Shades of the Past

[Timothy Bastian]

A light rap on the door frame startled Valerie Atwood from the file she was reading.

"Oh, hello Timothy." She glanced at the clock. "Right on time I see! Please, make yourself comfortable."

Valerie inclined her head towards the well-cushioned chair across from her as she set aside the file and flipped open her sketch pad. Timothy closed the door behind him and quietly took the seat. Valerie took up her pencil and let her hand start skimming across the page.

"David and I have spoken at length about your situation. We both agree that Saint Joseph's is a good place for you to be, and that you would benefit from continued counseling. We also agree that you should not be forced to do anything you do not want to do."

"Like attend counseling session?" Timothy raised an eyebrow, speaking for the first time.

"We do feel obligated to require that, in the hopes that you'll find it beneficial in time." Valerie smiled amiably. "However, you're only required to come. Your time here is yours to spend as you wish. Forced counseling does not work very well. When you find yourself ready to start exploring the things that bother you, I'll be here to help. Until then, we can talk about anything you want. Or not talk at all, if that's your preference. I want you to feel comfortable to be yourself, to be honest, Timothy."

He regarded her silently and inscrutably for well over a minute before finally responding. "I think I prefer not to talk then."

"Okay, Timothy."

For the next forty minutes, the scratching of Valerie's pencil across the page was the only sound to be heard in the room.

[Timothy Bastian]

The attic door scraped across the wooden floor, its hinges squealing in mild protest. A lanky young boy snuck in, his head covered in wavy chestnut hair. He looked around, trying to spot anything out of place. He knew he wasn't supposed to be up here, but it was only three weeks until Christmas and he just knew Mom would have finished her Christmas shopping by now. Those presents had to be up somewhere, he thought to himself. After all, he'd found the Playstation 2 he'd received for his tenth birthday up here just a handful of months ago. She didn't know he'd found that, so why wouldn't she be keeping the Christmas gifts here, too?

He began searching the room quickly, since Mom would be getting back from her dental appointment in less than half an hour. He looked in boxes. He checked behind old furniture. He rummaged through things on shelves. Frustratingly, he wasn't finding any signs of presents. He noticed a large trunk in the corner, buried under a few suitcases. Shaking the suitcases lightly, he surmised they were empty. No presents there, either. He considered the trunk. It looked kind of old. He didn't think Mom would be clever enough to hide the presents inside a trunk under suitcases, but it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

He hefted the suitcases quickly to the floor, then flipped open the catches on the trunk. Lifting the lid, he was surprised to find clothes inside, old clothes, like the kind they sometimes wore in those old silent movies his parents occasionally watched. Their musty smell made him cough as he rummaged through the trunk, his curiosity temporarily moving from Christmas to the strange garments in front of him. Towards the bottom of the trunk, there were heavier objects. He found several metal plates with images of people imprinted on them. There were a few pieces of jewelry that looked rather too expensive to have been left buried in a trunk. And there was a small leather-bound book.

Timothy lifted the book out of the trunk. The cover was worn but in tact, with no markings to indicate its contents. Flipping open the cover, he realized from the handwritten pages that this must have been somebody's journal. The inside the front cover named the author as Teodors Grunberg. Curious, he began to read.

• 17 July 1901
  
  I feel the spark of life inside of me finally beginning to flicker in the wind. So many years behind me, and what have I left that will endure though the unseen future? With grim realisation, I realised that I hadn't much of an answer to that. Lacking any better ideas, I decided upon this, a humble journal, chronicling my thoughts and experiences as I journey through the end of my life.

He stopped reading. There was something strange about the book he was holding, some ephemeral and fleeting impression that he couldn't quite discern. He brought the page closer to his face, squinting his eyes at the text. He suspected his imagination was working overtime -- finding a strange diary buried in an old trunk in the attic, whose wouldn't? Still, something was most certainly not normal. It was almost as if... it felt strange to even acknowledge the thought, but... somehow, the ink on the pages didn't feel quite real.

As if on cue, the writing suddenly began to swirl across the page. Timothy watched in awe as the lines and curves reassembled themselves into an entirely new set of text.

• The first step to seeing through an illusion is to recognize that the illusion exists.
  
  The book you hold is real, but the ink upon its pages is not. The writing is a spell, keyed to my bloodline, to magic, and to thought. Since you are reading this, you must be my descendant. You must also have strong magic potential, for the magic would not respond to anything less. And you must have been aware at some level of the illusion you beheld, for that was the signal the spell was watching for.
  
  Are you intrigued? I know I was, when I was first told of my potential. But here I am, my life fading before my eyes, and find myself wanting to help you, my future descendant. My knowledge will be of no use to anyone after I die unless I pass it on, so that is what I shall do.
  
  Perhaps this journal is a vain conceit, and nobody will ever come along to claim the knowledge within. Still, I shall endeavor to do my best. At worst, I have passed the last few years of life working towards a false hope. At best, I will one day enable someone, perhaps you, to become a better mage than even I was.

