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Tim had been coughing for longer than he should if it was just a cold. He knew that. He knew this wasn’t just a cold or the flu. Breathing hurt. Still, he pulled himself together enough to be presentable when the cleaning lady came over for the week, dropping off groceries. She’d brought him some cough medicine, which was nice. He said he was feeling fine, nothing to worry about.
He should have said something. As he lay in his bed, blankets tucked up to his chin as he shook feverishly. He hadn’t left his bed in two days. His body felt heavy. Each breath wheezed against aching ribs, broken up by coughs that wracked his small body.
Tim was scared. What had he done to deserve this? He tried to be a good boy. He was quiet, didn’t bother adults. He studied and did well in school. He was working on developing his photography skills. He was trying to learn to play the violin. That one wasn’t going as well, but he was trying.
He wanted his mom. He wanted someone to come in and brush his hair out of his face like he saw in movies, tell him everything was going to be ok. Someone to make him soup. But Tim was alone, the only person in a 35,000 square foot empty mansion.
†††
When Tim awoke later that night, he wasn’t even sure he was awake. He felt… wrong. Instead of pain in his chest there was a strange emptiness. He felt like he was floating in a dream, but he knew he wasn’t dreaming. His dreams didn’t have smells. He could smell the musty scent that permeated throughout Drake manor, along with the overtones of sick that had filled his room the past few weeks.
Slowly, he eased his eyes open. He was staring at his ceiling, but something was off. The perspective was wrong. Tim turned his head to look to the right. His face was level with the top drawer of his dresser. A chill ran through him. That was wrong. He couldn’t be level with the drawer. He turned, reaching for the bed only to be met his air. Panic shot through him as he turned over, looking down at his bed.
His body lay curled under the sheets, a beam of moonlight falling across his waxy face. Nothing moved. Tim couldn’t even hear himself breathe. Slowly he lowered himself down, feet touching down on the carpet beside his bed.
Tim never really put stock in mysticism or the supernatural. He had a bit of respect for curses, like the Curse of the Pharaohs, as there was normally some sort of reasoning behind them. Something that could be explained. But this couldn’t be a curse. This had to be a dream. Right?
He reached a hand out, tentatively, to touch his own face with shaky fingers. His skin was cool under his touch, still clammy with sweat. And unnervingly still. He couldn’t feel his breath moving out of his mouth of nose. With one finger, he cautiously lifted one eyelid. A glassy eye looked unseeingly out of Tim’s face.
Tim threw himself violently back from his bed, falling onto his butt. He quickly scrambled back, pressing himself into the corner between the wall and the dresser.
“No. No no no no no no no no no no. Please.” His voice sounded distant, as if coming from the other side of a long tunnel. Tears welled up in his eyes. He pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the plain black pajama pants his dad had gotten him last time they were in town.
He sat there for a long time, crying in the corner until he ran out of tears then just silently rocking back and forth until the tears began to flow again. By the time he had regained some control of himself the light of dawn was beginning to filter into his room. Slowly, he lifted his head up, looking at the edge of his bed.
He was a Drake. His parents were archaeologists. He’d seen dead bodies before. He’d been to the museum a few times and where there was an Egyptology exhibit. He’d seen images of mummies and bones his parents had found. He’d seen the Graysons die.
This was just another dead body.
Just because it was his body, didn’t make it that much different. He needed to do something with it before his parents came home. No, before that. He needed to get the body gone before the cleaner came on Monday. It was Saturday if he remembered correctly. Two days to hide his body. He could do that.
First things first, he needed to move the body now. Tim tentatively pushed himself to his feet, walking shakily over to his bed where his body lay under the sheets. He swallowed hard. It was a task. Tim was good at tasks.
He grabbed the covers, pulling them off of his body. It was curled up in the fetal position. He didn’t think rigor mortis had set in. At least, he hoped not. He didn’t know if that would make it easier or harder to move. He reached over, grabbing a cold arm, shivering at the touch for a moment before trying to move it. The arm was stiff, but moved with some resistance. Ok, good. That was probably good.
Best thing would be to get it out of the house. He could probably hide it in the woods. That would work.
Tim pulled his body towards him. He looked so small like this. Was he really that small? He shook his head. He needed to focus. Tim scooped his body into his arms, holding it close to his chest.
He must have zoned out as he didn’t remember most of the trip as he bridal carried his corpse out of the manor, across the lawn, and into the woods. Suddenly he just found himself nearly falling into a small ravine. Tim looked around. It seemed secluded enough. He lay his body down, taking the time to stretch out his legs and cross his arms over his chest. It was harder than it was in his room. He stared down at his body.
Leaving his body exposed like this was probably a bad idea. That was a great way for it to be picked apart by scavengers. Tim… Tim didn’t want that. The mere thought made something in his chest tighten. Cover the body, he needed to cover the body.
Tim looked around. There were some sticks and leaves from the trees nearby. He grabbed them, covering the body. That wasn’t quite enough so he climbed up the embankment and kicked at the edge with his still bare feet until enough broke away to cover his body with a thin layer of dirt.
It didn’t feel right, but the sun had fully risen by this point. Hopefully his body should be fine like that for now. And it wasn’t like people came here often. He’d mostly just have to worry about animals.
Tim took one last look at his body before turning around and running back home.
†††
Tim still felt uneasy. His body was just in a ditch in his back yard. He needed to do something more than that.
And he needed to make sure no one found out what happened. He looked at himself in the mirror. He was pale, more so than normal. But at least he looked alive. That was good. And he could touch things. He just wasn’t sure that anyone else could actually see him. He could test that theory on Monday when the cleaner came.
Now he needed to figure out what to do with his body. He should probably give it a proper burial. That felt right. He knew he couldn’t do anything extravagant, and he couldn’t put it in an actual cemetery. Too easy for it to be found.
But he could make his own grave in the woods. And if he put it deep enough in the woods, it shouldn’t be disturbed until long after Tim’s de-
Ok, Tim’s already dead. But it should remain undisturbed until it’s no longer Tim’s problem. And the library has all sorts of books on burial customs. He can research them and figure out what he needs to do.
Now he had a plan. Perfect.
†††
He didn’t realize it was Monday until the cleaner walked into the library where he was holed up. He did learn that she could see him. Good. But he looked sick. Not good. He’d need to find a way to look more alive than he was.
Maybe he could try makeup. He’d have to order some. But for now, he needed to gather some supplies.
†††
Tim managed to get everything together by Tuesday night and headed out with a backpack and a shovel. It was very easy to locate his corpse. Concerningly so. He slid down into the ditch, pushing aside dirt and sticks to reveal his body. It was a bit bloated at this point, but looked otherwise fine. Seeing his body like this was more unsettling than it had been the first night when he died. His features were distorted and discolored.
Touching the corpse nearly made Tim gag. The texture and smell were horrendous. He pushed through, cradling his body as he made his way through the woods to the spot he’d found and picked just earlier that day.
It was a small open area between trees. Not enough to truly be a clearing, but enough that there was room for a grave. He lay his body down at the base of a large oak tree and began to dig.
He wasn’t sure how long it took to dig the grave. It was less time than Tim would have thought. He had more stamina than he had when he was alive so that likely helped. He dug it the hole 6 feet deep, which was difficult at the end considering the top of the grave ended up a good couple feet above his head. He managed, somehow.
Lowering his body into the hole was less dignified that he probably could have been. He just sort of jumped in while holding it and arranged it as best he could. He then placed two dollar coins over his corpse’s eyes.
Tim didn’t think he would have to pay a toll to a ferryman considering his ghost, spirit, whatever you wanted to call what he was now, was still here and not on its way to some afterlife. But it was something he’d read in his parents’ books as being important to some ancient civilizations. He took the blanket he’d tied around his neck like a cape and lay it over his body as a sort of burial shroud. It was plain blue, but it worked well enough. Tim was careful not to knock the coins off of his eyes as he placed the blanket over the body.
Getting out of the grave was a struggle, especially as he was trying not to land back on his body. But he was able to float a little, which allowed him to clamber back out.
Burial did not take nearly as long as digging the grave had.
Once he was done, Tim pulled the last item out of his backpack. It was what had taken the longest, though not needing (and possibly not being able) to sleep had helped.
It was a rock Tim had found in the woods and managed to roughly carve into. The words were mostly legible. Not that it really mattered. He’d written them in a secret alphabet he’d developed a couple years ago from looking at some of his parents’ books. Only he could read it. It was simple, just his name and birth and death dates.
He’d debated adding some memorial line, but none of them felt right, and they all felt a bit selfish as it was his grave. Plus, it was hard work. He stood there for some time at the foot of the grave, only leaving as dawn started to filter through the trees.
†††
Tim perched in the shadow of a gargoyle, watching Batman with a frown on his face. His one hand was still holding his camera, but he hadn’t taken a picture all night. Actually, he hadn’t taken many pictures lately.
Ever since the death of Robin, Batman had been so violent. More people were ending up hospitalized or crippled. He was bloody and ruthless. And, more concerningly, he wasn’t dodging blows as much as he used to. Tim had been tracking Batman’s injuries and it was getting concerning. If something didn’t happen soon, Tim worried that Batman was going to end up dead.
He chewed at his lip in thought. He didn’t want to get involved. It wasn’t technically his business. Besides, Tim was dead. Had been for a little over five years at this point. Batman was smart, as was Nightwing. They were the best detectives Tim knew of. Not to mention they were a part of the Justice League. Batman was one of the founding members! Tim didn’t have as much information on the Justice League as a whole as he did on Batman and Nightwing, but he knew enough to know that they probably wouldn’t like having a ghost as part of the team. He’d heard rumors of a magical division but hadn’t found concrete evidence. If that was true, that was probably bad news for him.
But what was worse? Tim possibly getting locked up by his heroes for being an abomination against nature or Batman dying.
Tim would go with the latter.
Somehow he needed to get Batman to stop being practically suicidal in his quest for vengeance. And there was a simple answer really.
Batman needed a Robin.
Tim pushed away from the gargoyle, moving across the roof and climbing nearly silently down the fire escape. There were some aspects of being a ghost which were really useful. He had some mild powers that he really didn’t use. But they were enough to make him a little harder to see, a little quieter if need be, make falls a little easier.
