Chapter Text
The video cuts back to Oracle with the now incongruous infodump warning.
“No non-human incorporeal personal agency has ever been properly documented. While there are innumerable reports, all of those detailed enough to allow an attempt at confirmation have been proven to be non-paranormal or the result of a human incorporeal personal agency. Yes, some encounters are the result of deeply malevolent entities. It is an unfortunate fact that humans are capable of extreme malevolence. Using words like ‘demonic’ or ‘inhuman’ is a natural way to try and distance ourselves from the worst humanity has to offer. More benign manifestations, such as dogs or cats, have been shown to be the unexpected presence of living animals.
The video cuts back to the basement. “There’s no such thing,” Cassie says.
Tim shrugs. He’s solid enough here, where he died, that you can see the motion clearly. “Whatever it is, it’s not human. That’s why it’s so strong.”
Cassie looks like she wants to argue but holds her tongue. “Whatever it is, I can’t banish it.”
The declaration is emphasized by thunderous cacophony and then ominous silence. It had reached the basement. You can see mist starting to form in the shadows.
Tim’s eyes metaphorically light up. “I might, but I need one of your grounding rods.”
“There’s one by the door,” Cassie says.
“On the other side of whatever it is,” Kon points out.
“We’ll need to distract it,” Tim says.
“We’re still suited up,” Jason says reluctantly.
“We still have some salt,” Bart says from behind the camera.
“Okay Jason, Kon, you charge,” Tim orders. “Cassie, follow after to get the grounding rod.”
“Excuse me,” says an elegant and cultured voice. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”
“Go!” Tim shouts.
The camera shakes and wobbles as Bart throws salt. Cassie does as well. Kon and Jason bull through the shadowy figure standing just beyond the reach of the flashlights. Cassie follows. The suit’s cord trails behind them. You see something fly towards Jason, and it clips his head. He goes down. Kon and Cassie reach the stairs, and you can barely see him turn and adopt a defensive position.
“That was rude,” the voice says. The figure has reformed just beyond the pentacle. “I only wanted to talk now that we have the chance. You never listen to me, Timothy.”
“Oh wow,” Bart says. “I’ve never talked to a demon before. Is hell actually real? Did they have to kill Tim? What about the guy on the fourth floor? Are you the first demon anyone’s ever summoned? Why do people think you don’t exist? Why are you stuck here?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” The voice is distinctly irritated. You can just barely see that Cassie has returned. Kon takes the lead until a paint can arcs across the room and clocks him in the face. He staggers but keeps going, Cassie dogging his steps.
“No, people usually interrupt, but I can tell you’re really polite. This one time, I was talking to my cousin Barry, and he wouldn’t let me get more than three words out before trying to say something. It was so annoying. I just wanted to tell him about this card game—" Bart breaks off as a grounding rod flies through the air, the cord trailing like a streamer. Tim snatches it out of the air. He appears completely solid, but the illusion of physicality is shattered when he pops a cover on the base of the ground and his hand disappears inside.
“What are you doing, Timothy?” the voice asks. “Don’t do anything hasty.”
Tim jabs the grounding rod into the shadow figure. The initial snap of electricity overwhelms the microphone, and then the buzz of an overheating circuit drowns out any other sound. The grounding rod begins to glow.
Electricity arcs from the rod to Tim. Once. Twice. The camera picture goes fuzzy.
The voice no longer sounds cultured. “Stop this,” it says. “Continue to defy me and I will make you suffer for an eternity.”
“Fuck you,” Tim says. He raises his foot and smashes it into the pentacle. The whole house shakes. The sound turns to static as thunder overwhelms the mic. The figure lunges towards Tim, impaling itself further on the grounding rod. The arcs between it and Tim are continuous.
“Hold, demon,” Cassie says, her hand in the figure’s back. “By Nestis, by Kore, by Despoina.” The shadow figure stops. Tim smashes the pentacle again, sending chips of concrete flying and raising a cloud of dust. A terrible howl drowns out even the boom of Tim’s foot slamming down on the pentacle.
