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It was too bad he was dead. He’d barely gotten to live before it was all over, but that was just how things went sometimes.
Tim had assumed everything would end once he was dead, but he was still on a Gotham street, completely aware of everything around him. Hm.
He shrugged off his backpack and laid down on the sidewalk. Maybe dying was like falling asleep; he had to act dead to actually die, then he could rest. That would make sense.
Tim closed his eyes and waited.
Was this how it was for Jason Todd? That would be very sad. Tim had read that Jason had been very badly injured, so if he’d been aware like Tim was now…That would have been very painful.
Tim wasn’t in any pain though. He appreciated that, since the gas killing him had been a surprise. At least it wasn’t a painful surprise, just a disappointment.
A large hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him urgently. Tim sighed and opened one eye.
Oh. Batman.
Tim decided he could accept his death if Batman was investigating his murder. Was it murder? Scarecrow had released the gas, but it wasn’t like he was trying to kill Tim specifically. Tim had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Scarecrow had made the wrong place a thing, though, when it should have just been a street, so it was probably murder. Either way, it was still cool that Batman was investigating it.
Batman smiled, and Tim smiled back. Batman seemed relieved, probably because Tim could still talk and give him all the evidence he needed.
“Are you alright?” Batman asked.
Tim frowned. What? Couldn’t Batman tell that Tim was already dead? He was the world’s best detective, and Tim was pretty sure it was obvious.
Batman frowned too. “Are you hurt?”
Well, this was embarrassing for everyone, but what was he supposed to do?
Tim sighed. “No, but I’m dead.”
“I’m sure your family will be relieved that you’re safe,” Batman assured him, clearly thinking this was some kind of metaphor.
Tim shook his head sadly. “No. I died.”
“…What?”
“I breathed in the gas.” Tim gestured vaguely at the wisps of gas still lingering around the street. “I died.”
Batman nodded, reaching into his belt for something. “I see. And that killed you?”
“Yes.”
There was a sharp prick in his upper arm. Tim hissed and pulled his arm away. Shouldn’t things have stopped hurting after he died? Tim would have expected that, but apparently not.
Batman capped a syringe and replaced it in a different pocket of his belt.
Tim knitted his brow. “What’s that?”
“This is a fear gas antidote. You were exposed to fear gas. Do you know what fear gas is?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know it doesn’t kill people on its own.”
Tim nodded. “So something else killed me?”
“No, son, you’re not dead.”
Arguing with adults was rude, but Tim was struggling to not be frustrated with Batman. Mr. Wayne was an incredible detective, but he was missing the obvious. Tim was dead, and Batman shouldn’t be using resources on Tim that could be used for someone who was actually alive.
Tim stood up, hiding his surprise that his limbs still responded. He supposed that made sense, though. He had heard of people twitching or moving their eyes after they died. The human body was weird, and it did weird things.
“I’ll go now,” Tim said. There was no helping it, he simply could not rest in peace in these conditions. He’d have to find some place to hunker down and be dead.
Batman rose too, like ink spilling in reverse. Wow, that was cool. Tim wasn’t sure where his camera had gotten too, not that it mattered. After all, there was that phrase or whatever, you can’t take it with you.
Tim nodded in thanks to Batman, but the hero reached out and grabbed Tim’s arm before he could take more than two steps.
“We’re going to get you some help,” Batman said. “The hospital isn’t far.”
“But hospitals are for—”
“Son, you need help.”
Poor Batman. It must be hard seeing a kid die again so soon after Jason, especially a boy with black hair and blue eyes. Maybe Tim should humor Batman for a bit, so long as he wasn’t taking too much from real people.
Tim sighed. “Yes, Mr. Wayne.”
Batman nodded like he’d won, and he started to lead Tim down the street before he tensed so suddenly that he squeezed Tim’s arm so tight it almost hurt. Immediately, he relaxed his grip, but he was staring down at Tim in unmoving shock.
Oh.
Ohhhh.
Tim had somehow managed to take that secret to his death but not quite his grave. He’d been so close to making sure no one else ever knew he knew.
