly go wrong?”
The man stood, offering Timothy his hand. “Good, I can see this is the beginning of an exceptionally marvelous partnership.”
That's when it hit him. How could he be this stupid? He didn't know this man's name.
“Who are you, anyway?” Timothy finally asked, “You seem to know a lot about me. Should I be flattered or worried?”
The stranger stopped and turned to him, a shadow of a smile on his face. “You could say I’m someone who has a vested interest in revenge.”
Timothy raised an eyebrow. That wasn't a good answer.
The man’s lips curled into a smirk. “plus you’ll need all the help you can get. Fairy World isn’t exactly a place you can just waltz into for morning tea. We’ll need a way to get there without raising too many alarms. If that buffoon Jorgen or the fairy council catches wind of, let’s just say it won’t end well.”
“Fairy World? Fairy council?”
“Yes, please do keep up. Oh, and the name is Anti-Cosmo”
“Anti-Comso?”
Taking a deep breath, Timothy steadied himself, his heart still racing from the flood of half-remembered memories.
Slowly composing himself. He looked at the man. He knew he couldn't trust him. He practically screamed evil.
Yet, as he glanced around at the dark, empty streets, the cold, lifeless city closing in on him, he felt the weight of his life pressing down on him like never before. He couldn’t keep doing this—barely scraping by, chasing distractions to numb the emptiness. He needed more than waiting on street corners.
Maybe he could outsmart this guy, use him to get back to Fairy World, and then find a way to knock him out.
The plan felt fragile, like a desperate hope grasping at the edges of a crumbling reality. But standing there on that grimy street corner, Timothy realized he couldn’t wait any longer. Not for answers. Not for meaning. Not for happiness.
He always hated waiting.
Building confidence, he smiled and looked at AC.
“Where do we start AC?”
Anti-cosmo practically flying in glee, “Leave that to me, my dim-witted friend!”