Chapter Text
Kion's boogeyman was also his Uncle.
Great uncle, actually. In Kion's earliest memories, flickers of time when he huddled cozily into his mother's warm, soft underbelly, nuzzling his sister out of the way for the fattest tete and milk rights, he recalled nursing and dozing to the timbre of Simba's rumbling voice, surrounding his then barely old enough to understand children with the history of the place they'd one day rule, if the Great Kings saw fit.
Still, even after his eyes opened all the way and Pride Rock was filled with the joyful sounds of young cubs at play, the stories were never quite whole. There were holes. At bedtime, while Kiara begged to hear over and over again the mushy story of how Simba and Nala fell in love, Kion preferred the tale of how his big, strong dad had come into his own and won the Kingdom.
What he was never clear on was exactly what his father had saved the Pridelands from. Whenever he asked, the king and queen would share a quick glance, and the subject would be changed, or Simba would distract him with another retelling of Uncle Timon and Uncle Puumba dancing and singing to distract the hyenas.
They shared that look a lot. Like on Kion and Kiara's two month name day, when the entire pridelands turned out to celebrate the milestone and thank the Kings that both royal heirs had survived early cubhood.
An elderly lioness from the highland pride that was old enough to remember Kion's grandfather had made the trip to the savannah. After greeting his parents, she'd been presented with the two cubs and immediately started cooing and gushing, something that Kion hated and Kiara loved.
"Wonderful," she stuttered, grinning at them with broken brown teeth and a scarred, sagging face. "Wonderful, wonderful, yes yes. They'll be beautiful, beautiful and handsome. Such pretty pelts, such rich brown eyes, and not a hint of green anywhere..."
Kion remembered feeling his father flinch and stiffen behind him, and his mother's glowing smile became fixed and strained, but the old lioness wasn't done.
"We've finally bred out those horrible genes, yes indeed. This one-" she turned her proud gaze on Kion. "Yes, he'll be strong. No hunched back, no beady stare...yes, yes. I do believe old Taka was the last of the worst."
She wobbled away. Later, when Kion asked Simba what she meant, who was Taka, why he'd called the event off early, he got no answer. Kion watched from the cradle of Nala's forelegs as Simba strode out of the main cave and into the chilly night, and didn't return until morning.
His parents spared him as long as they could, until the day that Kion let his adventurous mischief get the better of him. While Simba was engaged in some boring grown up lion thing with Zazu, Kion left Kiara and her twittering friends and decided to explore all of Pride Rock before lunch, the areas his father never took him.
Away from the touch of the sun, Pride rock was a different world. Timon found him in the cave farthest from the light, facing away from the rest of the huge structure. The stone was cold and damp, clogged with foul black moss and fungus, with an old musty scent that made his tongue curl.
"Whatcha doing down here, little man?" Timon asked nervously. Kion noticed how the meerkat lingered at the mouth of the alcove, fidgeting and constantly glancing skyward for sunlight that wasn't there.
"Exploring, Uncle 'mon." Kion told him brightly, pausing when the cavern reflected his own voice back at him in a twisted, grating echo.
"Heh heh..." Timon's chuckle came back empty and evil, bouncing off the walls. "You really shouldn't be down here, especially not alone. You might run into the ghost."
"Ghost?" Kion parroted, warily (but not scared, never scared. He wasn't a scaredy cat like Kiara. He was strong and brave, like his dad).
Timon grinned slyly.
"Yeah, Scar's ghost? Your uncle? He used to live down here." Timon explained, grabbing himself dramatically by the elbows and looking around. "In this very cave... he died before you were born. Right outside there... And they say he wanders Pride Rock at night, and eats naughty cubs that stray away from their mamas."
Kion's eyes went wide, and he jumped when Timon started sputtering and hooting with laughter. Kion lingered behind as he left, still chortling.
Timon was just messing with him. He didn't believe in ghosts- spirits, sure, like the great kings- and even if he did, he wasn't afraid of them.
With that thought in mind, he drew himself up to his full height and pranced as regally as he could out of the cavern.
He pretended that his hackles didn't raise and his fur didn't stand on end when he brushed against the chilly stone on the way out, sending a cold, nauseous shiver down his spine.
Back in the light, Kion put all thoughts of ghosts and dead uncles out of his mind... Until Kiara went and chased a butterfly.