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amongsnot · 4 months ago

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there is a certain beauty that lies in the creases of the world, when everything has seemed to pause in the space between what is real and what is fake. it is a space that jimmy can hold his hand up to and flex nimble fingers around, because they grasp a sort of air pressure that isn’t quite there, but jimmy can convince himself it is with enough hope.

the rest of his friends are walking back from a restaurant with full stomachs and big grins. they break off into their respective groups—jenny and manny, who have known each other longer then the rest of them have known robotic girls and have questioned where they stand on the line of good and evil, lead the way through the twists and turns of dimmsdale.

jenny is wearing a cardigan that she doesn’t technically need, but wears anyways because she likes the way that it makes pretty girls stare at something besides the way her hair thunks together in the wind. manny is bundled up in a coat and a hat and a scarf and a myriad of other things that are not really acceptable for the fall temperatures. he claimed that he gets cold in the winter. the “like a cat” part was left unsaid, but the rest of the group shared knowing looks nonetheless.

and spongebob and danny are behind jimmy, but they do not talk with jokes on their tongues and quips on their lips like jenny and manny do. jimmy can feel their concerned gaze lingering on his back. they wring practiced fingers together and share worried, knowing looks.

there is a certain truth to this night; one that jimmy had come to the conclusion of long before, but one that he has pushed away and away and away.

he thought that he could convince himself it was there with enough hope; but he failed, and that thought sits heavy in his stomach.

timmy stands next to jimmy. he is talking about a friend he made at college. he talks with big hand movements and a big, wide grin.

he does not stop and make sure that jimmy is paying attention when jimmy does not say anything. he talks and talks and talks: a certain unwarranted confidence to his stride as he grins at girls on the street and looks at drunk men who beat each other up in the hallway with wide eyes. he does not fear rejection, or flinch at the swing of curses that leave their mouths; as powerful and dangerous as the swing of their fists.

and that is why jimmy knows that this is something he has to do.

he sees the smile and the lack of fear in the boy that he grew to love, and he knows that even if he did everything in his power to make him remember, he will never be able to smile as much as he is now.

he sees the way that timmy talks about the family he has made at college with a large smile as he recites memories (memories that jimmy recognizes because they are memories of antics that timmy would do with the rest of them. memories of a different life). he sees the way that timmy furrows his brows when jimmy mentions going home early to eat dinner, before saying that he doesn’t quite remember ever having a family dinner before (and he doesn’t say it because he’s hiding a bigger secret. he’s saying it because he truly does not remember the way his parents left him and the way that he starved himself to sleep). he sees the way that timmy smiles in the face of anything orange (even if once upon a time he would’ve cried).

and jimmy wants to cry, because he cannot fix this.

he is supposed to. but he can’t.

he’s supposed to fix everything; the broken parts of jenny’s body when she malfunctions after one of their major battles. the broken hearts that are left behind when a fight breaks out among their headquarters, where an electrifying tension causes their hair to stand up on end. he is supposed to fix what is broken, and when you’re in the business as long as he is, there is a lot of things you have to fix.

but he can’t fix this.

he thought he could. timmy had warned him about his fairy-induced amnesia as soon as jenny and manny joined their team and they started to become something more than a wayward group that only met when absolutely necessary. he had told timmy, while clasping his hand as tight as he could, that he would fix this. he would get the broken pieces of timmy’s life—the amnesiac body, the torn mind, his absent fairies—and he would save him.

he had found the body with ease. timmy still lived in the same house in the same town in the same dimension. jimmy introduced himself under the faux that he and his friends moved in next door, and they were holding a wii tournament to get to know their neighbors. it was easy to say that timmy was the only neighbor who could make it. it was easy to tell timmy that it felt like they’ve known him forever. it was easy to relearn the boy with buckteeth.

he had relearned the mind with ease. timmy still had a weird adoration for the superhero with the red suit (and jimmy knew that it was because the superhero had a weird face just like him. timmy told him under the stars when it was just the two of them. timmy did not know that jimmy knew.) he still thought his elementary school teacher was weird. he still laughed at sex jokes and won every single mario kart tournament they hosted. it was still timmy.

he could not find the fairies.

