Archive of Our Own

It was amazing how easily Dick had been suckered into buying the property. Looking back, he still couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that he’d known the estate was the one, but he certainly remembered signing the dotted line of the contract, staring wide-eyed at the realtor as he murmured a panicked, “Holy crap, I just bought a house.”

“Yes, you did,” she’d replied while neatly packing everything into her travel case. Her hands had found his soon afterwards, and she gazed into his eyes with an intense sympathy before sighing, “Good luck.”

At the time, the words had been gentle and her sentiment had seemed kind. But now, as he stood in his new kitchen, surrounded by boxes while the distinct sound of an agonized moan wailed from upstairs, he wondered at the reason he’d gotten such a good deal.

The doorbell rang and Dick made a beeline for his front atrium, walking briskly and doing his best to pretend like the sound he’d heard was normal - after all, it was an old house. It was probably just settling. That, and it was starting to rain outside, and who knew how recently the roof had been inspected. Of course, whether or not a few loose shingles would make that sound, he wasn’t quite sure, but even so, he refused to believe his house was haunted.

“Jason,” Dick yanked open the door, his skin tickled by a cool draft that sifted inside, and his smile fell when his friend shoved an armful of junk into his hands. He struggled to grasp it all and frowned at the jumble: a pack of candles, a tube of salt, a plastic baggy full of lighters, a case of beer. A low whistle escaped his buddy’s lips as he got his first impression of the house.

And while Dick wanted to stand proud and admire the antiquity of the place, gusts of wind were breezing in through the doorway, spilling rain onto his uncarpeted hardwood floor.

“Jay, can you get the door?” Dick asked, nearly dropping the tube of salt as he attempted to push it closed with his foot. “I haven’t gotten a rug for the atrium yet-”

“For the record,” Jason interrupted as he scraped his fingers through his hair, and drew the damp mess back and off his forehead, “any house with an atrium is probably haunted.”

Dick laughed nervously while Jason pushed the door shut behind them, silencing the howling wind beyond. “I don’t know for sure if it is, but-”

“Fifteen texts, Dick. Fifteen,” Jason glared at him and, for good measure, pulled his phone from his back pocket to thumb into his received messages. Before Dick could look embarrassed, he was already reading them out loud. “At 9:30, I think I hear someone laughing. At 9:54, Someone is definitely laughing upstairs. 10:25, Do old houses have cold spots? 10:32, Maybe I should have gotten a house with less rooms. 10:47, If there are mice in the walls, would they sound like someone running up and down the hallway? 11:17 -”

“Would they?” Dick asked, trying not to sound desperate.

Jason had cobalt eyes that always seemed to look serious, and when he glanced up from his phone, he looked less than sympathetic. In his leather jacket and faded denims, he looked like the last person who would ever believe in ghosts.

“We’re going to fix this,” was how he chose to answer, and Dick realized he was sporting a duffle bag, which made sense since he was supposed to be spending the night. He unzipped it and rummaged the corner of a box out, revealing enough of the cover for Dick to make out the title, Ouija.

Glancing down to the objects in his hands, Dick suddenly realized Jason’s plan of action. Raising an eyebrow, he pried, “We’re going to fix it by holding a seance?”

“No,” Jason shoved the box back into his bag and stalked past Dick, making his way further into the house, “We’re going to fix this by proving it doesn’t exist.”

“It?” Dick felt nervous at the ambiguity and followed Jason into his kitchen, watching as his friend poked at the walls and took everything in, soaking up the house like a sponge.

“Whatever you think is haunting you,” Jason waved off. “Which, by the way, is remorse. Buyer’s regret. You bought a mansion and now you’re second guessing yourself, and your subconscious is having a field day with your psyche. “

“I don’t think -”

“Fifteen texts,” Jason reminded him, and Dick simply frowned before dropping everything Jason had given to him onto the only portion of countertop not splayed with knick knacks and things otherwise unpacked. After dropping his bag onto a barstool, Jason started through things that had been left out, which included a substantial pile of letters and sealed envelopes. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “You’re already getting mail here?”

Dick had only been there for a week, so the mail wasn’t his - it was the previous homeowner’s. He was about to say as much, but Jason was eying an envelope as though it had grown limbs.

“Bruce Wayne? This place was Bruce Wayne’s?”

“Well, there might be more than one Bruce Wayne,” Dick offered, but yeah, he’d had the same reaction. There was always at least one magazine sporting the CEO’s face, and Dick found it hard to believe that he’d lucked out and gotten one of the man’s summer homes.

Wide eyed and shaking his head, Jason tossed the letter back into the pile, and his eyes glittered when he saw that there was a phonebook submerged beneath the correspondence. He rifled it out while stating, “You’re buying me pizza.”

Dick sighed, knowing his fridge was empty, and not quite willing to admit that he’d been living off pizza the entire week while attempting to get settled. As Jason flipped through the directory, Dick thought about the ouija board and said, “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to do seances?”

Not bothering to look up, Jason replied, “If ghosts were real, it’d be plenty dangerous.”

“What if they are real?” Dick asked, genuinely concerned. “I just, this house -”

Jason picked up the phonebook and flipped it over, dropping it onto the counter between them. Dick jumped and Jason merely stared at him, expression blank.

“Would you rather hire a professional?”

Looking down at the page Jason had opened to, he realized that professionals existed. There was a whole page of them, some with more compelling ads than others.

“Personally, I’m gravitating towards the Winchesters here,” Jason pointed at a small box on the bottom corner of the page, where the words Family Operated were underlined. “It says right here that we get a free slice of pie with any exorcism.”

Dick squinted and realized that, in fact, it did. After a moment he said, “Yeah, okay, we can do it ourselves.”

Jason pouted. “No pie?”

“Pizza pie,” Dick reminded him with a grin, and he flipped open to a page he had bookmarked. “Call this place. I’ve ordered from them before. I want Hawaiian, extra pineapple.”

Nodding contentedly, Jason was already typing the number into his phone when the sound of footsteps thundered above, drawing their attention upward. Dick felt a spell of cold race he length of his spine, and Jason simply stared at the ceiling, confused. He was about to make a comment when the pizza place answered his call, and so he was distracted into placing their order.

Dick sauntered around a few stacks of boxes and into the hallway that led from the front room to the kitchen, and peered up the stairs, feeling a bit braver with Jason over. He didn’t see anything, but then again, the entire second floor was pitch black. He hadn’t left any lights on, and with the storm, there wasn’t much light filtering in through the windows.

“Is that what you heard last night?” Jason asked, and since Dick hadn’t been paying attention, the question came as a surprise and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Yes,” he noted, still looking up into the darkened upper landing. Jason pushed past him with a bravery born from disbelief, and started up the stairs.

“You’re going up?” Dick asked, and Jason paused and stared down at him.

“Good point,” Jason motioned for him to follow. “If I go alone, it won’t really make you feel any better, will it?”

Dick scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”

Again, Jason motioned for him to follow. “Take control of your life, Richard Grayson, and get your ass up these stairs.”

Dick moved, albeit reluctantly. He hadn’t been upstairs since the beginning of the week, and while he’d told himself that it was because he was too busy unpacking everything downstairs, he knew that it was because he felt uneasy up there. It was colder, and he always felt like someone was watching him, and following him from room to room.

“Christ, Grayson, it’s freezing up here,” Jason rubbed at his arms and looked from left to right, making up his mind which way to go. Somewhat appeased that Jason had noticed, Dick nodded.

“They say that it’s colder where ghosts are-”

“-and, surprisingly, it can also be pretty chilly when your AC is set to 66,” Jason tapped the thermostat and thumbed it to life, and made a practical adjustment. “And who are they?”

Too close of a friend to Jason to feel rightly embarrassed, Dick simply said, “People who know these things. When is the pizza going to be here?”

Jason’s smile widened at the change of subject, and he chose to go left. “Half hour or so,” he said as he continued on, flipping a light switch. The upper hallway was immediately bathed in a warm fluorescent glow and Jason toggled the first door handle he came across.

“That’s going to be a guest room,” Dick pointed out, and Jason poked his head inside before deeming the space safe for the rest of his body.

“The room I’ll be sleeping in?” Jason asked, and before Dick could reply, Jason rapped on the wall and said, “Hey, you. Ghost. This is gonna be my room tonight and I don’t want a roommate, so scram.”

Dick tensed, and waited for something to happen. A long stretch of silence eased his paranoia, as the house sat, quiet, with only the sound of rain pelting from outside.

And then there was a woosh.

“What the…”

Dick turned to Jason, who was rubbing his head, confused. He leaned down to pick something up.

“What happened?”

Jason gave him a dirty look and picked up a wad of paper, crumpled into a ball. “Really funny, Dick.” He looked agitated, and Dick tried to figure out what he meant.

“What did I do?”

“Throwing things at me is so third grade,” he rolled his eyes, and he chucked the paper ball across the room, into a dark corner.

Chewing on his lower lip, Dick shook his head. “I didn’t throw anything at you.”

“Right,” Jason huffed, and he even turned to give Dick an unimpressed glare. From behind him, the dark corner spat the ball back, and it pelted Jason across the forehead yet again.

The two of them froze, though Jason snapped out of his momentary surprise quickly enough to storm towards the corner, as if expecting to find something there.

“Dick, hit the lights,” he demanded, and Dick obeyed, tossing the room into visibility. From across the room, Jason stood, obviously alone, and scowling.

“Not a ghost,” Jason stated. Wind howled from outside and he pointed at a window above an undressed bed that looked as though it had been haphazardly tossed into the space. “It was probably a draft.”

Dick looked from the window to his friend. “I don’t feel a breeze,” he pointed out, while Jason stalked back, plucked up the paper and held it in front of Dick’s face.

“Are you going to be afraid of a piece of paper?” he demanded, and Dick shook his head.

Jason scoffed and sauntered out of the room, and Dick was close at his heels, getting that upper-story feeling he always seemed to get, thinking that there was someone in the shadows, lying in wait. As they made their way to the next room, a rattling sound caught their attention, and this time, Jason took off running towards it.

