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Robin's death was hard on everyone, but no one moreso than Batman. Such was obvious. Batman was practically suicidal in response to Robin's death. Tim had the pictures to prove it.
Tim thought for a long time about what he could do to improve the situation. Could he possibly convince Dick to return to being Robin, just so Bruce would have someone to watch the back of while having his own back watched in return? It could work. Having someone to be aware of would definitely drastically decrease Batman's bad decisions. But, Tim was pretty sure Dick would rather die himself than return to being Robin, and two dead Robins would not be conducive to improved mental health.
If only there was a way for Jason to come back to life, Tim thought. Then, he remembered.
He spent several days ignoring his summer homework to research necromancy instead. He tried the internet first, but got nowhere. He tried the school library and found several promising leads.
The first attempt failed miserably. Luckily, he didn't have a roommate, which made it a bit easier, but only in that he wouldn't get caught. He got paint everywhere, he messed up at least ten of the sigils, and one of the candles caught the drape on fire. Of course, he managed to put out the fire before the fire alarm could go off, but his whole room was left a mess of paint and wax. And, checking in with Batman that weekend, it was entirely ineffective. Jason Todd remained dead. All that work and the clean up after it for absolutely nothing.
The second attempt failed even more miserably. He got most of the sigils right, he was sure of it, but he made too much noise. The room next door, which he'd thought was empty, had an inhabitant who complained, so Tim was caught right in the middle of it. He got in major trouble, to say the least. He had to spend several hours the next day listening to the headmaster nag about how black magic was "immoral" and "illegal." He got extra homework on Gotham laws, specifically those related to black magic. He had to throw away all of the candles and paint while a teacher watched. He would've gotten a worse punishment, something along the lines of suspension or even outright expulsion, but he managed to convince the teacher who'd caught him to go easy on him. It was a first-time offense, Tim was usually very well-behaved and attentive in all of his classes, and the book called in grey magic. He got off on a technicality.
Needless to say, he waited for the weekend to try a third time. He went home, which he rarely did on weekends, partially to pull off his third attempt and partially to forge his father's signature on the pink slip without a chance of getting caught doing so. He got a lot farther than the first two tries, far enough along that he had some hope, but all that resulted in was him not noticing the fire until the fire alarm went off. Multiple fire trucks and a small army of firemen showed up, alongside an ambulance, which Tim found to be overkill, frankly. The fire was incredibly small and completely contained. It was contained in his living room, which he himself was also in and couldn't find a way out of, but that was beside the point. He was told off for lighting so many candles all at once, but played it off as though he was just an innocent child who just didn't know any better. He didn't get in any trouble really, but he still had to clean up the remains of the living room, which he felt was punishment aplenty.
Enough was enough. Tim waited for the next weekend and took it directly to Jason's grave instead of trying anymore of the more indirect options. He rolled up his sleeves, snuck onto the property, and swore that this time, nothing would go wrong.
It was the middle of the night. The moon was full, the wind was just calm enough to allow for the candles to merely flicker instead of going out entirely, and the red paint Tim used to draw the sigils glistened like freshly spilled blood. Just as was written in the book.
Tim had everything he needed. All he had to do was guide dark magic through himself, using the heart blood he'd managed to snag from his own chest after much trial and effort as a conduit, and trade half of his life to give to Jason.
Everything went swimmingly. Beneath the faint glow of the candles and the moonlight, Tim found a bit of difficulty digging up Jason's grave, but Jason himself helped by crawling out halfway through, expediting the process. Tim assisted him, pulling his arm to help him climb out of the dirt. Jason's hair was messy, his suit was dirty, and he looked very confused. He looked around timidly, like he expected something terrible to happen, his grip inadvertently tightening on Tim's arm. He only seemed to notice Tim after a moment of staring at the surrounding red painted sigils and flickering candles with something resembling dread. He yanked himself away jerkily.
"What's going on?" Jason asked, staring at Tim intently. "Who are you?"
"Well, first of all," Tim said. "Welcome back."
"Why was I in a coffin?" Jason questioned. "Why is there red paint everywhere? Who are you?"
"Don't worry," Tim tried to soothe him. "Everything's okay now."
"Who are you?" Jason repeated again, his tone forceful.