And he was pretty sure he couldn’t die again. That was a plus. Hadn’t tested that though.
He popped the lens cap back on, putting his camera back in his backpack as he walked down the street, using a little bit of that ghostliness to make him unappealing to anyone he might run into. Most people wouldn’t walk through Gotham at night with headphones in, but Tim wasn’t most people.
After a while, he made it to his destination. It took a little bit to find the correct grave, but once he did, he sighed.
Here lies Jason Todd
He’d come here a couple times before, once shortly after the funeral. He rest one hand against the cold stone tombstone, taking a deep breath in.
He always felt at ease in cemeteries. He figured it had to do with being dead. But something about standing at Jason’s grave didn’t leave him with the same sense of ease. He felt more sorrow and weight of loss standing at the grave of his hero, his Robin, than he did the graves of people he’d known. He’d been to his family’s mausoleum many times. Sometimes he did his homework in there, casually doing arithmetic homework next to where his grandparents’ ashes were interred, only a slab of rock separating them. He felt comfortable there. It felt almost like a second home. It was almost more homely than his actual home at Drake Manor.
At least there were actually people in the mausoleum.
But they’d died old. Jason had been 15, just a couple years older than Tim was supposed to be. He let out a low sigh, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against the smooth granite of the angel’s sleeve. He took several slow, deep breaths, breathing in the smell of the stone, grass, and grave dirt around him.
After several moments of silence he took a step back, opening his eyes and looking up at the angel’s impassive stone face. He didn’t know if this would work, but he had to try. For Batman’s sake. For Gotham’s sake.
He set his backpack down against the side of Jason’s tombstone and pulled out his supplies. He set up the circle of candles over the top of Jason’s grave. He took out one of his favorite photos of Jason as Robin and placed it against the tombstone on one side. On the other side he placed a few sticks of incense. He didn’t know what sort of snacks Jason might have liked when he was alive, so he placed something he hoped Jason would have liked. That being a snack pack of Oreos.
It took a brief moment to light the candles and incense, then Tim took his place, sitting cross-legged above where Jason’s feet would be, six feet below him. Tim closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths as he got himself into the right mindset. When he opened his eyes, there was a determined look to them.
“I call upon Jason Todd and ask him to join me here tonight. You are welcome and invited to join me in the circle.”
His words hung heavy in the silence that surrounded the graves. The angel stared down at him, hands clasped in prayer and wings spread. A slight breeze blew, rustling the grass and offered flowers around him.
“Jason, I ask for your help. Batman’s gone too far. He’s killing himself. He needs you. Please. Give me some sort of a sign that you’re here with me.”
He strained his ears, not breathing since he didn’t really need to. He tried to find a sign, a whisper, a rustle, anything that could determine that Jason was there. Only the stillness greeted him. He glanced around, trying to keep his composure as he worked his jaw.
“Please Jason. Please. He needs you.”
A wind whistled hauntingly through the angle’s wings. One of the candles went out, shortly followed by a second. The smoke rose lazily into the air in front of him. Tim closed his eyes, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against the grass. The scent of the grave dirt filled his nose.
“Please… don’t let me be alone…”
†††
Tim used every excuse under the sun to not get into the Zeta-tube. But this time he didn’t think he’d be able to get out of it. He needed to get to the Watchtower, which he had also been avoiding. It was an all hands on deck situation and Bruce needed him up at the Watchtower working with him on the computer.
There were so many things that could go wrong. Bruce had assured him countless times that the Zeta-tubes were perfectly safe for human travel. And Tim trusted him. Batman wouldn’t use something he didn’t know was safe, wouldn’t have it installed in the cave, wouldn’t let others use it.
But Tim wasn’t human.
Tim was dead, a ghost. He didn’t have body anymore. He wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he was made of. He had some sort of physical form. He could touch. He had weight. He bled, and it looked enough like blood, but Tim had analyzed it. He didn’t know what it was that he bled, but it wasn’t blood of anything he knew.
He was very careful to not let Bruce get any samples of his blood or tissue. He was too scared of what might happen if Bruce found out Tim had been lying this whole time and wasn’t human. Not anymore. He didn’t know if the Zeta-tube would transport him correctly. He didn’t know if it might flag him as some glitch and delete him. Or worse, send some alert that would notify Batman.
“Robin!”
“On my way.” Tim took a deep breath, checking his equipment one last time before he stepped into the tube. He closed his eyes. Whatever happened, happened. He just hoped he would be able to make it through this mission before everything ended.
The tube whirred to life and there was a flash. His whole body tingled. Then it was over. Tim opened his eyes, stepping out into the unfamiliar but unmistakable halls of the Watchtower. He was whole, not deleted. If this would have repercussions later with Batman, he could deal with that later. Right now, he had a job to do.
Robin hurried down the hall, darting around Hawkwoman as he made it to the control room where Bruce was elbow deep into the control panel. Superman hovered uncertainly nearby, trying to help.
“I’m here.”
“Get to work on the sensor relay controls.” Batman didn’t look up from the wires he was working on.
Tim nodded, taking that as a good a sign as any. He moved to the other side of Superman, removing the panel quickly as he lay on his back, getting to work.
†††
Tim was sitting at the batcomputer, staring at numbers, trying to figure out what group was routing these funds offshore, when he got a spike of anxiety harder than he’s felt in years. It’s enough to make him gasp out loud and clutch a hand to his chest.
He looked around. No alarms are going off. No one’s in the cave. Tim frowns, pulling up the feeds, checking all of the security cameras. Everything looks fine. There’s nothing out of the ordinary. It doesn’t make sense.
That scares Tim.
It could be Red Hood. He’s still an unknown with unknown motives. But he’s been cutting a bloody swath through Crime Alley, leaving bodies in his wake. And even worse, he keeps taunting Batman. Provoking him then dancing just out of reach.
Maybe that’s it.
Tim doesn’t think that’s it. It’s too simple. But he hopes. By god does he hope.
†††
“Hey Tim! What’s up?”
Tim looked up from his laptop as Dick strode into the library. He shrugged as casually as he could with the anxious feeling that hadn’t left in the past three days and had only been getting worse. “Homework.”
Dick flopped on the couch next to him. He was close enough that he could easily reach out and envelop Tim in a hug, and still might, but he was doing a little better about respecting Tim’s personal space.
Tim loved and hated physical contact. He craved it. The touch of human skin. It made him feel warm and safe, especially coming from Dick, Bruce, or Alfred. But he was always so scared that they would notice. Notice something was wrong. Notice he wasn’t human. He was colder than a human was supposed to be. And he wasn’t sure if he felt like how a human body was supposed to feel. The less he indulged the less likely they would notice he felt wrong. The less it would hurt when it was all stripped away.
“Just homework?”
Tim looked over at the man, raising an eyebrow. Dick sighed, reaching over and squeezing Tim’s shoulder.
“You’re tense. You’ve been jumpier than normal the past few days. What is it?” He had a genuinely concerned look on his face.
Tim sighed, allowing Dick five more seconds of contact before he shrugged his hand off. “Work stuff.”
“Case?”
Tim nodded. Dick let out a sigh of understanding.
“Anything I can help with?”
Tim shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Hmm. If you say so. Want to talk it out over sparing.”
Tim shot him a deadpan look. “Why?”
Dick grinned in a way that looked innocent if you didn’t live part time with the man. “It’s training! Come on.”
“You just want to try out some new move on me because B said no.”
“Nooo.” Dick whined. “Come on Tim.”
He sighed, rolling his eyes as he shut his laptop. “Fine.”
“Woo!” Dick launched himself off the sofa. Tim got up more normally, setting the laptop on the coffee table before following Dick downstairs to the cave. It only took a few moments to get into training gear and into the sparring ring. Few minutes of stretching, and a lot of Dick showing off the questionable existence of his skeletal system (Tim wasn’t sure how Dick was more flexible than him when Tim didn’t think he had bones anymore).
They started with light warmups, basic drills, before ramping up into proper sparing. As Tim ducked under Dick’s arm, aiming to go for his legs, he froze.
Bruce had been sitting at the batcomputer since they came down, but that wasn’t unusual. There were several cases they were working on, and he’d been obsessing over Red Hood. Tim had thought that’s what he was working on.
It wasn’t Red Hood.
The image blown up on the batcomputer screens, surrounded by dead languages and cyphers, was Tim’s headstone.
Dick’s fist collided with Tim’s head, causing him to stumble, lights flashing behind his eyes before he stumbled to the mat.
“Tim!”
He shook his head. Bruce was looking over. He forced himself to look up at Dick, a carefully neutral expression on his face. “Sorry. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Dick asked, helping Tim up and looking in at his eyes.
Tim bat his hands away. “Yeah, fine. I’ve had worse.” Dick frowned, not exactly reassured.
“Tim, could I get you to take a look at this?”
He turned to look at Bruce. He was standing now. Behind him was that same picture of his tombstone.
He maintained his practiced neutrality. “Yeah, sure. What is it?” He made his way carefully down the stairs to the batcomputer, Dick close behind him.
“I was hoping you would be able to help with that. Do you have any idea what language this is?”
Tim hummed thoughtfully, leaning on the desk as he looked up at his own fucking tombstone. It had weathered in the 9 years since Tim had placed it there. The bottom was partly obscured by leaves and dirt. The shallow letters that had already been done by a shaky and inexperienced hand were smoothing at the edges. His anxiety was through the roof right now. He could still read that alphabet he made years ago. Even if he didn’t use it anymore. Not since that day.
He shook his head. “Not sure. I can check if there’s anything in my parents’ library that might help.”
Bruce nodded, grunting in approval.
Tim smiled, as if he didn’t feel like he’d just been led to the gallows and told to tie his own noose.
†††
Bad bad bad. This was bad. That’s what he’d been anxious about. His grave. Bruce was preparing for an upcoming expansion to the cave for the batwing. Had he found his grave while working on that? Had he already dug up Tim’s bones? No, they would be in the cave if he had. Right? There’s no reason they wouldn’t be. Unless he went to Gordon with them. But that would invite the GCPD onto the manor grounds in storm, which none of them wanted.