“It’s okay.” Tim held his finger to his lips. “I didn’t tell anyone.”
Batman looked all around them real quickly, then nodded. “Can you tell me why you called me Mr. Wayne?”
Tim’s nose wrinkled. He didn’t think, he knew. “Only the Flying Graysons can do a quadruple somersault. It’s their thing.”
He didn’t need to finish the thought; he could see Batman putting the pieces together.
“…I see.” Batman pursed his lips grimly. “There are still people in danger. If I take you to the hospital, can I trust you not to tell anyone? We can talk once everyone is safe.”
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know if my facsimile of consciousness will last that long, but I’m willing to see.”
Batman hesitated. “Well. I guess that’s all anyone can expect.”
Tim nodded in agreement. The secret had never been safer than it had become that very night. After all, dead men tell no tales.
Batman drove Tim to the hospital in the Batmobile, which was very cool except for the part where they arrived at the hospital. That part was really just unnecessary, but Tim just went with it.
After all, losing your kid was supposed to be the worst thing that could ever happen to you. Tim being born had probably been the worst thing that ever happened to his parents, but he was pretty sure Mr. Wayne had actually liked Jason, so it was probably still hard for him even if it had already been six months.
Batman took Tim up to the desk and told the nurses some very made-up things, that Tim had been hit with fear gas and was experiencing delusions. Rude, but okay. Tim sat patiently in his seat, looking out at the carnage in the waiting room while he waited.
Someone was holding a bloody towel to their friend’s head. A woman his mom’s age was cradling her mangled arm. A young man had two gunshot wounds, and Tim was pretty sure that man would join Tim soon. While Tim was sitting there, EMTs rushed in a small boy with a knife still sticking out of his gut. A woman ran in screaming behind the EMTs, pleading with them to save him and swearing that she hadn’t meant to.
The nurses and doctors were rushing around, trying to get a handle on the chaos, but there were no handles to get.
After a few minutes talking with the nurse, Batman came over to Tim and knelt down in front of him the way some grownups did with small kids when they were trying not to scare them.
“I need to leave now, but the doctors are going to help you,” Batman told him. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll come back to check on you as soon as I can.”
Tim very respectfully did not roll his eyes or give any sass at all. Instead, he nodded respectfully. If it helped Mr. Wayne to think that, then that was okay he guessed.
Batman swept out of the hospital waiting room without a backwards glance, off to save the city.
Tim did intend to stay put. He had nowhere else to go, or so he thought. There must have been dozens of people, some injured terribly and others being wrestled in out of their minds on fear gas. Some were both.
Tim looked down at himself. Physically, there were no wounds on his body, but he could feel the rot inside himself.
Tim spent the better part of two hours sitting in the corner of the room, patiently waiting out of the way before he decided enough was enough. These people needed help, and Tim taking help he knew he was beyond would just steal resources from people it could actually help.
No one stopped Tim from standing up, walking out of the hospital, and stumbling onto the street. In death, as in life, Tim was unnoticed.
The sun rose and fell a few times, and yet here he still was. Somehow, Tim’s consciousness was persisting for a weirdly long time after his death.
It wouldn’t be long, though. Tim could feel himself slipping away, the strength leaving his body. What was beyond this world? Tim hoped it was something nice, but if it wasn’t…well, the afterlife was beyond his power.
Tim alternated between wandering the streets and resting, hoping things would really be over, but every time things went black, they got light again eventually, more like sleep than passing on.
The sun was unusually hot from the moment it rose, but even though it made Tim squint and cringe, he could feel the life seeping out of him the longer he stood in the sun. It was poetic, in a way, to get reabsorbed into the sun or nature or whatever was going on.
“Are you doin’ alright, kid?”
Tim turned to look at the speaker. He didn’t know the man, but the visual clues—scruffy beard, unkempt hair, dirty face and clothes—told him the man was homeless.
Tim tried to open his mouth to tell the concerned man that he was dead, actually, so him dying was to be expected.
Strangely, his tongue didn’t respond, glued instead to the roof of his mouth. He shook his head, hoping that would free his tongue, but the world kept spinning after he stopped. Huh, weird.