“Jay!” Dick jogged behind him, his heart beating fast in his chest as Jason nearly broke into the master bedroom, the hinges on the door squeaking in revolt. The lights came on when Jason slammed his palm against the switch, and he hunted the room with determination in his eyes, seeking out the sound.

Dick stood in the doorway, hands on the frame, and swallowed a lump in his throat. He watched as Jason crept up on the sound, which appeared to be a window latch that was loose. He popped it back into place, and the rattling sound ceased to exist.

Looking content, Jason glanced back at Dick and stated. “See? Draft.”

The sound returned, and Jason’s attention jerked back to the latch, which was loose once again. He pressed it closed, and tested it, seeing how easily it could be dislodged. Not easily enough, and it took him a bit of effort to force it up, and press it back down.

“There,” he said, looking at it. And before his eyes, he watched the latch wriggle up, as if something was slowly forcing it out of place.

“Jason?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Jason snapped, and he slammed his fist against the piece, jamming it back down. He felt pressure from below and battled against it, all while Dick watched, confused and slightly terrified at the way Jason’s cheeks were turning red at the exertion.

After a minute, the pressure disappeared.

Jason heaved a breath and stepped back, slapping his palms together at a job well done.

The latch popped back up.

“Son of a -”

Ding dong~

Dick jumped and looked behind him, murmuring, “The pizza…”

And Jason, gritting his teeth, whirled around and said, “It’s not a ghost.”

“Okay,” Dick said to him, feeling less concerned that his house was probably unfit to live in, and more worried about the fury raging behind Jason’s eyes. “Okay, buddy. Not a ghost. Want to go get the pizza?”

“Yes.” Jason stomped out of the room and made a sharp turn towards the staircase, where he yelled, “I need cash!”

Dick followed, and when they both were at the base of the stairs, he whirled towards the kitchen. “My wallet’s over here. Can you get the door?”

Aggravated, Jason ripped it open and snapped, “How much do we owe again?”

His tone of voice caused the delivery boy to look up, revealing impossibly blue eyes beneath an embarrassing red cap. He could only have been a few years younger than Jason, and he was lip-smacking a piece of gum with an expression that deftly said, my day cannot possibly get worse.

Before he could answer, Jason looked him up and down and couldn’t stop the words from escaping his mouth. “What, did you walk here?”

He was soaking wet, to the point that there was a puddle forming beneath him. Even his dark hair was plastered to his face beneath his cap, and his shirt, which was striped and red and matched his hat, was practically molded to his body.

“No, I biked,” he said, and he pointed to the picture on his cap, which was of a pizza slice riding a bicycle. As if to emphasize his point, he sing-songed, “Pepper’s Pizza. The best meal on wheels.”

Jason looked terrified that such a job even existed and Dick’s voice sounded from behind him.

“How much do we owe?” He pushed past Jason, and his eyes lit up. “Tim!”

The delivery boy’s eyes flickered to life, and suddenly, he frowned. “This is your fourth pizza this week. I’m judging you.”

“Ah,” Dick laughed and scratched the back of his head, especially when Jason stared at him in a shocked sort-of awe.

“Wow. You have officially surpassed me in terms of bachelorhood.”

Dick did his best not to make eye contact for fear that it would make the comment more truthful. In the sky, a streak of lightning startled all three of them, and was followed by a deafening boom that rumbled for a good thirty seconds. Dick looked past Tim to the road, and his expression dropped.

“They seriously have you delivering pizzas in this?”

Shrugging, Tim tugged open his pizza travel bag and wrestled two boxes out. “They’ve got bills to pay and I’ve got tuition to think of.”

“Ever heard of student loans?” Jason asked sardonically.

Tim was quick so shrug and say, “Yeah, I’m not a fan of selling my soul. Think I’ll just stick with selling my body for the time being.”

Swallowing a comeback he knew he’d regret, Jason simply miffed, “Well, you look ridiculous.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Do you drive a red Ducati streetfighter?”

Skeptically, Jason nodded.

Without sympathy, Tim told him, “It’s currently in a lake at the bottom of the driveway.”

“What?!” Without care for the downpour, Jason took off outside, racing down the porch’s steps to the awning he’d parked under on the side of the house.

Dick looked worried, but Tim simply handed him the pizzas and counted down, “Three, two, one…”

Jason came skirting back up to the porch a moment later, shaking an accusatory finger in Tim’s direction. “You are a lying liar that lies. Why would you lie about something like that?” He was soaking now, and Tim’s attention seemed drawn to him.

“Because I stood a better chance of getting that reaction from you than an apology,” Tim said, and then he added, “The total is twenty thirty-two. Cash?”

Dick took one last look out over the road, which looked less like pavement and more like a swaying mass of dark liquid. “You should stay the night.”

The sun was already beginning to set, thought it was hard to tell with how sooty the clouds were. Tim raised an eyebrow, and from beside him, Jason looked aghast.

“Uh, what? You really want company over for what we’ve got planned?”

Jason happened to look at Tim as the pale skin of his face burned red as he flushed, and, as if dishing out payback for his bike, he smirked. “Actually, yeah. Maybe you should watch.”

Dick smacked him on the shoulder, but the damage couldn’t be undone. Tim glanced between them as if they were bathed in new light, to the point that Dick had to shake his head furiously to dispel the image.

“We’re holding a seance tonight,” he explained.

Raising an eyebrow, Tim took a small step backwards. “Yeah, I’ve really got to get going -”

The sky erupted in another flash of blinding white, and Tim jumped. A steady swell of water rushed by the base of the porch’s stairwell and it dragged his bike to the ground and started carrying it off. He was moving before he thought better of it, and splashed into the water to retrieve it, it being his only form of transportation.

“Jay, move your bike into the garage,” Dick told him, and he slipped past to help Tim haul his bicycle up to the porch. Jason eyed the sky for a minute before taking off into the downpour, obeying his friend’s advice.

“You should really stay,” Dick told Tim, and the younger man sighed.

“Really, Pepper’s is right up the road-”

“I insist. If something were to happen to you simply because we ordered pizza, I’d never forgive myself.”

Glancing back at the road, Tim heaved a contemplative sigh, and pulled his phone from his pocket to shoot his boss a text. When he turned back towards Dick, he said, “Okay.”

Dick practically shoved him inside, and Jason wasn’t too far behind them. By the time they were in the house, Tim was shivering, and Dick was pointing towards the kitchen while deviating to what was supposed to be his study.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, and Tim simply stared up at Jason, waiting to follow him further into the house. Jason noticed and plucked the pizzas from his hand, and, sighing, led the way.

There was no more counter space, so Jason swept his arm across the papers and knick knacks scattered around until they formed one massive clump near the wall. He dropped the pizza bag and turned back towards Tim, who was rubbing warmth into his arms while looking around.

“Did you know that this was Bruce Wayne’s house?” Jason asked, aiming to impress.

Tim looked at him and blinked. “Everyone knows this was Bruce Wayne’s house. Well, one of them, anyway.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “I’m still not sure how someone like Dick was able to get Bruce Wayne’s house.”

“One of his houses,” Tim corrected again. “And probably because it’s haunted.”

Jason seemed startled that Tim would think that, but before he could manage a quippy retort about Tim seeing dead people, Dick emerged from the hallway with a bundle of clothes.

“Okay, obviously you’re smaller than I am,” he handed the clump to Tim, who took it with wide eyed surprise. “But these should fit.”

Tim was still chewing his gum while he slowly glanced around. “Do you have a bathroom that I can use?”

“Oh,” Dick pointed into the living area and motioned towards the left. “You can’t miss it.”

Tim nodded hesitantly and started towards it, and disappeared a moment later, the sound of a door closing signaling that he’d found the room.

“He’s cute, right?” Dick said, and Jason snorted.

“Yeah, if you go for that type of thing.”

Dick smiled and shook his head, and helped disperse pizza onto three plates. Jason looked sad about having to share with a third party, and made no attempt to hide his disdain when Tim returned, gumless, baseball cap free, with a messy head of damp hair and a shirt that was a size or two too big. He certainly looked more normal, and Jason’s eyes looked him up and down a couple of times, as if trying to read what was on his mind.

He settled for bringing up the topic they’d left off on.

“Tim thinks your house is haunted, too.”

Dick handed a plate to Tim, who eyed it like it was the last thing in the world he’d rather eat.

“You do?” Dick asked him, and Tim’s answer was interrupted when Jason noticed Tim picking off all the pineapple pieces from his two rationed slices.

“You’re getting rid of all the good stuff!” he cried, and shook his head in disbelief. “Nope. No, give them to me.” He rounded Dick and scooped the pieces onto his plate, aggravated. Tim pulled his food back and danced away from Jason’s grabby hands.

“Stop touching my food.”

“Our food, that we are so generously sharing,” Jason shot back, and Tim whirled his plate away from Jason’s reaching fingers until his back met with a wall and he was trapped.

Jason let out a contented laugh and stole the rest of Tim’s fruit, grinning down at him before he realized that Tim was doing anything but making eye contact, and slightly flushed. The reaction made him feel overly self-aware, and it was Dick’s voice that had him stepping backwards and peering over his shoulder. Unfortunately, he’d missed what Dick had said.

“What?”

Dick glanced up from rifling through Jason’s bag, where he pulled out the ouija box. After swallowing a mouthful of pizza, he said, “I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s because you have a life,” Jason turned to face him and waved him off. “I did too, until now.”

From behind him, Tim asked, “Why are you holding a seance?”

“Uh…” Dick murmured, and Jason pulled out his phone.

“Want me to show him the texts?”

“A ghost is texting you?”

Jason sighed and stepped to the side, and threw a bit of his famed sarcasm Tim’s direction. “Yes, a ghost is texting me.”