No, this was the sort of thing that Bruce would deal with personally. Which meant that if Tim hadn’t heard about him discovering a skeleton, he probably hadn’t found it yet. There was still time.
He needed to act now.
Tim climbed out of his window, barely having the forethought to grab a spare backpack normally reserved for trips to Titans Tower. He didn’t have patrol tonight, but Bruce was out and Dick was in Bludhaven. He needed to act fast before Bruce got back. He practically threw himself off the roof in his hurry to get down.
Luckily, there were tools in the shed by the edge of the memorial garden Bruce kept on the grounds. Tim let himself in, grabbing a shovel before tearing off and into the woods.
He was scared he’d spend hours searching for his grave but he needed have worried. He ran straight to it like he was led by a homing beacon. He could see the signs of Bruce investigating around the base of the stone, carefully not touching it. Tim barely paid it any mind before plunging the shovel into the dirt and beginning to dig in a frensy.
It was so much easier than when he’d done it as a child. He nearly broke his ribs as he got down to where his body was kept. He scrambled, using his shovel and his hands to uncover his corpse. All that was left were his bones, some scraps of fabric, and two coins that had fallen into empty sockets.
Tim froze, chest heaving with breaths he didn’t need as he looked down at his corpse.
The bones were so small. He’d just been a child. Just a kid. He knelt down over his body, reaching forward to gently pick his skull up with his hands. That was him. This, these bones, were all that was left of the living boy that had been Timothy Drake.
If the words to describe the feelings clawing at the inside of his chest existed, Tim didn’t know them. He was overwhelmed. This was his skull. His brain, the thing he had thought defined who and what Tim was, used to be in this hallow bone. No one was supposed to see this, to look at their own skull.
No one was supposed to hide their own corpse at 8 years old.
He hugged his skull close to his body, the coins rattling as he did. He could feel the point of the nose pressing into his chest through his sweatshirt.
Tim cried.
He didn’t deserve this. He hadn’t deserved to die. He didn’t do anything to warrant being stuck here as something he didn’t know how to quantify. He didn’t deserve having to hide who he was, what he was, from everyone.
He’s been a good kid. He’s done everything he could. He’d listened to his parents. He’d worked hard. And he’s still fucking died.
Where was the fucking justice in that?
Tim gasped, shakily, turning his head up to the sky. He needed to move. He was running out of time.
He tore the backpack off, shoving his skull in. Quickly and methodically, he worked his way down his skeleton, picking up each bone and putting it in the backpack, making sure not to leave behind so much as a metatarsal. Once he was done, he slung his backpack with his bones onto his back and crawled out of his grave. He picked the shovel back up, filling the hole back in.
He looked at his watch once he was done. He had enough time to get back to the manor, return the shovel, and clean up, but not much else. He didn’t have time to hide hie bones.
He would just have to keep them for now.
†††
The past three days had been some of the worst of Tim’s undead life.
He’d stashed his bones, still in the bag, in the back of his closet. Alfred didn’t clean his room without his permission, and they were long past the stage where they would smell like rot. Bruce and Dick didn’t normally come into his room. He didn’t think they’d find them.
All the same, he was filled with nearly crippling anxiety every time he left his room. It was only mitigated (though it never truly went away) when he was there. When he could protect his bones. It didn’t help that Bruce had noticed the disturbance immediately and was even more obsessive about the case.
He needed to put his bones somewhere safer, get them out of the house before they were discovered. But he hadn’t been able to because of patrol the last three nights. Tonight was the first night he had free. He waited until he was sure Bruce had gone out with Dick before grabbing his bag and Redboard and climbing out the window.
He crept across the grounds until he came to the road and was able to hop on Redboard, speeding as fast as he could towards the Gotham Cemetery. He called upon as much of his ghostliness as he could. He didn’t want anyone, least of all Bruce of Dick, to see him. He couldn’t risk it.
The streets of Gotham passed in a blur. He was operating mostly on instinct and muscle memory. One of his ribs was poking him in the back and he could feel the round dome of his skull bumping against him.
Eventually the wrought iron gates of the cemetery towered above Tim. They were shut and locked. Tim barely stopped moving, hopping off Redboard and scooping it up to toss it over the wall. He kept his momentum going, launching himself up the wall. Within moments Tim was in the grass of the cemetery, Redboard laying where it landed. Tim took off running down the roads of the cemetery, his feet leading him in a familiar path towards the Drake mausoleum.
He suddenly skidded to a halt, his bones slamming into his back. He didn’t want to go to the Drake mausoleum. It wasn’t that long ago that they’d interred his mom there in her slot. It hadn’t felt as comfortable since. Maybe it was the weight of years of lies to his mom. Maybe she’d come back in some way. Maybe…
No, he couldn’t put his bones with his ancestors. Besides, he didn’t have the tools to open up one of the stone crypts to stash his bones. And his dad-
Tim turned in an anxious circle, hands gripping his hair. Where was he going to rebury his bones? Where would be safe?
He froze, eye making contact with a familiar praying angel. His feet were drawn forward, almost of their own accord. He got to the grave and looked down at the words on the pedestal under the angel’s feet. He swallowed dryly. His bones would be safe here. He just needed a shovel.
The tool shed was not a far walk and it was quick work for him to pick the lock and get the shovel out. He made his way back to Jason’s grave taking a deep breath.
“Forgive me,” he muttered to the still air before plunging the shovel into the earth of his hero’s grave.
He dug into grave dirt for the second time that week, his mind a blank haze. After the first few scoops of grass and earth, he took his backpack off, laying it next to the tombstone. Without the fear of his bones breaking against his back, he went back to his task with renewed vigor. He only slowed when he heard the shovel first make contact with the coffin.
He was more careful from that point on, trying not to damage the lid of Robin’s coffin. Some of the earth was easier to dig through, specifically over where Jason’s head would be. Tim hadn’t paid it any mind until his shovel slipped through where the top of the lid was supposed to be. He froze, slowly removing the shovel. He dropped to his knees on the casket’s lid, tossing the shovel out of the hole. Carefully he pushed the dirt aside with his hands.
Splinters and torn fabric were mixed in with the dirt. Dread filled his gut as he uncovered the hole in the casket lid. Quickly he cleared the lid off enough to peel up the casket lid.
Where Jason’s head should have been was a pile of dirt. The fabric inside was torn and stained with dried blood. There were obvious signs of someone having broken themselves out of the coffin.
And, more importantly, Jason’s body was missing.
Tim stood up, hauling himself half out of the grave to grab one strap of the backpack, pulling his bones to him. He dropped back down onto the casket lid, looking at it. He sighed, closing the top half and shifting to open the bottom half.
There was less dirt there, but still obvious signs of a struggle. Tim lay his backpack where Jason’s feet should have been and closed the lid, turning and pulling himself out of the grave before he could overthink his decision. He picked the shovel back up and started filling the grave back in.
An uneasy feeling settled into Tim’s chest. Jason was supposed to have been there. A part of Tim was almost glad he wasn’t. It meant he didn’t have to see the decomposing corpse of his hero as he desecrated and invaded his grave.
But if Jason wasn’t here, and if Tim was right about what he thought happened, where the hell was Jason?
⸸⸸⸸
Jason leveled his gun with the bastard’s forehead. The man was shaking, his pants darkening as he pissed himself.
“P-please.”
“I’ve got a few rules. They’re so fucking easy to follow.” He pressed the muzzle against the man’s forehead. “One of them is don’t fucking sell to kids.”
“I’m sorry! Please! I won’t do it again.” Tears ran down his face.
“Damn straight.” Jason’s finger moved to depress the trigger when a jolt ran through his entire body. It felt like he’d just been dunked in freezing cold water. Or, actually, been dunked in the Lazarus Pits.
He glanced down at the drug dealer sniveling at his feet. He suddenly became a much lower priority. Jason pulled his gun away from the man’s forehead.
“Consider this your lucky night. I’m in a forgiving mood. But, if I catch wind of you dealing to kids again, there won’t be enough pieces left of your body for you to be buried in a matchbox.”
The man stumbled out a few promises and ‘thank you’s before running off. Jason watched him go before shoving his gun back in its holster and pulling out the grappling hook. He quickly pulled himself up to a nearby roof, looking around his territory.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The Pit was seething just beneath his skin. He felt itchy internally.
What the fuck just happened?
⸸⸸⸸
Tim walked into the cave with a few books of dead languages in his arms. Bruce was sitting at the batcomputer, staring at it as a decryption program ran. With a quick glance, Tim could see that several of the marks had been transcribed wrong. His poor stone carving skills at 8 and nearly a decade of weathering making it harder to read the letters. It also made the same letter appear different. Bruce had done a decent job of cleaning up most of the mistake tool marks, which made Tim anxious.
He set the stack of books on the table next to Bruce. The man barely acknowledged it.
“I got some books that might help. I didn’t see these specific figures skimming through them, but they may still help.”
Bruce grunted in acknowledgment. Tim nodded, stepping back and heading to the training mats. He set a bag up and started wrapping his hands to run some reps in the vain hope they would help loosen the knot of anxiety that had rooted itself in his chest.
He started with some basic punches. It wasn’t long before his mind was wandering.
Jason’s grave had been empty. And it looked like he had broken out of it. When had that happened? How long had it been? The surface was undisturbed until he’d taken a shovel to it, so it had been long enough for the grass to regrow over whatever earth had been disturbed.
Tim had performed that séance there 4 years ago, trying to contact Jason’s ghost. Had Jason been below him then? Had his hero been trying to break himself out of his own casket while Tim had sat above him with candles doing fuck all to help him?
And where the hell was Jason’s body? Was he alive out there somewhere? Was he some undead freak like Tim?
No. No, Jason couldn’t be like Tim. For one, Tim’s body was in a grave. Jason’s wasn’t. Jason was a hero. He wasn’t like Tim, a fake who had to lie and manipulate to get close to people. Jason wasn’t an affront to nature like he was.
A hand rest on Tim’s shoulder. He turned, throwing a punch. Dick parried the punch as it flew past his face.
“You good?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Tim shook himself, taking a deep breath.
“You sure?” Dick moved smoothly to stay in Tim’s line of sight as he went to rewrap his hands. “You were punching that bag like it owed you money.”
