Try to Remember

Chapter 16: Reassurance

—?M?—?M?—?M?—?M?—

His eyes snapped open, and in came that reflexive breath of air, cold and harsh as it hit the back of his throat. His head hurt, the throbbing echoes of last night's death. Kenny let his head roll over so he could take in his alarm clock.

7:41AM

Too early.

The next sight he was aware of provided him with a different set of numbers. Equally as unwelcome.

11:23AM

Still too early.

1:57PM

It was now he supposed he should get up and do something, anything. He needed to move, and maybe then he could avoid thinking about his problem in a wholly new way.

Kenny rolled out of bed, groggy and bleary eyed. His room was cast in dimness, the sunlight intruding through the gaps in the curtains, desperate to light the room up for the day. It was humid too, the summer sun beating its sweltering rays against the glass, letting Kenny know that it was well into daytime and he shouldn't still be in bed.

He pulled off his parka, which, as it often did after such unplanned deaths, possessed the gall to reappear on his person. Beneath was an old white shirt, which he also tore off in his stumble over to the window.

In quick succession Kenny thoughtlessly, carelessly drew back the curtains and threw open his window. The summer breeze and midday sun hit him with their complimentary forces, and he sucked in a fresh breath of air. His face remained blank and bleak throughout.

Kenny stood there for a while, soaking up the sun and breathing in the air. Eventually he opened his eyes to look out at the world. He was rudely broken from his self-indulgence when he noticed an old woman in the house across from him, who was staring at him with eyes that could only be described as hungry. Flipping her the bird, Kenny quickly retreated from his window, and sat glumly down on his desk chair. The momentum with which he threw himself down caused the chair to creak and wobble perilously, but kicking at the floor with his feet, Kenny propelled himself into a soothing spin.

As the chair slowly came to a stop, a quiet groan dragged itself from deep within Kenny's lungs, a single word landing in his mouth after he had expelled all of that pent up cocktail of foul emotion.

"Fucking…"

He had no sentence to say, and no one to say it to. Kenny felt he just needed something to echo in his head that could take up space, before all his thoughts came rushing in.

"Okay."

He wasn't so much talking to himself, as he was reassuring himself. The prime question that sat in his mind was; how did they know my name?

A question to which the answer was far from forthcoming. He knew virtually nothing about the person who had spoken to him last night.

Wanting some way to keep his thoughts coherently ordered, Kenny guided his chair over to his desk and plucked out a piece of paper and a pen. It was time to brainstorm.

What did he know about the owner of that voice?

First: They were a member, or at least an associate of, the Justice League. So presumably they were someone with at least some strength of moral character. He was staking a lot on the reputation of the League there, but he felt confident with that assumption, for now.

Second: They wanted to know about his dreams. Of all things, his dreams. Now Kenny dreamt more than most. But like his deaths the horrible content of his dreams was something he had learned to live with, to push to the very back of his mind. Sometimes those dreams meant something, usually they were an extension of his Eldritch Sense, a radar that expanded out from him and brought him glimpses of any horrors that might be on his horizon. Though they were hardly water-tight, oftentimes they were just nightmares. He had long theorised that his dreams were a window into R'lyeh, that else-world of the Eldritch that he wished he could understand.

Third: They knew his name.

After some further thought, Kenny clenched his eyes shut and frowned deeply… Three things, that was all he knew. Sure he could try and infer more, extrapolate this or that, but from the few simple facts he had, Kenny was left with very little to work with. What was he going to do? Sit here and guess at the nature of one person who he knew so little about? He'd have better luck turning his own shit into gold.

Henrietta might help him. Or maybe even Kyle, or even the fat-ass himself… He hadn't seen them in a long time… He'd kept in touch of course, travelling back to South Park every couple of weeks to hang out. But that was before he and Karen were actually adopted, before they moved to Gotham City. What the hell would he even say to them anyway?

