Chapter Text
Tim has always been adaptable. He had to be, growing up as he did. He learned to adjust to strange things from a very young age.
Absent parents? He has a nanny. Nannies fired? He can look after himself. Finds out who Batman is? He'll follow him. Can't run across rooftops? He'll learn.
All in all, it's not too difficult for Tim to roll with the punches. Both literal and metaphorical. So it's safe to say that when two menacing figures started trailing him constantly, Tim adapted.
It was easier to adjust to than most things considering he had known one of them for a good while now.
Throughout the years, Death popped up at random points with a disgruntled frown and a lot of irritated humming. Kind of like Bruce. But less grim and well-adjusted.
Now they're just around all the time, no biggie.
Time, on the other hand, seems more fired up with the angry glaring, the hissed threats and the looming. They're what Tim would imagine the hate child of Jason and Damian to look like. Which is disturbing as hell. No one wants to see that. But Tim had seen many things not meant for human eyes, he could handle it.
-
Death first made their appearance when Tim was nine. He had been scrambling his way down the fire escape in a futile attempt to catch up to Batman and Robin. He was still unused to running from roof to roof having only been following them for a week at the time.
His foot got caught between the steps when he was halfway down. He tried to catch himself on the railing but it was just out of his reach. In a haze of blinding pain, he tumbled down the last two flights of stairs and landed roughly on the pavement below.
Something snapped. Probably his neck if the stiffness it held for the week after was to indicate anything. Funnily enough, most of his bumps and bruises healed within a few days. His ankle was tender for a few weeks after, but all in all, he healed up pretty well.
Unnaturally well.
Tim lay crumpled on the pavement, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle. But he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything from below his neck – which was aching and burning. But Tim couldn't scream, he couldn't even groan, it was as if his neck had been stuffed with cotton. He couldn't see it, but he knew it must be swollen.
He couldn't call for help and no one knew where he was.
He was weak, tired and in a world of pain when everything started to fade. Like the last shot of an old-fashioned movie where the picture slowly fades out as the credits appear.
A tall figure shrouded in darkness walked into Tim's line of sight, hovering over him. The shadows disappeared to reveal a calm, impassive face.
Death's face changes each time Tim sees them. The only constant feature they have is their eyes. Black at first glance, but when Tim looks close enough they are swirling glimpses of light, chaos and quiet. Not to mention the glint of everything they hold. The kind that wasn't made for the human tongue to try and describe.
This time Death had high, delicate cheekbones, a pointed chin, olive toned skin similar to Tim’s, a nose ring and a smattering of freckles that glowed silver and gold, flickering and twinkling like candles and stars.
"It's time to go, little one." They said softly.
Go? Go where? Even at nine, Tim knew better than to go anywhere with a strange shadowy figure wandering through Gotham of all places. No matter how pretty their eyes were. He wasn't stupid.
"No." Tim's throat wasn't working – snapped necks are a pain that way – but the shadows lingering in the background picked up the word and whispered it repeatedly.
Death blinked. Then smiled. "Don't be afraid." Their voice was gentle and soothing. Tim wanted to scowl at being coddled. He didn't need it, he wasn't from Metropolis.
"I'm not. I'm just not going." Tim stated primly, trusting the shadows to get his message across. He even conjured up his Janet Drake glare for good measure. "Who are you?" He demanded.
Death looked completely befuddled at this point. "I believed it to be obvious. I'm Death."
"I didn't want to assume. It's nice to meet you. Hopefully, we'll do so again under better circumstances-" They didn't. "Maybe over lunch?" They did, kind of. "But for now, I'm sure you're quite busy so I won't keep you any longer. Goodbye, Death. Have a nice night."
Death blinked. Then, eventually, they laughed. It sounded like flower petals falling, kids playing in the snow and people dancing to songs they love. "You too. Farewell, Timothy." They said with an indulgent smile.
And with that, they disappeared in a flurry of shadows.
Tim let out a breath. He can't believe that worked.
It took him a few seconds to realize he could feel his limbs again. They were stiff and aching, but he could move.
He slowly sat up and almost fell back down again when the world swirled and spun around him. He took a few steadying breaths and picked up his camera.
