Try to Remember

Chapter 19: The Miskatonic Archive

—?M?—?M?—

Paper, when bound in leather and left on shelves for countless decades, tends to amass a smell that is so nostril tinglingly specific to a single location, that it crops up nowhere else in the world. It is the smell of a library, more specifically the smell of an old library, a collection of books and tomes that has stood for so long that it attains the vaunted title of Archive.

Row upon row of poorly catalogued books, separate aisles for every subject, a whole floor dedicated to periodicals dating back as far as anyone working there has been alive. This historic collection of words resides in an equally antiquated building; the Miskatonic University estate that lives in the township of Arkham, Massachusetts.

The campus is big, and was once bigger, back in the days where the choice for any gifted or rich young person in America, was either Miskatonic or Harvard. Those days however, are long gone. But the skeleton of a once populated university remains, almost unchanged from it's heyday during the late 19th and early 20th century.

Arkham fog had rolled in before dawn and lathered the town in a miasma of grey, that would not lift for the rest of the day. It lent an imposing air to the main library building of Miskatonic, making it's high gables and deteriorating roof seem all the more daunting.

Closer up, the buildings walls become more easily visible through the thick fog, and in this revelation one could easily mistake them for the walls of an ancient jungle ruin, wearing a skin of vines and ivy so thick that it almost completely mummifies the estate. Only at the windows are these creepers cut away, but still their thick dark green extremities clutched and scratched at the paned glass, trying to get inside to rescue the Archive's contents from the hands of mortal man, reclaiming the paper for nature.

On the other side of one of these windows, sitting at a hitherto cobwebbed desk is a young man of about sixteen. His hair, dirty blond, protrudes out from under the tightly bound hood of a neon orange parka. The Miskatonic Archive has no central heating to speak of, which wouldn't have been a problem in years gone past, when enough students crowded the halls to warm it with their coffee scented laughter and tobacco fumes. But nowadays when the only residents were it's staff, the few eccentric students studying vastly unheard of topics, and boys like this one… well, the old building was feeling the chill.

Kenny McKormick didn't look like he belonged in this library, at this desk, even in this county. Although, if he wasn't dressed in a fashion entirely unbecoming the location, then one could've been duped into thinking that he was at least trying his hardest. Books upon books were piled up at his desk and with a good many of them lying open, pinned at a page by another book's weight, or simply staying open by virtue of their well broken spines.

Aphorisms of Ancient Egypt, Reginald E. R. Westbrook, Publisher Asherdene Press.

Seka: A lost dynastic legacy, Anderson M. Milliner, Publisher Banks & Banks.

Tracing the Past, Harold Webley Jr. Publisher Misatonic Publishing…

The Principle of the Pharoahs; Ancient Egyptian Rites and Rituals, Enoch Bowen, 1891…

Priests of Ancient Egypt, Evan Variag…

Encyclopedia of Egyptology, Ludvig…

Another dead end… Another waste of my time… Useless conjecture… Why am I here…

His thought process throughout the day had been somewhat disheartening. Following up on his recent meeting with Henrietta, Kenny had taken a day to hop on a bus out of the city and found his way, with some trouble, to the town that gave Gotham's infamous asylum it's name.

He had hoped to find some information on Dr. Fate, since Nelson and the Bat weren't giving him shit. His latest meeting with the Dark Knight had set him on edge, the lack of correspondence from the man since then hadn't instilled any confidence in him. He could see their next interaction playing out in his mind's eye, and it contained nothing productive; he would have forgotten everything Kenny confessed to him. Just like everyone always did. But there was still a small part of him that wanted to believe that the vigilante would retain some fragment of information from their talk. Maybe, as some of the papers said, he was something more than human… On the other hand, Kenny knew full well what being more than human was like, and as mysterious as Batman was to the outside eye, Kenny didn't detect any air of the eldritch around him. Not one bit.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Kenny tried to refocus his tired eyes on the tome set out before him. The letters danced on the page. The problem with books written in the time period - this one penned during the late eighteen hundreds - was that they had the darnedest habit of using words that were forty fucking syllables long, where a four syllable one would've done just as well.