'Hey guys, long time no see! Remember when we used to dress up like superheroes? I still do that almost every night… no, it isn't a sex thing… yes, I do have a superpower, but you can't ever know about it… no, I don't have access to top of the line technology to help me… Yes, I am basically just a kid who runs around at night and beats the shit out of people who deserve it. What? You won't help me? Yeah, I figured…'

Maybe he could pay a visit to his go-to gothic sorceress. If not for help unravelling the voice, then at least to get some background on Dr. Fate, or Nabu, or whatever it was rattling around inside that helmet. The more he thought about it the more he assured himself that going to see Henrietta was the right thing to do. He would send her a text to let her know he was coming by, then at some ungodly hour he would scale the side of her house, and slip in through the window, as silent and as silky as a shadow. She would be sitting there, exasperated and dismissive, but still wanting to help. A perfect friend and confidant for Mysterion, even if she didn't exactly know who he really was. She might have ideas, theories, but no certain convictions. Even if she did, who he was beneath the mask had never seemed to matter to her, she just relished the chance to help him and show off her arcane knowhow.

What did that mean… That the only person he could go to for help in this strenuous situation, was someone who didn't even know his name… In just the short span of summer weeks that they had enjoyed so far, Kenny had realised one thing that he'd neglected for quite some time… He'd forgotten to make any friends. All his best friends were far away. In Denver he'd never made any lasting connections, he'd been too busy, too… preoccupied. Now here in Gotham he'd done the same, he'd not made any attempt to make friends at Gotham Academy, hell, in his first week he'd broken a girls nose. Whether the victim was a bully who deserved it or not, that kind of first impression tended to drive people away.

He was roused from his reverie when he heard raucous laughter in the next room; Karen's. At least, he thought optimistically, she was making friends. Gotham was good for her it seemed, although it remained to be seen whether it was good for him too.

—?M?—?M?—?M?—?M?—

That night he made up his mind, he sent a text to Henrietta at 4:30 warning her of his impending arrival, and set out across the infinite dark expanse of death to meet her at 11:00 exactly. Which is where he found himself, eleven minutes past the hour, slipping in through her bedroom window, many many miles away from Gotham, under a subtly different night sky.

"Welcome to my lair, foolish hero." Far from being asleep, it seemed with the notification he'd given her Henrietta had rolled out the welcome mat for him. She was dressed in dark voluminous clothes, bracelets hanging from her wrists, as she waved her arms in a magical manner. Hanging in the air before her at this very moment was something that he'd never seen before about her person. It was suspended in the air, a glowing orb of what looked like boiling water, but which had the misty consistency of something that wasn't really there. With the delicate movement of her wrists, and the twisting of her fingers she looked to be encouraging the floating globe to spin in midair.

"Henrietta." He greeted sedately, meeting her eyes over the magically conjured orb.

She threw her head back and laughed maniacally, thrusting her palms outwards to propel her spell towards him. "Quake in fear before my magical powers."

Instead of doing whatever it was supposed to do, the gothic sorceress' spell evaporated into nothingness, the orb tearing apart like wet paper.

"… New spell?" He asked after a small moment.

Henrietta, looking dejected but not overly disappointed, replied. "Yeah, it sucks though, real magic is fucking hard."

"Real magic?" Mysterion questioned, interested to hear what his arcane confidant thought was real magic and what was not.

"Not bullshit street junk, none of the homo-magi shit that lame-ass, conformist, super-poser magician uses." Rolling his eyes, Kenny realised he should've expected this sort of response.

"Zatara?" Could be the only person she was referring to in all logic, he being perhaps the most well known magician in the world. Such perks came with being a member of the Justice League, of course.

Slumping down onto her bed, Henrietta sat, her elbows on her knees, head supported on her hands, looking at him ponderously. "Yeah, backwards words, just kill me now."

"How've you been?" He asked, as she reached into the folds of her gown and withdrew a cigarette and lighter.

She paused in bringing the cigarette to her lips, raising an eyebrow to him. "You never usually ask me that sort of shit… what's the matter?" She allowed herself a single laugh, before she lit her cigarette, took a satisfied drag and sighed sarcastically. "Getting lonely out in the cold, fighting the forces of darkness?"

Kenny humoured her as he stepped into the room further, sliding the window shut as he did so. "Very funny."