It took him a while to feel stable enough to get himself home, but he got to the bus stop eventually.
All in all, Death seemed nice. Tim liked the nose ring.
-
They did meet over lunch the next time. Tim was eleven and sitting at the breakfast bar having strawberries on store-bought crepes.
After one –delicious– bite he very swiftly found out that he was, in fact, allergic to strawberries.
His eyes widened when his throat began swelling and closing up.
He could feel his heart pounding in his ears like an execution drum. His lungs burned and he scrambled off the stool, to do what, he didn't know. He was alone, unable to speak and the nearest neighbor was two miles away.
His ankle got caught in one of the legs of the stool and he fell face first to the floor. He managed to turn his head to the side right before he landed with a loud, wet sounding crack.
Yeah, that one was embarrassing.
His vision blurred with tears, from both fear and the lack of air. The floor felt weirdly warm and the white marble had been exchanged for a brilliant red. Was he in hell?
Tim blinked, clearing his vision. He was still in the kitchen. Something was making a gross, gurgling sound, similar to a cat trying to cough up a furball.
Oh, that was him. How uncouth, his mother would say.
Tim could feel the warmth of his blood pooling around his head. He had two thoughts as the world faded.
One, mother would be distraught over her ruined floor. Marble wasn't cheap after all.
Two, it would be nice to see Death again. It had been a while since he talked to someone other than Mrs. Mac. And that had been three days ago.
Death appeared in all their dark, vibrant glory. They had a heart-shaped face, smooth brown skin and deep crimson red hair, wild and wavy, floating around them as if they were underwater.
"Hello again, Timothy." They said with a smile.
"I like your hair." Tim blurted out. The shadows echoed him.
"Thank you." Death laughed again. "We should get you to the other side."
Tim huffed. "No."
"You said that before." Death mused.
"Now I'm saying it again." Tim stated.
Death stared down at him. Tim glared back, not looking away from the eyes holding everything in them. He had only gotten better at staring contests since they last saw one another.
Death sighed. "Do try to avoid strawberries." They said dryly.
Well, it's not as if he knew he was allergic.
"I will. Promise." Tim nodded. "Am I allergic to anything else?"
"One moment." Death's eyes flashed green for a moment before fading back to black. "Coconuts and gooseberries."
Looks like he would have to throw away the coconut milk in the fridge. He had been looking forward to trying it.
"Thank you."
Death shook their head. "Goodbye, Timothy."
"Bye, Death." He waved at the shadows as they dispersed.
He's pretty sure one waved back.
Tim slowly got back up, smiling as he took a deep, easy breath. He'd never take air for granted again. He grimaced at the tacky feeling of the drying blood around him. Who knew heads could bleed so much?
Tim walked on shaky legs to the supply cupboard to get a mop. Hopefully, it doesn't stain. Mother would kill him.
-
The next time he met Death was during The Clench. He was thirteen. His skin was burning, the sheets felt like sandpaper against him, his head was stuffed with flaming cotton and he just wanted to die–
"Hello again, Timothy." Death greeted.
Spoke too soon.
"Hi, Death." Tim rasped out. The shadows repeated his words once more.
Death nodded in acknowledgment and sat on the empty chair by his bed.
Their face was all sharp angles, with short platinum blond hair and skin as pale as the marble tile they last saw Tim on. They had a septum piercing and purple painted lips.
Death leaned forward. "You've fought valiantly, lived a good life–"
Tim scowled. "I'm not going."
"Timothy." Death sighed and a cold breeze ruffled Tim's hair. He hummed contentedly. That felt nice.
Death stared at him as if he was the weird one. "Tim–"
"No." He snapped.
"This isn't as endearing as it was back when you were a nine." Death grumbled. "You are in pain. You're going to flatline within the next minute. You were living on borrowed time– who is not thrilled about this either might I add– it is time to go."
"No." Tim hissed through his teeth.
"You're just like your mother." Death muttered. Tim wasn't sure whether to be flattered or horrified at the implications.
Somehow, it hadn't occurred to him that the very woman he channeled the first time he met Death, would have been the one to say no first.