“Dick, I’m rich. On that note, you still owe me 20 bucks.”
Dick groaned, leaning on the railing next to Tim. “I thought you were rich.”
“I’m also petty and have a great memory.”
“Fine.” He watched as Tim carefully unwove the fabric around his fingers. “Are you sure everything’s ok? You’ve been quieter than normal.”
Tim hated that Dick was using his victim voice. Tim wasn’t a victim. He was dead, but he wasn’t a victim. Being a victim meant there was a perpetrator. Tim got sick. You can’t punch a virus.
“Just a lot on my mind. The stone. Red Hood.”
That seemed to satisfy Dick as he nodded. “Yeah. Just take care of yourself. Ok?”
Tim nodded. Dick pushed off of the railing and squeezed Tim’s shoulder. He let it happen.
“And get some sleep tonight.”
†††
Tim threw his bag down on the sofa angrily. “’It’s only temporary, Tim. It’s for your own good, Tim.’ Didn’t think that maybe I could take care of myself!”
He huffed, crossing his arms and pacing around the empty living room, the large bay window looking out over the San Francisco Bay. He stopped, letting his arms drop. He could understand why Bruce did it. He didn’t want another dead Robin on his hands. But the only way to explain that Bruce didn’t have to worry about Red Hood killing Tim was to tell him he was already dead and… yeah… no. That could only end badly.
Fuck. What did Tim do to deserve this?
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. There wasn’t any use in moping about. It had never got him anywhere. While he was here, he could get some work done. He went into the kitchen, starting the coffee maker. As it brewed, he looked through the cabinet for his mug. It had gotten pushed back behind Wally’s again. He put the mug under the spout before the coffee started to pour.
Tim leaned on the counter, watching the coffee maker. How long would it take Bruce to notice he was gone? Would he even come looking for him? He doubted it, but part of him hoped. Hoped that someone would show up instead of just leaving him alone in another empty building.
The leather of his glove creaked as he clenched his hand tightly into a fist. He would be fine. It had been 9 years since he died. Being alone was fine! It just meant that he could get work done without his teammates distracting him or blowing his papers everywhere. Tim was perfectly fine alone.
It would have been nice if at least Kon was there. But he was in Kansas. Tim wouldn’t pull him away for something as trivial as Tim being scared of being alone.
The coffee maker dinged as it was done brewing. He picked up the mug, heading back into the living room. He set the mug down on the table, pulling his laptop and notes out of his bag. He got himself settled and set up on the sofa against the wall and got to work, not stopping except to get more coffee.
If he worked, he could keep him brain from catastrophizing quite so hard. He could almost pretend he wasn’t alone in a building no one even knew he was in. He was fine.
Something moved in the doorway. Tim’s head snapped up and his eyes widened as he saw the red helmet move through the doorway.
Oh.
Oh, Bruce was going to be so angry with Tim. Fuck.
“Red Hood.”
“The one and only.” Red Hood strode casually into the room, gun in one hand. “Can’t say the same for you in your stolen costume.”
Tim looked down at his Robin outfit. Stolen? Why would he- unless?
“I see you got pants.”
Tim looked up at Red Hood. It was really hard to tell, the man was covered from head to toe in armor and his voice was modulated. But Jason’s body was missing. Could it be?
“I didn’t steal it from you.”
Red Hood scoffed. Tim took that as a correct guess, quickly moving his laptop off his legs and standing as the man walked casually into the room, a gun in one hand. Tim could see at least two more visible on him along with three knives and a crowbar strapped to his back. If he had to guess, he would say Hood had more than that on him.
“How long was it exactly before B decided to replace his dead Robin? A month? Two?”
“He didn’t replace you.” Tim walked around the table, moving towards the murderer with an arsenal on his body. This probably wasn’t his smartest move, but it didn’t matter. Tim was dead. He could recover from anything Hood did to him.
“Says the guy standing in the costume of a dead boy.”
He had no idea how accurate that was. Just the wrong dead boy.
“I’ll cut you a deal. You take off the costume and renounce Robin, and I’ll let you go. Easy as that.” He cocked the gun, pointing it at Tim. “What do you say?”
Tim shook his head. His chest felt tight. This had to be Jason. Jason whose body wasn’t in his grave. Jason whose death had destroyed Bruce. Jason who was about to shoot Tim.
“Shame.”
The bullet tore through Tim’s knee. He dropped down to the floor with a gasp. Getting injured still hurt, which Tim never figured out. But this hurt worse somehow. He looked up as Red Hood walked over to stand over Tim.
“I didn’t steal it from you, Jason.”
He couldn’t see his face, but he really didn’t need to to know that Jason was furious at that statement. The gun pressing into his forehead told him that.
Something in Tim’s chest seemed to throb. He needed Jason to understand. He needed his approval. He tried to keep his body from shaking. He was Robin. Robin was brave.
“I wasn’t trying to replace you. I could never replace you. But Batman was destroying himself. He needed a Robin.”
“So he picked up the next dark haired kid that gave him a sad look and shoved them in stoplight colors, telling them they could be a hero. All they needed to do was be willing to die.”
Tim shook his head, at least as much as he could with a gun to his head. The tension in his chest tightened. “B didn’t pick me. He needed a Robin. I took on the role because no one else could.”
“Who gave you the right?” Jason growled. The gun pressed harder against his head.
Tim closed his eyes for a moment, a sharp chill running through his body as pain radiated from his knee. He didn’t know what would happen if Jason pulled the trigger. He couldn’t die again, at least he didn’t think so. But Jason would know he was supposed to die. Jason would know. Tim needed to get Jason home.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out quieter than he wanted.
The gun was removed from his forehead. Tim opened his eyes just in time to see Jason slam his boot into Tim’s chest. The force caused him to fall backwards onto the floor, letting out a grunt of pain. Jason stalked towards him as Tim pushed himself up with one arm. The steel toe of his boot connected with where his ribs should be with enough force that it would have broken them if Tim still had any.
“How many little birds does Batman need to watch die before he decided it’s enough? How many more child soldiers.”
Tim pushed himself back up. A leather glove grabbed his hair roughly, dragging him to his knees. He grasped Jason’s arm, gasping.
“Robin’s more than that. Robin’s a hero. A symbol of hope.”
“You believe that? You believed it when B told you you’d be helping people?”
“You did help people.”
Jason lifted Tim up before throwing him roughly back to the ground. “Why don’t you fucking fight back?” He roared, pulling out a large knife.
“I don’t want to fight you.”
“Well tough shit.”
Tim rolled quickly to the side as Jason tried to stomp on his arm. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, working through the pain. A sharp tug snapped his head back, causing Tim to fall backwards onto his ass as Jason grabbed his cape, pulling him away from the wall.
He used the leg that hadn’t been shot to push himself into a spin, kicking Jason in the stomach. The man didn’t so much as grunt. He moved with more speed than Tim was expecting, moving to pin Tim in place, sitting on Tim’s stomach and hips, knees pressed into his armpits. He pulled Tim’s cape up, grabbing at Tim hand with his other hand.
Panic shot through Tim. He tried to keep his arms free while he tried to use his legs to create enough momentum to twist his hips. Unfortunately for him, Jason was at least a good hundred pounds heavier than him and also trained by Batman. He felt each counter Tim tried and corrected for it. Each movement exasperated the pain in his knee.
His wrist was gripped tightly by one hand. He struggled futilely, trying to keep at least one hand free. Jason growled lowly, punching at Tim’s face.
He planted his elbow, pushing off to move his head as much as he could. Jason’s fish connected with where his lower eye socket was supposed to be, glancing off and dropping to the side to grab Tim’s wrist while he was stunned from the pain. Within moments, both of his arms were pinned over his head.
Tim struggled as Jason tangled his hands up in his own cape. His chest was so tight with panic and fear. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t help it as a sob tore itself from his throat.
Jason looked down at Tim, his helmeted face just inches above Tim’s masked one. One hand moved down out of Tim’s sight as he looked into those emotionless white eyes of the helmet.
“This could have been so easy.” There was the unmistakable sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath.
Tim let out a whimper. He was going to die again. All alone in a tower with no one to help. And he didn’t think he’d even leave a body behind this time. No one would know he died. How long would it take for them to notice he was missing? A week? A month?
“Please…”
“Don’t beg. It makes you look weak,” Jason hissed, pressing the knife against Tim’s throat. “Robin isn’t supposed to be weak.”
“I’m sorry, Robin. I didn’t know what else to do. Batman needed you. Please come home.”
The man pinning him paused, knife still pressed against his jugular. “There’s nothing left for me there. You made sure of that.”
“That’s not true-”
“Shut up!”
Pain flared in Tim’s neck as the knife cut across it. He gasped, feeling whatever acted like blood in his not-body bubble out from the cut. His arms flexed against Jason’s hold on them, wrists twisting against the reenforced fabric of his cape.
There was a moment of Jason sitting there, unmoving, as Tim struggled desperately under him before suddenly his weight was off of him. Tim instantly curled into himself, wriggling his hands free of his cape to press one firmly against his neck. He needed to stop the bleeding. Nearest first aid kit was in the kitchen.
He used his other hand to push himself shakily to his feet. Jason stood there, just a foot away, watching as Tim limped his way out of the room. He could feel him following him as he dropped to the floor, digging the first aid kit out with one hand.
Jason’s shadow fell over him as he opened the box. Tim froze, slowly turning to look up at him, hand still holding his throat. He felt so small, so tiny. So helpless. Jason reached down wordlessly as Tim tried to move away. Firm hands grabbed him, holding him still. Tim bit back a whimper, blood bubbling under his fingers.
“Shut up,” Jason warned, pinning Tim in place with one arm. His other hand grabbed reached into the first aid kid. Tim’s hand was pealed from his throat. He tried to protest, tears welling up uncomfortably under the mask.
Something dabbed against his throat, cleaning the blood away from the cut. Jason’s head turned as he shifted to pick up something else that he then pressed against Tim’s neck. Tim reached up with one hand to feel what the man was doing.
“Hold fucking still, Replacement. Jesus.”
Tim stilled, his hand still halfway to his throat. Jason picked up a roll of bandage, moving Tim like a doll so he could wrap his throat.
“Why?” Tim asked softly, trying not to move too much.