'Like the city of Damascus, this stupendous monument has witnessed the rise, zenith, and decay of…' Halfway through one sentence in some dense glorified travel guide, Kenny flipped it shut. None of these books had the kind of thing he was looking for, they were all common knowledge when it boiled down to it. Incredibly obscure knowledge, but knowledge that anyone with enough time to kill could find in any other university library. He was looking for the deeper dirt, the secrets underneath the floorboards. Dr. Fate, Nabu, Ancient Egypt, Lords of Order… That was not a lot to go on, but some spark of intrigue burned in him. A being trapped in a helmet that granted incredible powers. That was something that needed to be monitored, it wasn't as simple as 'put on helmet, become superhero' from what Nelson had told him.

But why did he want this secret unfolded to him? Did he want to be wearing that helmet, wielding those powers? No… Not really. Kenny cautioned himself, maybe some kind of an edge would be nice. His fight with Joker had taught him a little, and for fuck's sake, all he had to do was look in the newspaper and see threats that were so far beyond anything he could hope to combat. Even beneath Gotham against the servants of Gla'aki he'd had to pull out all his tricks and take some painful hits. Maybe this was him buckling to the temptation of power, maybe it was him caving in to simple curiosity. Whichever one it was he could feel himself desiring both ends, and neither at the same time.

-?M?-

"Interesting study topic for one such as yourself." The suddenly intruding voice startled Kenny out of his glum revery. Turning, he saw it belonged to an old African-American man of a stocky and hobbling stature, with a wrinkled nose and wide friendly eyes. The voice itself bore an odd mixture of the Queen's English and a New England dialect. A melding of two accents particular to expatriate professors, of the sort who tended to wind up teaching in places like Miskatonic University. Or rather, they would, if there were indeed any other places like Miskatonic University.

With the silence of his introspection so startlingly broken, Kenny bolted upright as if administered with an electric shock, and exclaimed halfway through the educated man's interruption. "Jesus! Don't sneak up on people like that…"

Spreading both his hands in a defensive gesture, the man expectorated. "My sincere apologies, I didn't mean to startle. One gets used to not making any noise in this place, especially in the archive." With a wave of his pudgy, wrinkled hand the fellow indicated the rest of the lamentably desolate hall.

Not interested in chatting it up with the lonely staff and students, Kenny brushed him off saying simply. "Yeah, whatever."

"Mind if I ask what has you so interested in Egyptology?" The gentleman followed up, his eyebrows waggling with unbridled curiosity.

"School project." Kenny dismissed, sliding yet another book into the pile he'd been subconsciously referring to as 'the pile of useless garbage' a stack which had only been growing since he began this literary trawl this morning.

"Ah…" Nodded the man in apparent understanding. "Maybe I can help? I'm not exactly falling over myself with work, I even know a few books that might be useful. That is, if you haven't got them all there in that considerable pile."

The idea of an extra pair of hands, better yet a pair of hands that definitely knew the archive better than he did, caused Kenny to calm his hackled anti-social demeanour, and accepted begrudgingly, the help of this blustering old man. "That, would actually be helpful. Thanks."

"Righty-ho! Back in a jiffy." Like a steam engine sputtering to life, the fellow who was quite possibly an actual Fellow of the University, headed off with a prized clarity of direction.

Kenny, unseated from his proverbial throne of solitary research that had garnered him only dead ends and wasted hours, stretched out a crick in his neck while he waited for the gent to return. What harm could it do, the old scholarly samaritan would merely be another set of eyes, to which Kenny could outline the kinds of information he was looking for. From there he could set the old man to search with him and relay any passages that proved promising.