Timothy gaped at the journal. The apparently magic journal, left by his magic great-great-something-or-another, and it's claiming that he could learn magic?

Distantly, the sound of the front door opening broke his dazed thoughts. He quickly closed the trunk then raced quietly down the attic stairs. Somehow, he didn't think it would be wise to let his mom discover what he'd found.

[Timothy Bastian]

Charlie Montgomery was just closing his locker and turning to head to class when Timothy Bastian showed up in front of him, solidly blocking his way.

"Uh, hey, Tim. Er, othy." Charlie shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other. There was something strange about Timothy, and Charlie often found himself doing the most inexplicable things when he was around. "What's up?"

"Hey Charlie," Timothy smiled. "I was wondering if you brought any lunch money with you today? My mother forgot to give me mine, and I'm getting pretty hungry."

"Well, yeah, I do, but..."

"Excellent! You wouldn't mind giving it to me, would you? I mean, you are trying to lose weight, right?"

"I..." Charlie paused. He really should try to lose weight. It really sucked getting called Chunky Charlie all the time.

"Certainly it'd help you lose weight if you skipped lunch. I bet you're not even hungry, are you?" Timothy smiled winningly.

"Well..." He thought he had been hungry. But strangely, he didn't seem so hungry any more. "I guess not..."

"Great! Thanks, I really appreciate you giving me your lunch money, Charlie. You're the best."

Charlie dug in his pocket and handed over his lunch money to Timothy. "Oh, uh, sure. I'm glad to help." Charlie tentatively smiled back.

"See you later Charlie!" Timothy grinned. "Don't worry, you'll stop being fat in no time."

Several minutes after they had parted ways, Charlie's stomach grumbled. Great, now he was hungry again.

[Timothy Bastian]

Valerie Atwood looked up at the curt knock at her door. She was about to tell whoever it was that they could come in when they did exactly that. Timothy strolled in, closing the door behind him, then took the seat across from her.

"Hello, Timothy. You're right on time again, great!" She set aside the file she was looking at and got her sketchpad ready. "How are you doing this week?"

Timothy just sat there. Quietly. Without responding.

After about half a minute or so, Valerie smiled. "I see."

For the better part of an hour, they both sat looking at each other as Valerie's hand danced across the page.

[Timothy Bastian]

A little under a solid week of gibbering incoherently had been enough, he thought to himself, after he had finally sorted through enough of his internal tumult to reach something approaching clarity. He'd taken possession of humans before in the course of his duties, but only rarely and it had never been quite like this. Rather than taking over the human completely, the essences of the demon and the boy grew and shrank variously in the same person-space. There was little conflict. It was negotiation of boundaries, a settlement over whose whose persona was expressed where and how, and the confusion which was now starting to pass was the summary growth-pains.

He felt a small, interior tug, another in a series of similar tugs. These were also an impetus for the boy to stop gibbering and work. He knew that he was missed in the Pit. He had never stayed away so long and they would want him back. When he returned the punishment would be harsh and long-lasting. These tugs were attempts at recalling him to his home plane, weak at first though growing steadily more forceful. He did not intend to go. He was glad that the primary consciousness was the demon's. He could act to preserve himself. If the boy became the primary consciousness he would likely stutter, flounder, and be pulled back. He knew this in both parts of his mind.

Magic had gotten him out of the Pit, he reasoned, so it would likely be magic that would have to keep him out it. He needed to find an anchor to this world. The body he was inhabiting was not quite enough to keep him here for much longer.

He understood that he had the body of a child, so he thought it would be prudent to find someone with an age approaching his own body's to coerce. Wizards tended to be power-hungry, regardless of their age. Further, the young were pliable. He could likely bend a young wizard to his will. He would promise him power and grant him it. In return he would get to stay out of the Pit, at least for a time, and if he was careful he could shape their arrangement to favor himself rather than the wizard.

And, thought a smaller part of his consciousness, it would be good to teach someone things they didn't know, to be of help, and to maybe make a friend.

He made himself as presentable as he could, though he knew he was filthy, and let his vision slip into magical sight. Throwing the hood of his sweatshirt over his hair, he took to the streets and went out in pursuit of a young wizard.

* * * * *

Timothy made his way through the darkening streets of Kings Row. He had just finished arresting a small group of Trolls that had commandeered an office building, which amounted to an hour's credit towards his community service sentence. With the other work he'd done so far tonight, that made four hours. Four hours was more than enough for the night. It was growing late and he was sick of being another one of the city's "heroes".

"Excuse me, sir?" He heard a young voice call out to him as he passed an ally. It was probably a stupid homeless person looking for a handout. Timothy kept walking, picking his pace up slightly.

The other person wasn't that easily deterred, though. Timothy heard someone start hurrying after him, followed by a loud, "Wait! I need your help!"