He could feel his hands still for a moment before securing the end of the bandage. He didn’t say anything, just pushed Tim back to lean against the cabinet as he wrapped Tim’s knee. Once he was done, he let go, standing up and taking a step back.
“If I see you out as Robin again, I’ll kill you.”
With that, he turned, walking out. Tim watched him leave, a stunned look on his face and his mask uncomfortable from the tears trapped under it.
Jason was long gone by the time Bruce arrived.
†††
Tim was grounded. After the attack at Titans Tower, Bruce was hardly letting Tim out of his sight. Dick was even back in Gotham. Everyone was so worried about Tim, trying to make sure he was ok and doing well.
He didn’t deserve it.
Tim sighed, looking out the window. He reached one hand up, rubbing the bandage wrapped around his neck. He knew he was fine, but couldn’t exactly convince everyone not to worry about his neck wound without revealing he was dead, which he did not want to do.
Either way, he now had his answer as to why Jason wasn’t in his grave.
Tim pushed off of the window seat, making his way out of his room and heading downstairs to the kitchen, getting himself a travel mug of coffee before heading on down to the batcave. He may be grounded but, for now at least, he was still Robin. There was still work to do and at least some of that he could do in the cave.
The cave was empty. Bruce was at some Wayne Enterprise meeting. Dick was at work in Bludhaven. Actually, looking at the clock, it was about the time that Alfred went grocery shopping. Which meant that Tim was alone in the manor.
He sucked in a deep breath, clenching his fist. Not alone. There were the bats in the cave. Not that they would be able to do much of anything if Tim was in trouble or attacked. But he wasn’t alone. And there wasn’t anywhere with better security or monitoring than the batcave. He was safe here. If something happened, someone would find him. Alfred would be home in a couple hours, and even if he didn’t come down to check on him, Bruce would have to come down before patrol.
Tim let out a slow breath. He was fine. Everything was just fine. He clicked through the files on the computer, going to bring up one of his latest cases. The only thing he could do really was try and track mafia members through security cameras. Boring menial work really. It was like they weren’t even trying.
In the end, he found and marked off a couple buildings to check out the next time he went out.
No. He was grounded. And it was unlikely that B would let him go back out until his neck healed. This was too time sensitive to wait for that. Tim let out a heavy sigh, moving his evidence file to Bruce’s folder so he could take a look at it before he headed out for the night. As he did, an image popped up automatically. Bruce did like to have case files open automatically so he could pick back up where he left off quicker. Normally, that was really useful, and it was a feature Tim himself used regularly.
But this time, the file that popped open was Tim’s grave marker.
He froze, looking at the annotated images, notes, and scanned pages from the books Tim had brought. He had cross-referenced several of the languages that had inspired Tim’s. And he had translated part of it. Correctly.
On the large image of the carved face of Tim’s grave marker were Tim’s birth and death dates, typed out and overlaid on the image.
A chill of dread fell over Tim. It was only a matter of time before Bruce translated the rest of the headstone. Before they found out that Tim had been lying to them. That Tim had been dead this whole time. That Tim wasn’t even human. It was just a matter of time before they kicked him out or worse.
What was he going to do then? Go back and sit in an empty manor until he wasted away? Get a job? Go to school? Pretend like he’s a normal fucking person and not a ghost trained to be a vigilante by Batman?
What was he going to do about his bones?
His eyes widened and Tim pushed himself away from the batcomputer, hurrying to his bike.
†††
The trip passed in a panicked blur, Tim barely registering the world around him until it all came crashing back in one sudden moment as he stood back over Jason’s grave, shovel poised to drive back into the earth he had churned up a few weeks ago.
He didn’t have a plan. Tim always had a plan except when it came to his bones. When it came to how to take care of what remained of his physical body, he felt lost. Six feet below him in the empty grave of his childhood hero was all that was physically left of Timothy Drake. The bones of an 8-year-old child who died scared and alone in his room. Bones that had been dumped in a ditch and buried in a shallow grave, moved to a grave on someone else’s property without a casket or proper rites, then dug up, shoved in a backpack and shoved in the back of a closet until they were hidden secretly away in the casket of a murdered hero. Now he was going to desecrate Robin’s grave, again, to steal his bones back. For what? Where was he going to put them? Whose grave was he going to disturb this time? What hidden spot in the woods of New Jersey was he going to try and hide a corpse? Would he just throw the bag into the harbor and hope it didn’t wash up or get discovered?
The shovel fell to the ground with a dull thump. Tim’s knees hit the dirt a few moments later, arms limply at his sides. A shaky gasp brook free from his chest. He pressed one hand to his mouth, trying to physically press down the sobs that threatened to break free. His eyes turn up towards the angel towering above him, the stone warping in his vision as tears welled up.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out quiet and shaky, a sob wrenching itself free as speaking opened the floodgates.
Emotion welled out of him. Tim bend over, arms hugging himself as he pressed his face into the grass and loosely packed grave dirt. He cried, loud and ragged sobs wracking his entire body.
Footsteps slowly approached, an uncertainty to their gait. Tim didn’t turn or look up at them.
“Tim?” Dick asked, worry and trepidation in his voice.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t look at the man. Tim had been about to dig up his dead brother’s grave. A louder sob tore itself free from his chest, causing Tim to curl tighter in on himself.
Dick crouched down into the grass next to him, one hand resting lightly on his back and beginning to rub circles across it.
“Talk to me Tim, please. What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t. He didn’t know how to. Even if he had the words to explain everything, he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out.
Dick let out a low sigh, shifting in the grass next to him. Arms wrapped around Tim, pulling him out of the fetal position and into Dick’s lap. He was in his Nightwing costume. Tim clung onto the front as best he could, sobbing into his chest. Dick just held him close, rubbing his hand across his back and making gentle hushing sounds.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tim choked out.
“Hey, shh. It’s ok.”
It wasn’t. Tim didn’t see how any of this was ok, could ever be ok.
⸸⸸⸸
Jason lay in his safe house, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Stupid nightmares were making it nearly impossible for him to fucking sleep. He would need to get up soon to patrol but he would like to at least get some sleep first. That would be fucking fabulous.
Panic shot through him, gripping his chest like a vice. He shot up, eyes wide. Before he knew it, he was out of the room and slamming on the first pair of shoes he could find. He barely had enough forethought to grab his helmet before he was out the door and rushing for his bike.
He didn’t consciously know where he was going, but something did. An unknown force guided him through the city until he finally stopped at the locked gates of the cemetery.
“What the hell?” Jason muttered to himself, getting off his bike.
He let himself in over the wall, stalking lowly through the graves. Apprehension accompanied the throbbing panic building in his chest. He pulled a knife out. It was the only weapon on him aside from the explosives in his helmet as Jason had stupidly run out in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He was lucky he grabbed the knife he kept under his pillow before he left.
A hushed voice drifted softly over the still air accompanied by muffled sobbing. Jason made his way towards them, keeping as out of sight as possible. This may be someone in need of help, but this was a very odd place to go. And also Gotham.
Then the figures came into view, Jason froze.
Dick was leaning against the base of Jason’s headstone, his arms wrapped around a crying figure that had to be his Replacement, Tim. A shovel lay discarded over Jason’s grave by Dick’s feet. He could just barely make out what Dick was saying as he tried to comfort the crying teen.
“It’s ok. Shh. Come on, deep breaths. It’s ok.” Variations on that in a near constant low stream. Not that they seemed to be doing much. The replacement was inconsolable at the moment.
‘At least he’s not in the Robin colors.’ Jason thought idly, though the thought didn’t bring any comfort.
Dick looked up and spotted Jason where he was standing about half a dozen graves away. He could see him tense up instantly, the Replacement hiccupped, trying to look out from where his face was plastered into Dick’s chest. He was shaking less but clearly making a physical effort to be quieter.
“Why are you here?” Dick hissed.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jason replied, making his way closer. He stopped one grave away as Dick reached for his escrima. Jason raised his hands placatingly, making a show of putting the knife away. Dick slowly and reluctantly moved his hand away from the weapon, placing it protectively on the back of the Replacement’s head. He did not want to get into a fight with both Dickwing and the Replacement at the moment as he was woefully unprepared.
“Come to gloat?” Jason asked. Just because he didn’t want to fight didn’t mean he wouldn’t antagonize.
“You have no right to say that!” The venom in Dick’s voice actually surprised Jason a bit. The older man clutched the teenager tighter. Tim let out a muffled sob into Dick’s chest.
“Oh, I have no right?” Jason asked, crossing his arms and leaning on a nearby grave. “Go on, tell me about how I have no right to talk about a murdered Robin.”
Dick didn’t even give Jason a verbal response, just grabbed an escrima, moving to stand. He was only stopped by Tim grabbing him, physically trying to block the larger man.
“No! Stop! Please…”
Dick paused, looking at Tim. “He doesn’t get to talk about Jason like that.”
Jason scoffed, getting a glare from Dick. Tim looked between them desperately, his eyes red and puffy and his face wet with tears and snot.
“Please don’t fight. This… this is all my fault.”
“What? Tim, this isn’t your fault. He tried to kill you.”
“If I wanted the Replacement dead, he would be.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word for that?” Dick snapped.
Green filtered into Jason’s vision as his hands curled into fists. Static filled his ears.
“Stop! Both of you!”
Jason looked over at where Tim was wriggling himself out of Dick’s arms, rather unsuccessfully. He did manage to get the older man’s grip to loosen a bit though, reaching up to rub at his face with one sleeve. A sniffle escaped him, his shoulders hitching with the action. Something about seeing this teenager who Jason had been watching from afar, observing for months, who he’d seen stare unflinchingly down the barrel of a gun and take out goons with trained accuracy, now just sitting in a hoodie with tears and snot running down his face, clearly in distress. Something about that made the green slowly recede from his vision.
“Please don’t fight. This is all my fault.” He dropped his hand into his lap, turning his face up towards Jason. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”
Jason tilted his head slightly, looking at the teen critically. He turned his head slightly, taking in the scene around him. There was a shovel on the ground and the grass looked slightly disturbed. Jason pushed off the grave he’d been leaving on, watching Dick tense as he sat down across his grave from the two. He reached one hand forward, pressing his fingers into the space between two clumps of grass. The dirt under it was less tightly packed than it had been when Jason dug himself out. He looked up to see Tim watching him, mouth pressed into a concerned line, trying and failing to keep his bottom lip from trembling.