Tim's heart sank as he thought back to the poisoned water that killed her. What made her say yes that time? Was it him? Did she not think that Tim was worth saying no for?
She hadn't in life. Always saying yes to expeditions, meetings, and anything that took her away from Tim. And of course, Jack would run off with her, flighty and fickle as he always was.
It made Tim wonder why they bothered reproducing in the first place.
Death huffed, flicking Tim's nose, effectively drawing him out of his thoughts. "Fine, stay and suffer. I've got others to collect." They stood from the chair.
"Bye Death." Tim smiled weakly.
Death shot him a look. "Farewell, thorn in my side."
"Nicknames are supposed to be short and sweet." Tim said helpfully.
Death ignored him.
All of the shadows waved back this time.
When the world became clear again, Tim was greeted by Dick hovering over him, sobbing like he had lost everything. Bruce stood by Dick's side with suspiciously glassy eyes and Alfred staring at him with unmasked worry.
"Who died?" Tim joked.
No one laughed.
Dick practically fell onto the bed, scrambling until he could pull Tim close, holding him tightly enough that Tim was worried Death would pop back in to collect him.
But it was nice, being held as if he mattered. It was a feeling he was still getting used to. Tim snuggled into Dick's arms. He wouldn't mind dying more often if this was the result.
Alfred checked the machines with a worried frown while Bruce kept staring.
Bruce wasn't great with emotions.
"We found a cure." He said eventually, still staring at Tim as if he would disappear.
"Cool, how will we be distributing it?" Tim asked.
"You will rest." Bruce ordered.
"No." Tim scowled, shifting to sit up properly.
If he could say no to Death themselves, he could say no to anyone.
"You will rest. That's an order, Robin." Bruce growled, gently pushing him back down.
Tim scoffed, since when does Robin obey orders?
Long story short, he did not rest.
-
Fourteen years old, Tim lay on the floor of the Titan’s Tower with the Red Hood– Jason– looming over his broken body.
"See how well you fly now, Robin." He spat. He kicked him in the ribs one last time before stalking off.
Tim sluggishly blinked back tears. He refused to let his killer see him cry. He let out a rattling breath as the world faded once more.
A cold, soothing hand ran through his hair before sliding down to rest on his cheek.
Death had ebony skin, long silver curls, an eyebrow piercing and a sharp jawline. They stared down at him with a sad, gentle gaze.
"Hello again."
Tim raised an eyebrow. "Hello, Death. Goodbye, Death."
"Timothy, there is no conceivable way you can survive this." Their voice was exasperated.
He stared right into Death's eyes. "Watch me."
Death pinched the bridge of their nose. "Would you please be reasonable?"
Tim was being reasonable. He was Robin and he had shit to do. Dying could wait for another few years or so. Once things were stable and he wasn't required anymore.
"I'm needed here, not in the afterlife. Bruce won't survive another loss so I won't give him one." Tim said firmly.
Though, now Jason was back and the absolute worst. It wouldn’t really qualify as a second loss anymore.
Death lay down beside him on the faded gray floor. "You are a child. He's not your responsibility." They said gently.
Part of Tim wanted to give in to the comfort, he was tired and scared and Death was nice. When they weren't trying to drag him into the realm of eternal peace, that is.
He shook his head. "He is. They all are. I'm not going."
Death narrowed their eyes. They looked cute. Like a disgruntled cat. "Time is starting to get irritated."
Time. Death mentioned them during The Clench. He wondered if they were as cool as Death. Probably not.
"I don't care." Tim said, tilting his chin up defiantly.
Death groaned. It sounded like floorboards creaking, rusted gates opening and old ships out on the open sea. "You're the most annoying creature I've ever had the displeasure of meeting."
That means Tim had won.
Tim grinned. "You look pretty, did I tell you that?" It was true, Death always looked nice. It's got to be fun to be able to change their look whenever they want.
Death snorted. "Save your flirtations for your fellow mortals." Tim sputtered, heat rising to his face. That was not how he meant to come across.
Death laughed, it sounded like church bells, old pianos and rustling trees. "Farwell, little thorn."
"I reset the little." Tim grumbled. Death quirked an eyebrow at him. He smiled. "Until next time, Death."
