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Very few heroes had the luxury of a secret identity, and perhaps that was for the best. A secret identity was just one more potential weapon in their enemy's arsenal, and lord knows they didn’t need more of those. Still a few wasn’t none and some heroes did manage to keep a secret identity. Willam Tockman, or Clock King, was one of those heroes.
There was a moment where he didn’t think it would stay that way, when he was captured by the Injustice Syndicate a few months ago. Fortunately for him they didn’t care for the time or effort it took to figure out the locking mechanism of his helmet.
(“I can’t get this stupid thing off!” Blue Bowman said between grunts while he tugged uncomfortably at Willam’s helmet.
“Observation.” Silver Cyclone said, in that unnervingly uniform voice of his. “we are going to kill him. His secret identity is irrelevant.”
Blue Bowmen muttered a rude string of words until his breath, and for a moment, as he watched Silver Cyclone charge up a shot, William was convinced those would be the last words he ever heard, he closed his eyes, and tensed for a death that never came.
“Stand down Cyclone.” Willam hesitated before glancing up, and meeting the eyes of Owlman, “he may prove useful.”
“Besides,” Scarlet Scarab hooked his arms around the men and robot much to their collective displeasure, “what’s the fun in killing him if his friends aren’t here to watch?”)
In the end their hubris saved his double life.
Willam sighed, shaking himself out of the memory, he got lost in thought so easily, especially on days like these. He tapped his finger on the steering wheel, he imagined a grandfather clock keeping rhythm with the swing of the pendulum. He glanced up at the red light he was stopped at.
How long had he been waiting? (28 seconds.) He kept tapping. Then, at 45 seconds, the light turned green, and he continued onward.
It wasn’t much further to his destination, 5 minutes and 47 seconds later, he arrived, a small townhouse owned by Music Meister. Not that he went by that name anymore, nowadays he was just Neil Paris.
(Though William and Music Meister both operated in Star City, William hadn’t really known the man well. He’d known he was trustworthy, he’d known he had mind control powers, and he’d known he only used them as a last resort. That was probably the most anyone knew about him. Music Meister was a mysterious man, no one had heard him talk. And very few had heard him sing.
Music Meister was more of a myth than anything, you weren’t likely to know about him unless you were closely involved in the crime scene of Star City. It was ironic, considering how boisterous his personality had been back then. Ironic, but sensible. Music Meister’s power wasn’t something he could exactly show off, not without putting a massive target on his back. So Music Meister worked backstage so to say, and for a while, between the two of them, Star City was relatively safe.
For a while.
Owlman caught wind of Music Meister’s abilities, (it had to have been Owlman. Blue Bowman… isn’t smart enough to have figured it out.) Music Meister was, without a doubt the biggest threat to any of the Injustice Syndicate’s plans, Owlman knew that. So, he sent Blue Bowman after him.
William received Music Meister’s distress call at 12:56 am. At 1:03 am he found Music Meister’s staff, broken, in a pool of blood soaking into concrete. But not Music Meister. (He was late too late)
Music Meister had to be nearby.
He would find him.
William searched, 1 minute, 2 minutes, 3 minutes 4 minutes 5 minutes 6 minutes 7 minutes, 8 minutes, 9 minutes. It’s 10 minutes and 44 seconds until he finds Music Meister on a roof top.
Blue Bowman had a boot on his neck, his visor in his hand and a scowl on his face
“You’re just a nobody.” He grimaced at Music Meister (Blue Bowman had always been one for secret identities. William remembered Grod saying it was an ego thing, that Blue Bowman couldn’t bear the thought of not knowing who had the audacity to fight him.)
“Stop.” He could barely breathe, he could barely think. He couldn't even come up with some sort of clever clock related pun or wordplay.
Blue bowman looks up at him, brow furrowed in a mix of confusion, disappointment and anger. “Ah,” the look melts off his face when he realizes who William is, a smug grin rising up in its place. Blue Bowman takes a few steps towards him, his boot now mercifully off Music Meister’s neck. “You’re late.”