Tim toppled over, or he was pretty sure he did because he’d blinked and found himself limp in the arms of the worried stranger. Well, this made it all even nicer. He was being reabsorbed into nature while also being held by someone who sort of cared about him.
What a way to go.
Death didn’t stick this time either.
Beep, beep.
Tim was hearing things, which unfortunately meant that he was still conscious. Why couldn’t he just be dead right? He felt like he was trying so hard to fall asleep but just couldn’t.
Tim reluctantly opened his eyes.
A woman in green scrubs leaned over him, her hair tied back in a bun so tight it must have hurt and her expression somewhere between compassionate and irritated.
“You’re a very lucky young man,” the nurse told him. “If you had been brought in a few hours later, you could have died.”
“I am dead. I shouldn’t be wasting your time.”
The nurse frowned. “Do you…want to die? Was this all on purpose?”
“No, I didn’t want to die, but I died so now I’m dead. That’s how dying works.” Why did he have to explain this to an educated woman of science? “I’m still walking around, but I died days ago.”
The nurse heaved a sigh and shook her head. “You’re dehydrated and need to be drinking more water. Now, who should we call to come get you?”
Tim hesitated. Had anyone told his parents yet? Probably not, but he didn’t think it was really the time. He’d rather they find out when they had time to be sad about him without being distracted by prior commitments or exciting opportunities.
There was a television fixed to the opposite wall where Tim could see the informercial playing on mute, but the nurse couldn’t. Tim read off the number, replacing the 1-800 part of the number with the local area code.
“Thank you,” the nurse said. “You sit here and rest while we get in contact with your guardians.”
The nurse left the room, and Tim sat in the silence for a while. They’d hooked him to an IV bag dripping clear liquid into his veins. Unfortunately, whatever they’d done had seemingly strengthened the bond between his body and his soul, so his spirit was tethered a little longer to his formerly mortal form.
Tim pulled the IV tube from his arm and climbed down off the bed. The hospital should be focusing on the living, and Tim wasn’t going to be selfish and stay here when he was robbing attention and resources from people who could benefit from them.
He needed…he needed to find some place to just…stop. He needed someone who would understand.
Oh.
Tim knew where to go.
Tim’s toes curled in the grass as he climbed the hill. The hospital had taken his shoes, and now there were holes in his socks. That was fine, though. He was almost there.
When the newspapers had announced that Jason Todd had died in a terrorist bombing overseas, Tim had been devastated. Tim didn’t know the details, but he knew enough to know the official story wasn’t the truth.
He’d visited Jason’s grave several times, initially at a distance because he didn’t want to be caught and risk giving away Mr. Wayne’s identity, but then he’d realized that Mr. Wayne didn’t come out to visit the grave.
Mr. Wayne didn’t stay away like Tim’s parents stayed away. That he still loved and missed Jason was clear based on how many random thugs were ending up with critical injuries in the hospital.
Tim didn’t really know Mr. Wayne, but he was pretty sure it just hurt too much for Mr. Wayne to come see Jason. It hurt Tim too much to think that Jason might be lonely, cold, and all alone, so Tim started coming more often, at least once or twice a week more often if he felt too lonely.
Tim stopped in front of Jason’s grave and read the dates and the inscription Beloved Son. Funny, kneeling down in front of the grave of someone he’d never talked to while they were alive felt more like coming home then going back to his house ever had.
“Hi, Jason,” Tim said.
He paused, hoping that Jason could talk back now that Tim was dead too, but no luck. Maybe Jason was just annoyed that Tim never shut up.
Or maybe Jason was just happy being quiet. Rest in peace, people used to write on graves. They had the right idea, honestly. Tim was exhausted with all this restless death.
Tim sighed and laid down in the grass. He was probably directly over Jason’s body, which thought brought him some comfort. He’d just lie here till he passed on, and he wouldn’t be alone.
He drifted from his body, growing less and less aware of the world around him. Good, he thought. Hopefully, he wouldn’t rouse again.
Then everything went black.