The shadows swirled around him quickly before disappearing and when the world came back, the pain was slightly more bearable.
And his attacker's name was written on the wall in blood. Tim's blood.
He vaguely something pressing down on his throat. A sweater. It took him a moment to realise Cassie was steeping the blood.
Tim could hear Bart sobbing, but before he could say anything, footsteps thundered up the hall.
Tim's heart jumped to his throat as he scrambled for a weapon, tuning out the surprised yells of his friends. White hot pain flashed across his arm. Shit. His stomach clenched.
Then Batman appeared in the doorway with Kon hovering anxiously behind him and Tim slumped in relief.
"Robin," Batman was in front of Tim before he even registered him moving. "Robin."
"It's him," It hurt to speak due to Jason strangling him. But he had to say it. "The Red Hood is Jason Todd." He nodded towards the wall.
Bruce was silent as he looked at the wall. The letters shone under the fluorescent lights as Tim's blood hadn't dried yet.
"We need to get you to Leslie." Bruce got an arm under Tim's knees and another supporting his back.
"I can walk." Tim grumbled as Bruce cradled him to his chest.
Bruce held him closer, saying nothing.
-
At sixteen, Tim lay, shattered, on the floor of the Batcave and thought back to that first time in the alley.
The world faded as Damian's footsteps did.
Death appeared under the dinosaur, giving it a confused glance, muttering. 'I was sure I collected them all.' Before turning to face him, their face cleared.
"Little thorn." They sighed, and a soothing breeze grazed Tim.
"Hi, Death." Tim greeted quietly.
Death had soft, rounded features. Light brown skin, ombre green hair and a singular freckle by their crimson red lips.
"Your family is a walking me-trap." Death said with a slight smirk.
Tim glared. "Not funny."
It was a little funny.
"I'm still grasping the concept of humor." They shrugged.
Tim kindly didn't mention that they had had thousands of years to learn how to tell a good joke.
"Are you going to try and take me?" He asked.
After everything that had happened this year –Steph, Kon, Bart, Dad– Tim wasn’t sure what he'd do if Death actually tried this time.
Death brushed their fingers through his hair. He leaned into it. Their touch was cool, soothing and layered with something Other that gave Tim a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt since he got his first hug at the circus. "I could drag you." They murmured.
"I'd bite." He made sure to keep his expression solemn as he spoke. Like Bruce.
Death laughed, twisting Tim's hair around their fingers. Tim melted, this was a nice break from the pain. "Little imp."
"I prefer thorn." He said, slowly looking back up at Death.
The corners of Death's eyes were crinkled. "You will always be that, first and foremost."
"Good." He breathed.
For a moment, just a second, he wanted to ask Death to take him. If dying felt like hands brushing through his hair, sighs that were like an ocean breeze and the warmth of a campfire, then why not?
"I like your hair." Tim rasped instead.
Death smiled. "Life did it for me."
Tim hummed. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
Death stood. "Farwell, Timothy." They murmured.
"Bye, Death." Tim whispered.
When the world came back Bruce was cradling him in his arms and walking towards the medbay.
"He pushed me." Tim slurred, his head hurt like hell.
Bruce's eyes blazed. "Who?"
Oh, he must not have looked at the footage yet.
"Damian."
Bruce's face flickered, conflicted as he gently laid Tim on the bed.
Tim turned his head away. He had seen enough.
-
When Clark delivered the news of Bruce’s death, a tall figure dressed in silver smirked at Tim from behind him.
"It was just his time, you know?" Their laughter echoed as they dissolved in a cloud of tangled wisps.
Tim glared.
The hell it was.
-
At seventeen, Tim lay gasping in pain with a batarang embedded in his chest. Batman– no, Jason– stepped over him, not even glancing back as he walked away.
Tim hated him. He wished that Death would take him again or, better yet, had kept him. Jason had brought nothing but misery into all their lives and Tim wanted him gone.
Bruce was right. The Jason that came back was the one they loved. It wasn't Tim's Robin.
He missed that Robin.
It was a relief when the world faded.
That relief was short-lived.