Sighing, Timothy stopped and turned to the person. He knew he should've stayed invisible for the walk home. He considered just going invisible and leaving the person behind, but maybe he could finagle some easy time against his sentence out of this, depending on what the person needed. "What is it? And what makes you think I'm going to help you?"

The boy that approached him was perhaps the filthiest thing Timothy had ever seen, short of the Vhazilok. His clothes were muddy and disgusting, and in places torn. His hair, hidden though it was under his hood, looked to be matted and gross. And the smell... he smelled something like a port-a-potty. Maybe some of that wasn't exactly mud.

"You're a wizard. I can see it." The boy stopped a bit short of Timothy, looking incredibly pathetic. "I need the help of a wizard."

"What do you mean, you can see I'm a wizard?" Timothy frowned. "I'm not exactly walking around doing parlor tricks."

"I can see magic, and you glow. I need your help."

"Well, what do you need?" Timothy wrinkled his nose. "I can't magic away all that filth if that's what you're looking for."

"I'm a supernatural being from another plane. I got brought here, and now I'm lost. I have a lot of magic, but I don't know how to use this body. I hardly know anything about being human."

Timothy considered the boy. He was earnest, but there were subtle hints of anxiety and possibly even desperation about the way he carried himself. He seemed fairly harmless, but Timothy knew too well that looks could be deceiving. "Tell you what. I'll take you to MAGI. If you're really a magical creature, they'll be able to sort you out." And he'd also probably be able to get them to sign an extra hour's credit towards his sentence.

The boy hesitated for a few moments, then acquiesced with a nod. "I will follow you. What is your name?"

"I'm Timothy."

"Thank you Timothy. You can call me Barjnal."


((Special thanks to Barjnal for co-authoring this with me!))

[Timothy Bastian]

Cathy Bastian flipped through the coupon section from last weekend's paper. Twenty-five cents off the deodorant that Rodge likes, snip! Seventy cents off the juice Timothy likes, snip! Buy two get one free on paper towels, snip! She found coupon clipping somehow relaxing. She glanced at the clock. Timothy would be home soon. Rodge was out of town tonight with a motivational speaking gig in Santa Cruz, California for a growing biotech company of some sort, so she'd probably just start up supper after Timothy got in. He was usually hungry when he got home, so he'd like that.

Slam! Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk! Slam!

She looked up from her coupons. She reasoned that that would have been the front door slamming shut, the sound of Timothy bounding up the stairs, and the sound of his bedroom door slamming. She sighed and set her scissors down, wondering what had happened this time, then headed upstairs.

"Timothy." She knocked on his door. "What's the matter?"

"Leave me alone!" He screamed from his room, then slung open the door. "This is your fault! I told you! You didn't believe me!"

Cathy stepped back in surprise at his tirade, her eyes widening as she saw him. His nose was bloody, and his left eye looked like it was starting to bruise. And he had obviously been crying, probably right up until he started screaming.

"Timothy, what happened?" She started to step towards him, concerned, but hesitated given how angry he was. "Are you okay?"

"No I'm not okay! They beat me up! I told you this would happen! I told you they were threatening me on the bus! But you wouldn't listen!"

"Oh, honey, I..." She felt a pang of guilt. Timothy had come to her several times over the last few months, asking her to drive him to school so he didn't have to take the bus. He claimed some of the older kids kept teasing him and threatening him, but she figured he was just exaggerating. He liked to exaggerate to get what he wanted, sometimes. So, she'd said no. "I'm listening now, okay? Let's get you cleaned up, okay? And tomorrow I'll drive you to school and you won't have to worry about it anymore."

He seemed to calm down some from his anger, starting to cry again instead. Cathy moved in to hug him, saying comforting things to him to try to soothe him. He buried his face against her shoulder. All things considered, maybe it really would be better to drive him to school for a while.

[Timothy Bastian]

Fifteen minutes into their fourth session and, as usual, not a word had been said by Valerie nor Timothy past Valerie's initial greeting. The only movement in the room was Valerie's pencil, sweeping about the sketchpad.

"So what're you drawing, anyway?"

Valerie blinked, briefly surprised, then looked at the sketchpad. Though clearly incomplete, a scene was emerging amidst the various doodles. Two boys stood on opposite sides of the page. The one on the left had a tail and vaguely resembled Timothy, though the features were not yet filled in. The boy on the right had a normal body, but there was a faint sketch behind and around him of a creature with horns, large wings, and hoofed feet. A smooth solid line connected the center of each boy's body. The boy on the left stood alone, watching the other side of the page. The boy on the right was surrounded by other smaller figures. Most of them were poorly defined, but some had notable features: one had what appeared to be feathered wings, another looked to be encased in ice. She turned the sketchpad and showed it to Timothy.

He sat quietly for a few moments. "Huh. Doesn't look very good to me."