Not sated for teasing sarcasm, Henrietta hedged a smirk, drawling. "Does the mysterious, brooding hero need a shoulder to cry on, or maybe someone to help him pull up his tights?" She let out one long strand of smoke and laughed again, a laugh that sounded bitter, but only because it came from someone who believed laughing to be a post-dramatic, cynical pastime. Laughing for her, was never in delight, always in pseudo-sarcastic indulgence. "You're right, that is funny."

"You're the same as ever then." He observed blithely. "Conforming to non-conformity." He sent her back his own version of her sarcastic smirk, knowing his comment would set her off.

From her expression she no doubt recognised it as bait, but that still did not stop her from rising to meet it. "Fuck off, you know that's a heap of bullshit the preppy poser dickwads peddle to try and shame us. I'm goth, I'm not a fucking vamp-kid…" She purposefully turned her face away as she took another drag, pretending to be engrossed in examining the candles and books that cluttered her dresser. Nevertheless, she replied in a manner as genuine as only someone so jaded could muster. "I'm fine though, life still sucks and I wanna die every time my mom opens her stupid whore mouth, but I'm fine."

"Good to hear." As he nodded in reply, he caught her eyes washing over him, precipitating her next words.

"You're dripping rain all over my floor."

"Really?" He chuckled knowingly, "I hadn't noticed."

"Take your cape off and hang it over the curtain rail to dry." Even her hospitality seemed reluctant, but such was Henrietta Biggles everyday demeanour.

He did as such, and then stood there, feeling a little awkward for lack of his primary piece of costume. But significantly less damp and cold for it. "… How are you?" Henrietta returned his early question to him, sounding for all the world like someone who was completely unsure of how to be honestly kind. Conceit of a teenage goth? Perhaps, Kenny thought, but that was a part of Henrietta he understood, the uncertainty of interacting genuinely with people. It wasn't much of a problem for him, all of his own anxieties being taken up by other, more morbid facts about his life. But he supposed talking to a masked vigilante in one's bedroom late at night, didn't exactly constitute a normal conversation for most kids.

"… Disturbed." Mysterion's answer was truthful. He had come here to be honest with her, and it was Henrietta's advice and library that he had come to rely on in the past.

This little truthful word seemed to stir something in Henrietta, her eyes widened a little and her expression slackened to one of intrigue and sympathy. "Disturbed? Thats, dark." Her tone carrier that notion too, allured by his more than usually gothic demeanour.

"I had a conversation with someone… I don't know who they were, but they knew my name." He stepped closer to her, looking down at her to meet her eyes and convey how much this had unsettled him.

"Like… you're name, name?" She leaned back, gazing up at him, dark hazel eyes peering out from behind the tangled fringe of her black hair.

"Yes. They were asking strange questions, and then they just, said it." He wished he'd said that better, but there was really so little he could say about the event.

Tilting her head in thought, the gothic girl queried. "Who else knows your name?"

Mysterion could name all the people he'd ever told. Whether any of them remembered however, was another thing entirely. It had been a long time since he'd talked about such things with Stan, Kyle, Cartman and the others. "A small handful of people who've probably long since forgotten. It couldn't have been any of them, this voice is somehow connected to, or even a member of the Justice League."

"Justice League?" She perked up at the mention, as much as her air of cool indifference could allow. "Since when are you hanging our with those losers."

Letting out a long tired sigh, Kenny replied. "Long story."

"We've got all night." Henrietta drew her legs up onto the sheets and shuffled back along the bed to sit against the headboard. She sat crosslegged, and dressed in black, her hair falling around her, she almost disappeared against the darkly painted wall. She gestured for him to join her, so he did.

It took a while and he omitted certain bits of information, surgically avoiding mentions of his actual deaths. Throughout it all Henrietta sat, smoked, and listened.

At the end of it, her cigarette having been stubbed out long ago, she looked at him long and hard, before saying, appreciatively. "Holy shit, you're a real fucking superhero, huh?"

A little offended, Kenny met her with a sardonic look and said. "I always was."

"Yeah but, like…" Henrietta spoke faster than her thoughts could move, her round face working in idle contemplation she took a moment to find what she wanted to say before she continued. "Except no one but me was paying attention. You never even thought about them before now, what's… you're in Gotham?" The fact came back to her with a little quirk of realisation in her voice, as if something was being filed away.

"Yes."