Tim was disappointed but not surprised when he was, in fact, roused again. He sighed and rolled over to see what was poking him. Dewy grass tickled his nose, and a hand grabbed at his shoulder as it broke through the dirt and tried to pull him down into the earth.
At first, Tim was relieved. Not quite how he expected the grim reaper, but okay. Tim was nothing if not adaptable.
He laid back and closed his eyes with a contented smile, but the hand left his shoulder and went back to wildly scrambling for purchase. Another hand sprang up beside it, and Tim realized with a pit in his stomach what was actually happening.
It wasn’t the sweet embrace of death finally coming to put him at ease.
The ground began to tremble under him, and Tim rolled out of the way. He buried his face in the cold, wet grass and clenched his eyes against the burn of humiliated, guilty tears.
He had ruined death for his hero. He had condemned Jason Todd to the same facsimile of existence that he was languishing in.
Tim was as upset and perplexed as Jason was dazed and confused. Tim had always daydreamed about getting the chance to actually talk with Jason Todd, but Tim didn’t feel up to it, and Jason was having a hard time adjusting to being up and about. No wonder, he was probably pretty stiff from being in a cramped little box for six months.
How was he even going to explain this to Mr. Wayne?
Tim didn’t run from the truth, though, and the least he could do was get help to fix what he had done. Jason’s hand felt warm in his as he led the older boy down the road.
Warmth makes bodies rot faster.
Tim fretted the whole bus ride to Bristol. It was only right that they go seek him out; he had ruined the man’s son’s death! Mr. Wayne was going to be so upset with him.
He had to get Jason on ice before the rot made things worse than they already were, but the bus stop was two miles from Wayne Manor, and Tim didn’t have a cell phone.
“Do you have a phone?” Tim asked Jason as the bus pulled away.
Jason’s eyes were glossy and unfocused. “Bruce…”
“Mm. I didn’t think so.” Tim pursed his lips. “I guess we’re walking.”
“Bruce…”
“We’re going to find him,” Tim promised.
“Bruce…Bruce?”
“…yeah.”
Tim took Jason’s hand again and led the way toward Wayne Manor. He’d never walked to Wayne Manor from the bus stop before, but he’d walked from his own house to the bus stop more times than he could count. From his house, he was pretty sure he knew how to get to Wayne Manor based on the few times his parents had taken him along to one of Mr. Wayne’s galas.
They ended up taking a few wrong turns on the way, but Tim had them to the gates of Wayne Manor just after sunrise.
As Tim peered at the buttons on the control panel outside the gate, trying to piece together which button he pushed to ask pretty please let us in, I have reanimated your son’s corpse, Jason came up behind him and punched in a code.
Ah, convenient.
The gates swung open, and Tim walked in. Jason was starting to tremble intermittently. He wasn’t going to fall over and be properly dead again, was he? That would be horrible! Mr. Wayne would think Tim was a crazy or a stalker or—
Okay.
Okay so maybe Mr. Wayne would have a pretty accurate understanding of who Tim had been in life, but it would be for the wrong reasons! Tim didn’t want to be judged for what he had done, and he certainly didn’t want to be judged for what he hadn’t.
The front door was locked.
“Do you have a key?” Tim suggested.
Jason didn’t respond, so Tim pressed the doorbell instead. Jason tried to wander off a couple times while they waited, but Tim made sure to grab him each time before he could get too far.
Tim expected Mr. Pennyworth to get the door, but it was actually Mr. Wayne who opened the door, slowly with a suspicious look in his eye. When he saw Tim, the suspicion turned to surprise, which turned to sheet-white shock when his eyes fell on Jason.
“I’m sorry Mr. Wayne!” Tim’s eyes prickled with tears. “I’m contagious!”
Mr. Wayne hugged Jason for several minutes, which was kind of gross because Jason was pretty dead. Tim decided not to judge. Grief does weird things to people, and Jason didn’t smell too bad.
Jason was crying in a weird, confused way like he didn’t know what feeling he was having, but he was having a lot of it.
Finally, Mr. Wayne pulled both boys inside and through the house to the actual. Literal. Batcave. If Tim had not already been dead, he probably would have died and gone to heaven right then. Or maybe he was in heaven?? Maybe he’d been in purgatory, and now he was in heaven.