William couldn’t tell if Blue Bowman was genuinely expecting him or if he was just trying to piss him off. But it wasn’t something he spared much thought in the moment.
He’s was ready, already in fighting stance when-
“Ah, ah, ah.” Blue Bowman mocked him with a finger wag and slowly stalked towards him. “Do you really wanna waste your time fighting me, when his is so limited?” (Working ’time’ into every sentence and making puns and word play was his thing it’s not what he should be focused on but the audacity just-) Blue Bowman gave him a pat on his shoulder like they were friends as he walked past him.
And infuriatingly William let him get away.
He watched, frozen, as the man propels himself downward and then… He stumbled backwards, suddenly in a mad dash to check on Music Meister.
It was…bad.
William had never- he hadn’t realized just how much blood was in the human body.
Music Meister’s tongue was gone the man was gurgling, choking on his own blood. An arrow pierced through his right hand jagged with wounds like it was yanked out and stabbed back in over and over again, at least a dozen times from what he could tell at a glance. There was another arrow lodged in his shoulder (and dear god William was almost grateful for a normal injury.) An arrow ran through his cheeks. Creating an odd and brutal bar that pinned his mouth open. (No question as to why.) His neck was bruised, more purple and red than skin. His outfit was ripped as well. There were probably more injuries, but William couldn’t tell where they were, with the sheer amount of blood obscuring any possible origin.
William didn’t know what to do. He just knelt down and stared, trying to process it all. What was he meant to do? Where did he even start? He knew basic first aid but this? nothing about this was basic.
Suddenly and without warning Music Meister grabbed hold of him. Using William to hold himself steady and pull himself upright, to be honest William was thankful for such intense confirmation of life. The man was sputtering blood and struggling to cough with the arrow lodged in his mouth, blood spilled out all over the both of them. Then in an instant, Music meister gripped the arrow by its head. And yanked.
By the time William had processed the man’s action and intent the deed had been done.
Music Meister opened his mouth wide, ripping the wounds even more. He struggled for breath, as he gasped more blood than air came rushing into his throat.
He coughed again, and again and again. After what felt like an eternity. (it was 2 minutes and 33 seconds) Music Meister closed his mouth, like he was testing to see if he still could, blood dribbled from the holes in his cheeks. He slumped forward, resting his head on William’s chest.
William still didn’t know what to do.)
William blinked rapidly. Trying to get the memory out of his head he came back to that one far too often. He didn’t know why. Music Meister-Neil-was alive. Against all odds he was alive. Blue Bowman had assumed him as good as gone.
Hubris had spared the man's life.
Not that it really mattered. For all intents and purposes Music Meister was dead
(And Blue Bowman had made sure the news spread across the city. In a single day every citizen in Star City knew two things about Music Meister: 1. He existed, and 2. he was dead.)
But Neil Paris lived. If only barely.
William unloaded multiple, heavy, bags of groceries.
Groceries.
That was the only reason he visited any more. Someone had to feed the man and Neil…Well he wasn’t going to. It had started out…
It had started out reasonable.
Neil had been in bad shape, obviously, And there was still the risk of the Injustice Syndicate coming back to finish the job if they found out he was alive.
Neil couldn’t leave the house, not with his injuries, not with the threat to his life.
But now? It had been 2 years, a little over, actually. He was better and there was no way the Injustice Syndicate would care anymore, not after so long, not when he wasn’t a threat anymore. And he still refused to leave. He just made him do everything Neil could take care of himself for christ’s sake William was gone for 2 months and he’s clearly still alive so why can’t he-
William took a deep breath. He was getting angry. He did that sometimes. Summoning that mental pendulum back to the forefront of his mind, he counted 60 seconds.
There. Better.
The grocery bags dug into his arm. God they were heavy. He knocked on Neil’s door.