"… huh… So you want me to look into this Dr. Fate crap. What was it? Lords of order, Nabu, Ancient Egypt?" Having processed the information, Henrietta was quick to pick upon the facts he needed her help with.

"That's what I got from the little Nelson let slip. And anything on who that voice could've been, or what they could've been angling for with their questions." They weren't particularly specific requests, but they'd done more with less, os Kenny hoped she might have something.

She tolled her neck lazily, saying. "I can probably find something, but I wouldn't hold out hope for anything on that voice. Too vague to get a good idea of anything about it."

That was in truth, all he had expected. "True, but still."

"Well, like I said, we've got all night." Smirking at him, Henrietta rose from the bed with a dreamlike motion, and drifted over to her bookshelves. "Help get some of these down."

He obeyed her instruction, retrieving several books that Henrietta seemed to think they needed. "Are you sure what we'll need will be in your collection?" It wasn't the first time he'd questioned her admittedly small library of magical paraphernalia.

He should've expected the reply. "Hey, my collection is very comprehensive. I've not got lots of books, but you don't know how much false crap gets printed. I have the books that matter. Besides, we've got the internet." Her response was defensive, and when she swiped up her laptop from the desk, Kenny prodded.

"You gonna google eldritch horrors or something?"

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at him, as she lectured. "No, smart-ass, I'm going to look on the Miskatonic Archive site."

"Miskatonic." Something about that name seemed familiar to him, which is when he was reminded of something he'd heard his adoptive parents talking about. It was a place in Gotham, or near it anyway. "The university?"

"Yeah, you ought to have heard of it, it's just outside Gotham."

For the next span of hours the two of them sat about her room, books laid open and pages turning. Occasionally one of them would quiz the other, asking if they'd found anything, or if they could cross-reference something with another book. But overall it was dull work, made a little easier by the company. The smell of old books and cigarette smoke filled the space, the sound of rain pattering agains the window a constant companion. Candle light flickered across the yellowed pages, and the regular sound of parchment and paper shifting against itself became a relaxing accompaniment to their work.

Eventually, as the hours ticked over, Henrietta announced, albeit apprehensively. "This might be what you're looking for 'The Principle of the Pharaohs, Ancient Egyptian rites and rituals.' Professor Enoch Bowen, 1891. Publisher, blah blah blah. There's a bunch of others like this that seem promising, so I hope you like reading."

After taking a relived breath, Kenny resigned. "Not much else to do this summer…"

"Anything on this voice?" She asked him, glancing at the books that lay open around him. The one directly laid out at his feet being perhaps the most important book in her collection, a partial English translation of the Necronomicon itself. Something she had spared no expense in acquiring, something she had taken pages out of to give to Mysterion.

Henrietta watched his face closely as he stared intently at the pages, what was visible of it was pulled tight in frustrated concentration. "The problem is there's too much, about dreams that is. Dreamland, dreamquests, lucid, prophetic, everlasting, nightmare creatures, living nightmares, nightgaunts, theories, fables… so much shit to sift through… I keep coming back to this though; it's a greek god but for some reason it's shown up here too. Hypnos. Not much information in the Necronomicon at least, but there's something about it…" The tension in his face drooped, and his sky blue eyes slipped out of focus. "God of Sleep."

"Pass it here." Mysterion did as she asked, taking up the book in gentle hands and passing it too her, as gently as if it were a newborn child. So precious were the contents of it's pages, that Henrietta might as well have treated it as such.

"I feel like I'm trying to catch smoke." He said, still staring at the tome as his gothic confidant held it in her comforting hands.

"Or trying to remember a dream." Her appropriate observation caused him to lift his gaze to look at her. Mysterion found she was looking at him, an unreadable, yet soft expression on her dimly lit features.

"… Yeah." He said, and she broke their stare, her eyes setting to the familiar task of devouring the written word of long dead mystics.

Henrietta read over it several times, throughout which Kenny remained silent. As she read, a concerned look overtook her face. "… Hypnos is a greek God… I don't know why he's in the Necronomicon. Also, i don't remember having these pages in my copy."

"What are you saying." Henrietta's sleep deprived mind seemed to be making connection that his own word wearied brain wasn't.