The Batcave was super super weird. Mr. Wayne’s home décor was so classy upstairs, but the cave was so…eclectic. Tim wanted to look at the giant dinosaur, the giant card, and the giant penny, and he would have if Mr. Wayne hadn’t told him to stay put. Still, that didn’t stop him from theorizing. He bet that they’d all been normal sized things once, but Mr. Wayne had had an incident with a gigantisizing ray or something.
There was a small prick in his arm, and Tim winced.
Mr. Wayne patted his shoulder. “Just giving you some fluids.”
Tim frowned and looked up at Mr. Wayne. “But—”
“Yes?”
“Can—can’t I just be dead now?”
Mr. Wayne inhaled sharply and shook his head, but his expression remained neutral. “Not yet. We need to find out what’s going on. Do you want to be unconscious until we have things under control?”
Tim considered, then nodded. Maybe he’d just drift away while Mr. Wayne wasn’t paying attention. He’d caused quite a hassle for Mr. Wayne, though—Tim cut a glance over to Jason, who was poking at an IV in his own arm—so the least he could do was not cause trouble for the next hour or two.
Mr. Wayne had just injected Tim when a metal archway lit up across the cave, and two people stepped out of the light where there had been no one before. Tim’s eyes widened before the sedative hit and they slowly began to close.
Batman, Zatanna, and Martian Manhunter? Coolest. Day. Of. His. Death.
When Tim opened his eyes again, it felt like only a moment had passed, but something had changed. He didn’t know what, yet, but he could feel it in his soul that things were not the same inside him as they had been when he’d been put under.
Beside him, two people were talking in low voices. Familiar, though. Tim frowned and blinked a few times to focus his eyes before glancing to the side to find…
Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd.
Bruce was gripping one of Jason’s hands and his other forearm like he thought Jason was going to try to run away. Jason, for his part, didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere. Jason held Bruce’s gaze steadily and seriously, seeming far more awake and aware than he had earlier.
Tim…Tim also felt more awake and aware than he had been earlier. His mind felt focused, but the events of the past few days seemed hazy. He remembered being very concerned about…something.
Oh.
Wait, no, Tim remembered he’d died. He was…he was dead, wasn’t he?
Jason, also formerly dead, glanced over Mr. Wayne’s shoulder and made eye contact with him. Tim just stared at him, quietly stunned.
“He’s up,” Jason told Mr. Wayne.
Mr. Wayne turned, and it was clear he’d been crying recently. Tim flushed and wondered if he should look away. Surely Batman of all people didn’t want anyone to see him crying. It just felt wrong seeing Batman with damp cheeks and red eyes.
Mr. Wayne took a deep breath and pried his hands off Jason’s forearm with pained effort. Tim squirmed a little as Mr. Wayne approached and loomed over him—he didn’t think Mr. Wayne was trying to loom, but that’s kind of just how it works when you’re a hulking behemoth of a man.
“Do you remember what happened?” Mr. Wayne asked him.
Tim hesitated. “I…I died. Then I was at Jason’s grave—” Jason flinched at that. “—and he was digging himself out. So we came here.” Tim frowned. “I don’t feel dead anymore. I was dead before, but now I’m not dead.”
Mr. Wayne nodded. “Martian Manhunter and Zatanna brought you and Jason back to life while you were unconscious.”
Tim’s heart skipped a beat, and it was only then that he realized his heart was beating in the first place. Tears prickled in Tim’s eyes, and his throat tightened with emotion. “I—I’m alive?”
Bruce smiled weakly and nodded. “You both are.”
Overwhelmed with relief and excitement, Tim surged up and threw his arms around Mr. Wayne’s neck. Mr. Wayne startled. Tim started to clamber back, embarrassment burning in his cheeks, but Mr. Wayne hugged Tim and held him gently, like Tim was something breakable and precious.
“Thank you for saving my son,” Mr. Wayne whispered.
Tim sniffled and buried his face against Mr. Wayne’s shoulder.
“Thank you for saving me,” Tim whispered back. “Being dead is no fun.”