“I’ve been texting him,” Dick interrupted, and he started unpacking the box. “I’ve been hearing things all week -”

“-and I’m trying to convince him that this house is perfectly fine.” Jason stated matter-of-factly, and he waved his pizza for effect. “There are no such things as ghosts.”

“But this house is haunted,” Tim said, walking forward to set his plate on a small space of counter left open. “At least, that’s what the realtors say. They come into the shop all of the time talking about their showings. All sorts of bizarre things have happened.”

Dick looked dejected.

Jason, on the other hand, looked fed up. “Don’t you start putting more ideas in his head. He’s having a hard enough time as it is.”

Tim picked at his pizza long enough for Dick to notice, and he asked, “Not hungry?”

Looking guilty, Tim shook his head, and Jason, groaning, snatched up his plate and started in on his unfinished slices. Tim watched him devour the pieces with pursed lips, and was startled when Dick tossed him the small set of candles. He caught them, and looked up, unsure of what to do.

“We can use the family room,” he said, and he motioned for Tim to follow him through the kitchen, past a small dining room and into a bigger room that looked more lived in than anything else. The couch was swaddled with blankets and a pillow, and there was a coffee table planted in front of it that Dick set the box on, as well as the baggy of lighters.

Jason was close behind them, carrying the box of pizza.

“We gettin’ this show on the road?” he asked, and he took a seat at the head of the table, watching as Dick slowly emptied the box and began setting things up. Tim sat down, looking like he felt out of place, and held up a candle.

“Is this really a good idea?”

“Ugh, not you, too,” Jason muttered, and he snapped the lid off a bottle of beer before offering it to Tim, who shook his head. “Now what? You don’t like pineapple and you don’t drink?”

“I barely know either of you,” Tim stated, and he pulled a lighter from the baggy and started bringing the candles to life, “and we’re about to summon the dead. I’m pretty sure I don’t need anything else impairing my judgement.”

Jason almost laughed. “So you don’t drink. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Tim rolled his eyes as he began placing the candles in a circle. “I’m twenty two.”

“And you’re a pizza delivery boy.”

Tim eyed him. “Do you like pizza?”

Jason snorted. “Duh.”

“Then why are you making a big deal out of it?”

“Hooooo-kay,” Dick nearly sang over them, and he took the last of Tim’s candles and pulled them to his side of the table. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t this thing have instructions?” Jason picked up the box and prodded it, while Tim sighed and picked up the planchette.

“We have to decide on a questioner. It’s best if there’s only one. I guess it should be Dick, since you’re having all of the problems, and it’s your house. We each lightly touch a finger to this, and ask questions, and wait for answers.”

Watching him with surprise-laden eyes, Jason suddenly looked spooked. “How do you -”

“I never said I hadn’t done it before,” Tim stated, and then added. “I just said it probably wasn’t a good idea.”

Across from them, Dick seemed to sink in on himself. “I don’t want to be the questioner.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jason snatched the pointer from Tim and set it on the board, and glanced around impatiently, waiting for everyone else to press a finger to it like himself. Dick and Tim met eyes for a brief moment, and then they followed in suit.

“Tell us something about yourself,” Jason ordered.

Tim winced. “Yes or no questions are usually -” He stopped mid-sentence, shocked, because the piece was already moving beneath their fingers.

Dick’s lips peeled back from his teeth and he looked like a child petting some exotic creature, wanting desperately to pull away but unable to. Jason stared intently at the board, and as the planchette settled over letters, they slowly began calling them out.

“Y. O. U. R. -” the pointer seemed to travel faster the further they got, and soon they were shouting rhythmically. “E. D.U.M.B.”

“You’re dumb,” Dick sounded out, and Jason’s eyebrow twitched.

“Really guys?”

Dick and Tim exchanged looks and they both looked equally innocent.

“While I agree completely with the spirit, I’m reserved enough to keep my thoughts to myself,” Tim told him, and Jason glared at Dick, who looked terrified.

“I’m taking this very seriously.”

“I bet you are,” Jason sniffed, and then he grunted, and shook the pointer. Dick and Tim moved their fingers back into place, and Jason asked, “Did you die here?”

Their fingers were quick to drift to ‘no’, so much that the answer seemed to have some rage behind it. Dick swallowed, and Jason asked, “Are you angry that Dick lives here?”

A moment passed, and the pointer lingered on ‘no’.

Jason sighed. “Well, there you go. It doesn’t care. You can sleep easy.”

“Wait, it’s moving,” Tim leaned forward as it did, and they slowly spelled out the answer. “T.H.E.O.T.H.E.R.S.A.R.E”

“The…others are?” Dick yanked his hands back and rocked back and forth on his knees. “I can’t do this any more.”

Jason glared at Tim. “Stop scaring Dick.”

Looking accosted, Tim’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m moving it?”

“Well, I’m certainly not, and there’s no reason for Dick to be moving it around -”

“It’s a Ouija board, Jason. You communicate with spirits -”

“I bet you believe in aliens, too, don’t you?”

Tim blinked. “You don’t?”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Dick held his hands up, and Tim breathed heavily before standing up.

“Whatever. I’ll take this stuff to the kitchen. You both can do it without me.” He collected the remaining food and scooped up trash, and Dick looked disappointed.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, but Tim was already leaving the room.

“Jason.” Dick glared at him, and the other man shrugged.

“What?”

Dick shook his head and placed his finger back on the pointer, and Jason did the same.

“We really need you to prove that you exist,” Dick spoke before Jason could, and added, “I know that’s not a yes or no question, but I don’t know how else to ask.”

A moment passed, and then a minute. Something shattered in the kitchen, and Jason and Dick jumped when Tim made a startled noise.

“Tim, are you okay?” Dick asked, as he and Jason leapt up and jogged to him. They turned the corner to the dining room and slid to a halt, seeing Tim wide eyed on the other side of the table, where the kitchen branched off. That wasn’t what caught their attention though.

Chairs were stacked precariously on the table, balanced. Not just that, but one was still moving, floating around the room, hefting up and down as if someone was walking with it, and it was a bit too heavy. It lifted, aiming for the top of the chair pyramid, but not quite reaching.

The chair paused, and then bounced.

It didn’t quite make it, so it drew back down, and the bounced back up again. Still, it didn’t make it to the top.

“I think you’re being haunted by a midget,” Jason said as they continued to watch the chair struggle to make it to the top of the formation. His comment was deemed offensive however, when the chair suddenly flew in Jason’s direction, and he ducked out of the way, barely avoiding it.

“I think they like to be called little people,” Tim said from across the room, and in reply, another chair was yanked off the table and chucked towards him. It crashed at his feet and he stumbled backwards.

“Both of you, just be quiet!” Dick shouted over the sounds of crashes and yelps, and he held out a hand, as if reaching for Tim, who was still across the room from them. “Tim, you’ve got to come back to our side.”

“Are you crazy?” Tim yelled at him, staring at the remaining chairs clumped on top of the dining room table like they might jump off at any moment. He tested the waters by taking a step forward, but when a chair rattled threateningly, he stumbled back in fear.

Jason’s eyes narrowed and he said, very seriously, “Tim, you’re going to have to make a run for it.”

From across the way, Tim sank against the door frame and shook his head.

“It’s the only way,” Jason told him.

“The only way to die,” Tim retorted, but Jason held out a hand invitingly, and Dick nodded.

“Come on,” he said. “Think fast thoughts.”

Tim’s lips pressed together and he seemed to amp himself up, and when Jason shouted, “Go!”, he sped forward, skidding across the dining room’s floors as chairs came crashing down behind him. His last few steps had him slipping, his socks doing little to help keep his center of gravity, and with an oomph he tumbled into Jason and sent them both sprawling to the floor.

“Did I make it? Am I alive?” Tim asked, and from beneath him, Jason groaned. Scrambling up, Tim breathed, “Oh no, are you okay?”

“Been better,” Jason wheezed, and Dick was suddenly leaning down, helping pull him up, along with Tim’s help.

“We should get back to the table,” Dick stated, as though it was an impenetrable fort that promised their safety. Shuffling back, they all fell to their knees around it, avoiding eye contact while their thoughts raced.

“So now what do we do?” Dick asked, eying the ouija board with sheer terror.

Jason, the only one seemingly unphased by the fact that chairs had come to life before their eyes, glanced at Tim and said, “You should have eaten some of that pizza. Seriously, you’re like a bag of bones.”

Tim stared at him. “After everything that just happened, that’s what you’re worried about?”

“Hard to forget getting the wind knocked out of me by a skeleton,” Jason rubbed his chest for effect, which left Tim straightening out in grave offense.

“I am not that bony,” Tim bit out.

Dick waved his arms defensively between the both of them. “Tim, just ignore him. Jason, stop insulting our guest.”

“Our esteemed guest, the biking pizza deliverer.” Jason said with faux pomp, and then he rolled his eyes, slightly put on edge when Tim continued to glare at him.

When Dick was sure that they had both settled, he pulled up a book from beside him and flipped through it - it had been something else that Jason had brought.

“You don’t have salt, do you?” Tim asked Dick, and he looked at Jason, who blinked. At once, they both looked towards the kitchen, where they’d forgotten it.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Tim sighed, and he tapped his fingers on the table, until Dick slid the book in his direction. Gingerly he lifted it into his hands, and frowned.

“This is all of the basics,” he explained. “Normal stuff about hauntings. EVP’s, how certain minerals attract them, how they can pull energy from things in order to materialize…”

The lights in the house flickered and Dick and Tim stiffened, while Jason groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Dick, do you have any flashlights?”

Thunder rolled outside, rain splintered against windows, and in the distance, sirens could be heard, faintly. Dick shook his head sadly. “They’re in a box…in the kitchen.”

Since no one was going to risk going back there, Tim pulled out his cell phone and got the flashlight app working. “I don’t want to be in the dark with whatever is in your house.”

“You said it could materialize?” Jason questioned incredulously.