And waited.
As the 1 minute mark passed he considered just unlocking the door himself, he had a key after all. But he swore not to use it unless it was an emergency. And groceries didn’t count, no matter how heavy and or frozen they may be.
Briefly he entertained the idea that Neil wasn’t answering because something happened to him, a fear that plagued him in the first couple months of the incident, now after a couple years, he knew it was probably Neil’s own paranoia keeping him, rather than some genuine emergency.
Probably.
If Neil didn’t answer in the next minute he'd go in.
The pendulum of his mind’s eye swung to the tune of shoes tapping on concrete.
At 57 seconds, with William’s hand already on the key, Neil opened the door.
William breathed a sigh of relief.
Neil was okay.
…
God these groceries were heavy
“Excuse me.” He rather unceremoniously pushed his way past Neil, before the man got a chance to properly greet him.
He let out a sigh of relief as he set down the bags on the kitchen table.
“Sorry about that,” he sighed “I just…they were heavy.” William wasn’t good with people. He never had been.
“It’s fine.” Neil singed
Sign language ended up being the thing Neil landed on to communicate. Though many signs had to be modified to accommodate the nerve damage in his right hand it served him well enough.
(Besides. It wasn’t like interacted with anyone other than William.)
“I want to talk to you.” Neil had an intense look in his eyes a look that told William this was Important.
“You need to put away your groceries.” William said blankly.
“Later.”
“There are frozen foods.”
“Later.” He signed much more pointedly this time.
William tried not to look at his grimacing face. He hated the way the scars on his cheeks were morphed by the wrinkles of his face
“I’m-“ he turned away, “going to put this stuff away”
It was rude. He knew that. He even felt a little bad.
But there was only so much time before things started to melt. Time. He needed something real like that for a moment. William had a feeling he knew what Neil was going to ask and he’d be avoiding it for a while. He knew the conversation was going to be long, that horrible kind of long where the clock broke and the seconds hand slowed to a crawl.
He moved slowly as he put the groceries away. He was more aware of his gaze than he ever had been, careful to not look at Neil. If he looked at him, he’d have to talk to him. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could just leave, like he had the last couple times.
Despite his best efforts the chore went by much too quickly. (5 minutes 11 seconds. He probably could’ve stretched it to at least the 6 minute mark if he really tried.)
He started moving towards the door, eyes fixed diligently on his feet. “I really should be-“ A hand grabbed him, and it took all the self restraint he had to not punch Neil in the face as he whipped around.
Neil flinched.
“Sorry,” he said after a moment (2 seconds.)
“Talk to me.” Neil signed in non-response. “Now.”
He really was going to do this, wasn’t he?
“Can we-I’m going to sit down.” William shimmied his way past Neil, and took a seat on the man’s couch, which, as he had just discovered, was not very comfortable. (Or maybe it was that nothing was comfortable right now because everything was too much.)
Neil furrowed his brow, and sat next to him.
They both sat, silent and still, neither saying (or singing) a word. It took William a moment (9 seconds) to realize Neil wanted him to make the first move.
(Why did people insist on these stupid games?)
“What…” He paused as he thought of what his next words would be, forming them carefully in his head. “What do you want to know?”
He already knew the answer.
“What happened to Blue Bowman?”
Neil sped through the finger spelling of the man's name, had it been any other word William would’ve needed a moment, and perhaps a pen and paper, to actually get the letters to mean something. (English was his second language and spelling was hard.) but he’d become so intimately familiar with that string of rapid fire signs that it might as well have been a sign all on its own.
He didn’t answer the question.
3 seconds of silence pass before Neil quirked an eyebrow.
“He…” what should he say? He could lie, he supposed. It’s not like it would change Neil’s behavior. No matter what he said the man would never summon the courage to leave his house.
Just as he begins to form the words ‘Black Gate Penitentiary.’ Neil signs “Don’t lie.”