"My name is Tim," he replied, mostly to try and calm him down before he started hyperventilating. "Should we wait or take you straight to Wayne, do you think?"
Jason stared at him for a long moment in complete silence. Tim watched him in return, carefully keeping his hands visible and his body very still.
"I- was I- wasn't I- dead?" Jason stammered.
"Yeah." Tim frowned. "But, that's okay. You're better now."
"What did you do?" Jason questioned, his face pure white.
Tim smiled.
"You won't be here forever," he admitted. "You'll probably die young, but you'll be much older than you are now, and I think that should count for something."
"H-how-"
Tim slowly reached out and gently took Jason's hand in his own. He led him a few steps away from his grave. The spell was holding, as he didn't die again the second he stepped beyond the lines of red paint. Tim's smile widened.
He left Jason standing amongst the other grave markers while he cleaned up the candles. He smeared the paint, keeping a careful eye on Jason in case that undid the spell, but all remained well. Tim zipped up his backpack, then looked up at the sky. He considered the moon's position for a long moment.
"Okay," he said eventually. "It probably stuck."
Jason was standing very still, staring at him. His expression was strange. He looked like he had something to say but didn't know how to say it.
"What's wrong?" Tim asked, tilting his head.
"You mentioned Bruce," Jason said. "Is he... okay?"
Is he still acting the same? Did he get over my death quickly? Did he even notice I died at all?
"No," Tim stated bluntly. "He's not."
He stood up and walked closer to Jason. Jason took a few steps back until he brushed against a grave marker. He flinched away from the cold stone and hunched in on himself, his chest visibly rising and falling with his breathing. Tim stopped.
"That's why I brought you back," he said simply. "Because he's not okay."
"Did it really affect him...?"
"Of course. Your death was hard on everyone, especially Wayne. How could it not affect him?"
"I don't know," Jason muttered, ducking his head. "I'm still kinda confused..."
"What's confusing you?"
Jason took a deep breath in and held it for a moment. He slowly breathed out, then crossed his arms, his brows furrowing.
"A ten-year-old brought me back to life using black magic," he said. "It's a bit concerning."
"I'm thirteen," Tim huffed. "And I would consider it more grey magic."
Jason looked at him.
"It's what I told my school," Tim explained. "So they didn't expel me. And that's what the book's called."
"Is this really happening?" Jason questioned, running his hands through his hair. Bits of dirt fell to the ground around him. "Am I dreaming? Can you dream when you're dead?"
"You would know," Tim said.
"There's no way a ten-year-old performed black magic to bring me back to life," Jason stated. "That's impossible. Literally impossible."
"I told you I'm thirteen," Tim repeated, rolling his eyes. "And I highly doubt this is the most absurd thing that's ever happened in Gotham."
Jason couldn't argue. All things considered, he was right. Jason pinched himself and found that he was probably wide awake. This wasn't a very comforting thing to find.
"This might not be the most absurd thing," he admitted. "But it's all weird. You understand that, right?"
"Sure, sure, whatever," Tim said.
He took a big step forward and grabbed Jason's hand again, then turned and began dragging him away. Jason could've stayed in place, but he felt very lost. The feeling of a warm hand in his was absurdly grounding. Like, light at the end of the tunnel sort of grounding. Jason frowned.
"I thought about it for a while, but it would probably be best if I just left you on the doorstep, right?" Tim mused.
"Are you leaving me?" Jason questioned. He felt no small amount of dread, his blood felt like it had ran cold at the very idea.
Tim glanced back at him. He studied him for a moment, then turned back around.
"Well, you'll have Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth," Tim said. "You definitely don't need me around muddying things up."
"I think you messed up," Jason told him, his voice only slightly frantic. "Because the idea of you leaving me is giving me hives."
"Oh," Tim said lightly. "That must be what the book meant by imprinting..."
"Did you do this on purpose?" Jason suggested, his grip on Tim's hand tightening to the point of pain.
"Of course not!" Tim insisted. "I mean, I knew the book mentioned imprinting, but I wasn't really..."
"You weren't what?" Jason questioned.
"Well, to be honest," Tim sighed, "I wasn't expecting this attempt to work. I assumed I'd have to go all the way, you know?"
"All the way?" Jason repeated.