“This has nothing to do with Robin, does it?”
“What?” Dick asked, a crease forming between his eyes as he looked between the two of them. Tim swallowed hard and nodded, looking down.
“Why were you trying to dig me up?” Tim knew, somehow, who he was. Dick didn’t, and this fucked with his plans, but right now that didn’t seem important. He heard Dick’s breath catch in his throat, the man straightening in surprise and confusion, his head tilting as he stared at Jason.
Tim shook his head, hands gripping his sweatpants, eyes turned firmly to the ground. “I wasn’t-”
“You brought a fucking shovel.”
“I wasn’t trying to dig up Jason. He’s-” Tim took a shaky breath in, tilting his head up to look at the middle distance above Jason’s head, before powering through. “I know he’s not down there.”
“What?” Dick looked confused and more than a little scared. “Tim, what are you talking about?”
Tim trembled. The static in Jason’s helmet increased, his vision flickering. The same as it did back in the Titans Tower when he’d had Tim pinned to the ground.
“Jason’s not down there. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have a plan. I always have a plan. But I just got scared.”
The amount of visual and auditory static was making it nearly impossible for Jason to see or hear. He grit his teeth, internally deciding, fuck it, before reaching up to remove his helmet. He cursed himself for not thinking to grab a mask before heading out, but at this point the gig was up. At least with Dickybird. He tried to ignore how Dick stared at him, wide eyed and open mouthed with shock.
“Yeah, Jason’s not down there. It’s a fucking empty grave. Right?” The last question was very pointed as Tim stiffened. “Right Tim?”
Tim shook his head, causing Dick to finally stop ogling Jason. “No it’s… I… put something there…” There was so much uncertainty in his words. Jason had never heard this kid be uncertain about anything. Even when Jason was threatening to kill him, he’d been confident about his assessment of Jason’s identity.
“You decided to use my fucking grave for storage?”
Tim flinched visibly at Jason’s raised voice. “I’m sorry. I was scared. I didn’t know what else to do. I-”
“Woah, woah. Calm down, kid.” Jason took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Getting angry wasn’t going to get his answers here. Victim protocol. “Just take a deep breath and tell me what happened. Ok? Can you do that?”
Tim shot him a look, clearly recognizing what Jason was trying to do and not appreciating it. But it worked as he was panicking less now. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back against Jason’s tombstone, head tilted up towards the sky. Jason could clearly see a small, dark line forming on the bandages around Tim’s throat.
“My body.” The words were barely a whisper, but Jason could hear them clearly in the dead silence of the cemetery.
“Timber, did you kill someone and decide to hide their body in my grave?” Jason was more than a little offended at the thought of some random person’s dead body in his grave. He might not be using it but damn. Still his grave.
“No! No it’s not like that!” Tim looked over at Jason, eyes wide. “No, it’s my body. It’s… it’s me.”
“Tim, you’re not making sense. Did you run into Scarecrow?”
“No, Dickwing, hold on.” Jason scooted himself closer and reached over slowly. Tim watched as Jason gently grabbed his arm, turning it over and pressing two fingers to the pulse point. He sat there, stock still, feeling the beating of his own heart and nothing from under his fingers. He frowned, moving his hand up to Tim’s neck, feeling for the pulse that should be there as blood flowed through his jugular veins.
On Tim’s other side, Dick pulled a glove off, reaching to check Tim’s wrist. Jason could see the frown deepening on his face the longer he felt nothing.
Jason sighed, his hand dropping down to his side as he leaned his shoulder against the cold stone. “What happened?”
Tim licked his lips, looking down at his lap. “B started working on the expansion for the Batcave. You know, the thing for the Batwing?”
Dick nodded. “Yeah. And he found that rock with the strange markings.”
Tim nodded, sniffling. Jason reached over, rubbing Tim’s shoulder. He was surprised when he didn’t try and pull away. Even more so when he leaned into his touch.
“That… that was my grave marker. I got scared. I didn’t know what you would think if you found out. I didn’t know that was B’s property when I buried it there. I didn’t think anyone would find it. But when B did and I knew it was only a matter of time before he started digging and I was worried that B would kick me out if he knew. Or worse. I panicked and dug my body up. I didn’t know where to put it. I didn’t even know Jason’s body wasn’t in there when I dug it up. I just thought my bones would be safe there. That’s all that’s left.”
A sob tore itself from Tim’s chest as he finished, fresh tears running down his face. Jason sighed, pulling Tim towards him. The teen didn’t resist, curling into Jason’s chest as his body heaved with heavy sobs. Dick moved closer, pausing just a breath away, his eyes searching Jason’s. He must have found something there as in a moment he was enveloping them both in a hug.
Tim was curled in a tight ball, smooshed between the two men, one hand gripping Jason’s shirt as he sobbed. Jason’s arms were wrapped around Tim’s body, Dick’s chest pressed up against them. One of Dick’s legs was over one of Jason’s, his knee securing Tim. He’d somehow wiggled one arm between Tim and Jason to hug the teen. But his other arm was wrapped around Jason, his hand in his hair like it was a lifeline. His face was buried in the crook of Jason’s neck.
A small ball in Jason’s chest seemed to loosen. He rubbed Tim’s back with his thumb, tension slowly easing itself from his shoulders. The green of the pit anger that normally accompanied seeing the Bats, his… his family, wasn’t there.
Right now, he had a terrified teenager who needed safety and acceptance in his arms and a man clinging to him like he might drown if he let go. His brothers. He took a deep breath in, breathing in the familiar scent of Dick’s shampoo. Slowly, he slid one hand out from between Tim and Dick, moving it to wrap around Dick. His brother’s breath hitched slightly in Jason’s ear.
Jason let a slow breath out, relaxing into his brothers and holding Tim close to his chest. “It’s ok. We’ve got you.”
Dick nodded into Jason’s shoulder. He could feel Dick’s arm flex against his stomach as he squeezed Tim. “You’ll be ok. I promise.”
Tim’s sobs caught in his throat, changing slightly. His grip tightened on Jason’s shirt but the tension eased from his shoulders and back.
The trio stayed like that for quite some time.
⸸⸸⸸
Tim was feeling much more relaxed than he had felt in a long time. It was like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. There was still what felt like a knot in the center of his chest, but it wasn’t as heavy or as tight as it had been before.
There was a knock at his door, causing Tim to look over. “Yes?”
The door opened and Dick looked in. “Hey, got a minute?”
Tim nodded. “Yeah. What do you need?”
Dick walked in, closing the door behind him. He walked over, sitting down on the edge of Tim’s bed. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.”
Dick nodded, running his hands over his thighs in a nervous tic. “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell B?”
Tim sighed, slumping back in his chair. “No…”
“He’s going to figure it out.”
“I know. I just don’t know how. I’ve been lying to him this whole time. I doubt he’ll take it well.”
“Would you rather he finds out on his own or from you?”
Tim ran a hand over the back of his head. “I know. I just need to figure out my plan. I don’t have a plan yet.”
“What about Alfred?”
“I’m trying to mentally prepare myself for his reaction.”
“Ok. That’s understandable. But you still need to tell them.”
“I will. I just want to be able to do it on my terms.”
Dick nodded, reaching over and squeezing Tim’s shoulder. “Ok. Know I’m here if you need anything.”
Tim smiled a little. “Thanks.”
Dick smiled back, getting up. Tim’s phone buzzed and Dick looked over, seeing Jason’s contact name of ‘Darcy’ (Jason chose it saying he wanted to keep tabs on Tim without B knowing he was back yet) light up. He smirked.
“You should tell Darcy he also needs to talk to Bruce and Alfred.”
“You think he listens to me?”
“Hey, at least he texts you back!”
†††
“Alfred?”
“Yes Master Timothy. Is everything quite alright?”
The concerned look on Alfred’s face made this so much harder. But it was better he tell Alfred before telling Bruce. Tim took a deep breath.
“Yes. Everything’s fine. I just need to talk with you about something.”
Alfred nodded. “This appears to be the sort of conversation to have over tea.”
Tim smiled slightly. “That would be nice.”
After several minutes of idle chat while the water boiled, Tim sat across the kitchen table from Alfred, hands wrapped around his cup of tea. It was surprisingly easy to tell Alfred once he got started. The words spilling out of him like a fountain. He told him about how he died when he was a kid, how he hid his body, how he faked being alive, how he dug his body up and hid it in Jason’s grave when Bruce discovered his grave site, How Jason and Dick had found out about it. By the end of it all, he felt very emotionally drained, but partly relieved.
Alfred reached over, placing one hand over Tim’s hand. “My dear boy, have you been dealing with your death alone all this time?” His words were gentle and concerned.
Tim, with his emotions already as frayed as they were and with how much of an emotional rollercoaster the past few weeks especially had been, just nodded. He bit his bottom lip, trying to keep it from trembling as tears welled up in his eyes.
“No one should be alone when they are grieving. Least of all children. I can not imagine how hard grieving your own death must be. Especially when you have no one to turn to. I am glad you trust me enough to tell me.”
“Thank you, Alfred.”
The butler smiled, a sad but kind smile. “Of course. Does Master Bruce know yet?”
Tim looked down into his now empty teacup. “No. I haven’t figured out how to tell him.”
Alfred nodded. “Indeed. I can understand that is a hard subject to broach, especially with Master Bruce. But I would recommend speaking him with as soon as you are comfortable. I think it would be best if your remains were reinterred in your own proper grave and not Master Jason’s. I’m certain Master Bruce would be more than willing to make arrangements for you once he is aware. And I am more than willing to help where you’ll let me.”
“Thank you, Alfred. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Stay up in your room or in the cave researching constantly, more likely. Just because you don’t require sleep does not mean you don’t need rest, Master Timothy.”
Tim glanced off sheepishly. It was evidently too much to hope for that Alfred would stop bugging him to sleep after learning he was dead.
†††
Tim walked down the stairs into the cave, pausing when he saw Bruce sitting, cowl off, in front of the batcomputer. He was still working on translating Tim’s headstone. He took a deep breath.