(that’s a lie.)

he had looked everywhere he possibly could. he had found mr. crocker with the sole purpose of stealing his portal to fairy world. he had dug through every nook and cranny in timmy’s bedroom when he was out with the others for anything even remotely fairy-like—he had torn open the space between the creases of the world and clawed at the grabbable, holdable, air in front of him.

(he found them.)

but he did not give up. he had promised timmy that he would save him. he had clutched his hand tight and held it against his chest (his heart) as he told timmy that failure was not an option; as he told him that he fixed everything broken.

(they were with a girl with frizzy black hair. they pulled him aside when they saw him and told him that they can’t do anything to help him. that he should let timmy be happy. that ignorance is bliss.)

and, well, jimmy’s always been stubborn; he had no other option but to keep going.

but now jimmy’s attending timmy’s nineteenth birthday party, and time seems to stop as he realizes that the boy singing karaoke is not someone he recognizes.

jimmy does not recognize the boy who stands in front of him, carefree and happy as he sings a duet about russian spies with danny, a boy who he has only known for a year. jimmy does not recognize the way that he does not wear three earrings in his pierced right ear (green pink and purple) or the way that he does not immediately find jimmy in the crowd when singing the verse that annoys him (he always made sure to sing that verse extra loud, just to get on jimmy’s bad side).

jimmy recognizes his body and his smile and his laugh, but he cannot lie to himself for any longer. that boy in front of him is a changed boy without his memories.

and jimmy cannot convince himself that timmy is the same boy he was a year ago with enough hope.

that’s fine. he tells himself, as he watches timmy hand the microphone to manny before walking off stage and towards him. he can relearn timmy. he can learn what the difference is between an adolescent and an amnesiac version of his friend.

(he finds that he does not like the answer.)

“are you enjoying your birthday?” jimmy asks, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his knuckles. he tries to look at timmy in a way that he hasn’t looked at him since he was twelve and timmy was eleven and they were about yeigh-high.

he watches as timmy grabs manny’s shot glass and drowns it with a smile. jimmy flinches when it gets slammed on the table. the old-timmy took an oath against alcohol (it reminded him of his mom).

“yeah!” he says, and then his face twists in the way that suggests he’s trying to recall a memory that was lost as soon as he turned eighteen. “i don’t really recall ever having a birthday as good as this one.”

“that’s good,” jimmy says.

and the conversation ends there.

jimmy cringes, uncurling his fingers from where they rest underneath his chin and dragging his nails against the skin of his cheeks. he had never been forced to endure the tortures of awkward silence six, four, two years ago.

“timmy,” jimmy says cautionary, because he is stepping on egg-shells around a man that he once held so dear. “are you happy?”

timmy does not physically recoil, but jimmy can see the shock in his eyes. he does not respond right away, but the faint line of a smile in his lips is all the proof jimmy needs.

“yeah,” timmy says, looking down at what’s left in the shot glass in his hands. he swishes the contents around with a soft grin. “i got a b on that essay i had to write about that book i told you about! that was pretty cool.”

jimmy hums, but he’s not really paying attention. not in a way that matters.

(“timmy,” jimmy asks, because he had just entered the room after getting off a call with his parents, and they were alone. “are you happy?”

“what’s all this about?” timmy asks with a grin, making himself comfortable on the armrest as he turned to look at jimmy. jimmy knows timmy; he knows the way that his smile doesn’t quite match his eyes, and the way that his voice twangs with anger.

“are you happy?” jimmy repeats, because it’s really as simple as that. “when you were eleven, you had those calls with your parents daily; and you always ended them upset. you seethe about anything to do with babysitters—spongebob bought those books about that babysitting club from a garage sale and you threw them away almost instantly.”

and it’s obvious what jimmy’s hinting at. are you happy? can timmy turner ever truly be happy? can timmy turner have memories of sleeping on cold unfurnished floors after being locked in the basement and be happy? can timmy turner have memories of getting lashed as a child and be happy? can timmy turner have the memories of his childhood and be happy?

jimmy doesn’t think so.

but the worst part is, jimmy doesn’t think timmy turner can be timmy turner without his memories.

it is the question of the ship of theseus. if it is the same body (that jimmy touches with tender fingers and loves with adoring gazes) and the same hands (that have touched and loved and prayed) and the same hair (that jimmy has ran his hands through so many times), but it does not have the same memories (it does not remember gentle nights alone, or holding jimmys hand as they run through the night, or being held in the lap of a loved one as he cards his fingers through his hair and tells him stories) is it the same man?

