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“Heaven is kind” they say “Angels are sweet” they say.
Well, Tim begs to differ.
He’s had a grudge against the higher power in the sky since he met a devil from below who seemed to care more about Tim than anyone else. Heaven included.
And then he actually went to heaven with his little brush with death that resulted in a not-Lazurus-Pit-Mad Jason.
He hadn’t exactly been fond of that experience either, even with Emily being as welcoming as she had been.
Of course, he’d also known about the exterminations, kinda hard to ignore once you have an inkling and all that.
So no. Angels are not sweet or kind. They’re, from Tim’s experience, about as much of a dichotomy of good and bad as people on Earth. Unfortunately, just like people on Earth, it looks like the majority of them are judgmental, based on the way he was greeted at the gate.
And honestly, this whole experience certainly aren’t helping.
Tim dodges the sharp end of a spear with a twist and swings to keep his back away from the black and white monstrosity with an X-ed out eye that’s currently trying to kill him.
“You embarrassed the forces of heaven” the figure hisses and Tim’s lips tilt into a matching snarl without his conscious input. He keeps his back to his family, staying between them and the thing that they cannot kill no matter if they try or not.
After all, judging by the fact that this one is missing an arm?
They probably aren’t going to be kept down by non-lethal means.
“I left. So what?” Tim demands with a step backward as this person leaves herself vulnerable to stab at Tim’s side, where he was wounded when he went up there the first time.
“You dealt with a demon. More than once. And a deal brought you back” she snaps, finally pulling the exterminator mask from her face to reveal white hair and an angular face that may have been described as pretty if it weren’t for the vicious sneer on their lips.
Tim opens his mouth to say that he went to Heaven anyway so what’s the big deal before the figure in front of him goes ballistic.
She doesn’t protect herself. Leaves herself open to attack like Kon used to when he was still new to the world.
Tim doesn’t expect it and that’s the only reason that the stab to the side of his ribs makes contact.
Ribs crunch and snap. The point of the spear penetrates through the gap and then gets stuck on the arrow-shaped point of the spear.
Tim doesn’t falter. Because he has more to fight for than that. The spear is a later worry.
Or, at least it would be if it would stop being a nuisance by obstructing him. So he breaks the shaft off like he’s been taught to do with arrows by Cissie, way back when. Struggles a bit when the spear is thicker than an arrow but oh well.
He stays where he is. He doesn’t need to waste any more of his blood by trying to move toward her. But his family obviously doesn’t get the memo.
A gunshot sounds from behind Tim, the ping of a bullet falling to the floor uselessly from where it flattened itself against the angel’s chest.
She sneers past Tim right as he gets himself back into his defensive position.
But Duke moves forward with a rush of yellow-painted armour and Tim isn’t strong enough to stop him, not when his left side is on fire like it is, his breath starting to burn on the way in.
Dick launches himself over Tim with two escrima sticks in hand that Tim knows for a fact won’t do shit against an angel and when Tim tries to move, to intervene, Cass’ hand lands on his shoulder, restraining.
“Let us” she says distinctly before she brushes past Tim, leaving him barely standing as his family engages a creature that they cannot hurt. That they cannot stop.
And Tim isn’t strong enough to help them anymore. Not with the lack of momentum.
He collapses to his knees as the pain along his side becomes a fatigue rather than a pain. Watches numbly as the blood under his body pools in a way that reminds him of a dessert. Watches as his family gets tossed around like rag dolls. Throwing themselves into the fight over and over again and only succeeding in making her angrier.
“He was a Seraph! It’s a position of honour! How dare he!” the angel yells, throwing Duke back at Jason like a bowling ball and ending with them both crumpled in a heap, Cass by their side eyeing the angel like she isn't sure what to make of her. Dick with his hands on his knees, trying to catch a breath.
She lunges and there’s no-one close enough to stop her.
She lunges at Tim.
Tim doesn’t see her draw a blade. But he knows the feeling of a sword through his gut, just slightly off-center as if to mirror the spear-wound on his left side. Knows the feeling of broken skin and ruptured organs.
She pulls the blade out and Tim has just the slowest of moments to see the katana-shaped blade before Cass flies into her with a flurry of blows.
His family still fighting.
Tim’s thoughts are starting to slow down.
His breaths are starting to slow.
The pool of blood under his body spreads.
He knows this feeling.
He doesn’t remember the last time. Just remembers waking up in Heaven but he’s been close to death enough times to know this feeling.
He’s dying.
He tries to swallow. Feels his throat click drily as he hears the muffled booms of Jason’s gun shots. There’s spots in his vision, black and white and dancing around what he can see of his family.
Cass gets thrown to the side just as Duke starts to throw himself bodily at the one-armed angel. Dick by his side slashing at her with enough volts to kill a normal human as Duke takes hits to his armour.
Jason shooting at any place he can aim without causing damage to anyone human.
Even then, they're barely holding their own.
It leaves Tim to the side, alone as his ears start to ring, sounds going dull. Black and white spots going more white than black, in a way that reminds Tim of clouds, sky and a podium.
“No” Tim grunts, closing his eyes and trying to shake the white from his eyes but all it accomplishes is another spike of pain as his spine lights up like a fuze.
He’s living on borrowed time.
Tim pants and stops paying attention to his family.
He isn’t going back to that place, he thinks, memories of an empty house blending with the image of clouds and gates. The image of his father’s distain blending with that of Dave’s.
“I’m not going back” Tim mutters, but his voice is weak. He’s already lost too much blood. And he can feel a coughing fit building in the back of his lungs in a way that speaks of ruptured lungs.
