Chapter Text
Tim
Tim was unsure how to feel when he woke up six feet underground. On one hand, he was surprised he even got a funeral at all. Damian and Jason had most likely not thought twice about his death and while Bruce might've thrown one he was already overwhelmed with trying to recover while taking care of his former responsibilities. And with Tim gone that would've been even more work to catch up on. Dick wasn't exactly free either; he was busy juggling being Nightwing, working as a full-time police officer, and helping Damian adjust.
The second surprising part was that he woke up. It wasn't out of the realm of possibilities though that he got revived like Jason had. In which case he could've been dead for years which he definitely didn't know how to feel about.
This is good, he can crawl out and they wouldn't come looking for him anymore. How exactly do you propose he crawls out without dying for real? Jason explained how he did, didn't he? Jason had technically explained how, but it was one discussion about it, and it was mainly to tell his tragic backstory before he brutally attacked Tim. Needless to say, Tim had had bigger worries than how Jason had come back to life.
Right now however it felt like an oversight to not train them how to get out of situations like this. Especially with how paranoid Bruce was on the best of days. He'd need to bring it up next time they trained…
That didn’t matter right now, what mattered was making a plan to get out of here or die trying. If he did die trying at least they already had a hole dug. Good job looking on the bright side. Is it even possible for thoughts to sound sarcastic?
During Jason’s over-dramatic monologue, he’d explained how if he didn’t dig fast enough the dirt would crush him alive. He needed to lift the lid off the coffin despite it being covered with six feet of dirt before he ran out of oxygen. The second Tim lifted the lid off if he could, he needed to dig the dirt away from his face otherwise he’d suffocate. He wouldn’t be able to take breaks until he reached the top otherwise he’d get too tired. Sounds fun.
He needed to stay calm, hold his breath, and close his eyes. Hopefully, he’d reach the top.
Tim wondered if he had ever been in a worse situation, a lot of his murder attempts hadn’t looked good but he’d managed. Kinda. He had numerous scars from each of the attempts, some more severe than others.
Focus. You don’t have enough air for a panic attack right now.
Tim touched the top of the coffin, the wood was most likely nice at some point but time certainly hadn't been friendly to it, a decent amount of it was completely rotten. He didn’t want to think how long he’d been dead already, he especially didn’t want to think about the chances of anyone missing him.
Tim took a deep breath preparing for a ton of dirt to come down on him the second he broke the rotted coffin lid. Then, without a second thought, he kicked it, holding his breath, and closing his eyes.
The whole thing happened in a blur, he felt like he was dying the whole time. His lungs screamed for air even with the small amounts he got from clearing the dirt away from his face. The soil was movable and soft but it was heavy and thick. He was mostly lucky, he supposed. If it had been hard as a rock he would’ve had no hope. As he got closer to the top he realized it was raining. The top of the grave was entirely thick mud and it covered every inch of his skin and clothes. He doubted it would ever fully come out of his hair.
Eventually, he lay on the wet ground letting the rain wash away the worst of the mud. The fresh air was heavenly in his lungs and the cold rain never felt better on his skin.
He didn’t know what to do now, first, he needed to figure out where he was and how long he’d been dead. Then avoid Damian and Jason, possibly Dick too if possible. Actually, avoid anyone he once knew and create a new life. It had taken Jason years to become a legal person again, Tim would need to start on the process the second he could, he couldn't wait years till he became a proper person again.
For right now though he just wanted to lay in the rain and breathe.
—
The only sign Tim had that time was passing was the rain clearing. He was still covered in mud, and laying in it hadn’t helped anything, but his face was mostly clean. He really needed to just sit in the bath…maybe a few baths to be safe, but just the idea of it though made him exhausted. Every part of him felt sluggish and each limb felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
He groaned sitting up and looking around barely being able to comprehend what he was seeing. He rubbed his hands off on his drenched shirt before rubbing his eyes.
It almost looked like he was at the Wayne Manor? He glanced back at the row of graves behind him. It almost looked like Bruce’s parents were next to Tim’s grave. He definitely wasn’t processing things right, especially since Jason’s grave was nowhere to be seen.
Tim rubbed his face but the image in front of him didn’t change. He shook his head until he became dizzy and stood up deciding to ignore the graves completely.
His legs felt weak and shaky when he put weight on them, and walking on the even terrain of the yard was difficult, but they seemingly moved on their own. Which was good, he definitely didn't have enough brain power to focus on walking right now.
He always assumed that if he did get a funeral he would’ve been buried on either the Drake property or a public graveyard. It made no sense he'd be buried here. Unless they reused Jason's hole or something to save time.
Somehow he’d arrived on the front step of the Wayne manor. He could've been hallucinating, maybe he had actually died and this was his own personal hell. The place he wanted desperately to be a home, but it never did. Maybe he was a ghost with unfinished business. Hell, maybe Jason found a way to revive him just to kill Tim himself. No…if that were the case he would’ve been waiting or would’ve dug Tim out himself. Maybe it simply was impossible for anyone in the family to truly die.
