Wendigo
Summary: Dick and Tim encounter a strange creature on their annual Halloween camping trip.
Happy Halloween, everyone! Here's my gift to all of you, short and sweet (sorta) by design, and I hope you enjoy.
"Remind me why we're out here?" Tim asks as he drops the pack in the middle of the clearing. The day is still bright, since M'gann had dropped the two off at the foot of the Catskills in New York, and it only took them a couple hours to make it to the clearing Dick picked out weeks ago.
Dick grins brightly at his honorary little brother. "Tradition, remember? I can't stand the parties Bruce throws, and you would just be…around. I'd be bored by myself, so I brought you along two years ago so I wouldn't be alone. And now it's yearly."
"Brought? More like dragged," Tim mutters, pulling out the tent. "I don't want to be here, you know. Nothing to do."
"There's plenty to do!" Dick says, bouncing around and moving debris out of the way of the tent. "Fire pit, tent, water, food…"
"You are a child and entirely too chipper for this."
"No more than you are, little bro, and I believe it is you who is not chipper enough."
Tim rolls his eyes, skeptical at that, but set the tent bag on the ground to unzip it. "By the way, how did you manage to get us off duty for the week this camping trip is supposed to take?"
"I have my ways." Dick grins and taps his nose. "Wally and Roy owed me favors; they're our relief."
"Wally's retired and Roy is an independent hero when he is out and about."
"He likes to think he is; you can't retire from hero work, really. There's only one way out." The moment is pensive as both remember what happened to the middle Robin. "Anyway, it's covered. Now, let's get this tent set up."
It is now three days into the seven-day camping trip. Tim is officially Bored. He could be doing useful things…helping Batman in Gotham, working on his skills as both a hacker and as a warrior, or even helping repair Mount Justice after the attack a week ago. But no, he is stuck out here with the boy he once idolized as an acrobat and, later, as Robin. Now he knows better.
Oh, does he know better.
"Your turn."
Tim lifts his eyes to the starry heavens, pleading with whoever was out there to get him away from his misery. No help is forthcoming, so he sighs and draws a card.
"If the ancient Egyptians had fallen to Greece before Egypt became a vast empire, who would have won the War of 1812?"
Dick rolls onto his back from his spot across the fire, pondering the question. "I would have to go with Sweden. With the new army Greece could have amassed, they would never have fallen to the Romans. Greece would then spread, before eventually being stopped by the armies of Scandinavia. When they all became their new countries, Britain would have been under Greece's power rather than Rome, and while they may have fought off the influence, it would be long before they were able to get a lot of sailing capacity. This would have opened up the doors to the Russians, though they were so spread out they could not get an army. America would have easily rebelled against their Russian mother country, but with Sweden's army, they could not have fought them, which made Sweden the undisputed winner."
"That's half-assed, and not very plausible beyond the new countries. No points for you."
"That's half-assed and not very plausible," Dick mutters in an undertone, mocking Tim's words. Tim knows that Dick knows he'd heard, but the older teen pulls another card anyway and reads, "In a world where slavery still exists, who wrote Great Expectations?"
Tim opens his mouth to answer, sure about his facts, but a low, long growling sound interrupts him.
"Whoa, Timmy, a little hungry over there?" Dick teases, but his face is set in stone and his tone serious. Tim is already on his feet, in a ready stance holding a plain wooden stick. A snapping sound shows that Dick has broken a shorter stick in two, a parody of his eskrima sticks. Automatically, the two Bat-trained teens are back-to-back to defend each other.
The fire snaps next to them, merrily going despite the continued growls that reverberate around the clearing. Tim can't see anything in the woods, and Dick's silence speaks volumes.
"What the hell was that?" Tim asks in the faintest of whispers, knowing that the other hears him easily. The growling stops, but the echo takes a moment more to fade.
"I have no idea," Dick says. From the corner of his eye, Tim notices that he is tense and antsy, a bad combination to be in when cornered. "Whatever it is, it's not good."
Thank you, Captain Obvious is what Tim wants to say, but he remains silent as he continues to scour the surrounding trees. He edges around the fire to peer into the darkness on the other side.
"I don't like this," he mutters, eyes darting around. "It's too hard to see, and there's nothing to see. But that sound came from an animal, I'm sure of it."
"I know, Timmy," Dick says, and the nickname is comforting to Tim in his adrenaline-charged state. "I guess it's moved on, so let's try to get some sleep. Maybe it's just a sugar dream."
"Maybe." Dick's tone was doubtful in his thought, and Tim can't help but agree. "I'm keeping the stick in the tent, though."
"Would you be too put off if I said I was going to do the same thing?" Dick's attempt at humor is pathetic, and both keep their clothes on as they each lay on the sleeping bags in the small tent.
Tim wakes up to another growling sound, this one much closer and louder. The smell of smoke lingers in the air, unsurprising with the fire they had left lit, but after the barest moment, Tim realizes that the smoke is too thick. He coughs, unable to help himself, and the sound wakes up Dick.
"Whazzat?" Dick slurs, partially asleep. The smell registers with his brain, though, and he sits upright. "Is it just me, or is there too much smoke in here?"
"Too much smoke," Tim agrees, laying hand on his makeshift staff. "Something's out there."
Dick's nose wrinkles as he catches whiff of something. "Ugh, smell that?" he whispers, taking his own sticks in hand.
Tim does, though he really wishes he didn't. The smell is like rotting food mixed with burned flesh, wet dog, and the faint metallic scent of blood. A very unappetizing combination, and it makes Tim want to retch. He controls his gag reflex and instead pulls out his utility belt.
"Timmy, the boy who just can't leave his work at home," Dick mutters, though the words are appreciative as he accepts a handful of batarangs. "I never thought I'd see the day in my youth where I was happy to have you along on a relaxing vacation."
"Gee, thanks, old man," Tim says. He clips the belt around his waist, wishing he had his actual bo staff and not just a stick.
The growling draws closer, and the two heroes wait impatiently. From outside, Tim can hear a snuffling sound before the growling begins again and a loud ripping sound fills the air.
Tim whips around to see a quartet of long lines down the back of the tent, and a snout pushes into one of the tears. He smashes the end of the stick into the nose, its aim true and pushing deep into the left nostril of the creature. He encounters bone and, with a crunch, jerks the staff. The creature's mouth opens into a howl of pain, and the nose disappears. The end of the staff is bloody and is coated with a slime of mucous.
"Eugh," he says without heat, and another loud howl reverberates around the tent. The growling begins again, louder and even more fearsome than before. Tim feels a stab of fear through his body as the beast is back. This time, though, the claws rake through the side and around the corner of the tent. The fiberglass pole doesn't stand a chance and part of the tent collapses, trapping the two inside. A knife slices through the fabric, letting the two out.
But whatever the creature was that destroyed their tent is gone.
As I said, short by design, but it leaves a bit to be discovered, doesn't it? No sequels/continuations in the foreseeable future, so please don't mark to follow.
Reviews appreciated; they are an author's bread and butter, truly.