A short while alter, the gentleman returned, three books balanced in his arms. He placed these down on Kenny's desk, and proceeded to noisily drag a second chair and table across to rest along side Kenny's own, creating for them a larger station from which to pour over their assembled tomes. "Allow me to pull up a chair, here, I'll drag this little table over too since you're rather lacking for space."

"So here we go, three books on so-called esoteric Egyptology; one I found by chance, misfiled in the fiction section, one I found resting against a potted plant next to its home shelf, and the other I plucked from my own personal collection." The books he presented were each to their own right, old, venerated tomes, their covers bland and nondescript except for their titles inlaid into leather.

The first one to catch his eye was a small volume, comparatively speaking, and was showing its age the most. Yellowed pages protruded unevenly from underneath its weather-beaten cover. 'Selected Letters of a Paranormal Nature: Egyptological Edition.' Certainly a promising title, but the thing looked less like an anthology of reliable sources, and more like a cobbled together collection of some long-dead explorer's notes.

'Curse of the Pharaohs' The title of the second seemed designed to be more appealing to the eye, or at least it had been back when it was made. The elaborate filigree etched into the cover had faded over the years, leaving the large book with a patchwork of shallow lines running over its face, calm wrinkles that surrounded the words and made them even harder to read.

'Legacy of Alhireth-Hotep' The last of the three was the most indistinct of them, having not one single word on its front or back cover. The only indicator of a title was written on the spine, black markings invisibly pressed into the brown leather. It was not a big book, nor was it small, it looked made fit for small personal bookshelves, yet there was no writing to indicate an author or publisher of any sort.

—?M?—

A small handful of hours later found Kenny glued to the pages of every single book, cross-referencing in a fury of intense devotion. The old professor had been entertaining himself by chatting away about this and that, giving Keny the impression that the man received little fresh conversation. Sad really, because from what little talk Kenny engaged him in, the man seemed very learned, professing, among other things, to know the archive like the back of his hand. "Oh the stories I could tell you. This university was once filled with fascinating people. Pioneers of anthropological discovery. The Magellens and Gallileos of their respective fields!" With expressive flourishes of his hands, the gentleman gazed wistfully out the window. "Nowadays occultism has been boiled down to a hobbyist occupation. All the people studying here are rich folk with more money and time than sense or intellect." Heaving a sigh the professor leaned back in his chair, which creaked mournfully under his weight. "The days of expeditions to Antarctica, to the deep jungles of South America, and the deserts of Africa are sadly over. Those times when people would chase even the vaguest rumour of an encounter… Chase it halfway across the world." Something twinkled in the professors eyes, memories of a bygone era, memories of stories of a bygone era, all tall tales from yesteryear.

Flipping through the pages of 'Curse of the Pharoahs' Kenny absentmindedly quizzed the man. "What about actual magicians, people like Zatara."

The wizened fellow laughed, one short bitter cough of a laugh, and seized hold of the topic. "People like Zatara have reduced magic to a trinket curiosity, a pithy public spectacle. Even fewer people are genuinely interested in the old ways, when showy stage-freaks like him are hogging the spotlight."

"So you want the 'old days' of pioneering discoveries, but don't want any public attention on it? I don't get it, that's kinda contradictory." Kenny was half paying attention, his mind located in two places as he spoke and read.

"Can I not think two things at once? If not at once, at least adjacent to one another."

Kenny froze, eyes crossing between two pages. Quuite by accident the professor had slid an idea into place inside Kenny's mind. The problem he had been encountering for the entirety of his time here, was now plain for him to see. The books he'd read presented a great many different possibilities about the origins of such a creature as Dr. Fate. But those accounts that bore a more distinctly mystic sensibility were shouted down by other accounts that completely debunked or contradicted them. The noise of both sides made it impossible to sort the fact from the fantasy. Now however, he could see it from another direction. Instead of one side having to be right; for the existence of ancient magic in pharaonic Egypt to be either real or fake, Kenny could see it both ways. Neither side was right, or rather, both sides could be equally correct.