Death was already there waiting. Their shadows swirled around them like a sentient tornado of darkness. Tim could only make out their eyes in the chaos. They seared with the burning rage of every star they had collected.
"These are the people you want to stay for?" Death hissed, their voice thrumming through to Tim's bones. "The ones worth enduring all this unnecessary pain for?"
"I hope so." Tim rasped. "This one is all Time's fault as far as I'm concerned." He added.
The shadows calmed slightly as Death hummed. "They have been in a bit of a mood lately."
Hot, cutting anger welled up in Tim. "They took Bruce from us because of a bad day?"
Death winced. "Bad decade."
"Tell them to join the club." Tim said, rolling his eyes. Death hummed in agreement.
It seems the one thing Tim had in common with these deities was being completely and utterly miserable. What a way to be connected to the divine.
"They hate it when people refuse to go, it makes their lines sing." Death informed him, sitting criss-cross applesauce beside him.
It was moments like that when Tim realized how surreal his life was.
Now that the shadows had cleared, he could see Death. Their hair was a deep indigo blue, short and shaved at the sides. It looked nice against their shimmering, olive skin. He was pretty sure that Death was wearing the same highlighter Tim uses when going undercover as Caroline.
"That sounds nice." Tim's brow creased in confusion.
Death shook their head, a lock of hair falling onto their forehead. "They hate music. They once tried to get me to collect the person who created the Neanderthal flute."
Tim blinked.
What. The. Hell?
"They must be fun at parties." He muttered.
"They're not. That's why we don't invite them." Death said proudly. Tim laughed.
He could picture it. Death, Life and whoever else there was all dancing in a galaxy while Time glared from their little corner of the universe.
"I have a question," Tim said. Death gestured for him to go on. "Why can people come back to life through the Lazarus Pits? Why do they exist? And can't you just take the people who use them back? After all, their existence on this side can't be natural."
"I'm quite sure that was more than one question, Timothy." Death chuckled, flicking his forehead. "The Lazarus Pits were made when Life and I fought."
Tim's jaw dropped. "But I thought you two were friends."
Death rolled their eyes at him. Which, rude. "You say that as if you've never had rough starts with those you now love."
Tim averted his eyes feeling sheepish all of a sudden.
Death laughed. "It was back in the Beginning when we were still quite young. Life believed that I was something to be eradicated and I thought that Life only existed for me to snuff out." Tim's head hurt as he tried to imagine that battle. More so, the morality behind it.
"Space threw us around the universe, trying to lessen the damage we were causing by disorientating us." So there was a personification of Space as well. Tim wondered what they thought of the Green Lanterns. What it was like to be the one expanding the universe. "Eventually we calmed down and realized that we were nothing without each other. But that didn't undo the abominations we made when we shed one another's blood." Death's voice was heavy with regret.
"That's your blood?"
"And Life's." Death added, sounding a little indignant.
Tim decided to politely ignore the fact that Ra's Al Ghul had been bathing in the blood of Death and Life for centuries.
"My apologies, oh mighty Death." Tim smirked, but it turned into a grin when Death growled at him.
The growl sounded like grumpy puppies, rumbling motorcycles and a cello being played quietly in an empty room. Not exactly the stuff of nightmares.
"Why can't you collect those who have been in the Pit?" Tim asked.
"It's similar to trying to put two magnets together. They were dead, I am Death, it should work. But they are also alive and healthy hence the resistance. I can't take them until they die again. I can't keep them because they are alive even when dead due to the corrupted blood." Death's brow was scrunched as they tried to explain it.
They didn't seem to completely understand it themselves and wasn't that a mind fuck.
Death tilted their head at him. "You should rest, little thorn." They said as they began to stand.
Wait," he managed to grab Death's sleeve. They sat back down, something about that made Tim feel warm. "Bart and Kon?"
Death stared at him and Tim conjured his Janet Drake glare once more. He needed to know that they were okay. At peace.
Death laughed and brushed their fingers through his hair. "Many of yours have passed through me, but not as many as you think."
Tim's heart jumped. "Expand please?"
Death shook their head. "Save your tears and store your grief." They whispered with a sly tilt of their lips.
