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Bruce is alive.
Tim knows he's alive.
Not because he's desperate, though he is. But because he has the evidence.
The portrait. The body's unrecognizability. Every other bit that just pieces together to scream TIME TRAVEL in Tim's face.
He doesn't care that the others don't believe him.
Doesn't care that Cassie thinks he's lost it in his grief. Maybe he has. Kon is dead. Bart is dead. Tim absently wonders if they're in Heaven or Hell before he firmly shuts down that line of thought.
He doesn't care that Damian's tried to kill him. Or that Damian's Robin now.
He doesn't care that Dick doesn't see him losing pieces of himself. Or just isn't acknowledging it.
He really doesn't care. About much of anything, these days.
But he has to find Bruce. He has to. Kon is dead. Bart is dead. Jack Drake is dead. But Bruce isn't. That's one more soul that Tim can save.
That he can bring back.
But it's hard.
He'd almost gotten blown up in Paris. If he wasn't so used to looking at the shadows for smiles, he would have missed the glint of the rifle.
He hasn't seen shadowy smiles in a while now.
Tim wonders if Alastor's gotten bored with Tim's life.
He'd almost gotten blown up in Paris.
He'd almost gotten caught in Prague.
Barely avoided arrest in Iran, with some help.
And lost two friends in the process.
Bruce is alive.
But Tim may not be by the end of this.
He's bleeding, he knows. Something aches fiercely in his side. It feels like the life is being drained from inside of him.
But Pru's alive. Barely.
And that's another soul that Tim can save. Even if he dies in the process.
He drags himself up.
He's in the middle of a desert. There are no shadows here but his own.
Not that there's been anything smiling at him. But he'd appreciate the moral support right now.
He's alone. Pru's unconscious. But alive.
Alive.
Alive.
Tim steps forward and feels something in his side rip. But he takes another step anyway.
It becomes difficult to distinguish between his own shadow and his own blood.
He can't stop moving. He has to get Pru safe. Has to help her survive.
Has to find Bruce.
He doesn't notice the shape forming out of shadow and blood at his feet.
He doesn't see the yellow eyes narrow at his state.
He doesn't see Alastor at his side, even as he takes small, shuffling steps.
But Alastor sees him.
There's a hand in his vision before he can lean over to pick Pru up. It's pale. Fingernails are tipped in black. And there's a red sleeve covering the wrist.
"Tim"
Tim almost doesn't hear the admonishing voice. Focused as he is.
Save Pru. Save Bruce. At all cost.
"Tim, Child. You are injured. You have ruptured an organ" the voice is nearer now, leaning against his shoulder and speaking into his ear.
The hand has moved from blocking him to holding his wrist.
The grip is cold, for being in the desert.
"Tim. Calm. Please. Stand still"
"Alastor?" Tim almost doesn't recognize his own voice. Hoarse from pain.
"Indeed. Now, I see that you have an ally that is clinging to life with the shreds of her humanity. But you are also dangling your soul from a fraying thread. You need to rest. Recover"
"I need Bruce back. I need to save Pru"
There's silence for a moment.
"My soul. My soul for Bruce's return and Pru's safety. Alastor, please" the words slip out without conscious thought but Tim wouldn't take them back.
Maybe Alastor hadn't wanted his soul at 10. Maybe he had enough souls and wanted Tim as entertainment instead.
But Tim isn't a child anymore and the entertainment value had apparently long since passed.
Tim doesn't care.
He wants Bruce back.
He wants Pru safe.
Alastor could do that.
"Bruce is trapped in another time. And Pru is dying. I know you said you couldn't being people back but they aren't dead. At least not yet. Alastor, please"
"No"
Alastor's voice is clear, succinct. No leeway given.
Tim gasps out what he thinks may be a sob.
"What do you want then? What do you want? Do you want a plaything? I can do that. Do you want a human in Hell? I can follow. Please. Just. Please"
There's silence.
Tim distantly realizes that the grip on his wrist is bruisingly tight, now.
"I do not wish for your soul, Tim. Not yet. I told you once that Heaven does not appreciate us taking one of their own"
"I wouldn't go to heaven" Tim interrupts.
Alastor falters, a crack in his voice that isn't from his usual distortion.
"I do not know why you say so but I believe you would. And I do not wish to take that option from you. Not yet. Not for other people. Ask me for power. Ask me for fame. Ask me for wealth unimaginable and I shall grant it.
But I shall not trade your soul for another"
Tim feels something press against his side, feels something intangible but dark and smooth and slithering enter the wound at his side and the pain dulls.
His head clears just the slightest bit.
Enough to think.
But he doesn't apologize. Doesn't take back the offer.
"Take your ally and go, Tim. I shall assist where I am able. However, I shouldn't interfere much in the mortal realm. Someone is bound to notice eventually"
Tim swallows. Feels the blood and shadow shift beneath his feet. Supporting him. Carrying some of his weight. Supporting some of Pru's as he bends down, the pain in his side deadened by shadow and demonic force.
He picks Pru up and carries her.
The car starts with a sputter of green sparks.
Tim's grapple hits the roof edge of Wayne Enterprises, bounces off and rehooks with the shift of a shadow.
And Tim passes out right as Tam and several Ninja encounter the difficulty of finding Tim in a pool of his own blood and the shadow of a light bulb that will not turn on.