With this duality in mind, he cast his memory back over the thousands of words he had read in this day alone. If he took the stance that both the believers and the skeptics were right, it made finding the common ground all the easier. He could see in his minds eye the coulntless tales of curses and cabals he had poured over, and hear the evidence against each case. Only now the inconsistencies were not the telltale signs of a dead end, it was instead their frequency that clued him in and allowed Kenny to look deeper in order to find the similarities in the stories.

As he zeroed in on the accounts of hidden temples and desolate canyons, Kenny finally came across something that he could take hold of and ride home to a clue. It was a single name. Nestled in one of the letters of an old archaeological expedition. An expedition which had never been completed, leaving countless research papers unwritten. The name of an unimportant junior assistant on this ill-fated journey was only mentioned once, but their name could not be ignored. It was Kent Nelson.

—?M?—

"Thanks for the help, Mr…?" On the steps outside the front entrance, Kenny turned to the kindly professor. The rather awkward realisation had dawned on him about an hour into their joint study efforts, that they had bypassed or perhaps forgotten the basic courtesy of introducing themselves. So mentally exhausted from his hours of work before the Professor showed up, and so excited the man had seemed to be able to help someone in their research, the two had just not gotten round to the act. It had gotten to the point where it was almost more awkward to initiate an introduction several hours into their study, but both had been so engrossed that it hadn't seemed to matter. Now however, as he left the University was the time to say hello.

"Oh my goodness, have we really not introduced ourselves to one another? Ha! Goes to show how distracted us historical types can get when presented with a research opportunity. I'm Professor Herbert Allen." The fellow jovially gushed, reaching out to shake Kenny's hand.

Slipping out a gloved hand from the ratty sleeve of his faded neon parka, the teenage investigator grasped the proffered hand and shook it once. "I'm Kenny McKormick. Thanks Professor, I didn't expect to get any help when I came here, the whole place is so…" Kenny's smile dipped a little as he gazed back up at the building. It had seemed so empty, the loneliness of old books compounding the skeleton crew of staff.

"Dead?" Professor Allen's eyebrow quirked upwards, a motion that made him look equal parts forlorn and amused. His tone then took on something of an introspective wistfulness. "Hmm. Well, I always dreamed of helping the next generation unearth the secrets of histories long forgot. It's why I became a Professor. You think I'd be living the dream."

A sad moment of silence drifted between them, the cold evening chill causing them both to draw into their jackets. "Well if I ever come back, I'll give you a call." Tried Kenny, hoping to somewhat lift the spirits of this kind old guy.

"Maybe think of us when you come to apply for colleges, eh?" The weary way Herbery motioned with his arms gave Kenny the impression that the Professor was used to making this offer, and sadly just as accustomed to it being rejected.

For his part Kenny answered honestly. "I hadn't really thought about college, but yeah, sure. Seems like my kind of place. At least, academically speaking…" Arkham was not what you would call a 'college town' and Kenny doubted they had a local student bar, let alone any sports team or anything.

"Excellent." Herbert said smiling ruefully, before bidding Kenny a final goodbye with a polite nod. "Well goodbye young McKormick, good luck with that project."

—?M?—

As the rise and fall of Arkham's dusky rooftops grew ever more distant, Kenny turned his attention to the landscape passing by his window. The rest of his journey would see his mind wrapped up in thoughts of Fate, and of the future of his education. Being Mysterion was hardly a well-paid pastime after all, and if he wanted to apply himself to what he did best he'd need further education. After what Professor Allen had said, Kenny's mind kept turning to the thoughts of a more 'esoteric' education. Maybe he'd be seeing Miskatonic University again someday.

A soft beeping from within his bag caused Kenny to knit his brow in annoyance. Reluctantly he took the wrist communicator out of his bag, checking first that neither of the bus' occupants was watching - they weren't, one was even asleep - and clicked the button, whispering into the device.