"Does it mean anything to you? The figure on the left looks like it might be you."

Timothy hesitated, looking at the sketch neutrally. "The figure on the right is Barjnal."

It occurred to her that the drawings she had from Barjnal's sessions often had similar, though more strongly defined, features. "And the rest of the scene?"

"They're clearly all the people that just adore Barji." He rolled his eyes dismissively, but there was a faint whisper of bitterness in his voice. "The guy with feathers is probably Nathan. His boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, anyway."

"Any idea what this line is, that connects you both?"

He frowned slightly, then answered a bit evasively. "We just have a special connection, is all."

"What do you mean?"

A longer pause. Timothy stared at the page for a while before looking away again. He added off-handedly, "We just share a bond. He is my adoptive brother after all. What else could it be?"

Timothy settled back in his chair more, no longer paying the drawing any attention. Valerie surmised that he was done speaking for the day. She turned her sketchpad and let her hand drift back into action as she pondered his reactions.

[Timothy Bastian]

The front door to the Bastian house opened then closed with a slam. Hurried, angry footsteps ascended the stairs as the front door opened and closed again, this time somewhat less forcefully.

"Timothy, come back here!" Roger yelled up the stairs after his son. "We're not done talking to you."

"Rodge, calm down." Cathy followed her husband towards the staircase. She was concerned, because it was extremely rare for him to get this angry over something, even when it came to their son. "He's not going to listen if you just yell at him."

But Roger wasn't listening any better than his son was at the moment. He went up the stairs to Timothy's room, his wife following behind him. He swung his son's door open and stomped into the room.

"What the hell were you thinking? We raised you better than that!"

Timothy turned away from his bedroom window to face his father with defiance. "Better than what? You always tell me to use my head, well that's what I was doing!"

"Scamming kids out of their lunch money? Conning them into doing your homework? We never taught you to do that! And using magic to boot! Where the hell did you even learn to use magic anyway?!"

"I taught myself! Not that it's any of your business."

Cathy tried again to get a word in, to try to diffuse the situation some, but her husband talked right over her. "It most certainly is my business! Especially when it leads to a conference with the school's principal and a three-day in-school suspension! You're grounded for a month, and I better never hear of you using this magic crap again, and especially not against other people."

"A month? But that's forever! And you do it yourself! You use magic all the time when you're out doing those stupid talks, and you don't even realize it!"

"Timothy, I don't know the first thing about magic, but if you don't watch it I'll ground you for the rest of the year. I'm serious, you can't pull this shit!"

"Rodge, come on, let's give him some time to think." Cathy put her hand on Roger's arm. "I think you've made your point."

After a few moments, Roger turned and left the room. The sound of his footsteps could be heard traveling down the staircase. Timothy also turned, then leaned against the window sill to stare outside.

"Timothy, why?" She looked at her son, a touch sadly. "Why would you do something like that?"

"Because they're all so stupid, Mom." His voice was calmer but still angry. "Why not? They'd do the same to me if they could!"

"No, Timothy. A lot of them wouldn't." She sighed, then closed the door behind her.

[Timothy Bastian]

"Timothy? Remember what I asked you about?" Barjnal played at the hem of his own shirt a bit, nervously. "They're tugging harder. Have you looked into it yet? Have you decided?"

He certainly remembered. Three weeks ago, mere days after he'd first met Barjnal, they'd had a rather long and enlightening conversation. Barjnal had divulged his big secret: he was a demon. A demon who had merged with a boy and didn't want to go back to being a demon in hell anymore. But his host body didn't anchor him well enough. He needed a stronger anchor. Thus his request. He'd asked Timothy to bond him, as a familiar. Barjnal had claimed that wizards commonly have familiars, and since Barjnal was really just a magical creature, it should be quite possible.

Timothy had initially dismissed the whole thing, not believing that Barjnal was really a demon. Then Timothy demanded proof, and the boy-demon made a compelling case by using his otherworldly demonic voice. The sound of it was torturously violent, a rumbling basso profondo that made his soul tremble. He'd actually had nightmares from it over the days that followed. It was hard to reconcile the demon with the boy, but Timothy had, and afterwards he'd started doing research.

"I've been looking into it. It's a lot to figure out in such a short amount of time." Timothy frowned. He'd been scouring books for the past few weeks. His great-great-grandfather's journal didn't have squat to say about taking a demon on as a familiar, so he'd been visiting libraries and magic shops throughout the city. "If I do it, I can't just bond you as a familiar. You're not an animal or some simpleminded spirit. I also can't just bind you as a demon, because you're not completely a demon anymore."

"But you're a powerful wizard, Timothy. You can figure something out." His tone took on an earnest, almost pleading sound. "I'm worried, Timothy. If they keep tugging harder, they'll pull me back soon."