Tim wanted to ask for more information. He couldn’t keep raising his hopes only to get them crushed again. There was only so much he could take.
Death kissed his forehead. It felt like a warm ocean breeze, the nostalgia of a song he forgot and flying. "Farewell, little thorn."
"Goodbye, Death." He breathed.
When the world came back he was in the Batcave with Dick clutching his hand.
Tim must have been gone for longer than usual. He wondered what he looked like when he was in the in-between. Unconscious or dead?
"Tim." Dick rasped, it was only then Tim saw his brother's red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips.
"Put my grave beside Jason's next time I croak it." Tim groaned.
Not everyone was a fan of gallows humor, but Tim was loving it these days. Likely because almost everything else he loved was dead. Tim probably should have snipped at Death more about that.
Dick glared at him through suspiciously glassy eyes. "I hate it when you talk like that." He broke down into hiccupping sobs and Tim panicked.
"Sorry, I'm sorry. Please don't cry." Tim sat up, ignoring both the pain and Dick's protests, to pull Dick in for a hug.
Tim rarely initiated hugs, never sure of when the situation called for them. But he decided to take a risk and try it out. He hated seeing Dick sad, it hurt, because Dick should never have to look like that.
Dick held him tightly, breathing shakily. "Never again." He said, his voice almost a growl.
"What?" Tim asked.
"Hood's in Arkham. And he's never coming out if I have anything to say about it."
For a second, Tim felt sympathy for Jason. Being trapped in the same building with your murderer sounds like a hell of its own.
Then he remembered the scars that marred his body from gunshots, knife wounds and slashes. The snapped wrist, dislocated shoulder, broken leg, bruises on his neck, fractured ribs, slit throat, batarang in his chest-
Thief. Unworthy. Pathetic.
The nightmares, flashbacks, panic attacks–
How Jason had written on the wall in his blood.
Stepped over his body and left him for dead. Twice.
"Good." Tim snarled.
It's no less than what he deserves.
-
Still seventeen, Tim fell alongside Pru onto the hotel bed. The sheets were quickly soaked in his blood and the world faded around him.
Death appeared. Their face was soft and delicate looking this time, whereas their afro was gorgeous and wild with what looked like stars trapped between each curl. Knowing Death as he did now, it probably was stars they had collected over the course of eternity.
Their skin was a deep brown but small cracks marred it, silver light bleeding through each one. Tim's fingers twitched to grab a bandage as if Death would ever need him to patch them up. They had a lip ring that shimmered in the light and a determined glint in their eye that put Tim on edge.
They went to speak.
"No." He snapped.
Death glared. "You irreparably damaged your spleen." They said flatly.
"I don't need a spleen to live." Tim scoffed.
Death inhaled. "Timothy–"
"No."
"Be reasonable–"
"No."
"This is getting ridiculous." They flopped down beside him on the bed, their shadows pooling beneath them both. Tim liked the way the shadows brushed against his skin.
He waited for Death to continue, snip at him, sigh at his stubbornness and call him a brat. But they just lay quietly staring up at the faded ceiling. Tim slowly relaxed into the bed.
They lay side by side for a while. It could have been minutes or days for all he knew. Tim didn't care at this point, not when he felt so at peace.
There was a time in his life when he despised silence and abhorred peace. He wondered when that changed.
"I'm not going until I get Bruce back." Tim said, breaking the silence.
Death turned their head to look at him "Feuding with Time is not a good idea."
Tim clenched his fists. "Time can go fuck themselves. He's my–" Tim hesitated, then pushed past it. After all, who better to say it to than Death? "He's my dad. I'm going to get him back and no one is going to stop me."
Death sighed, staring at Tim with sad, understanding eyes.
"I hope that he's worthy of your devotion." They said with an undercurrent of something that made Tim worry. Not for himself, but for those around him.
"Me too." Tim whispered. "Are you okay?" He finally asked, nodding at the cracks on their face.
Death shrugged. "Time and I had a bit of a tiff."
Cold realization dawned on Tim and his stomach began twisting itself in knots.
"They hurt you because of me?" His voice was small. Like the child he never got to be.
"Don't worry, little thorn. It doesn't hurt." Death said, taking Tim's hand in theirs and squeezing it.