“Timothy Jackson Drake.”
Bruce paused, turning to look at where Tim was standing half was down the stairs. “What?”
Tim nodded at the computer screen. “It says Timothy Jackson Drake.”
“Explain.” His brow creased in confusion, gaze sharp.
Tim walked the rest of the way down the stairs. “The writing is one I made up when I was six. It’s based on a few different, mostly dead, languages. Most of them are in those books I gave you. I carved that when I was 8. That’s why the letters are so inconsistent and there’s so many excess tool marks. The weathering did not help.”
He stopped next to the computer, looking up at the picture instead of at Bruce. “You did get the dates right though.”
“Why?”
Tim didn’t, couldn’t, look over at Bruce as he said it. If he did, he would lose his nerve and lie.
“That was my grave.” It came out quieter than Tim intended. Still, the words felt too loud in the quiet of the cave.
A hand rest on Tim’s arm. Finally, he looked over at Bruce. Instantly he sucked in a breath. The look on his face was one he’d only seen a few times before. Then, it was only when talking about Jason. Not Tim. Never Tim. A lost look of pain.
“Tim. What do you mean?”
He swallowed dryly. Present it like facts of a case. That’s all it was. “That is my gravestone. I made it after I died while home alone at the age of 8. It marked the spot where I buried my body. I had not realized I had buried it on your property. That spot was chosen as I had believed it would remain undiscovered for long enough that it would no longer be a problem.”
“It is not there anymore.”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Jason’s…” Tim said, looking away from Bruce as he said it. He couldn’t look the man in the eye as he admitted to desecrating his son’s grave. The silence that filled the room was oppressive.
“Now?”
“Still there. I panicked and went to retrieve my bones after I discovered that you had translated the dates correctly. I… was unable to complete it.” He almost said that Dick and Jason had stopped him. But Jason was still pretending to be dead. Why couldn’t Jason have told Bruce he was alive before this?
He glanced over and saw a range of emotions across Bruce’s face. Confusion, calculation, anger, grief. Anger and grief seemed to be growing with each passing second. Tim pulled out his phone, pulling up Jason’s contact and hitting call before he could doubt himself.
Jason picked up almost immediately. “What the fuck do you want, Timber?”
“I need you to talk to B.” Tim glanced over, seeing the hard and calculating look currently on the man’s face.
“What the fuck! No! I told you I wouldn’t-”
“I told him.” Tim took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I told him I’m dead and where I put my body. Please. Talk to him.”
There was a long, agonizing silence on the other end of the phone. “Hand the phone over. I’m on my way. You’re fucking lucky and you owe me so fucking much for this.”
Something loosened in Tim’s chest as he held out the phone to Bruce. The man looked at him calculatingly before taking the phone. “Who is this?” he asked in his Batman voice. Tim watched his face nervously. He could just hear Jason speaking but not clear enough to make out what he was saying.
Bruce’s face hardened as he listened. “Whoever you ar-”
He suddenly cut himself off. His expression softened slightly in disbelief and the tiniest bit of hope.
“14th birthday. Tell me.”
Tim watched Bruce’s face as he listened to whatever Jason was saying. After a long moment, he stood up, walking towards the parking bay in the cave. Not two minutes later Tim could hear the growing ruble of a bike engine as Jason entered the cave. He saw Bruce tense as Red Hood parked and got off his bike, one hand going to his batarangs.
Then Jason took off his helmet and B froze. Jason looked up at him, smiling in a way that was clearly trying to disguise his anxiety and not doing a very good job of it.
“Hey B.”
Bruce’s hand that had been holding Tim’s phone dropped to his side, slipping the phone into his utility belt in a practiced motion. “Jay?”
“Yeah. Look, I’m only here to make sure you don’t kill the kid. If I had it my way, this whole thing would have gone very differently. You still the normal amount of dead up there Timberly?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Still here.”
Bruce made his way down the stairs, approaching Jason like he was a wild animal that might spook. Which was fair enough. When he got close enough he reached out to touch Jason’s face, freezing when Jason stepped back.
“Listen, old man. I’m here because of Tim, not you. I’m still angry at you. We’re not doing this touchy-feely bullshit.”
“Language.”
Jason looked at Bruce in disbelief. “I’m 19! I’m not a kid.”
“You’re still my son.”
Tim watched the two stand there staring at each other for a long moment before silently backing away from the edge. He’d done what he’d wanted to do since he found out Jason was alive. He’d gotten Jason home. He didn’t know if he would stay yet, there may still be some work to do. But Bruce had his son back.
Soon, they wouldn’t need Tim anymore. And he would move on. Somewhere.
“Fine, but I’m only doing this for Alfred.”
Tim looked over as Jason stalked up the stairs. His gaze quickly fixed on Tim. “Come on. You’re not leaving me with B. You dragged me here so don’t think you’re getting out of this.”
Tim plastered on a smile, ducking under Jason’s arm as he grabbed at him. “Alright, alright. I think Alfred’s making dinner.”
“Great. I’m starved.”
†††
It was strange to be digging up his bones with the rest of the Bats around him. It was a very tense affair. Dick was quiet the whole time. Bruce’s jaw was tense. Jason wasn’t as snappish as usual. And, for once, Bruce and Jason didn’t seem to be on the edge of a fight.
Tim dug, trying not to think about the fact that Jason, Robin, the man who he idolized and whose grave he defiled, was watching. Bruce was the main one helping Tim dig. Being in Robin colors digging up the grave of a former Robin next to Batman was weird. Tim was trying not to think too hard about it.
As they got closer to the coffin, Jason had to turn and leave, smoking a few rows away. Tim insisted on digging out the final part as there wouldn’t really be room at the bottom for two people to throw the dirt. Bruce was rather reluctant to agree.
Tim could feel the shift in the air as he uncovered the top half of the coffin and Dick and Bruce both saw the broken lid of the casket.
“Open it.”
Tim paused, looking up at the white eyes and set jaw of Batman. Across from him stood Dick, arms crossed over his chest. If Tim didn’t know better, it would have looked like he was about to be buried alive by the two. As it was, the only reason he didn’t think they would was because you can’t exactly be buried alive if you’re dead and he didn’t think they would bury him in Jason’s grave if they did. He nodded, taking a deep breath as he bent down and opened the top half of the casket.
“Oh my god,” Dick said in a hushed tone of horror as he saw the dirt, torn and rumbled fabric, and bloodstains inside the casket. Bruce didn’t say anything. Tim couldn’t look up, even as he heard Jason’s footsteps come back to the graveside.
“Where’s your body? I want to get it and get out of here.”
“It’s down here,” Tim said, closing the top half and shifting to open the bottom half. There was an uncomfortable beat of silence.
“Is that a backpack?”
Tim nodded, not looking up from the bag. Once again, for the second time in just over a month, he was removing his bones from a grave. Hopefully for the last time. He took a deep breath, picking up the backpack and going to put it on.
“Robin.”
Tim froze, looking up at Jason as he knelt down, holding out a hand towards the backpack. Tim paused uncertain. He wasn’t sure what Jason might do. He didn’t think Jason liked him. He had tried to kill him and this was Jason’s grave that Tim was currently standing in. But he’d also given Tim his number and shown up to the Batcave to confront Bruce when Tim called. He didn’t think Jason would do anything to harm his bones, not after what had happened the last time he’d tried to dig them up, but he didn’t know for sure.
“I won’t let anything happen.” Jason promised, seeming to read Tim’s mind.
Tim nodded, slowly handing over his bones to someone else for the first time ever.
Jason took the bag, grabbing both straps and holding it gently. He had his helmet back on so Tim couldn’t see his face, but he did see the slight turn of his head towards B.
“Let me help you out,” Dick said, extending a hand to Tim. He accepted it, letting Dick help pull him out once he closed Jason’s casket. He looked across the grave where Jason was still holding the backpack. Jason’s head was turned down, looking at the bag. His hands gripped the straps tightly, one thumb running over the stitching connecting the strap to the bag. Despite everything that had happened between them, Tim had the feeling that nothing would happen to his bones while Jason held them.
He took a deep breath, turning away from them and beginning to shovel the dirt back into Jason’s grave. Dick worked next to him. Tim could see the tense line his lips made and how he glanced over at Bruce and Jason. Tim couldn’t bear to look over at the imposing black figure of Batman.
By the time they finished, Tim was ready to go back to the manor. They all were. They made their way out of the cemetery, Bruce and Dick getting into the front of the Batmobile. Jason paused next to his bike, still holding Tim’s bag.
“This is all of them?” he asked, the voice modulator making his voice sound gruffer than Tim now knew it really was.
Tim nodded. “That’s all that’s left.”
“Jesus.” The word came out more of a breath and barely audible. He sighed, holding out the bag. “Here.”
Tim took it, pulling it close to his chest.
“I’ll see you back at the cave.”
Tim climbed into the back of the batmobile, bucking up with the bag still clutched tight. Dick glanced back at him, making sure he was secure before they left. Tim looked out the window, his mind wandering.
He only really came back to awareness when the engine stopped. He clambered out into the cave to see Alfred standing there. The man looked at the bag in Tim’s hands and a sorrowful look passed over his face.
A hand rest on Tim’s shoulder and he looked up to see Bruce looking at him, his cowl down. “There’s a space prepared in the medical bay.”
Tim nodded, taking a deep breath as he followed Alfred to the med bay. One of the beds had the excess blankets removed and a clean sheet over top. Tim walked over to it, feeling numb as he set his bag down. Bruce stayed next to him, rubbing one hand in circles on Tim’s back as he stared at the bag. It seemed to take an eternity to convince his hands to open it.
His bones had shifted since he’d last seen them. It wasn’t unexpected. He reached in, pulling out his ribs, arm, and leg bones first. They were placed gently on the table in approximate locations. He heard Dick suck a breath in sharply from the other side of the table as the first bone appeared. Bruce’s hand stilled for a moment. Even Jason seemed to shiver.
He knew it was one thing to hear about death and dead bodies and to see pictures of them. Seeing the real thing in person was something else entirely. And these were only skeletal remains. Robin’s remains. The too small bones of a child being laid out on the table.