Timothy sighed. Ever since he had taken Barjnal to MAGI, he'd been virtually stuck with him. MAGI had decided that Timothy would be a great person to help Barjnal get acquainted with the world. At first he had found it annoying, but over the last few weeks he'd been surprised to find himself starting to think of Barjnal as a friend, even despite the knowledge of Barjnal's true nature. The prospect of Barj getting yanked back into hell frightened him. He really didn't want to see that happen to anyone, and especially not Barj. But bonding to him also frightened him. The magic he'd figured out for it wasn't to be taken lightly.

But he really couldn't just let him be dragged off to hell.

"Okay, okay. I found some spells about soul-bonds that looked helpful. They're really the only thing I've found that would definitely anchor you well enough to me that they'd not be able to pull you away from me. Unfortunately, they might be able to pull us both down if I just do that. But I also read up on some stuff about binding demons and about binding familiars. I think I can mix the principles of the three together and pull something off. I think I can mix aspects of the soul-bond and the familiar-bond magics together and forge a bond that'd basically be both. The soul part would anchor you, and the familiar part would give me a measure of authority over you. Not that I'd turn you into a slave or anything, but if you willingly entered into such a bond and I used the right magic, it would severely lessen the authority that the other demons can claim over you."

"When can we do it?" Barjnal didn't even bat an eyelash. That worried Timothy. He was pretty desperate if his only response to that was "when".

"Barjnal, soul-bonds are rarely entered into." He sighed. "They're permanent, Barj. They last as long as the souls do, even after the end of our current mortal lives."

"That will just mean we get reincarnated together." Barjnal shrugged. "I didn't want to go back to hell after I died anyway. So when can we do it?"

"Erm, well, if you're sure..." Timothy hesitated, then mustered his resolve. "Tomorrow night. That'll give me time to acquire the things I'll need. We'll start working shortly before midnight."

Timothy really, really hoped that this wouldn't end with him getting dragged off to hell with Barjnal.

[Timothy Bastian]

Timothy had scarcely settled into his chair across from Valerie before he spoke up. "So, what else have you drawn?"

Smiling, Valerie fished out a sketch from a previous week. "Well, here's the one from our first week."

There were various scribbles and doodles about the page, but most of the sheet was occupied by a particular dramatic scene. On the left side of the paper stood a huge, horrific looking dragon. It had large, ragged wings and clawed feet. Cruel horns grew out of its head, and fire spewed from its mouth across the page. Two boys stood opposite the dragon, on the other side of the sheet. The first was dressed in armor, like a knight. His shield was blocking the dragon's blast of fire, and his sword was raised threateningly as though ready to strike. Behind him, the other boy cowered in fear of the beast. He was dressed in rags and looked vulnerable and helpless.

The first boy, the boy with the sword and shield, had a tail.

"What do you think?"

"Looks like a dragon to me."

"A rather angry looking dragon, I thought. What about these two?" She indicated the two boys.

"I dunno." Timothy stared at them for a few moments. "The knight looks like he's saving the peasant from the dragon."

"Does it have any meaning for you?" She smiled encouragingly.

"For me? Uh." He looked at the sketch again. "Well, since it's my sketch, and since the knight guy has a tail, I'm going to guess that's supposed to be me. Though I'm hardly a knight in shining armor," he added wryly.

"I think that's probably a matter of perspective. This guy probably thinks otherwise." She tapped the second boy. "Why do you think you're the knight here?"

Timothy shrugged. "Could be for Barjnal. I saved him from the streets, and from the Circle, by taking him to MAGI."

"In that case, the dragon may be the Circle."

He considered the dragon's demonic features. "Maybe." He didn't think it was the Circle. "That could be it."

"Saving someone from the Circle is a pretty knightly thing. Especially when it gets their life headed down a safe path, like it has with Barjnal."

"I guess." Timothy looked away from the sketch.

"So, has anything of interest happened for you this week?" Valerie smiled again as she put the drawing back away into Timothy's folder, then got her pad ready to start sketching this week's.

"Not much." He shrugged again. "Just classes and stuff. You know, like normal."

The rest of the session was sprinkled with short verbal exchanges interspersed with awkward pauses. The topics of conversation tended to be unimportant, but Valerie was fine with that. Timothy was actually starting to talk and that was good progress.

[Timothy Bastian]

Timothy stepped quietly into his dorm room and looked around. All three of his roommates were out, which suited him just fine. He didn't trust Mis, neither his sanity nor his patience, so he tended to avoid interacting with him at all costs. Ginga wasn't so bad, but he didn't like fighting his way through his impossible accent and Ginga's antics with Stasis and Erika had really grated on his nerves. And Rocco was impossibly obnoxious, so absurdly self-inflated and flamboyant that his mere presence tended to give Timothy a headache.