Tim shrugged. “Ghosts can…well, it’s believed that they can pull energy from electronic devices in order to take on a physical -”

Tim froze and his eyes drifted down to the book, which was flipping open beneath him on it’s own, turning page by page until finally, it stopped. The chapter left open was the one talking about exactly that - ghosts materializing.

“Guys,” Tim murmured meekly, and the the lights flickered again, before the power shorted, and the house fell into darkness. Except for the candles surrounding them, which flickered in a breeze that didn’t quite exist, and Tim, still staring down at the book in his hand, raised an eyebrow at the two small hands holding it open.

His head turned towards whatever was leaning over him, which happened to be a boy. One with nearly translucent skin, pronounced features, dark hair, and eyes intently glued to the book in Tim’s lap as he trailed each sentence with his forefinger.

Tim screamed and scrambled sideways, clawing his way into Jason’s lap. Jason allowed it, staring as wide eyed at Dick at the sight of the child, who just happened to look up, sigh, and mutter, “What a bunch of bologna.”

“Do you see it?” Tim hissed, and Jason, getting ahold of his senses, frowned.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded to know, but the boy didn’t respond, just crinkled his nose in thought before settling backwards.

Jason made a move to kick him, but his foot sank right through the child’s form.

“It’s…a kid,” Tim stated.

A spark of light found the boy’s eyes, and he asked, “You can see me?”

Jason was too busy looking at his foot, creeped out by not having made physical contact. Tim nodded though, and from across the table, Dick queried, “Are you…my ghost?”

“I am nota ghost,” the boy said rather petulantly. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and a strange intelligence about him.

Jason snorted, and Tim exchanged eye contact with Dick; it was brief glance, and there was a touch of sadness in it.

“Wait,” Jason leaned forward, causing Tim to spill from him lap. “You were throwing chairs at us?”

The boy straightened and thrust his chin into the air, looking regal. “You asked for me to prove my existence, and so I did.”

Jason’s eyebrow twitched, and Dick leaned forward, drawing the child’s attention.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and his words were gentle and amicably soft. He’d always had a way with children, and surprisingly, his fear seemed to have completely dissipated now that he could see the spirit before him.

After a moment of consideration, the boy replied, “Damian.”

“Oh, like the kid from The Omen,” Jason nodded as if it made sense. “That’s nice.”

Tim elbowed him in the stomach, and Jason asked, “What?” as though he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such treatment. He pushed Tim out of his lap, feeling little sympathy as the younger man thudded against the floor.

Holding his hands out in front of him, Jason mimed a wall and sighed. “Ah, personal bubble. I missed you.”

His moment of peace was short-lived, because Damian was nose to nose with him in an instant, scowling. Jason, unaffected and not jumpy in the slightest, simply frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. Get out of my house.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jason flicked a glance towards Dick. “Technically, it’s his house. And do I look like I take orders from mid-” the word was on his lips, but Dick and Tim jolted in panic, and Jason quickly amended, “people of your exceptionally small stature?”

A dark fury shimmered in the child’s eyes, before he sat back, resolutely calm. After a second, he shrugged. “Fine,” he smacked his lips, and then tossed a glance Jason’s direction. “You’re ugly.”

“Me?” Jason pointed at himself and frowned. “I am not.”

“You totally are.”

“Am not! I’ll have you know that you can’t just come into these cheekbones, or this nose -”

“If you’re dropped enough as a child you can.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t look like you!” Damian shouted, and Tim turned to Dick appraisingly, as if he’d put some thought into the matter.

“They kind of have similar personalities, don’t they?”

Whipping his head towards Tim, Damian announced, “You’re ugly, too!”

Tim’s jaw dropped and Dick decided to intervene.

“Okay, okay,” he held his hands out, as if trying to summon zen. “Damian was here before us, and so I think that we should -”

“He’s a ghost!” Jason attempted to jam a finger into the child’s chest, but his hand sank through Damian’s glowing flesh.

“I am not!” Damian yelled.

“So what are you then? Living challenged? Mortally impaired?” Jason demanded.

“I think you mean mortality,” Tim corrected, and when Jason barked, “Whose side are you on?” Tim simply shrugged and answered, “He obviously doesn’t realize that he’s dead.”

The candles on the table flickered when an uncomfortable silence settled over the small room, and even Jason kept his mouth shut. Dick looked beyond sympathetic, and no one could blame him. The expression that had plastered itself on Damian was one of sheer horror and shock.

“I am perfectly alive. You see me, don’t you?”

“Barely,” Jason squinted to prove his point.

“I’m just pale because I haven’t been outside recently, and…” Damian’s lips curled. “It’s a condition! I must have a condition-”

“Yeah, called death,” Jason pointed out, and donning a mask of tough love, he added, “Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.”

Wide-eyed and willful in his disbelief, Damian gaped. “You…I’ll have you know that I don’t believe in ghosts. Therefore me being one is impossible!”

Everyone exchanged looks, and Jason moved to push himself to his feet. “Okay, Dicky boy. This one’s all yours.”

When his actions earned him a confused glance from Tim, he announced, “I need another beer.” And with that, he disappeared towards the dining room, making his way towards the kitchen.

Dick smiled. “Jason is really stubborn, isn’t he?”

Tim saw the tactic coming a mile away, and even though he didn’t know Dick very well, he could tell that reverse psychology was probably one of his greater talents. Damian, seemingly oblivious to Dick’s end game, frowned.

“He’s an idiot. I’m not a ghost.”

Nodding, Dick rubbed his chin. “I wish there was a way to prove him wrong.” He cast a sideways glance at Tim, who felt pressured that Dick was seeking his help. Thinking on his toes, Tim stretched his arms back behind him, planting his palms on Dick’s floor for support.

“Supposedly ghosts can’t move on because of unfinished business,” he saw Damian turn to him, curious. “There are things they haven’t done or seen through, and so they get stuck.”

“I’m not stuck!”

Tim waved his hands in defense. “Of course not. What unfinished business could you have? You’re a kid,” he stated. “You’ve probably done everything that you’ve ever wanted to do, right?”

Damian pressed his lips together in thought, while Dick carried on with their ploy.

“You seem like a really good kid, which means you’re well taken care of. So of course you’re not missing a thing.”

Dick’s words caused Damian to turn towards him, lip quivering. “Exactly. My life was completely fulfilled.”

Tim felt the warmth of success flood his chest, and struggled to keep his smile hidden. Dick feigned surprise.

“Really?”

“Yeah!” Damian jumped up, looking like moonlight in the darkness, casting a hazy glow on his surroundings.

It was obvious now, looking at the boy. He was in a prep school uniform that came complete with a tie, and when he stood, he was straight and square shouldered. He was smart and calculating, and didn’t seem to have an ounce of childness about him, spare the fact he was stubborn.

“You don’t get to be a kid very often?” Dick guessed, and Damian’s shoulders fell. He was deep in thought for a moment, and then his features toughened up.

“I’m not a child,” he stated, as if repeated something he’d often been told.

Dick grinned. “Well, tonight you are. It will be our secret.”

“We can play games,” Tim pointed out.

Damian’s face fell and he looked appalled. “I do not play games-”

“Let’s get Jay,” Dick pushed himself up and headed for the kitchen, and Damian shoved himself up and stumbled after him, complaining. Tim took a candle and followed, not surprised when they happened upon Jason, who looked miserable.

“I lost the bottle opener,” he was feeling around the counter with one hand while clutching two beers by the neck in the other. Dick was explaining their plans, which had Jason staring at them, completely unimpressed.

“And why would I participate in any of this?”

Tim took the beers from him and flipped one upside down, holding them together so that their caps hooked. “Damian wants to prove that he doesn’t have unfinished business,” he answered, and using a good amount of leverage, he was able to pop the cap from one bottle using the other’s. “We should all play.”

He passed off the bottle to Jason, who was staring at him in complete awe. And Tim, not realizing he’d done anything particularly impressive, simply frowned when Jason didn’t reclaim it right away. “Do you not want it?”

“I’m pretty sure I want you,” he answered smoothly, and when Tim blinked at him, he concluded, “to always be around when I don’t have an opener.”

Tim made a face.

“This is going to be fun,” Dick was saying, and Damian was moaning.

“I don’t want to have fun.”

Dick ignored him. “So what games can we play?”

“If someone says Monopoly, I’ll kill you,” Jason was quick to say. “Literally. Do not pass go, do not collect $200 -”

“Never trust the banker,” Tim added, and Jason looked like he agreed completely, nodding as if it was common knowledge.

“Not board games,” Dick was looking around the dimply lit room, as if searching for ideas or inspiration. “Real games…”

Taking another gulp of beer, Jason took a slow breath. “You mean Candyland isn’t real?”

The comment earned him a significant scowl from Damian, who was having none of his sarcasm.

“How about Hot Lava?” Tim wondered out loud. “Where you have an object everyone is competing to get, but no one can touch the floor because it’s, well, hot lava? I played that a lot as a kid…”

Damian looked at the hardwood beneath his feet. “It’s not lava, it’s aged oak.”

“Perfect!” Dick grinned. “The house is pretty dark, so we should find my flashlights, and set them up for light. I think they’re in one of the boxes over here…” he deviated towards a stack, and Jason reluctantly moved to help him out, pushing his half-filled beer bottle into Tim’s stomach as he walked by.

“Guard it with your life,” he commanded.

Tim’s fingers grasped the glass, folding over Jason’s as his departed.

“So, let me get this straight. We’re trying to get an object,” Damian sounded out the idea, “but we can’t touch the floor. What happens if we touch the floor?”

“You burn alive. It’s hot lava,” Tim stated, and Damian glowered.

“It’s oak.”

“Tonight, it’s lava,” Dick announced from across the room, and he tossed Damian a grin. “And if you touch it, you’re out of the game. Ooh, winner should get to pick the next game.” He rifled out a couple of flashlights and pointed Tim towards a clump of boxes towards the entryway.

“There should be one labeled ‘decor’,” he said, and Jason snickered. Dick shoved him lightly and then added, “There’ll be more candles in there. Bigger ones.”