“yeah,” timmy says, but he says it with the smile doesn’t quite match his eyes. jimmy knows this. “i could always be happier, though.”

“how so?” jimmy asks, entertaining timmy’s attempts to change the topic.

“maybe if i had my loving boyfriend by my side while i made dinner,” timmy says, reaching his hand over and entangling his fingers with jimmy’s (and does a happy timmy turner remember this sweet moment? unimportant and unnecessary but so sickingly them?)

“you’re so corny,” jimmy says, but timmy grins and jimmy decides to push all thoughts of greek heroes and longingly grand gestures in the back of his mind.)

timmy turner says that he is happy with a smile that reaches his eyes.

and jimmy’s heart breaks, because he knows that if it is a choice between timmy being happy and forgetting, or timmy being sad and remembering, he will pick timmy every time.

no matter how much he can convince himself that he is enough, jimmy neutron knows that he will never be able to replace the burden that comes with forgetting.

nobody can.

and so timmy turner smiles about college essays and karaoke nights, because he has never known about a life harder.

(jimmy cries, later that night, running hands through his own hair and prodding gentle fingers against skin. he wishes he wasn’t cursed with the knowledge of remembering. he wishes he could forget like timmy).

and timmy comes to their next house with a grin. he is nineteen years old, and happier than jimmy has ever seen him

#i wrote this on my phone #idk the idea of timmy forgetting being BETTER is bugging me #i might write a full fledged fic about this #this one shot is kind of a mess LMAO #timmy turner #nicktoons #spongebob squarepants #danny fenton #the fairly oddparents #jimmy neutron #my fic #definitely not my favorite piece i’ve ever written #but i needed to get the idea out there #alcohol #tw alcohol

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bluerosefox · 8 months ago

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Always Favors You

Another Sibling Danny and Jason idea!!

"Are you Jason Peter Todd?!" demanded a deep and commanding tone from the strange glowing being in front of them.

All the Bats stiffened and tensed, no doubt gearing up for a fight against the being that somehow knew Red Hood's full name.

Jason, Red Hood, decided to put on a brave front despite no doubt cursing in his head and wondering how the heck did this thing know his full freaking name.

"Whose asking." he snarled out, his hands twitching for his gun when the huge glowing knight with purple flames coming out of his helmet and cape, who was riding on a nightmare looking horse while they all had been in the cave going over tonight's patrol.

The Knight didn't seemed bothered by his response nor did he even seem to care or flinch when Batman made his own demand on 'Why was he there and who was he' or when Damian unsheathed his sword and pointed it towards him. Instead the strange glowing Knight reached to it side and pulled out... A glowing scroll? Huh. (Also he completely unnerved everyone in the room when the Knight didn't even react when Batman had tossed a Baterang when he reached for his side)

The Knight opened the scroll and spoke clearly with purpose.

"Jason Peter Todd,

You are hereby invited as a special guest of honor to the crowning of our future King of the Infinite Realms.

Daniel Phantom, once Daniel Jackson Fenton, and once Daniel Austen Todd.

Prince of the Infinite Realms, the Keeper of Balance, The Peacekeeping Halfa, the Defeater of the Tyrant King Pariah Dark, The Great One, Youngest of the Ancients, Ancient of Space, The Bridge between Life and Death.

You, the half-brother of our King, have been given the highest of honors for your past actions and will be given housing and food in the Realms and Phantom's Keep, for the week long event. Personal servants and attendants will be at your disposal and a seamstress will be on hand to tailor make your attire for the Coronation.

Signed: Clockwork. Ancient of Time. Watcher of the Infinite Timeline. Kronos. Mentor and Adviser.

PS: I shall have Fright Knight ("Me" the Knight bluntly said for a second) leave this scroll along with a personal one for you from Daniel to read over and once you make up your mind sign the bottom of the scroll.

I do hope in time you will pick the right choice Jason Todd, we of the Infinite Realms would like to reward you for your actions. After all, if you hadn't gotten young Daniel away from your father that night all those years ago, we would never had gained our Prince nor be free from our once Tyrant King.

Ah, one more thing.

The Infinite Realms will always favor you Jason."

Jason felt like he couldn't breath as Fright Knight? Rolled up the scroll, pulled a letter from his side, and held out the two items for him to take.