Despite the noise, you can clearly hear Tim say, “Death is only the beginning.” He brings his foot down one last time and the concrete shatters.
“By Persephone Praxidike, go back from whence you came. I abjure you, demon! Feel the embrace of Persephone Melinoia. Submit to Aristi Chronia and trouble is no more!” Cassie’s voice rings, preternaturally clear. Even over your speakers, it seems to be more than sound. The figure screams. Mist blows past it, heading for the hole in the floor. Tim drops the grounding rod and staggers back.
The mist forms into parts of human figures, arms and legs grasping for purchase as it’s dragged inexorably towards the pit. The shadow figure begins to fray around the edges. It turns and makes as if to run for the stairs but instead slides backwards.
“Your victory will be as ashes, Timothy Drake.” An arm stretches unnaturally far and loops around Tim’s waist dragging him towards the hole. Unholy laughter sounds as Tim scrambles for purchase. It’s no use, and Tim slowly slides towards the ruined pentacle.
Jason dashes into the frame and grabs Tim’s arms. The slide towards oblivion is stopped. An expression of relief crosses Tim’s face. Then he begins to stretch. It’s subtle at first, and you can’t tell why Tim looks panicked. Then he looks taller, then like taffy. Jason’s frantic, but holding onto Tim harder doesn’t do anything.
“Fuck, here goes nothing,” Tim mutters and then disappears into Jason who falls over.
The last bits of mist stream past Jason into the hole in the floor. Something booms, and the house shakes, dust rising from the floor and falling from the ceiling. When the view clears, the hole in the floor is gone, leaving unmarked concrete surrounded by the remnants of the pentacle. The house is still shaking.
“Let’s get out of here,” Kon shouts as he emerges from the dust at Jason’s side. He helps the other man up. There’s a trickle of blood running down Jason’s face and the beginnings of a bruise on Kon’s. Cassie catches Jason’s free arm when he stumbles, and the three of them lurch towards the stairs. Bart and the camera follow close behind. The stairs are eerily quiet, but no one is less urgent as they struggle up the stairs. You hold your breath, waiting for something to come out of the shadows and drag them back into the dark. It feels longer than a single flight of stairs. Kon reaches the front door first and flings it open. It slams into the wall. Everyone puts on a burst of speed to make it through before the house changes its mind. Roy is there in the golden dark of the streetlamp-lit night, flinging himself into a hug with Jason and Kon. The camera’s view goes askew as Bart piles in after.
The scene cuts to Jason lurching away from the group. He appears to be heading out of the circle of illumination cast by the streetlights.
“Jason?” Kon asks cautiously.
“Just.” Jason pauses. “A second.”
The camera stays on him as he makes it to the edge of the light. Then he twitches all over and Tim peels out of him, standing in the shadow but still fully visible.
“Whaag,” he says. “That was weird. Let’s not do it again.”
“Tim!” Kon shouts.
“Tim,” Cassie says, and the camera swings around to to show her looking at him suspiciously, “What are you doing here?”
“I kind of possessed Jason, so I didn’t get sucked into wherever that demon came from.”
“It’s okay,” Jason adds. “I let him. It was a consensual possession.”
“But how are you outside the house?” Cassie asks.
“I still had a lot of energy from the demon, so I used it to make a new anchor.” He punches Jason on the shoulder. “You’re officially haunted now.”
“This is so cool,” Kon says. “We’ve got an actual ghost on our team.”
There’s a pause as everyone acknowledges the awkwardness of Kon’s statement and then the enormity of it.
Tim blinks and looks at Jason. “I’m down with it. Both the haunting and the team,” he says.
“Okay.”
Tim straightens up, squares his shoulders, and lifts his chin to look straight at the camera. “Hey chat, my name’s Timothy Drake. I was murdered to summon a demon. I just joined Gotham’s premier ghost hunting team, the Spook Patrol. We just solved Gotham’s most haunted house. Do you want to see what we do next?” The screen fades to black instead of the usual outro. Credits roll with the sounds of Gotham’s nightscape in the background.
The last line of the credits reads, “And introducing: Timothy Drake.”