“I’d go but my life is staked on protecting this beer,” Tim held up the evidence, just as Jason set down the things he’d collected and came to collect the bottle from Tim’s hands. Plucking the beer up by its neck, Jason raised an eyebrow at Tim and waved the beverage like a pendulum.

“You sure you don’t want any?”

"Mmmm," Tim murmured as he considered his response, and he twirled on his feet and headed for the box Dick had pointed to. "And risk not remembering the look on your face when I beat you?”

“Beat me? At what? Hot lava?”

Tim tugged open the lid of the box and answered, his tone matter-of-fact, “Yeah.”

“Are you ten?” Jason reached past Tim and pulled out a heavy duty flashlight, while Tim reached deep within the box to retrieve a few others.

“Do I look ten?” Tim turned to Jason and raised an eyebrow, his lips pinching in a frown as he blinked. His eyes caught the light from the kitchen up the hallway, shadows accenting his cheekbones, emphasizing his narrowed brow, and highlighting his pale neck as it curved into fit, squared shoulders.

“I’m 22 and I want what every other 22 year old wants,” Tim said, with an added bit of playfulness that made Jason feel abruptly flirtatious.

“And what would that be?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Smiling sweetly, Tim replied, “To have fun.”

He was headed back to the kitchen a moment after, whirling around, and laughing as he said, “And on that note, you’re going down.”

Jason, both incensed and turned on, took off after him, suddenly motivated. When he broke into the kitchen, Dick was already pointing towards the living room and back down the hallway.

“I’ve got, what, five of them?” he glanced around at the flashlights in their hands, and then said, “so we can put a couple in the family room, one in the kitchen, and a couple in the hallway by the staircase?”

Jason was looking around curiously. “That’s not a lot of light.”

Damian, glowing of his own accord, snorted. “You’ve got me, too.”

“Why do you have so many flashlights?” Tim started towards the family room, and placed a flashlight where it was able to light a decent portion of the room.

Jason was laughing when he beat Dick to the chase with an answer. “Dick never gets rid of anything.”

“Jason calls them my ‘collections’,” Dick explained. “Mock them all you’d like, but they come in handy, for times like tonight.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Jason could be heard from across the room, as he strategically placed the flashlight he had in hand. The comment made Dick chuckle, and he emerged from the living room with Tim’s hat, which he had snatched up from the doorknob of the downstairs bathroom.

“In this exciting game of capture the flag, can your hat be what we’re after?”

Tim turned to look at him and frowned. “Is it worthy?”

Dick examined the patch on it, smirked, and nodded. “Definitely.” He disappeared down the hallway with the cap and the two remaining flashlights while Tim scattered some pillows and box tops on the floor. He claimed one for his own, and Jason shook his head.

“Cheating already,” he tsk’ed.

“Am not,” Tim looked down at his box top while Jason leapt onto the couch, bouncing on its cushions.

“Well, I’m taking the couch.”

Tim tried not to let his lips curl upwards at the childlike proclamation.

“Okay, the hat has been positioned on the finial upstairs,” Dick bounded to the kitchen, tossing a few t-shirts around to help create stepping stones, and dropped the phone book onto the floor to stand on. Damian claimed one of the pillows that Tim had chucked around the room.

“The what?” Jason stared at him, and Damian groaned.

“I think it’s the ball thing on the post of the stairway,” Tim guessed, and Dick nodded.

Jason bounced up and down on the couch, testing his weight on it, and rolled his eyes. “With your atriums and finials…”

“Okay, we ready?” Dick asked, and he looked at Damian and donned an especially playful competitive grin.

Damian seemed weak against it, as was evident from the way he flushed, looked away and nodded. Tim took a readied stance and Jason clapped his hands together.

“Let’s get this show on the road!”

“Okay,” Dick crouched down. “Go!”

Tim was the fastest to move, not surprisingly enough, since the game had been his idea. He step-stoned the articles of clothing that Dick had strewn on the floor and hit the last one at just the right angle to slide across the floor and land at the couch that Jason was on. Jason jumped, surprised, and attempted to defend his starting zone.

“My couch!” he proclaimed.

After watching Tim, Dick stretched his arm across the counter and grabbed a stash of the mail he had, and started dropping pieces, one by one, in front of his feet, making his way down the hallway fairly easily. Damian, impressed but not willing to show it, leapt to Tim’s cardboard piece and scrambled through Tim’s route.

“We’ve got company,” Jason said, and Tim took advantage of the confusion and crawled between Jason’s legs, just as Damian clambered up the side of the couch. It was strange, really, how he could touch some things and not others. Jason batted at him wildly until he lost his balance, and he tripped and went tumbling onto Tim.

“You really fail at this,” Damian looked down at Jason before diving over him, flipping of the arm of the couch and plopping onto an unopened box, his sights set on Dick.

“I’m catching up to you, Grayson!”

Tim wriggled out from beneath Jason’s legs and made to move over him, pausing when his knees were tight to Jason’s hips, and their position hinted at something more provocative.

“Well, if this is what you wanted…” Jason joked, and Tim shocked him by dipping down, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“This is all it takes to get you to give up?”

Jason, caught off guard by the comment and the playful look in Tim’s eyes, stilled just long enough for Tim to push himself up and scramble after Damian. Jason, following Tim with his eyes, was suddenly moving, sliding off the couch while pointing an accusatory finger at Tim.

“That was dirty.”

Tim whirled around shrugged, his eyes bright, and it was enough incentive for Jason to shuffle on, renewed in his urge to win, or at least get past a certain certain delivery boy.

“Look out!” came a shout from up ahead, and Jason managed to leap onto a box that Damian had brought down in an attempt to keep Tim off his trail. It’s contents spilled out in Jason’s direction, and he was surprised to see it was most of Dick’s shoes. He threw his hands in the air.

“Dick, why are these in your living room?!”

From up ahead, Dick was kicking his envelopes, scattering them to make it harder for anyone else to use them. He took a leap of faith towards the stairway banister and clung to it like a rope, and yelled, “I haven’t been upstairs for a week!”

Damian smacked a broom onto the floor and tip-toed across it as though it was a miniature bridge, and Dick, seeing that Damian was gaining on him, attempted to haul himself up the railing, his muscles straining beneath his tight t-shirt. He groaned as he struggled to keep his balance, doing surprisingly well, and Damian paused to look at him, to see what he was doing.

After a moment, he leapt up to the lower banister, his feet on the lower part of the rail - he was the only one small enough to manage it, and started up after Dick, moving extremely quickly. After a moment’s thought he edged back down and kicked the broom away, scowling when Tim happened to catch it while balanced precariously on a box that dipped in under his weight.

“Thank you,” Tim smirked, and he used the broom like an oar, at least until Jason’s arms wrapped around him from behind and yanked him backwards. The expression on Jason’s face made it obvious that he hadn’t meant to grab Tim with such force, and Tim flailed as he fell clean off the box, and would have slammed into the floor if Jason hadn’t grabbed his arm and broken his fall.

Tim’s heart had climbed to his throat at the sudden tug of gravity, and he found himself flat on his back, Jason leaning over him, looking smug.

“This is a good look for you,” he noted, and Tim simply gaped at him.

“Well, I’ve got a game to win,” Jason sighed, and he took Tim’s idea, wading across the sea of hardwood floor with a boat made of cardboard and a broom for an oar. It was an effort, and the box collapsed around him, his weight sinking the poor thing in, making the remainder of Dick’s shoes slowly splurge outward.

He made it far enough to have to simply jump the the banister, and watched as Damian slid underneath Dick, and caused him to lose his balance. His legs swung over the side and Damian’s eyes widened, his competitive spirit vanishing as he rose and asked, “Are you okay?”

Dick, who was dangling and mock-howling in fear, suddenly narrowed his eyes at Damian, and in a desperate voice, breathed, “You must win for me, Damian.”

And he let go.

Dick was tall, and had piles of bedding to cushion his fall, and when he hit, he released a yell that slowly faded into a sizzling pssshhhhhhhhhhh.Damian still poked his head over the railing, and, lips trembling, nodded. “Your sacrifice will not be in vain!”

Jason was halfway up the railing, climbing it just as Dick had, like a rope, when Damian noticed him. With a look of anger he shouted, “You will not take my victory!” and he continued his ascent. He only had another ten feet to go, and Jason hoisted himself up, heaving in a breath every time the rail dug into his gut and he pulled himself up another foot.

“I’m catching up!” he yelled, and Damian worked diligently on his footwork, continuously looking back, caught between looking angry and terrified that Jason was getting so close.

The moment came where they ended up neck to neck, and Jason saw it - Tim’s ridiculous hat. He reached for it, stretching his fingers as far as they’d go, and Damian released a battle cry as he lunged for it, his arm passing through both Jason and the cap.

It was enough to surprise them both, but from downstairs, Dick called, “Who won?”

Damian stared up at Jason with guilty eyes, and Jason’s mouth moved to say, “The brat won. Took it from right in front of me.”

The barest amount of respect flared in Damian’s eyes before he grinned and yelled. “Next game, hide and go seek. Tim’s it!”

Damian took off down the upstairs hallway and vanished from sight.

Jason lowered himself onto the stairs and peered over at Dick and Tim - though his gaze lingered on Tim because his enthusiasm had completely flatlined.

“Hide and seek? Really?”

Jason shrugged. “Guess you should have beat me like you promised,” he said, and before he saw the look on Tim’s face, he took the last few steps to the second story and ran in the opposite direction of Damian.

Dick laughed and patted Tim on the shoulder before Tim started counting back from fifty, and wandered to the foot of the stairs to grab a flashlight, since there was virtually no light upstairs.

When he reached zero, he started up, wondering how he was supposed to find anyone, or see any hints of their hiding.

“I hate this game, I hate this game,” Tim muttered the mantra to himself, feeling his way down a hallway. “Especially in the dark.”

The flashlight did little to help. Dick’s second floor was piled with boxes and blanketed furniture, and so eerie shadows bled onto the walls and sent his imagination roaming.