He'd just gotten out of his session with Conrads. His final session. And for once, he'd actually come out of there feeling pretty good about things. Payne Academy was off the table! They were letting him stay! That alone was worth celebrating, but the rest was astonishing. Sure, he hadn't actually gotten out of counseling entirely, but he wouldn't have Conrads trying to leverage the empathy angle on him anymore which was a huge relief. And even better: he wouldn't have to keep heading out on patrol! Somehow, Conrads had overruled Wolston and gotten him out of it. When he'd made that gambit he hadn't expected he'd actually win, but the gamble had really paid off.

He opened his dresser and pulled out his patrol uniform. He held it up in the air, looking at it. Pale blue and light teal spandex. He hated it, hated running around in the stuff. Barjnal had talked him into getting it, forever ago, insisting that he should have a real hero uniform since he was a real hero. Timothy knew he wasn't anything approaching a hero, but he'd bought the outfit to make Barji happy. Their original deal had been that he'd only wear it when they went on patrol together, which appeased Barji well enough. It had come in handy over the last several months, though. It had impressed some of his contacts and some of the people at MAGI and Freedom Corps. He suspected it had helped contribute towards the good image he had built to help him get out of being sent to Payne Academy. But now? He was done with that part of it all. No more heroing meant he'd not have to wear the damn thing again.

He threw it in the garbage can, then laid down on his bed to relax and reflect. No more running around the city like an idiot at every moron contact's every whim. No more rescuing imbeciles who couldn't manage enough intelligence to stay out of the way of the city's villainous groups. No more arresting, no more fighting.

But beneath the irritable demeanor he presented even to himself, ignored and banished to the depths of his mind, were more uncomfortable thoughts. No more mistakes. No more failures. No more fatalities.

Barjnal would be crushed that he had thrown the patrol uniform away if he found out though. And Barjnal would find out. He always did. Sighing deeply, Timothy got up and rummaged the uniform out of the garbage. He shook it out, looked it over. It didn't seem to have picked up any debris from the garbage, so he balled it up and threw it in the back of a drawer.

At least he wouldn't have to wear it any more. Now maybe he could relax a bit.

[Timothy Bastian]

Timothy and Barjnal sat cross-legged across from each other. They were in their quad, by themselves since they still didn't have any roommates. The floor was a bit messy but comfortable, a few random articles of clothing scattered about but nothing too badly in their way.

So what's up, Barj? Timothy projected his thoughts telepathically through the bond. They'd been practicing this for the past few weeks, ever since Barj had mentioned that it was something they'd probably be able to do. Timothy had immediately asked for them to pursue it and, after a lot of trial and error, they'd finally managed to start communicating. Once they figured out how, Timothy had been amazed that he hadn't realized they could do it sooner. It was so amazingly easy. You mentioned doing something more with the telepathic connection.

Barjnal practically bounced on the floor. I think we can! I've been looking at it and thinking about it and I think we can open it up further. Instead of just telepathy, more like empathy. Like completely tuning in to each other!

Timothy raised his eyebrows. Empathy? So, instead of just hearing your voice, I could feel whether you were upset or happy or bubbling over with unwarranted enthusiasm?

Exactly! Barji giggled. Though it's usually pretty warranted.

Uh huh. Timothy grinned. Sure it is. So how do we do this? It sounds like it could be interesting.

Well, I haven't done it before so I'm not entirely sure, but so far we've just been looking at our own end of the bond and hearing what echoes across it. But I think we can actually move through the bond, like a tunnel! Barjnal gestured incomprehensibly, probably trying to suggest a tunnel. So instead of staying at the doorway, we walk through? I've felt at the bond and I think it could work that way, maybe. It's not like trying it would hurt anything anyway, right?

Timothy felt within himself at the place where he was listening to Barj. He could feel the bond, could feel the way it anchored into himself and reached outwards to Barjnal. And he could feel that it did actually seem something like a tunnel, a strange passage with mystic energies and who knows what else moving back and forth between them. Wow. Why didn't we notice this before?

Because we weren't looking for it, goof! Barjnal giggled.

Timothy rolled his eyes. Yeah, okay. So how do we make use of it?

I think we should both try to move through it to each other. If we're both trying, then we may each have an easier time getting to the other?

Okay. Timothy nodded. That makes sense. Ready?

Yep! Barjnal beamed. Go!

Closing his eyes, Timothy felt at the bond, tried pushing at it, tried moving through the eddies and currents of their fused magic. He could feel it fluctuating and changing, and got the impression that it was reacting to whatever Barj was doing on the other side as well.

"Try opening it up, Timothy." Barjnal spoke aloud, probably deciding that it was safer than speaking through the bond while they were trying to work with it. "I think we have to open it up, kind of? I opened my side up so you can probably get through now once you figure out how."

Timothy reached at the bond, pulled at it. Frustratingly, he couldn't make anything happen. He took a deep breath, relaxed, then mentally willed himself to open up. Willed the bond to broaden. He reached at it again and to his surprise discovered that it had actually done something: the bond had changed. It was hard to think about in tangible terms, but it was as though a blockage had been removed. He moved at the bond and found that he could reach through it with his mind.