Tim’s arm trembled as he reached to knock on the door. Whether that was from the cold, fear, or exhaustion Tim didn’t know. His hand hesitated a few centimeters away from the door without him meaning to. You can go somewhere else, they’ll just kill you if they know you’re alive and I don't wanna die. You have that place somewhere, right? You can walk there instead, then leave the next day. Shut up. But. No, shush.
Tim’s fist must've made contact with the door without him noticing because it swung open. “How may I help you tonight?” Alfred said before turning on the porch light.
“I…um I need to-“ to sleep “to sleep, maybe if you have a change of clothes? Or even a towel?” Tim rubbed his face not knowing when thoughts became so hard. “I’m just really tired, I don’t know why.”
“Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his voice sounding more hollow than usual. But that couldn’t be right, Alfred was never caught off guard. Tim must be imagining things.
“Yeah I’m sorry for just barging in, I don't know what happened. I’m sure my head will clear up tomorrow morning.”
“Of course Master Tim, I’ll get you a towel. I expect you remember where your room is?”
“Thank you, Alfred, and if you don't mind, do you think you can keep this a secret from the others? I don’t know what they’d do if they found out.”
“I'll make sure the others won’t bother your slumber. The towels will be outside your door soon.”
Tim felt himself go further back in his brain and walked automatically to his room. The decorations were gone from the walls but Tim didn’t give it much thought. The bed was made and had clean sheets on it. He stripped off the dirty clothes so he didn’t get the sheets dirty again then tucked himself underneath the thick blanket. He shivered as the cold left his body and closed his eyes, falling asleep immediately.
At some point, a soft knock followed by Alfred’s calming voice sounded but Tim didn’t know what he had said. Nor was he particularly worried about it. Damian could kill him again right now and he probably wouldn’t care. Right now all he wanted was sleep.
—
Jason
When Alfred had come downstairs faster than his normal controlled speed Jason hadn’t known what to expect. Really it could’ve been anything from the kitchen being burnt (though it’s Alfred he wouldn’t burn anything), to someone finding out who Batman was. Jason still didn’t know how the only person to discover him was Tim, but it was better that way.
“I’m glad you all are back so soon. I have an urgent matter to discuss.” Alfred said, looking at the vigilantes who were undressing out of their uniforms.
“What’s the matter? Do we need to suit up again?” Dick asked, pausing with his domino inches from his face.
“Nothing of the sort Master Dick, instead I have reason to believe Master Tim has come back to life this evening.”
The whole world stopped.
Jason stared frozen at Alfred as he let the words soak in. He’d only recovered recently from losing Tim and he had never stopped blaming himself for what happened. If he hadn’t been such a stupid kid desperate for another family Tim would still be here.
What could Alfred possibly mean Tim was alive? He went through an autopsy, he’d been buried underground without food, water, or air for six years. People couldn’t just come back to life. If there was even a chance…no no he wouldn’t think like that. Tim was dead and buried and he’d finally accepted it. It didn’t hurt as bad anymore.
“-other options are there? You said he’s-“
“What?” Jason asked his voice barely over a whisper. Bruce’s words stopped and the cave became dead silent. “What do you mean? No he-we buried him. I watched him die, how-no.” Jason’s helmet fell to the ground with an echoing thud. His whole body felt numb and restless at the same time.
“I wouldn't say this if I truly didn't believe it, Master Jason. He was older, yes, but I've never forgotten what he's looked like throughout all these years. Perhaps I shouldn't have let him inside, but I couldn't turn him anyway either if there is even the slightest chance I am correct in my theory.”
“Where is he?” Dick asked behind Jason. Damian had yet to say anything; instead just continued taking off his uniform. Which wasn't completely surprising; he never really got to meet Tim before.
“He has asked to be left alone for the evening, and considering how exhausted and out of it he looked I agree he is in no condition for questioning nor visitors.” Jason wanted to run upstairs and ask questions until his voice went numb, but maybe this was a blessing in disguise. What do you even say in this situation? He'd been reciting the same apologies and stating the same regret every year at his grave, but what do you say to a living ghost?
Maybe he would be mad and blame everything that happened on Jason, it wouldn't be undeserved. Tim would rather bite off his arm than blame anyone or anything though.
He'd probably be disoriented, or need time to adjust. What did he even see during the time he was dead? What did he do? Or would it feel like he died yesterday? Perhaps it didn't even register that he had died and instead, he woke up scared and confused.
But no none of those were true. Because it was impossible for someone to come back from the dead. This was just some prank or something, some joke someone came up with. Maybe he got dosed with something and didn't realize it. This could've been a dream of some kind. People didn't come back . It was impossible. He refused to get his hopes up. Tim Drake had been killed by the Joker due to Jason's stupid idiot childish actions and that was the end of it.