Chapter Text
“Tim, darling, you must eat.” Nikola’s words echoed in his mind like a broken record. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew she was right. If he didn’t eat, he would die - and as much as he hated his very existence, that would be worse.
Tim had starved himself for as long as he could and he felt weak. His borrowed skin was loose over his plastic bones and the scent of fear in the air all around him was hard to ignore. It wasn’t long until he either went mad with hunger or the skin no longer held together. The former was preferable as in that case, he wouldn’t have to think about feeding, but the latter was more likely. And not having a skin to cover the plastic that made up his true body made hunting for a new skin very difficult.
So he found himself on the prowl for somebody weak and afraid whose skin he could steal and claim as his own. Every time he did this, he was reminded of the night Danny died. Somebody (long gone now, thank God) had stolen his brother’s skin for this very same purpose, only with much more panache. Tim preferred a more subtle approach. He would simply corner some poor soul in an alley and do the deed. No big show, just business. He always hoped the next time would be easier than the last, but it never was. He hated how good it felt to drink up his victims’ fear, how comfortable fresh skin felt against his plastic. He hated killing innocents just so he could survive. And he especially hated that every time he used his powers it fed the Stranger.
Of all the entities to end up claiming him, why did it have to be the Stranger? The one entity he hated most? Not that he’d have been happy with any other, he just really hated the entity that had killed his brother. It was a miserable existence, living to feed his enemy and always hoping to someday get his revenge, despite knowing it would never happen. He’d never be able to fight something so powerful, especially not on his own. Yet he refused to give up that sliver of hope. It was what kept him going, kept him from giving in or giving up.
There. His senses, heightened by his hunger, alerted him to the presence of someone with great potential for fear. Like some kind of beast stalking its prey, he followed the poor guy down the street, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It was late at night; the streets were far from busy. It wasn’t long until he spotted an empty alley where nobody would notice them.
Tim sized up his victim as he followed him, debating the best strategy to entice him to his death. The guy didn’t look like the kind of person to respond to the suggestions of a dealer or shady salesman, nor did he look like he’d stop for a beggar. No, Tim would have to resort to more direct tactics. This was the kind of guy who cared about his belongings - the kind of guy who would chase a thief into a dark alley to get his Rolex back.
A gentle brush to grab the watch followed by a not-too-quick sprint to the alley was enough to elicit a shout and a chase. What a bougie American was doing in this part of the city at this time of night, he didn’t know or care, but it at least meant Tim probably wouldn’t get recognized when wearing the man’s face.
At the end of the alley, Tim turned to face his pursuer and tauntingly held up the watch. “Looking for this?” He smiled darkly in expectation of the man’s fear. Fear which was quickly provided when the man punched him in the gut and was met with hard plastic instead of soft flesh. Tim was unfazed. He merely dropped the watch in the dirty puddle at his feet and pushed the man up against the brick wall. His supernatural strength kept the man from struggling too much as he breathed in the growing cloud of fear that surrounded the man. God, it was delicious.
Tim struggled to resist the urge to give in to the bliss of the moment. If he did, it would be like giving in to the Stranger and admitting defeat. He’d never be able to forgive himself if he did that. No, he had to fight it, no matter how good it felt.
The man fell to the ground in horror as he watched Tim peel off his skin to reveal the mannequin beneath. Tim’s true form had no eyes - no identifying features at all. He was just smooth white plastic from head to toe. As much as he hated wearing other people’s skin, he hated what was underneath even more. His original body burnt to a crisp in the explosion at the Unknowing, he’d been forced to take possession of one of the extra empty mannequins. It was just another reminder of how he’d given up his humanity when he agreed to serve the circus in return for his life. Why he’d agreed in the first place, he’ll never know, but in the moment it had seemed like the better of the two options.
Tim was too caught up in the unwanted euphoria of skinning his victim to think much more on the topic. The give of the flesh under his small flensing knife, the smooth action of peeling the skin from the muscle, the scent of blood mingling with the fear in the air… It was intoxicating. The monster in him wanted to stay in that moment forever.
But as he began to stitch the fresh skin back together over his cold plastic, something new caught his attention. Something unwelcome. The heavy weight of something watching settled over his shoulders and distracted him from what he was doing. He turned, half-dressed, to see a small dark figure standing in the street, silhouetted by the lamplight.
“Shit,” he muttered, hurrying to finish his stitching before he could escape. It was a sloppy job but he could fix it later. At this moment he just wanted to get out before the Watcher caught him. He didn’t need to draw its attention to the circus right now. They’d already escaped the Eye’s interference once, they didn’t need to have to do it again. Granted, Tim had been on the other side that time, but this time he had an agenda more complicated than total destruction. This time he had plans - plans that didn’t involve the Eye.
He pulled the last stitch tight, pocketed his knife, and bolted for the exit. It was odd, though. As he brushed against the figure at the end of the alley, they met eyes (God, so many eyes) and time seemed to slow down for just a moment. In an instant, he recognized the face that stared back at him. Beneath the hundreds of eyes was a face he hadn’t seen in years. Jon.
But just like that, time resumed and his feet carried him down the street, far from the unexpected encounter. Everything was a blur as he ran back to the circus, his mind full with memories and questions. What was Jon doing alive? Tim had been told he’d died in the explosion, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. He had aligned himself with the Eye just as Tim had given in to the Stranger. But why? Jon had fought so hard against being a monster, why would he give himself over like that? Even though they hadn’t really gotten along at the end, Tim had still secretly respected the man for fighting what he knew couldn’t have been an easy battle. He couldn’t believe that Jon would do something like this.