Doth Doth Hath Hath, a to kill a mockingbird fanfic

A/N: So the other day during lunch, wombat-of-awesomeness turns to me and says, "I have a crackfic idea for you!" And thus spawned the madness.

Atticus Finch, Maycomb lawyer and father of two, had a secret.

But this was not just any secret—not an ordinary political scandal involving a shifty pub, someone's secretary, and two dozen lobsters (been there, done that), not a slip in conduct, not a falter of morals. No. None of that, which, of course, was good, right up until you get to the actual secret.

And honey, it will make your hair curl.

Seriously. What you're about to read is the unveiling of a deep, dark past. And let me warn you—it is deep. And you know what else? It's dark.

Atticus Finch had a secret so nasty he worried that if he even thought about it too loudly, Miss Stephanie would find out and it'd be plastered of the front page of the newspaper. Not that anyone would believe what she said; being based upon idle gossip, the newspaper had what a sympathetic person might call dubious sources.

But, dear reader! Surely you want to know what this horrible, hair-styling secret is! Yes, I'm sure you do! Well, just to be mean, I think I'll make you wait at least five minutes until I tell you. So walk away and come back in a few minutes. Remember: at least five.

…

Are you back yet? Well, tough. It hasn't been five minutes yet.

…

All right, I suppose I'll tell you now.

The Finch children's very existence was a lie.

Yup. Mmhmm. I'm not kidding. A LIE!

But of course you want the details. You see, Jem and Scout were not, in fact, the offspring of the late Mrs. Finch, God rest her soul. Well, then, whose children were they? you ask. But it's not like there were many unmarried women the same age, or younger, than Atticus. After all, they certainly weren't the kiddies of Miss Stephanie. Oh, heaven forbid.

Which leaves only one possible explanation. The truth.

Mrs. Finch didn't give birth those two fateful nights when Finch children were born. No, no.

Atticus did.

Yes, I know it's quite a shock! In fact, you should have any nearby persons fetch the smelling salts immediately! You should shout in a most shock-stricken voice, "[Insert name of person here]! Fetch the smelling salts! Ah DO declare, ah feel absolutely faint!"

I'll wait for you to regain your composure.

…

Has your composure been regained yet? Oh, good.

Anyway, Jem and Scout weren't aware of this before December 3. The day has no particular significance. It is simply they day their father told them were babies (well, just his babies) come from.

"Children," he said in a grave voice. "Doth be seatedeth. We musteth speaketh of a matter of greatest importance-eth."

Jem and Scout looked at him funny.

"YOU DOST ARE MY CHILDREN YES I GAVE-ETH BIRTHETH TO THOUS," he said without pause, before adding, "DOTH DOTH HATH HATH" for good measure.

What happened next changed the course of something important but not as important as history.

So consumed with fury were the children that, as a team (Teamwork! Yay!) they grabbed the nearest garden rake, subsequently disemboweling their father and draping his cranberry-sauce-glazed innards across Miss Stephanie's fence. Because why not?

But even though, after a while, they recovered from the shock, they would never forget their father's last words… they way they sounded when he said them… they would always remember the hopeful, longing notes of "DOTH DOTH HATH HATH."

A/N: I know I probably just butchered the story for many of you. I'm sorry, so terribly, terribly sorry. Blame wombat-of-awesomeness. Span her PM inbox, not mine. This was her idea.

Also, I don't give a flying craphat if my "doth" speech is correct. I do what I want.