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Poison Oak	By : Owlgirl Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 2890 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters are copyright DC Comics. I make no money off these stories.

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It’s the hardest thing they’ve ever done. Harder than letting Jason go and admitting they weren’t good enough to sway him to a better path. Harder than losing friends--*allies*--in battle. Than taking up more responsibility. Than ending relationships. …Than watching their parents die in their dreams over and over again each night.

Burying Tim Drake is defeat and heartache all wrapped up in one convenient package. The lifeless body of a 17-year-old.

Dick glances over at Bruce, watching as the man stands silent over the grave of his adopted son. Is there really anything more to say to each other? Things that weren’t mentioned as they wept over Tim, holding him close and petting back black hair?

Of course, tears come to Dick’s eyes again, at the edges where he wipes them away with the back of his hand. He can’t help but feel guilty and shattered inside. His brother (the only one he’s ever been truly close to) is gone and there’s no way to ask Tim for forgiveness or kiss his hair one last time (to hear him laugh and see him dance across the Gotham rooftops).

There’s only silence.

~~

Oxygen is needed for life. It’s a simple fact. A well-known bit of reality that is obvious to the people of Earth. To every living being that has ever existed even if they couldn‘t speak a word. There is, however, more to oxygen and living than just this. There is breathing. An exchange like a kiss. It is how humans bring oxygen in, while releasing carbon dioxide to their surroundings. Carbon dioxide, in turn, is used by plants to survive and strive.

Tim Drake knows this all well, his brain is a wealth of knowledge, from the common, to the bizarre. Things that you need to know and things that you don’t. But he’s not thinking about the intake of oxygen at the moment, not when he’s clawing at his coffin with a desperate cry.

Only one thing comes to his mind: “I should be dead”.

He’s aware of one fingernail being splintered and torn off, then another and another. But there’s barely a mark on the coffin. Tim sighs softly, breathing in deep even though there is very little oxygen left for him to have at all. He should feel lightheaded, half gone, more desperate than he feels.

The teen runs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. He needs to be calm, he needs to use his training to think. Tim pulls his hands back and as he places them against the lid of the coffin, he notices something. His skin is paler, like it’s never seen the sun, with a light green undertone. He teethes his bottom lip to hold back his whimper of confusion.

What the hell happened to him?

He remembers the bite of leather bonds into his skin and the sting of the needle, over and over and over again. His body shakes and sweat breaks out against his hands and forehead. “God…oh god…” Another breath, though it doesn’t help, so he screams as loud as he can and pounds against the grain of the wood until there’s nothing.

Nothing but open air above him.

Breathing. He takes in oxygen like he could die (again) right now in this moment, like the stars are the last thing he’ll see and the last thing he’ll feel is…a flower in the palm of his hand, bright red and blooming even though it’s dark, the city lights dim and far off.

Tim studies the flower for a moment. Botany was something that he really never took time to study, except, of course, the plants growing in the gardens at Wayne Manor, but he’s never seen a blossom like this. He sits up, careful not to crush the poor thing in the process. Tim bites back a sob in the next moment, bringing the flower to his face, taking in the intoxicating scent of its growth. It overtakes him completely, like a kind of a nirvana that makes him feel *connected*, new and more than he’s ever been.

He stands suddenly, noticing roots and vines along the walls of his dug grave and for a moment he thinks they reach for him, though the teen believes it to be a trick of the darkness. Tim feels a headache coming on as he runs his fingers over them, up, reaching for the top of the six foot hole. It’s impossible. He’s alone out here and there’s no hope.

It doesn’t feel right to give up when he’s just started but there isn’t much he can do, especially not with his head pounding. He falls back against the dirt and slides down into the coffin, curling up, cradling his flower with careful fingers. He pets the petals and breathes deep of its perfume again as he drifts off into a deep sleep.

~~

He hadn’t slept. How could he? Dick’s had an uneasiness about him the entire week, and not just from the funeral and his little brother’s death. There’s something more…a sinking feeling that only eats at him further as the days are tallied.

The acrobat sips at his coffee, surrounding by the plants of the Wayne gardens. The flowers are in full bloom and all the foliage has survived the harsh New Jersey winter that befell them a few months ago. He fingers a rose petal gently, humming at the soft feeling against his skin.

This was Tim’s favorite place. Here in the peace of the garden, surrounded by the bright colors of nature and the sounds, hums and whispers that seem speak to you if you just stop and take it in. It’s not the same anymore. Nothing is. Not when it’s just him, Bruce and Alfred in this big, empty house. The happiness has all been devoured, none of them can even look at each other anymore. He hasn’t talked with Bruce since the funeral and only spared a few words for old Alfred (who is worried sick about his boys).

He looks up from the flowers to see Bruce hovering at the door, his hands buried in the pockets of his house coat. The man watches Dick with heavy eyes, a dim blue…and his skin, it seems paler now. Blanched. A part of him wants to touch Bruce, to kiss him and tell him it will be okay because they have each other. But then he would be lying. Nothing will ever be okay.

They failed at their jobs (at the *Mission*) and now they’re both drowning in guilt and there’s no one there to save them.

Bruce backs away with Dick opens his mouth. No words, just body language, and things are grim. They’re both so tense that Alfred’s afraid one or both of them are going to snap on the next patrol, if a bullet doesn’t take them out first. The thought is comforting in a way, not that Dick wants to die. He’s got too much to live for, but it’s hard to exist with onus.

Maybe if they still had Jason, things wouldn’t be so hard.

~~

Morning is refreshing even though he’s still stuck in his own damn grave. His flower…Tim gazes at it with bright blue eyes. It looks like new life has been breathed into it and he could swear it’s grown bigger. At closer (and careful) inspection, he finds that it indeed has and that it has…*attached* itself to him. He should feel less comfortable with this realization but he doesn’t. He feels, instead, like he’s gained a friend, a close companion.

Tim smiles, though weakly, as he sits up and stares up into the sky. Gauging by the light, it must be around 9 o’clock and maybe, just maybe, someone has come to the cemetery to give more goodbyes. Without thinking further, he stands and shouts at the top of his lungs for help. He yells and yells until his voice is sore and grainy then waits.

Ten minutes and…no one’s coming, even with the sounds of Gotham traffic in the distance. Hopelessness overcomes him so he turns back to his bloom with a sigh.

“I…I’m going to die here…”

He isn’t expecting anything at all, but the roots sticking out of the dark earth suddenly shift and *grow*, listening to the teen’s voice, to his emotions. Tim’s awestruck and he staggers back until he realizes that, whatever is going on, it’s his escape out of this hole. He concentrates and sees the infrastructure becoming thick, organic stairs made just for him.

Survival. Base instinct takes over and he moves, up into freedom, to fall to his knees in the grass, to breath and sob into the thick green. Nothing else matters. He must…he must get home, only then can he be safe. But the earth is humming around him, sighing softly in his ear. It feels like a welcome, an embrace and he seems more at rest here than anywhere else he’s ever been in his entire life.

“I’m here…I’m right here…” Tim looks over to his crimson flower and kisses it gently. “I’m listening.”
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Poison Oak