So he went through.

Energy! Enthusiasm! Wow! Barjnal's thoughts, feelings, emotions, mind all washed over and around him, the foreignness of it overwhelming him for a few moments. Timothy! I can feel you! And Timothy realized he was feeling Barjnal, too. Awe at what they'd accomplished. Excitement. Curiosity. Barj started looking deeper at Timothy, so Timothy started looking deeper at Barj. Memories and knowledge skittered by at the edge of his awareness, things he recognized from their shared recent past as well as things he was unfamiliar with, vague impressions of a depressed youth and a dissatisfied demon. Fortunately, those days were gone, and the recollections of depression and dissatisfaction were now only distant memories floating faintly through the fluidity of Barjnal's consciousness.

Then he felt Barjnal bring his feelings about Timothy to the forefront of his mind. He was trying to show Timothy how much he cared about him, taking hold of this opportunity to express his feelings to Timothy in a way he couldn't just shrug off like he had in the past. Respect for his abilities. Appreciation for saving him. Genuine friendship. But more... Much more than friendship. Absolute trust. Complete acceptance. And... and love. Shockingly, love. Affection. Adoration. Commitment.

Timothy was overwhelmed, overcome. Nobody felt that way about him. Nobody.

He opened his eyes, awed. Barj was looking back at him with warmth and affection. They each knew the other fully now. They each knew what the other was thinking, feeling. They knew. They knew.

Timothy leaned forward, his heart racing. Barjnal bent toward him in anticipation.

[Timothy Bastian]

"And then I bumped into Ekaterina, who was dressed up as that stupid Ninja Turtle reporter of all things." Timothy rolled his eyes. "Talk about looking stupid."

"I saw that costume, actually." Valerie laughed. "April O'Neil. I thought it was pretty good. So you didn't do anything for Halloween yourself?"

"Hell no." He made a disapproving sound. "Why would I want to dress up like an idiot, or worse, go hang out with a bunch of other people dressed up like idiots?"

"Well, most people do it to have fun, to enjoy the company of others." Valerie smiled, considering Timothy. For the past several weeks, he had actually been talking. He hadn't asked to see any of her sketches again since the one with the dragon, but he'd been responding to her questions and volunteering small tidbits about his daily life. Granted it had been nothing of any great depth so far, but they had been slowly building trust. But perhaps it was time to try probing a been deeper. "Why do you dislike other people so much, Timothy?"

Timothy paused, seeming momentarily surprised at the question, and Valerie wondered for a moment if she'd made a mistake in judgment. Then he relaxed a bit, and avoiding direct eye contact, he replied. "Because they're all so incredibly stupid."

"Are they really?" Valerie considered his posture. He was shutting her out a little, but not fully. "I'm sure some of them probably are. But all of them?"

"Well, they all certainly do stupid things often enough." He shrugged. After a moment or two, he added offhandedly, "Besides, none of them like me either. So it works out."

"What makes you think they don't like you?"

Timothy looked at her like she was stupid. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, not really." She smiled amiably.

He grimaced, watching Valerie's hand move about the sketchpad for a few moments. "Nobody really is ever all that friendly to me. They get an attitude with me pretty quickly. They never say my name right. And I usually make it clear to them that I don't like them either, so then they really have no reason to pretend otherwise in return."

"Maybe they're just reacting to what you give them." She shrugged slightly. "If you make them think you don't want anything to do with them, that's what they'll do."

"They've always been like that, no matter what I do. Even people who act nice eventually stab you in the back." He scowled, but Valerie got the impression it wasn't directed at her. "It's better just to not give them traction to begin with."

"But then you end up alone."

Timothy rolled his eyes and replied dismissively. "Whatever. I'm better off that way."

"Are you really?" Valerie regarded him earnestly.

He frowned, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Our time's up."

She glanced at the clock as well. They actually still had eight minutes left, but she wasn't going to push.

"Okay then, I'll see you next week Timothy." She smiled. "Enjoy your week."

"Yeah, you too."

She watched him leave, then glanced at her sketchpad. There was no cohesive drawing this week, no overarching theme. But in the bottom left corner, away from much of the rest of the doodles, a small figure of a boy seemed to stand out to her. He was sitting on the ground with one arm wrapped protectively around his legs, looking incredibly forlorn.

His other arm, however, was reaching out.

[Timothy Bastian]

"Hey, I'm gonna need to see some ID, buddy. There's no way you're twenty-one."

Timothy pulled out his driver's license and showed it to the clerk. A small illusion had changed his date of birth by several years, and a small mental nudge towards the clerk forestalled any further questions.

"Okay, you're good."

He ambled through the store, looking for the vodka. Vodka was a bit harsh, but he could certainly down it. And after he downed some, the rest would go fairly smoothly. He'd need a glass bottle though. Plastic wouldn't shatter. He found a bottle that fit the bill, a nice large one, and took it up front, paid for it, left.