"They're still an asshole." Tim hissed. That's two reasons he had to hate Time.
Death brushed their thumb over the back of Tim's hand. It was like putting his hand in a cold stream or under a waterfall. "They remind me of your brothers."
Tim didn't bother refuting the statement. It was true. As far as he was concerned they weren't his brothers. Not Jason. Not Damien. Not Dick. Tim was done.
In a way, Death had cared and fought for him more than they ever did. Other than Dick. But after being discarded so cruelly by him, Tim wasn’t sure if any of it was ever real.
"Thank you." Tim said softly.
Death's eyes shone. "You're welcome."
Tim laid his head on Death's shoulder, the shadows curling around his head as they lay together. He wished he could see Death more often. Preferably without being hurt enough to die each time.
Eventually, Death sat up. They leaned forward and kissed the tip of Tim's nose like one would a tired kitten. "Farewell, Timothy."
Tim laughed. "Bye, Death."
When the world came back Tim was in a cave.
Ra's Al Ghul was there.
As was a Lazarus Pit.
If that bastard had dipped Tim in his friends' blood, the embodiment of their biggest regret, then he was going to break Batman's One Rule really fucking fast.
Tim struck out at the nearest ninja.
-
Tim looked Time in the eye as they loomed over him, snarling.
Bruce lay in the hospital bed surrounded by his family.
Tim smirked at them.
'Not this time.' He mouthed.
-
Okay, so maybe only one figure was truly angry. Death just seemed resigned at this point. And amused, not that they'd ever admit that to Tim.
It was nice, having Death around without almost dying. Though he could do without Time.
The pair of them lingered in his office. Time looms over the desk, glaring down at Tim and Death lying on the couch shrouded completely in shadows.
Time currently had translucent, silver skin and curly red hair. Their eyes were multi-colored swirls with echoes of moments passed and moments yet to be. Tim had no idea how Time figured out which was which.
"Do you guys have nothing better to do?" Tim asked as he idly browsed the monthly financial reports.
"I will tear your timeline apart." Time snarled.
"They just sing louder when you do that." Death said helpfully.
"Shut up, Death." Time growled.
Tim's eye twitched. Yeah, he really didn't like Time.
"It's behavior like this that makes the Others avoid you." Death sighed, their shadows swirled around Time.
Time roughly swatted them away. "Go to hell."
"You know they disbanded that ages ago."
Tim froze. Hell is a thing? Or, more accurately, was a thing? He looked over at Death who had turned his office couch into a shadowy cocoon. Death's eyes peaked out from within the mini abyss, glimmering.
Time stepped between them with an irritated huff. They swiped Tim's folders off the desk before making themselves comfortable in the newly cleared space. Tim peeked around them to give Death a despairing look.
It was like having Damien there constantly. If hell hadn't apparently been disbanded, Tim would think he was in it.
"Why won't you just collect him?" Time whined, swinging their legs back and forth.
Death's eyes dissolved back into the shadows. "Because he's an impertinent brat."
"Hey!" Tim couldn't exactly deny it, but it was still rude of Death to say.
"An endearing, impertinent brat." Death corrected.
Not much better, but Tim would take it.
Time hummed. "I could just age him to the point where you have to collect him."
Tim's head snapped up. It just sunk in that two deities were discussing his fate while he browsed W.E.'s finances.
He took out the latest updates on R&D to look over instead. That's a way better thing to die reading.
Death scoffed. "Life would just undo that."
"I thought they were staying out of this." Time growled, sliding off the desk and marching over to the couch. They loomed over Death which had Tim's fingers twitching for the bo staff he had hidden in a secret compartment under his desk.
As if he could ever take on the literal embodiment of Time with a bo staff.
As if Death would ever need him to.
"So long as you don't upset me, they will." Death said smugly.
Time rolled their eyes. "You're so coddled."
Surreal. His life was surreal. Not to mention a complete and utter clusterfuck.
"This coming from the deity who can't even handle one timeline." Tim muttered.
Death laughed, their shadows leaving the couch and dancing around the office.
Yeah, it wasn't all that hard adapting to this overall. He could do without the looming though.