He coughs lightly and feels something wet his lips in confirmation.
He doesn’t have much time.
“I’m not going back” he mutters again and hears the way his voice bubbles in his throat. But how do you fight death?
You don’t.
“Alastor” Tim whispers, looking to the side, to the darkest shadow he can find that doesn’t seem to consist of the dwindling dark spots in his vision.
His voice is quiet, soft and almost inaudible. But Tim knows Alastor hears him.
He always has.
And this time is no different.
Black claws are the first thing Tim sees emerge from the shadows, clutching at the brickwork of a building.
Then red, pointed ears and red hair, blending together seamlessly as a head emerges, looks up.
Alastor meets Tim’s no-doubt faltering gaze and his permanent grin falters for the first time Tim’s ever seen, his expression showing shock and dismay before the grin picks up again, cracking at the edges. Horrific and shadowed.
“What did you do?”
The voice is loud enough to carry through the battlefield, over the sound of this angel using Dick’s escrima sticks to pull him closer despite the voltage running through them.
The battlefield freezes.
The angel turns.
“Nothing your little pet” she snarls “Didn’t deserve. He belongs with the Seraphim, so he will go back to them, whether by choice or not”
Alastor’s grin doesn’t shift, but Tim sees his grip on his mic tighten.
“I thought you angels were supposed to embody virtues. I don’t think murder is a virtue” he says, voice tightly controlled and not cheerful in the slightest. Just threatening enough to make Tim shiver and then wince when it aggravates the wounds on his sides.
The angel doesn’t seem bothered “Demon scum is demon scum. No matter if he managed to weasel his way into Heaven” she says and Tim can see the moment Alastor snaps.
His shadow lengthens. His antlers protrude and the x on his forehead makes a comeback. Which is sign enough that Alastor is angry, but there’s something to his expression that tells Tim that Alastor isn’t planning on holding back anymore
The shadow roils under the angel’s feet as Alastor takes a step forward and when she tries to take a step back to match him, the shadow latches on with clawed fingers and brings her down to the ground.
Alastor’s form grows larger, towering over even Jason as he stalks forward, hunched over and horrific. A predator in the guise of a deer as he speaks, voice just cheerful enough to make the back of Tim’s skull tingle in a way that reads “Danger”.
“Vaggie should have killed you on extermination day. I agreed with her that living was a far more fitting punishment at the time but now look what you’ve done”
Alastor continues to stalk, circling the angel as he speaks, as the shadow spreads in grasping hands, clawing at her clothes and skin like bats out of hell, from her ankle to her midriff and then to her single remaining arm. Restraining.
“She was merciful. And I certainly won’t be”
There’s the sound of displaced air and the blur of shadowy motion. Static.
And the angel’s head separates from her shoulders, a sword held in a shadowy hand that looks just enough like Alastor’s that Tim has to blink.
By the time he opens his eyes again, Alastor is standing in front of him, still towering and horrific. His family at his side. He can feel Duke trying to put pressure on the sword wound and curse when he bleeds through the bandage in seconds.
It’s honestly a miracle that Tim’s lasted as long as he has, given the damage.
“Tim, look at me” Dick demands but Tim’s eyes slide off him like haze over Gotham.
“He’s losing too much blood” Damian’s voice barks and Tim has enough time to think ‘Damian wasn’t here a moment ago’ before his lungs finally give into the coughing fit they’ve been building.
Everyone falls silent as Tim hacks and coughs and feels like his lungs are trying to escape through his lips.
There’s blood on his arm when he stops, splattered in little droplets across already-red fabric.
The family is silent.
“Alastor” Tim whispers, fighting another cough as the deer-like features fade, the figure of his oldest family friend shrinking down until he can kneel by Tim’s knees.
“Timothy” he greets back and Tim tries to smile. He really does. He doesn’t think it works, however.
“Ask me for power. Ask me for wealth and everything your heart desires”
The offer is tempting. Just this once. Power would have saved his family from wounds they’re likely sporting. Power would have saved Cass from the tears Tim can see soaking through her mask before she rips it off.
But Tim’s never wanted power.
“I’ll make you a deal” he offers, and his voice is faint to his own ears. He’s got only moments and given what just happened, he doubts that Heaven would give him up a second time.
“Tim!” Bruce’s voice is concerned. But it’s shaking like he already knows what Tim does. He has moments.
And he’s not coming back this time.
“Anything” Alastor responds this time. And Tim can see the way his eyes are dilated in what has to be fear.
Tim smiles and swallows the taste of blood gathering in the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t want to be alone again” he says.
It’s probably the most honest Tim Drake has ever been.
Alastor’s eyes widen. Tim can see his lips tremble as he purses them. Takes in Tim’s state with shaking hands and drooping ears. Alastor's head falls as his lips tilt into a shaking, thin smile.
“I cannot guarantee anything in Heaven, Timothy”
“I’m not going to Heaven” Tim interrupts.
Alastor swallows loudly “Yes, you will” he says, with a trace of something like resignation tinting his voice.
Tim forces a grin, gathers the rest of his strength to raise a hand. His right. It’s stained in blood much like the last time its been stained in black in heaven.
He holds his hand out.
“Timothy?”
“I don’t want to be alone again”
Alastor’s hands are warmer than his. A distinct difference from the time in the desert. His grip is unsure, soft in a way Tim never expected. In a way that it never has been.
They shake hands and Tim swears that he may be imagining it but the blood on his arm seems to spread upward, over his shoulder and across his chest. Across his heart.
He smiles, feels his lips painted red with blood, and gives into the black rising across his vision.