Then Tim pulled out his skull. He held it delicately, turning it so he could look into his own empty eye sockets. Last time he’d held it, it had been dark and Tim had been too panicked to really get a good look at the state it was in. There really wasn’t much of anything left except the bone. Dirt clung to it, staining the surface from having been buried in the ground unprotected for years. There were small marks he could just make out where bugs had started to try and eat away at it. Probably after eating everything of Tim that had been edible. Tim… Tim had let this happen to his own body. This was all that was left of him because he’d been too scared to admit the truth.
“Tim.” Bruce’s voice was gentle but firm. Tim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was crying. When had he started crying. “We can stop.”
He shook his head. “No. I want- I need to get this done.”
“It doesn’t have to be now.”
“Yes, it does!” Tim shrank back, realizing he’s just yelled at Batman.
Bruce just knelt down, turning Tim to look at him. “I’m not telling you to stop. You know what you need best in this situation. We’re all trying to be here for you, however you need us. Ok?”
Tim gulped, nodding. “Ok.”
Bruce smiled softly, squeezing Tim’s shoulders gently before standing. “Set the skull down and take a moment. Then you can continue. If you want, one of us can take over.”
He nodded, turning back to the table. He gently set his skull down. “I can do it. I just need a moment.”
“Take as long as you need.”
Tim took a few deep breaths in, his eyes closed. It took a while for him to feel calm enough to continue. Slowly, he pulled each bone out of his backpack, slowly assembling the puzzle that was the remainder of his body. When he had finally placed the last finger bone in place, Tim suddenly felt like all of the energy had been sapped out of him. He took a couple steps back, reaching for the chair that was usually by the side of the bed.
Instead, he found himself caught by Batman.
“You ok?” Jason asked, his brow creased with worry. Tim wasn’t quite sure when he’d taken his helmet off. Or his mask, to be honest.
Tim nodded. “Yeah. Just need a moment. I need to clean them.”
“I must insist that you get some rest, Master Timothy. In fact, I must insist you all rest.”
“But-”
Alfred cut Tim off with a sharp look that softened as soon as Alfred was sure Tim would let him speak without interruption. “You have all had a long and emotionally taxing night. Dead or not, it is my job to take care of you. And all four of you require rest. I can assure you that your bones will be safe here and that they will be cleaned before the funeral.”
Tim nodded, slowly relaxing. “Ok. Thank you, Alfred.”
“My dear boy, it’s the least I could do.”
†††
It was a sunny day in Gotham. It not only felt strange, but out of place, especially given what day it was. Tim stood in the memorial garden surrounded by the Waynes, as they waited to lower his casket into the ground.
Bruce stood on one side, one arm wrapped around Tim’s shoulders. He could feel the tension in Bruce’s body. He knew he was trying to hide it, but it wasn’t like Tim was the first Robin Bruce was burying. He didn’t comment on how Bruce was holding him like Tim might disappear at any second.
On his other side were Dick and Jason. Dick was basically clinging to Jason, practically dangling off his brother’s body. Jason was putting up with it very begrudgingly, though Tim didn’t miss how Jason’s hand was gripping Dick’s forearm like a lifeline.
Alfred was currently standing at the foot of Tim’s grave saying some words. They were very touching, even if Tim was only really half paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the casket, his casket, suspended in the air over his grave. Inside were his bones, laid out on white satin. The coins Tim had placed over his eyes all those years ago were resting in the now empty sockets. In place of the now decomposed blanket Tim had wrapped his body in the first time, was Tim’s first Robin cape, gently wrapped around his bones like a protective shield.
His eyes wandered up to the statue. It was an angel, like what he’d done for Jason. But instead of its head bowed in mourning and hands clasped in prayer, this angel looked out over the garden, one hand clutching a staff like the one Tim used. To Tim, it almost looked like the angel was watching over his grave protectively. Just like all of them did for Gotham.
And inset into the base of the statue, below the angel’s feet, was Tim’s headstone. The one he’d carved. Bruce had asked if Tim wanted to move it and, after some thought, he’d agreed. It felt more important to him to have it over his bones instead of marking an empty patch of woods. It belonged over his grave. Tim felt like it needed to be there.
Alfred finished speaking and walked back to his spot next to Bruce, pausing next to Tim to give him an encouraging smile. Tim returned it as best he could. Bruce squeezed Tim’s shoulder.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Tim nodded, taking a deep breath. He looked over his casket, his bones cradled safely inside. After nearly a decade, being dug up three separate times, buried in a ditch and the woods, smuggled into his hero’s grave, finally, his bones were resting somewhere properly. And people knew. They knew Tim was dead and they weren’t scared or repulsed by it. They just accepted it, accepted him, and did this.
A hand reached over to gently hold Tim’s arm. He looked over to see Dick looking at him, misty eyed, from where he was still hugging Jason. He smiled at Tim. Jason glanced over, still holding onto Dick’s arm. Bruce’s hand squeezed Tim’s shoulder reassuringly.
With one last deep breath and a nod, Tim looked back to his grave. It was time. He pressed the button on the remote in his hand and slowly, carefully, his casket was lowered into the ground.
Bruce took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly, holding Tim tightly, his thumb rubbing over his shoulder. Dick similarly didn’t let go of either Tim or Jason. Even after the casket had been lowered all the way in.
Jason was the one who moved first, taking a deep and audible breath. “Well, we can’t leave an empty hole in the ground.”
Tim nodded, sniffling a bit. Bruce let go and headed towards the pile of dirt, picking up a shovel. Jason untangled himself from Dick, going to pick up a shovel. With a small squeeze, Dick followed. Tim followed them over, picking up his own shovel, glancing at Alfred next to him. The older man smiled at him, gentle and reassuring.
Tim stuck his shovel into the dirt, taking a shovelful and turning to the edge of this grave. He started down into it, looking at the polished lid of his casket. Then he dumped the dirt into his grave. Something in his chest seemed to loosen as the dirt fell atop his casket. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he turned back to the dirt pile.
It did not take long for the grave to be filled with all of them working together. Once they were done, Tim found himself standing at the foot of his grave, hands in his pockets, feeling oddly at peace. He smiled softly as the sunlight streamed down through the branches of the elm tree nearby.
Maybe a sunny day in Gotham was appropriate for today.
“Are you alright?” Bruce asked, walking up to stand next to Tim. He could hear the undertones of concern in his voice.
He nodded, smiling a bit wider. “Yeah. This… this is good. Amazing even.” He turned to look up at the man. “Thank you. For everything.”
Bruce smiled a little, reaching over to rub Tim’s back. “Of course.”
Tim smiled, letting himself lean gently against Bruce, closing his eyes. He felt safe and relaxed, more so than he’d ever felt in his existence. Whatever the future had in store for him, Tim would be alright. Because he had people, had family, who cared about him and would protect him.
There, at his graveside, held safely by Bruce Wayne, Tim slowly drifted off to something akin to sleep.
†††
Tim was warm and comfortable. He slowly opened his eyes, recognizing the familiar sight of his bed in Wayne Manor. He took a slow, deep breath in, smelling the familiar detergent Alfred always used.
Something shifted at his bedside, causing Tim to turn his head upwards towards the source. Dick was looking at him, relieved.
“You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
Tim nodded, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I feel great, actually. Better than I have in a long time.”
Dick smiled. “I’m glad. Are you hungry? I think the others are downstairs.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
Tim pushed the blankets aside and hopped out of bed. He followed Dick out of his room, heading downstairs to the kitchen.
“Where you waiting for me to wake up?”
Dick nodded. “I was. We’ve been taking turns. You’ve been out for two days. We were worried.”
Tim’s steps faltered for a moment. “Two days?”
Dick nodded. “You fell asleep against Bruce. We… weren’t sure when you would wake up.”
The older man rubbed the back of his neck. Tim could almost feel the unspoken ‘or if' hanging in the air.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you all.”
“Woah! You don’t need to apologize. You’ve been dealing with a lot on your own. Grieving silently for years. That can’t have been good for your health. I’m just glad you’re doing ok.”
Dick reached over, cupping the back of Tim’s neck. “And we’re always going to worry about you. You’re family. That’s what families do.”
Tim stopped, Dick halting next him. He smiled before hugging his brother tightly. Dick didn’t hesitate to hug back. “Thank you.”
“Any time baby bird.” He slowly let go. “Come on, the others will be happy to see you.”
Tim nodded. It wasn’t long until they were walking into the kitchen where Jason and Bruce were sitting at the island eating waffles.
“Look, I’m not giving them up, old man.” Jason gestured at Bruce with a syrup covered bite of waffle on the end of his fork.
“Will you at least use rubber bullets?” Bruce sounded tired.
Jason stuck the bite of waffle into his mouth. “I’ll consider it.”
He turned his head as Dick and Tim entered, eyes widening. “Tim! You’re up.”
“I am. Sorry I worried all of you. I’m feeling better.”
Bruce got up, pushing his chair back as he strode over to Tim. He paused, looking up at him, unsure what exactly was about to happen.
Then Bruce hugged him tightly. The tension released from his body as he hugged back. Bruce was not much of a hugger, especially with Tim. When he let go, Tim took a deep breath, looking up at him.
“You’re alright?”
Tim nodded. “I feel better than I have in years.”
Bruce nodded. “Later, I’d like to run some tests. We need to figure out a baseline to compare to if you’re injured.”
Tim chuckled a little. Bruce had a very strange way of showing he cared. But medical files were one way. “This evening?”
Bruce nodded.
“Hey! If you want some waffles before Dickface eats them all, you’d better act now.”
Tim smiled, walking over and sliding into an open chair next to Jason. He grabbed a couple waffles and started adding topping to them, listening to Jason and Bruce start arguing with Dick over how much whipped cream and sugar he added to his waffles. Alfred came over after a minute with more waffles. He smiled at Tim, expressing how he was glad he was awake.
Tim was… happy. He felt safe, relaxed, and comfortable. More so than he could ever remember feeling. The ever-present knot in his chest was gone. Not lessened, gone completely. It was freeing.
He didn’t know what the future would hold, how this might impact his ability to be Robin, what might happen to the people around him. But he now knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t alone. He had people who cared about him, no matter what he was.
And maybe that was enough.