He wandered the streets for a bit, not really thinking about anything for a long while. Forgetting for a bit that he'd even just purchased a bottle of vodka, forgetting what he'd planned. It was so cold out. It was easier to not think. It'd probably snow later, he realized. He remembered, looked around, decided a rooftop would be better.

Up through the air, to the top of a building.

How could Barj do this to him?

The bottle opened, he swigged.

How could Barj abandon him like that?

It wasn't fair. Barj had hurt him, betrayed him, by returning to Nathan, his ex-boyfriend, even though he was with Timothy now. And then when Timothy had showed him how badly it had hurt him, by projecting his hurt through the bond, Barj had the gall to get mad at him? It wasn't fair!

It burned, burned in his throat, his chest. It felt harsh, felt good.

Barj had pushed him away, talking of space and telling him to get better. But he was getting better, was being nicer to people and more honest with himself, and didn't Barj know how much he needed him?

They'd seen it in each other. Barj should have known. Barj did know.

Total rejection. Another swig. Barj probably wanted to get back with Nathan all along.

He should have known.

What was he supposed to do now?

It didn't really matter. Nothing really mattered.

He had his vodka, a near empty bottle. It was cold, he was getting drowsy.

He hefted. It shattered, glass scattered. Dampness spreading, the smell of alcohol even more strongly in the air.

He touched the shard, embraced its sharpness. He found warmth.

Sleep washed his troubles away.

[Timothy Bastian]

"All right, class. Settle down." Mrs. Schneck's voice was more than a touch exasperated. She couldn't wait to get out of substituting and into a real teaching position. Students just did not cooperate with substitutes. Trying to keep them all behaved while also trying to teach them the day's lessons sometimes seemed impossible. And this particular class was exceptionally difficult. Even their normal teacher, Mrs. Dudley, had indicated in her notes that no less than eight of the class's twenty-two students would likely cause problems. Don't let Thomas sit near Frank or they'll fight all day. Don't let Carrie sit near Amy or they'll talk all day. Make sure Ryan sits up front where you can keep an eye on him. Don't let Timothy or Micah go for a drink or to the bathroom except during break times because they tend to go wandering the halls. And be careful of letting Clarence answer questions because he liked to use four letter words during class. What she'd failed to mention was that Liz, Sarah, and Tami never stopped talking either, and that Arnie insisted on being a full-out class clown. Like right now, he was throwing a paper airplane across the room.

"Arnold Fallow, sit down. If I see you throw anything else across the room, you're going to the principal's office. Everyone, in your seats. Mrs. Dudley wants you to watch this movie about Asia, and then you can go to recess and burn all the energy you want. Francis Jacobi, don't you dare." Frank sighed and decided against hitting Thomas with a spitball. For now, anyway.

Mrs. Schneck put the tape in the VCR and turned the television on. She glanced at the class and saw Timothy Bastian waving his arm in the air. "What is it now, Tim?"

"I need to go to the bathroom." He stood up, clearly ready to go trotting out the door.

"You can wait until recess. It'll be after we're done watching this."

"But I have to go!"

She was distracted for a moment as Thomas started yelling at Frank, who'd evidently got his spitball in while she was looking the other way. "Timothy, sit down, you'll just have to wait. Frank, go to the principal. No, just go. I don't want to hear about it."

A few minutes later, she finally got the class relatively settled, the video playing, and the lights off. Amazingly, they all seemed to tone down during it. The film went through some of the different cultures and countries in Asia, describing the people and their cultures in brief. It was only half an hour, which was fortunate because she could tell that the students' attention spans were starting to drift towards the end of it.

Once the movie ended, she flipped on the lights. "Okay, time for recess. Everybody line up so we can head out to the yard. Orderly. No pushing." The students pushed anyway, of course. She noticed Timothy sitting in his chair still. "Timothy, come on, you can use the bathroom on the way out."

He fidgeted in his chair for a few more moments before standing up. But she wasn't really paying any attention to him anymore since Thomas was now trying to pick a fight with Clarence.

"Tim already used the bathroom!" Arnie started laughing. And of course, that led to a bunch of other students laughing. She turned and looked at Timothy, who was standing meekly and awkwardly next to his desk. A large wet spot went down his pant leg.

Arnie managed to reign in his laughing long enough to start talking again. "Timmy Tinkle couldn't wait for recess, so he used his pants instead!" And then, several other students started talking about "Timmy Tinkle".

Mrs. Schneck grimaced. This just was not her day. "That's ENOUGH. The next person who speaks is standing in the corner for the rest of the day." That shut them up pretty quickly. "Timothy, go see the school nurse. She'll call your mother. Everyone else, out to the yard. Now!"

For the first time all day, they all did what she told them to. Which was very fortunate, because she was getting very close to losing her temper with them all.