Fingers acting as feelers, he drifted into the bedroom farthest away, thinking that he would have gone there is he’d been hiding, and not seeking. He drifted in, jumping at the sound of a tree branch rattling against a window.

“I hated this game as a kid and I hate it now,” he said to himself, and he froze when the beam of light in front of him began to flicker just before going dead.

“No, no, no…” he said, slapping it against his palm, just enough to get a few quick spurts of light before the device officially died. Tim’s arms dropped to his sides and his shoulders fell, and he eyed the inky darkness that surrounded him. Was it worth the while to go and get another flashlight?

He dug in his back pocket and pulled out his phone, turning as he thumbed it on and attempted to pull up the flashlight app again. He felt his way around, palming a wall as he sifted deeper into the room. When he’d finally managed to shine a piercing light from his cell, a voice behind him shouted, “Boo!”

Tim shrieked. His phone went flying and he stumbled forward, tripping over who knew what on the floor while Jason burst out into laughter from behind him.  He barely caught his fall, and when he landed against what he assumed was a bed, a box tumbled off and landed on him, making Jason cackle harder.

“You are a jerk,” Tim shoved the box off of himself and pressed his hand to his head, where a corner had nicked him. He his phone a few feet in front of him, it’s light shooting upward, giving Jason color as he sank down, grinning.

“That was funny,” he stated, but Tim was still rubbing at his head, and his expression dwindled. “You okay?”

Glaring at him, Tim nearly pushed Jason’s hand away when he pressed himself closer, trying to get a good look at whatever damage he’d inadvertently caused.

“Ouch,” Jason grimaced. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t that funny.” His fingers poked at Tim’s forehead until Tim batted him away. Not one to give up so easily, Jason swiped up Tim’s phone and got the screen glowing just enough to get a good view of Tim’s face.

Tim flushed.

Jason didn’t seem to notice, as he pushed Tim’s bangs back, pinched his lips together, and summoned a doctorly demeanor. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news…”

Tim rolled his eyes and shoved Jason back, trying to feel rightfully irritated when instead, he was amused. Jason caught himself from losing his balance and tumbling backwards, and feigned hurt feelings.

“Is this how you normally treat someone who’s trying to help you out?”

Leaning forward, Tim attempted to reclaim his phone from Jason’s grip, and Jason simply stretched his hand up high, waving his arm to keep it out of reach.

“Really?” Tim huffed at him, crawling closer and pushing himself up onto his knees to get more height. Snickering, Jason tipped backwards and answered, “There’s this word out there called please that works pretty damn nicely in these situations…”

But Tim was having none of it, and clambered forward, nearly crawling onto Jason’s lap without a second thought, straining for his cell. His weight threw Jason off balance and he toppled backwards, a grunt escaping his throat as his back collided with the floor and Tim collapsed onto his chest, still squirming forward, reaching. But Jason had hit harder than he thought he would and the phone went skittering off into the darkness behind him, much to Tim’s dismay.

“No, no, no…” Tim stared off, and shuffled over Jason, who bubbled with laughter and wrapped his arms around Tim’s thighs, locking him in place so he couldn’t move forward any further.

“If you broke my case, I’m going to kill you,” Tim announced. “Straight up Clue style. Tim, in the master bedroom, with the…” he considered what his weapon could be, and announced, “with the flashlight.”

“Sounds kinky,” Jason waggled his eyebrows, though his effort was lost to the room’s sudden descent to pitch black. Without being able to see each other, and in their current position, his comment seemed to linger, and he could almost feel Tim’s muscles tense under his grasp. They stayed that way, for a long minute, before a shocking rush of color flushed through the door.

“This…this is not how you play hide and go seek!” Damian looked terrified and pointed an accusatory finger in their direction.

“Look Tim, you found him,” Jason announced lazily, and Tim, completely embarrassed, scrambled to get off of Jason, peeling himself out of Jason’s now half-hearted grip.

“Shame on you!” said the ghost, and he added, “I’m telling Dick!” And with that, he took off, leaving Jason and Tim once again, in darkness.

“Well, that happened,” Jason shrugged, and he heard Tim sweeping his fingers across the floor, searching for his phone. Leaning forward to help, his hand brushed Tim’s, and he was surprised when Tim seemed to yank it away.

For some reason the action made him smile, and he decided not to tease Tim about it.

“When you find your phone, do you want to head downstairs?” he asked, and he saw the sudden glow from Tim’s cell beside him, casting blue tones onto Tim’s face, making his eyes an even more brilliant shade as they glanced in Jason’s direction.

After a moment of gazing at each other, Tim nodded. “I’m ready for pizza now.”

“Only if I get your pineapples,” Jason made him promise, and then they were up and moving.

***

“Diiiiiiiiiiiiick!” Damian howled, and Dick immediately ran out into the hallway, wondering what was wrong. The younger boy came rushing at him like a gust of wind, and pointed behind him. “They’re…they were…”

Dick looked at him, confused, and then looked into the darkness behind him, unable to make anything out.

“Jay and Tim? Are they okay?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

Damian cackled and it wasn’t a pretty sound. “They looked pretty okay to me!”

Realizing what Damian meant, Dick tried hard not to laugh, pulling his hand to his mouth to hide his reaction. It didn’t fool Damian, who shot him an appalled glare.

Clearing his throat in an attempt to stifle a chortle, Dick recommend, “Well, we should probably leave them alone.” His heart ached at the crestfallen expression that consumed Damian’s face.

“But the game,” the boy whined.

“Let’s play another game,” Dick smiled brightly. “One for just the two of us.”

Damian was skeptical and disappointed, but he lazily shrugged. “All right. Fine, I guess.”

“We get to ask questions to each other, one at a time.”

Damian scoffed. “That sounds lame.”

Dick picked up one of the flashlights he’d left out, and began wandering back to where he’d been hiding - a small room at the end of the hallway. “I want to know more about you. Don’t you want to know more about me?”

Damian snorted. “I already know all about you. You wake up at 7:30, exactly. You get called into work a lot. You hate cleaning. You snore, but only if you sleep on your left side. You drink coffee in the morning and at night, exactly one cup each time, no cream, no sugar. You hum to yourself when you cook, and you’re…”

Damian’s voice trailed off, and Dick, trying not to look perturbed that a spirit knew more about him than he probably knew himself, said, “I’m what?”

“Lonely,” Damian stated, sounding like he was documenting a fact.

Dick took the comment in stride, but said, “Just because I live alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely.”

Damian waved him off, as if calling Dick out on his excuse. In that moment, he seemed older than ten years old. “I don’t want you to feel lonely. You have me.”

The comment caught Dick off guard, and when he turned to get a good look at the boy, he was met with a completely honest expression.

“I don’t want to be dead.” Damian breathed the words like a wish.

Dick sank to his knees, on Damian’s level, and listened as Damian went on.

“I’m starting to forget things. Little things. Like my dad’s name. What foods I liked, or what they even tasted like. How long I’ve been here. Where here is. I guess…I guess I must have lived here, right? Why can’t I leave?”

“I don’t know,” Dick answered, honestly. Something about what Damian had said stirred something in his mind, though he couldn’t quite pin the thought.

“What if I’m stuck here, forever?”

“Have you ever tried to leave?” Dick asked him.

Damian nodded, his shoulders falling dejectedly. “Whenever I do, I end up right here. Right in this room.”

It was an odd thing, so Dick peered around, shining his flashlight into the empty space. It was the one room he hadn’t made plans for, and so it was empty. He shifted on his feet and a floorboard squeaked, and Damian snorted.

“That one’s always been loose,” he told Dick, and walked on the one board, one step carefully placed before the other, all the way to the closet. When he reached it, he sat down solemnly. “When the storm passes, I’m going to go back to being invisible.”

Dick looked at him, really looked at him, his clothes, his face, his demeanor, and his lips parted for a question. “Was this your room?”

Tapping his fingers on the floor soundlessly, Damian heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I guess. Now it’s just…empty.”

An idea struck Dick and his eyes widened, and he said, “Damian, tell me everything you remember.”

***

“Blegh, the cheese tastes like pineapple,” Tim made a sour face as he chewed a slice of pizza, ignoring the way Jason gave him a look that said, I have no sympathy. He watched as Jason picked up a piece of mail that Dick had tossed onto the floor for their game of Hot Lava, and shook his head.

“You think that Bruce Wayne would have submitted a forwarding address to the post office or something,” he scrunched his nose and flipped the envelope over, and began ripping it open.

“Hey,” Tim reprimanded. “That’s illegal.” He watched Jason in shock, as if Jason had done something as absurd as kicking a kitten. And Jason, not really the type to care, shrugged and continued on.

“What do you think is in it?” Jason raised a curious eyebrow, and Tim was quick to reply, very seriously, “Medical bills, or something.”

When Jason ripped out a letter from the local hospital, he gazed at Tim in shock. “How did you know?”

Tim gave him a look. “It’s called a return address.” He pointed with the remaining crust of his pizza to the side of the envelope facing him, and Jason flipped it over, and snipped, “Smartass.”

He went on to read it, much to Tim’s scrutiny, and then handed it to Tim. “What does this mean?”

“You can’t read?” Tim asked him.

“Of course I can read!” Jason snapped, “Now, look at it.”

“I’m not reading Bruce Wayne’s confidential correspondence,” Tim told him, and even backed away, as if to not be considered an accessory.

Jason, irritated, tugged the letter back and started reading out loud. “Dear blah blah, this is a confirmation letter to inform you that on the 21st day of May, you have requested that Damian Wayne, your son, be taken off life support. This letter..blah blah…” his voice faded off, mostly because Tim had stopped chewing and was suddenly lunging forward, ripping the paper from his hands so that he could read it himself.

Jason watched as his eyes flew over the page at an alarming speed, before looking upstairs, where they knew Damian to be. Then his attention was flickering back to Jason.

