Work Text:
The Last Thing
‘Watching your own funeral seems macabre or melodramatic at best’ , is what keeps running through Tim’s mind as he shifts uncomfortably on the spot. He’s been standing here for what feels like hours but might as well have been minutes. All he does is watch. Not in a weird way - or at least not any weirder as the last few years have been, either way. It’s just that Tim is morbidly curious, and besides, it’s not like he would have anything else to do right now. It comes with being technically-dead, he supposes.
So, here he is, standing behind a tree as he watches his own funeral from a distance.
The group of people standing around the open grave is small. It doesn’t come as a surprise, sadly.
Tim doesn't have much family left, and he lost more and more people over the years, due to deaths and otherwise.
“Or otherwise” sounds… Much more mundane than it really is, but when it comes down to it, it's an unfortunate reality that Tim kept losing people throughout his life, and by the end, there weren’t many left. It’s a bitter truth that he constantly tries to come to terms with. More or less successfully, depending on the specific situation.
The weather on the day of the funeral is beautiful. It’s neither cold nor hot, and there is a slight wind going. For once, it doesn't rain.
'Rain might have been a tiny bit overkill with the melodrama' Tim thinks, and shifts on the spot once again. So far, no one has noticed him back here, easily hidden behind old headstones, trees and tall plants. It's an old graveyard, crumbling and overgrown in places, so staying out of sight is an easy task. Besides, no one pays any mind to their surroundings, but that's London for you. People remain mostly invisible, as everyone is minding their own business. Sometimes, it’s a blessing. Other times, it’s a curse.
Right now? If asked, Tim would be entirely unsure how to answer that question. A few days or weeks earlier, going unnoticed had been the easiest thing to do. No human interaction meant less anger, and less heartbreak. It saddens him, but Tim also knows himself, and he is well aware that he hit his limits ages ago.
Then, the unknowing happened.
One thing that Tim knows for sure is that he died. There was - is a body, for fucks sake. The mangled and broken body that someone collected after the explosion, stuffed it into a coffin and called together the last few living or conscious people who actually give a shit about him to mourn.
Tim watches as the heavy but simple wooden coffin is being lowered into the open grave. His gaze doesn’t waver, and he could swear he can make out a quiet sob in the distance. However, he doesn’t check or guess from whom. If he thinks too hard about it, he’ll end up in a downward spiral, and the last thing he needs is being found in that state.
So, he clenches his teeth and anxiously fumbles with a weed in between his fingers. He doesn’t know what to do.
Ever since he woke up, feeling cold and lifeless, Tim is unsure about many, many things.
What to do or where to go, whether or not he should let anyone know that he is… What? “Alive” certainly doesn’t cut it. “Still around” might be an option, but there comes his next question:
Does he even want to stay around? In any sense of the word?
Part of Tim wants to leave everything and everyone behind, in whatever way he can. They already mourn him. Which, in and of itself, is a lot more touching than he thought it would be, but it also hurts. And franky, he’s been hurting more than enough in the last few months and years. There is no use in sticking around in order to watch his friends suffer, now.
‘Leaving sounds easy. But what can I do?’ Tim thinks, and not for the first time.
At first, he’d thought of giving up. He even tried to end it, again, after waking up… well. Not-Dead. But it’s no use.
That in itself is absolutely terrifying, because it takes away the last option. Dying was the option he chose for himself, for fuck’s sake, and it’s hard to cope with the fact that he just. Can’t.
Waking up after the unknowing had been hard enough. At first, Tim had been utterly confused. Everything around him had been cold and dark, disorienting at best.
But then, his head, feet and shoulders hit solid metal walls. Moments of absolute, wordless terror passed, and then he doesn’t remember much. All he knows now is that he eventually stumbled out of the cold drawer, throat sore from uselessly screaming. There must have been a mistake, he kept telling himself, up until the moment where he noticed that he left a body behind in the morgue.
Ever since, he keeps walking. Awake, unable to sleep and so very cold . Tim feels like his bones must be frozen, made entirely of ice. Emotions, however, are difficult. He doesn’t know if it’s because he died, or if it’s plain old trauma. Maybe a mixture of both? Either way, Tim isn’t too keen to explore that one.
He stands and watches the small group of people around his grave, all painfully familiar. Part of him wants to reach out, or talk to them, but he knows it would be selfish. It wouldn’t help anyone, in the end.
Someone cries, audibly so, and just for a moment, Tim wants to join in.
He doesn’t. Instead, he just keeps watching, and the plant he kept twirling anxiously between his fingertips is torn to shreds. Poor thing.
Tim doesn’t react when there are light footsteps behind him, but he almost jumps out of his skin when they stop right next to him. When he turns to look, more than a little spooked, his gaze is met with the tired and gentle eyes of an old woman. She smiles sadly, and nods over to the ongoing funeral.
“Ah, you know. Sometimes, it’s easier to keep your distance. It doesn’t mean you care any less.” she says, clearly assuming that Tim knew the person being buried. If only it was that easy. At least, she doesn’t judge or assumes any malicious intent of his hiding.
“That-” Tim clears his throat. “That is true. Still doesn’t erase the regrets, doesn’t it?”
The old woman hums in agreement, and there is sorrow in her watery grey eyes.
“We all do our best, dear. That much I can promise you.”
Before Tim can respond any more, she reaches up and gently pats his upper arm, and a moment later, she turns around and disappears again. The whole encounter leaves him standing there like a deer in the headlights, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.
It takes him much, much longer than it should, but Tim only notices it when the woman leaves. There are black tendrils coming out of her chest, floating ominously as they surround her. It looks almost peaceful, or it would, if it wasn’t so terrifying.
Shit.
Tim doesn’t know what to do - he is certain that he remembers statements about this phenomenon, and either way, it can’t be good. If he wasn’t already deathly pale, he is sure, all colour would drain from his face upon the realisation. As a result, he remains standing rooted to the spot. Everything in him is panic and screaming alarm bells, but he is entirely numb.
Tim doesn’t even pay any attention to the next set of footsteps that come closer, but he does look when another stranger decides to keep him company in his hiding spot. He really should have picked a better place to lurk.
However, the first thing that goes through his mind upon seeing the tall stranger's dark face is, ‘He is handsome’ . And really. There is something about him that seems familiar, even though Tim is certain they have never met before. And yet, he greets Tim by name, which catches him by surprise.
“Whenever you’re ready, we should take a walk. I’m sure you have questions.” the stranger continues, and even though Tim doesn’t know it yet, for him, it’s the beginning of a whole new chapter.
So, because there really isn’t anything else left to do for him, he follows Oliver Banks across the small path between old and weathered tombstones, overgrown with moss.
The wind picks up yet again.