"What?" He spoke into the receiver, blunt and very much not in the mood for either of the people who would be calling him on this device.

"Hey, it's Robin!" The chipper voice on the end of the line caused Kenny to sigh wearily. At least it wasn't Batman.

"Yeah well, I'm on a bus, so…" Trailing off Kenny should've known better than for the Boy Wonder to pick up on a hint that he wasn't in the mood to chit-chat. Or as the case would most certainly be, come up with an excuse.

"Oh, right. So, Mr. B wants you to come in."

Rolling his eyes Kenny bit back the instinct to just tell the kid to piss off. He was just a kid after all, and not someone Kenny actually disliked. He was just a close associate of the Bat, someone Kenny did not know how he felt about. "'Mr. B' sounds like the name of a pimp." He commented dryly.

A snort of laughter was the first response he got, before Robin reaffirmed. "You get the idea though."

"Well, I'm busy."

"You were busy yesterday! And the time before that!" This was not the first call he had gotten since walking out of the Batcave. They had been infrequent at first, but now Robin seemed to have been assigned 'Mysterion-Friend-Duty' and had taken to calling him at random.

Leaning back in his seat, still tucked towards the window to conceal the communicator, Kenny droned. "I'm a busy guy." Beyond the window the trees were looming darker as the sun sank and moon rose. Reflected between the world inside the vehicle and the world outside, Kenny's own reflected face faded in and out of focus with the dull light from inside the bus, trapped in the glass between here and there.

"You don't have to do anything! Batm-Mr. B just wants you to observe, so you know what the team does."

"I don't need to observe shit." He groaned irritably. "I've seen your team in action."

"Can't you at least come to the debriefing? Besides, I wanna ask you something important." Something in Robin's earnest tone stuck a chord in Kenny. It wasn't so much what he was asking, but how he was asking it that reminded Kenny of Karen.

After a beat of consideration, Kenny bit the bullet and said. "If I do will you stop calling me?"

To the mischievous sidekicks credit he didn't burst into a wave of gratitude or any crap that would've just irritated Kenny more. Instead he sarcastically whined. "But what if it's urgent?"

"Stop being a dick." Was what Kenny judged to be the appropriate response. However, a shiver then ran down his spine as Robin's undeniably creepy laugh came dancing down the line directly into his ear. "And never laugh like that again." Of course the Boy Wonder ignored his strongly worded advice and continued to laugh. In a perhaps futile attempt to quell this cackling, Kenny continued. "If that's your actual laugh, no girl will ever want to be near you, let alone go out with you."

Robin must've been having the time of his life, because that obnoxious laugh carried on echoing down the communicator. "I mean it. No one will ever love you."

Interrupting the laughter, Robin tried to get a handle on himself and asked, chortling. "Are you coming or what?"

Lamenting the fact that his massless state right now meant he'd let his Mysterion persona slip a little, Kenny tried to put an end to the conversation. "To get you to stop, sure, I'll try anything."

"Alright! See ya tonight; 11PM!"

"Fuck off." Hanging up Kenny sat back in his seat, shifting his legs to avoid cramp and resigning himself to the idea that he couldn't put this off forever. Tonight he'd bite the bullet, meet this team and in doing so, see how much Batman remembered.

—?M?—?M?—

A/N: Here's the next one, took a while, updates, apologies, etc etc. It's here now! Hooray! Had one more thing to slip in before Kenny meets The Team though. If there are any inconsistencies or errors I hope you can forgive them as I can't catch everything, but your reviews always drive me to make the story better, even if I can't keep up a great update pace/schedule.

Also there's a new South Park/Young Justice crossover on this site, which may be to your liking if you're reading this. It's written by a reader of this fic too, Wingd knight. So go check that out for sure!

Any questions, requests, or if you just wanna say hi, then you can PM me, leave a review, or find me on tumblr (link in my profile). Thanks for reading as always, and take it easy!

- Faff