“The 21st is tomorrow,” he grabbed at his phone, checking the date and time. And with that, he grabbed one of the flashlights and bolted upstairs, Jason following behind, confused.

“Wait…but he’s a ghost…doesn’t that mean he’s already…?”

“I don’t know,” Tim was quick to answer, and then he yelled, “Dick! Where are you?”

An answer didn’t come straight away, so he called out again, and this time, Jason did as well. From the far end of the hallway, the a beam of light danced out to them, and Tim went running forward, holding the letter out.

“I think his father is Bruce Wayne,” Dick said to them, as though he’d just happened upon the discovery himself, and confused, he took the letter from Tim’s hand.

“He is,” Tim said, and Jason added, “And he either didn’t make it, or…or I’m confused.”

“What’s going on?” Damian appeared behind Dick, scowling.

Tim, mind racing, said, “I’m calling the hospital,” and he stepped out of the room, leaving Jason to shrug in the kid’s direction.

“What does this even mean?” Dick asked Jason, and Jason nodded knowingly.

“I know, right?”

“What does what mean?” Damian stomped his feet, agitated, until Dick bit the bullet and tried to explain it to him.

“You were in the hospital,” he said. “On life support. And this letter says that your dad’s going to take you off-”

“You’re never going to believe this,” Tim popped his head back into the room, hanging from the door frame as he ended his call. “He’s still alive.”

“What?” Dick, Jason, and Damian said at the same time.

Tim shook his head, “I couldn’t get any more information than that. I just told them that I was a family member that wanted to be present, and they said he’s being taken off this morning.”

“Would someone care to explain what is going on? Preferably so that I understand it?”

Everyone defaulted to Tim.

“Uh…” he said. “We only have a few hours to figure out how to get you into your body…I guess, before you’re officially dead.”

Damian’s eyes widened. “You mean I’m not dead?”

Dick frowned, trying to be reasonable. “Look, this sounds really bizarre…he can’t leave the house. He just gets sucked back to this room.”

As if in his element, Tim nodded. “Okay, he’s probably tied to something here.” He started scouting out the room, shining his flashlight around, searching for something.

Meanwhile, Jason looked at Dick. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

Dick shook his head with a guilty mien.

Flustered, Tim turned around. “Ghost hunting 101, spirits are present for one of many reasons. One, they have unfinished business. Two, they had a traumatic experience and there’s an emotional imprint left behind, but those types of haunting aren’t intelligent, and Damian obviously is. Third, there’s quartz around, or lots of running water, which are known to amplify or give spirits energy. Fourthly, they are tied to an object. Seeing as to how there really isn’t any running water around here, or caverns…we’re really only left at there being something here that Damian can’t leave behind.”

There was silence, and then Jason whistled. “Wow. We need to get you out of the house more often.”

Dick was about to say something about potentially giving false hope, but the look in Damian’s eyes was so bright that he couldn’t quite do it. So he sighed, decided to believe, and rubbed his hands together with intent.

“Okay, an object.”

“We’re really doing this?” Jason piqued, eyebrow lifted. “You know I don’t believe in this stuff, right?”

“Says the guy who’s been interacting with a ghost all night,” Tim scoffed. “You’d want someone to do it for you, right?” The look in Tim’s eyes was oddly pleading, and Jason found himself surrendering to it.

“Okay.” He sighed. “So what, like any object? This room’s empty.”

“Probably something Damian was attached to,” Tim thought out loud, peering into the empty closet. His foot squeaked on the same floorboard Damian had stumbled over before, and the boy’s eyes lit up.

“It comes up,” he remembered, and pointed at the wood panel. “The floorboard - it’s loose. Something about it…”

Jason skirted past him and got onto his hands and knees, and Dick followed in suit. With Tim shining the flashlight downward, they both traced the board until they found the end of it, which was raised just enough so that, with a combined effort, they could pry it up.

“Feel inside,” Tim said, since there was enough room to slip a hand into the hole.

“You feel inside the creepy black spider cave,” Jason bit back, and Dick, the bravest of the three of them, reached deep within and tugged something out.

“What the…” Jason looked grossed out. Tim aimed light at the thing, which was a ratty stuffed animal.

“What is it?” Jason poked it with a finger. “A monkey?”

“It’s Titus!” Damian shouted, and he made a grab for it and swept it into his arms. “And no, it is not a monkey. It’s a great dane!” He held it up to prove his point, and the other three simply exchanged glances. Damian was too preoccupied with the toy to notice.

“Father gave him to me when I turned 10, because I wanted a dog…”

Jason licked his lips. “A suitable replacement,” he commented, staring at the dingy looking toy half fallen apart. When Damian flashed him a predatory stare, he continued with, “Okay…So, now what do we do?” He looked to Tim for advice. Surprisingly, it was Dick that answered.

“Should we try and take the toy outside, to see if Damian can follow? He hasn’t been able to leave the house…but maybe he can go where the toy goes?”

Damian looked up with hope, and Tim nodded. At once, they were all shuffling to the hallway and downstairs, where Dick toed on some shoes and held his hand out so that Damian would give him the stuffed toy. Reluctantly, the boy let it go, trusting Dick with it’s safety.

“It’s still pouring,” Dick stepped outside, and Tim wrapped his arms around his sides, chilled by a breeze that gusted inside. Jason stepped in close to him, but when Tim looked up to his face, Jason was watching Dick slowly descend the porch stairs.

“Okay Damian, see if you can follow me.”

Hesitantly, Damian crept past Jason and Tim, visibly swallowing. He baby-stepped forward, edging out, terrified that at any moment, he’d blink and be back upstairs.

“Just go, already,” Jason barked impatiently, and Damian bolted forward to Dick, eyes clenched closed as he stopped just in front of where Dick was standing. When he opened his eyes and glanced up, Dick was beaming down at him.

“It worked,” Tim felt elated.

“It worked?” Jason asked, mystified.

And Dick, grinning, sang with Damian, “It worked!”

The moment was a beautiful one, that lasted a fraction of a second before the lights in the house started flickering back to life, and Damian started blinking to invisibility.

“I can’t draw power from the house if I go too far,” he said, sadly. “What do I do?” Nervous, Damian sank back up the stairs, next to Jason and Tim.

“Even if we can’t see you, you’re spirit will stay with the toy,” Tim stated, sounding sure. “So we just need to get the toy to the hospital?”

“And then what?” Jason asked.

Tim shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Dick and Damian were watching each other and Dick said, “It’s worth a shot.”

Damian nodded, and asked, “But what about all of you? The weather…” His voice tapered off as lightning streaked the sky and thunder rolled.

“I can drive,” Dick volunteered and Tim tried not to look nervous about what type of standing water they’d run into getting to a main road. Jason nudged him, and said, “Let’s get our shoes,” and soon they were headed back to the living room, fumbling through the scattered remnants of their Hot Lava game in order to retrieve what they needed in order to leave.

Dick brushed into the kitchen and dug around for his car keys, and he pointed in the direction of his garage, which was on the other side of the living room, the one they hadn’t really seen yet. Like a troupe they headed out, and were piling into Dick’s SUV before Dick noticed that Damian was lingering in the doorframe.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, and he jogged back over to the boy, concerned.

Damian asked him, “What if it doesn’t work? What if I just end up stuck here, forever?”

Dick leaned down, and said softly, “Then you’ll live with me, and we’ll be together, and neither one of us will be alone.”

The words were genuine, and Damian pinched his lips together and gave one quick nod before Dick smiled at him and climbed into the driver’s seat, stuffed toy in his lap. Jason took shotgun and Tim sat in the back, and Damian clambered in beside him intently. The garage door hefted up and Dick pulled back into the night’s stormy weather, tires groaning against gravel as they descended to the dirt road.

The lights to the house flickered, and Damian looked at his hands.

Dick, seeing him through the rearview mirror, simply said, “We’ll see you in a few.”

And Damian gave him the barest hint of a smile before he was snuffed out, invisible once again. The lights to the house blazed, and Tim took a deep breath.

“The gravel road is flooded,” he said.

“We’ll be okay,” Dick promised, and sure enough, his car was enough to get them through it, and after a shoddy ten minutes, they were on a main road and heading towards the hospital.

“How do you know all of this stuff, anyway?” Jason finally asked, referring to Tim’s supernatural know-how.

Shrugging, Tim replied, “T.V.”

Jason shook his head. “This has got to be the weirdest night I have ever had.”

Dick and Tim simply nodded in agreement. Rain pelted the windows and the streetlights were stunning blurs of green, yellow, and red beyond the windows, and the town, otherwise dead because it was so far into the night, was quiet and peaceful.

Tim looked beside him, at the place that Damian had been, and wondered if he was still sitting there, staring intently out the window.

They had a hard time finding parking at the hospital, despite the storm. They power-walked their way into the building though, and when they entered, the nurse’s station was completely empty. That was fine, because Tim circled the desk and brought the monitor to life, hunting for some clue to where a certain Damian Wayne might be.

“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” Jason snorted at him, rebelling from Tim’s earlier argument about him opening Bruce Wayne’s mail. Tim’s eyes flickered up to him briefly before he was back to searching, and Dick wavered a bit when he saw movement from down the hall.

Clutching the toy tight in his hand, he said, “We’ve got company.”

“Got it,” Tim whirled back from the computer and drifted back out into lobby, feigning innocence as a young nurse found her way to them, eyebrow raised. “Can I help you?” she looked them over, and as all three of them seemed relatively healthy-looking, she added, “Visiting hours are over.”

To which Jason, after a moment of silence, rushed his hands to his stomach and groaned, “Oh, God, the pain is back…”

Tim turned to him, confused, but Dick seemed to catch on grabbed Jason’s arm, lending him support as Jason seemed to become faint.

“Not…the pain,” Dick gasped, and Tim, horrified at their acting skills, simply turned to the nurse and asked, “How do we get to the ER?”

The young woman glanced between them, caught between skepticism and confusion, and answered, “It’s on the other side - it has it’s own parking lot -”

“No more driving,” Jason moaned, and allowed his lips to tremble.