William sighed, defeated. “He…escaped.”
“Escaped, or was released?”
This man was too smart for his own good sometimes.
“He was released.” William begrudgingly admitted
Neil grimaced, gritting his teeth, both hands clenched into fits. A noticeable, intense tremor in his right.
15 seconds of nothing. William bit his lip.
“I should…” William half heartedly gestured to the door as he stood. Moving perhaps a bit too quickly in hopes he could escape before Neil was finished processing everything.
Though that hope turned out to be in vain as Neil’s hand quickly shot out to grab his wrist. His grip was so tight William was almost certain it would bruise.
“You’re not leaving.” The signs were shaky, between being forced to use his right hand while his left occupied with a death grip, the height of his emotions intensifying the tremors and the rushing intensity of the signs themselves, had William been any other person he likely wouldn’t have understood the man.
Actually. Could he pretend he didn’t understand?
He could but that wouldn’t get him out of this mess.
William glanced back at the door. At salvation he could leave, he could pull free of Neil’s grip if he tried hard enough. He could but…”Sorry.” He didn’t.
Neil looked like he was about to cry, he rubbed his eyes preemptively, like it would stop the tears. His hands shook as he pulled them away from his face. “How-“ Neil paused, taking a deep breath “How could they let him free.” The signs were slow and purposeful. Like each one was a monumental effort.
“You… you know how.” William said bitterly.
Neil just glared at him.
“Money.” William said needlessly feeling compelled to confirm that Neil did in fact know why.
Neil let out a dry dry exhale from his nose that almost seemed like a laugh. “It doesn’t matter how many people you kill. Or maim so long as you have money.” There was an intensity behind his movements, a pure, raw, and complete anger.
13 seconds passed in still silence.
“Owlman was there.” William said out of the blue.
(Why did he say that?)
Neil didn’t respond, just looked at him, eyebrow cocked, he looked at William like he’d just professed the sky was blue, something so obviously true that it didn’t need saying, it was a look that said, ‘of course. But what does that have to do with anything?’
“But it- it wasn’t Owlman” he was digging himself into a hole, he was acutely aware of that. And for some reason, he kept digging.
Neil looked at him like he was a crazy man.
He felt like a crazy man.
“He was- he called himself…” What did he call himself? “Batman. That’s- he called himself Batman. He was Owlman from an alternate dimension. A parallel earth, Red Hood said.”
(Alternate dimensions, parallel earths, infinite worlds. William was still processing it all himself.)
“What?” William didn’t think he’d ever seen Neil so completely and totally confused. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s-“ before he could say anything Neil started up again
“Why are you telling me this?”
That…That William didn’t know
“I think…” he trailed off trying to find an explanation, if not for Neil, than himself. “if there’s… if there’s another universe, where Owlman of all people is good then… then surely… surely justice must be possible in ours. I think… I think it means there’s hope.”
(Is that what he thought? He couldn’t even tell.)
William couldn’t quite make out the emotions on Neil’s face, it was something like… frustration, or disbelief. Probably both. “That’s stupid.”
“I don’t…” he didn’t what? Neil was right, wasn’t he? It was a stupid nonsensical thought. “I don’t think it is.” Yes he did. What was he saying?
“Who cares about other worlds. All we’ve got is this one. And this one sucks.”
“It doesn’t have to-“ William stopped as Neil started up again.
“But it does. Nothing has to be any way. Owlman doesn’t have to kill people. Scarlet Scarab doesn’t have to torture people. Blue Bowman didn’t have to-“ Neil was crying now.
William wasn’t good at this. He really wasn’t good at this.
He should’ve left when he had the chance.
“I’m going…” He stood up tentatively. “I’m going to leave.”
He waited for something, for Neil to stop him, grab him, do anything.
But Neil didn’t object.
William turned, his hand resting on the door knob, he looked at Neil for a moment (8 seconds) and then,
He left.