"Mysterion." The look she sent him was so serious that he sat up straight. "If you've brought a fucking Eldritch Greek God into my fucking room-"

Seeing the conclusion she had jumped to, Kenny ventured. "Henrietta, I-"

But she cut across what he was about to say, and a fierce grin split her face. "Then you're the fucking best." Placing the book down in front of her, the goth girl spread her hands and looked around the room, taking on a respectful, beseeching tone of voice. "Hypnos! Lord of sleep? Are you here with us!?"

"… Uh…" It was taking him a while to figure out if she was being serious or not. "You're welcome?"

"Shh." She gestured at him briefly, before continuing sedately. "Sleeping one, master of the Dreamlands? Eternal, endless, wakeless. Hear me!"

It seemed she was being serious, so Kenny cut in with a stern voice. "Henrietta, if there was an outer god here then I think we'd know."

"You saying these pages just fucking appeared here then? I thought you were smarter than that." She objected, to which Mysterion did his best not to patronise, but provide a line of reason.

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying that the voice probably wasn't that of a god, but maybe someone who serves one. I doubt Hypnos, whatever it is, would bother with something that minor."

She let her hands fall back into her lap, looking at him irritably. "So what, some creep broke into my room?"

Patiently he tried to explain. "No. Maybe they just made it, appear there. Or maybe you just forgot you had it, it's only about a page. Just calm down, there's no eldritch horror here…" His voice levelled into a calming baritone, holding out an appeasing hand he gave her a look which spoke of confidence in what he said. If there was a god here, Kenny liked to think he would know.

Meeting his eyes for a few seconds, Henrietta eventually capitulated, tossing her head in a dismissive way and saying. "Hm. Whatever. Not like I care anyway."

From the window, where his now dry cape hung, and where, through the glass the soft amber light of very early morning was starting to peek through the half closed curtains, Mysterion realised just how long they'd been working. He ought to go back, he thought, reluctant to leave despite his tiredness. If he stayed maybe they would be able to find more information on this Hypnos figure. But Henrietta no doubt had things to do with her day, even if he hadn't. He consoled himself with the thought of perhaps visiting the Miskatonic University and asking to see their library, before he said. "I should probably go, sun's about to rise."

Seeming to realise the time as well, Henrietta suppressed a yawn, and instead ceded. "Alright."

Slowly he donned his cape, while she stacked the books on her bed for later reorganisation onto her shelves. When he had secured the clasp around his neck and the hood over his half-masked head, he turned his face to see her leaning against the side of the window next to him. Her face was half cast in the breaching rays of daylight, and she clung to her violet curtain for warmth, her bare arms were as pale as chalk, and as he opened the window she shivered slightly. Mysterion put a leg up on the windowsill to begin his exit, when a tentative phrase slipped out of her mouth. "Hey…" Her voice was not a whisper, but somehow it seemed as quiet as the snowy morning outside. "That voice isn't the only one who knows your name."

Her smirk was unbearably smug, and he returned a questioning smile as he said, amusedly. "… You think you know who I am."

Her hair was ruffled by the breeze, and half hiding her face it seemed to soak up any daylight that landed on her. Taking in a slow breath of the Colorado air, Henrietta began softly. "I noticed a while ago… years now… I stopped seeing this kid around town. Later I heard from his friends that he and his siblings had been moved to an orphanage in Denver… When that kid left, he took Mysterion with him… I always missed seeing that stupid bright orange parka running around in the snow… but I'm glad Mysterion still takes the time to visit, even if it is only because you need something… However disturbed you are, if you need someone to help pull up your tights, you can always come see me… Kenny McKormick." She never once took her eyes away from his, and as he vanished from her room into the snow of his hometown, Kenny was reassured that even if he didn't have anyone to rely on in Gotham, as Mysterion or as himself, at least he had someone he could trust here.

—?M?—?M?—?M?—?M?—

A/N: April fools? By ny timezone at least. 3 days, a new record! I guess that's what a man can do when he has time. Bit of a cheat anyway, I didn't write the whole thing in 3 days, parts of the conversation between Kenny and Henrietta I've had rattling around inside my head for awhile. Thanks for all the kind words and advice y'all reviewers, I aim to please, and thanks again for reading!

—Faff