“Can we follow the main hallway down?” Tim pointed towards a hallway ahead of them, where the floor was tiled white, except for the center tiles which were yellow.

“Yes,” she said, still looking between them. “It will split off into other colors further down, so just make sure that you follow the red tiles…”

“Thank you,” Tim said to her, and then he grabbed Jason’s other arm and tugged him forward. “Come on, you.”

“Am I going to live?” Jason asked no one in particular.

Dick dragged him off along with Tim, murmuring, until they were out of the nurse’s sight, “You must live. Think of the children!”

When they hit the elevators, Tim pulled away from the two of them and nearly dissolved into laughter.

“That was horrible. Please, never act. Ever. In fact, the next time you have a moment of panic, please let me handle it.”

Jason straightened, and swiped nonexistent wrinkles from his shirt. “I think it worked out quite well.”

He and Dick bro-fisted, and Tim found himself laughing all over again, before they rode to one of the upper floors. When the elevator doors opened, they wandered out to a nurse’s station that, like the other one, was empty.

“He should be…” Tim picked up his pace, counting down room numbers until he found the one he was looking for. He reached for the handle and then stopped, almost as if having second thoughts.

Jason and Dick caught up to him, and Dick asked, “What’s the matter?”

“I’m just hoping we’re right.”

Dick placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and leaned past him, opening the door so that they could all drift inside. A dim light lit the room, from a bedside table, and when Dick stopped dead in his tracks, Tim collided with his back, and Jason bumped into his.

“What gives?” Jason asked.

When Dick didn’t answer right away, Tim and Jason curled around him, and at the sight of the patient, looked equally confused.

“Uh, you sure you got the right room?” Jason queried. The hospital bed didn’t house a ten year old boy. In fact, laying in front of them was someone nearer to Tim’s age, with short black hair and pronounced features that made him look like there was a chance he could be older than he seemed.

“No, no, this is the right room,” Tim confirmed. “Damian Wayne, 607b.”

Jason turned tail to double check the number on the door, and when he returned, he shrugged. Dick was wandering up to the boy though, and carefully touched his wrist to read the name on his wristband.

He frowned.

“Who is it?” Jason asked.

“Him,” Dick held onto Damian’s wrist, and searched his face for any sign of the little boy that haunted his house. When nothing happened, he held up the toy, and nestled it into Damian’s arm. “Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on, but if you can hear me, we made it.”

Tim and Jason looked at each other, and then Jason took a few steps forward and placed his hands on his hips. “We got your toy here, and I hate to break it to you, but you’re old.”

“He’s not that old,” Tim rolled his eyes. “Younger than me. What, is he 17? 18?”

“Twenty,” Dick said, doing the math as he examined the wristband.

“So what, the kid’s been in a coma for ten years?” Jason leaned over Damian’s body and poked his forehead.

“That, or…” Tim looked thoughtful. “Or it’s the toy’s fault. It meant something to him when he was younger, so that’s the age that stuck.”

When Damian remained still, Jason plucked up the toy and stared at it. “We’re at a loss of what to do here,” he said to it, seriously. “What, does he need to kiss it?” He bopped the toy’s mouth against Damian’s lips a couple of times before Dick let out an exasperated sigh and reclaimed the stuffed dog.

“Damian,” he said, softly. “You’re probably scared, and that’s okay. But I’d really like to meet you. Please come back.”

“To be honest, your Hot Lava win was totally a cheat, and I’m demanding a rematch. You don’t want to die with no honor, do you?”

Tim elbowed Jason hard in the gut and added his own bit. “We don’t have a lot of time, but -”

“We believe in you, Damian, so come on. Do what you’ve got to do to come back.”

“Who the hell are you people?”

The voice had them all jumping out of their skin and whirling around, turning to face the darkened silhouette of a man who was seated in a chair beside the room’s window. He leaned forward, allowing a bit of the lamplight in the room to warm his features, and his identity became obvious.

Bruce Wayne.

A very tired looking Bruce Wayne, with dark circles under his eyes and a weary disposition that bordered angered confusion. The time he had with his son was obviously precious, and who knew how the three of them looked.

Jason, lips pursed together, poked Tim in the ribs and said, “You wanted to be in charge of moments of panic, right?”

Tim frowned.

Surprisingly, it was Dick that spoke up, after taking a good look at the toy in his hand, and then meeting the other man’s eyes. “I think this was important to Damian, and we were wanting to return it, and hoping that…maybe if he had it with him here, it might help.”

His words seemed profound somehow, and Bruce Wayne’s expression tightened. He pushed himself up and reached out for the toy, stepping into the light to get a better look at it. The action also allowed the three friends to see him more clearly as well.

Unshaven, with a dress shirt that was wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it on more than one occasion. Expensive pants that were creased beyond a simple ironing’s repair, and hair that poked up at odd angles, all painting the picture of a man who had crawled into depths of solitude to stay by his son’s side, hoping for the best while, at the same time, learning to accept the worst.

“Where did you find this?” he asked, taking the toy from Dick and squeezing it between his fingers. He brought it up to his nose and inhaled the toy’s scent, no doubt he smelled something that reminded him of his little boy because his features softened.

“At the house,” Dick answered. “I bought your estate just south of here.”

Bruce seemed surprised, and asked, “How did you know it was mine, or that this was his?”

“He’s still getting your mail,” Jason offered, and Tim rolled his eyes.

The answer seemed enough, and Bruce simply nodded again, an action he seemed to have grown a habit of doing. Dick allowed him to step past to stand by Damian’s side, and he rubbed at his eyes.

“He wanted a dog, when he was little,” he explained, and then, caught in a memory, he laughed. “There was no way we were getting a dog,” he told them. “I was never at home, Damian was at school or being tutored…and I guess I knew that he was just bored. I mean, they tell you that, right? You’ve got to spend time with your kids.”

Bruce took another look at the stuffed toy and his humor seemed to snuff, like a candle flame stolen by a breeze. “We weren’t getting a dog,” he stated, as if it had been the same tone he’d used to tell his ten year old son. “So I got him this instead.”

He paused, as if to think for a moment, and then his lips creased into a smile. “I thought he hated it. He wanted the real thing. But I started to notice it was never in the same place in his room, always moving around, going places with him…and I knew that it meant something, even if it was just a toy. The thing is…”” Bruce’s voice tapered off. “He didn’t just want a dog. He wanted me, and I was too busy putting food on the table to notice, or maybe I did notice, but when you’re in my line of work, your priorities get confused, and…well, here we are.”

Silence spanned for enough time to become a weight in the room, and then Bruce simply picked up Damian’s hand and wrapped it around the toy, closing his fingers around Damian’s to help them latch tightly to the stuffed animal.

Before he could say anything, the heart monitor flickered to life.

It had been beeping steadily since they’d come in, and so it had become background noise. But for an instance, there had been a change, and Bruce looked up, wondering if he’d imagined it.

“If he was ten in the house,” Tim said to Jason quietly, “Maybe he’s still clinging to what he felt back then? So he has the toy, and now all he wants is his dad?”

“Keep talking to him,” Jason said to Bruce, nodding at Tim, and Dick seemed to agree.

Bruce’s eyes lit up for an instance, and then the light flickered out and he shook his head. “He’s been in a coma for nearly three months. It’s just…I don’t want to get my hopes up-”

“He’s waiting for you,” Dick interrupted. “He’s been waiting for you.” He stepped up to Bruce and put his hands around the man’s tightening them against Damian’s. “So tell him how much you love him, and need him, and -”

“- and to get his ass back here, because we are running out of time, and there’s a nurse headed this way.” Jason interrupted, as he’d heard footsteps from outside the room and had taken a peek through the slatted window on the door. Softly, he closed it, hoping it would buy them time.

Bruce gave them each looks of varying uncertainty, and asked, “Who are you again?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dick said to him, seriously. “But you do matter, so come on. We’ll do it together.”

Bruce locked eyes with him, and in a moment of desperate resolution, nodded.

“Damian, come back,” he let himself go. “I need you. You’re important to me, more than you know, and whatever you want to do, we’ll do it, we’ll have a father/son day, no, a month, and I’ll buy you a real great dane - but you’re old enough now, you’ll have to take care of it yourself…”

“And you owe me a real game of Hot Lava, like I said,” Jason threw in, watching as the heart monitor slowly picked up, as if Damian was fighting to come back into awareness.

And Dick, softly, said, “You promised you would keep me from being lonely, remember?”

A knock pounded on the door to the room, and Jason stepped aside, allowing a nurse in as Damian’s vitals surged to conscious life. She raced in, wide eyed, and darted back out to go an find an on-call doctor. Bruce’s eyes were brimming with wetness, and Dick slowly stepped back, allowing the father to drape himself over Damian, repeating his promises like a mantra.

When the nurse returned with another nurse in tow, Jason’s fingers found Tim’s wrist and pulled him out into the hallway, and Dick followed, but not before casting a glance back at Damian, with a longing he couldn’t quite place. A satisfied smile pulled at his lips, however, and he turned to meet the same expression on both Jason and Tim’s faces.

A doctor skirted up behind them and they were forced to move to allow him by, and it was as if this particular floor had come back to life as well. They all stood for a moment, content in a miracle they couldn’t explain, and then Jason heaved a sigh.

“I am starving.”

“Me too,” Tim rubbed his stomach for effect.

Dick took one last look at the room now swarming with people, their faces painted with looks of shock and elation, and everything in between. He nodded. “I could go for pancakes.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jason started forward, Tim in tow, and Dick followed, until they stumbled into the elevators, Jason picking on Tim, Dick bubbling with laughter. As the door closed, Bruce Wayne broke free from the room, finally ushered out by the medical staff, but searching for the three men who had been there only moments ago.

He looked as far as the elevators before he decided that he’d missed them, and, pressing his palm to the wall, closed his eyes with certain gratitude.

“Thank you.”