"Human sacrifice?" Tim offered. "But, nah. I'm glad this one worked. The imprinting really shouldn't effect you for too long. The book said it was temporary."
"If you leave me, I feel like I'll die again," Jason said.
Tim looked back at him with something like concern on his face.
"Being with loved ones should help," he offered.
"Bruce doesn't love me," Jason stated.
"He does," Tim assured him. "If he didn't, he wouldn't be doing so bad. He's almost gotten himself killed like twenty times."
"Bruce did?" Jason asked.
"You know. Jumping into situations with barely the dregs of a plan, fighting recklessly, those sorts of things."
"Bruce did?" Jason repeated, his brows furrowed.
Tom stepped up to the front door. Jason wondered, suddenly, how this kid had gotten so far on Bruce's property without getting caught. Tim pulled his hand back, but Jason kept a firm grip on it. Tim looked between their joined hands and Jason's face a few times.
"Let go," he ordered.
"I don't see why you can't come with me," Jason said, having just thought of the solution.
"Seriously?" Tim asked. "Black magic is illegal, you know. Wayne could call the cops on me."
"So you admit it was black magic," Jason said.
"Not if you're planning on calling the cops," Tim muttered. He tugged on his hand, but Jason only further tightened his grip. His hand was starting to get numb. "Seriously, let go."
"No way," Jason insisted. "You're the one who let me imprint or whatever. You have to deal with it."
"If you'd just let go-"
"You'll just run off-"
"I won't! Stop-"
They must've made too much noise, because the front door opened. Alfred looked out and gasped. Jason, still dressed as he was buried, covered in dirt, clinging to the hand of a smaller boy, dressed raggedly in a hoodie and shorts, also covered in dirt but with the added grass sticking out of his hair and red paint staining his clothes, his knees, and his hands. The two boys looked over and froze.
"Jason..." Alfred said.
"Alfred," Jason returned.
Tim tried again to pull away. Jason dug his fingertips in, then reached over and grabbed his wrist with his second hand. Tim pushed at him fruitlessly with his free hand, then gave up.
"I guess I'll help you reacclimate," Tim sighed.
"I'm glad you see things my way," Jason grinned.
"Oh dear," Alfred said.
An hour later found Tim and Jason seated right beside each other in the sitting room. Jason kept a firm grip on Tim's hand and glared at him whenever he tried to pull away, so Tim quit trying. Bruce Wayne was sitting across from them, his chin cupped in his hand and his gaze intense. Alfred watched from the side, disbelief still painting his features.
"You're telling me you used black magic? In my family's cemetery?" Bruce began.
Tim winced and wilted. "The book called it grey magic," he mumbled.
Bruce gave him a look of disbelief. Tim shrugged off his backpack, offering Jason the opposite hand to hold so he could get it off both shoulders, then dug through it. He pulled out a large tome, at least as thick as the width of his hand, and held it out to Bruce. Bruce accepted it. The cover read "Common Grey Magic Spells and Bewitchments". Bruce sighed and idly flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed.
"And it worked?" he asked, still looking unbelieving.
"I think so," Tim said. "It wasn't too hard, really. I practiced the sigils and I made sure all the candles were the right height and I even made sure to offer blood from the heart, even though it was a bit tricky to get it, and he hasn't died again yet, so." He shrugged.
"I feel like I'm Jason Todd," Jason added. "And alive. I think it worked too."
Bruce still seemed uncertain. Tim understood completely. The man didn't want to get his hopes up in case this turned out to be some sort of trick. That was perfectly valid. It would probably have been a lot easier for him to do the necessary tests to see that Jason really was himself if Jason had let Tim go on the doorstep.
Tim glanced at Jason. He sensed the gaze and glared back pointedly. Tim averted his gaze.
"I understand that you'll want to do blood tests and the like," Tim stated. "And I bet it would be a lot easier for you to do them if I wasn't here..."
He chanced another glance at Jason, but he was still glaring. In fact, his glare was darker. And his grip was verging on painfully tight again.
"...But he imprinted on me and so you may be stuck with me for a few hours, days at most," Tim finished. "It should wear off. The book said it would."
"Doesn't the book claim it will wear off in two to three weeks?" Bruce asked, looking directly at the page on raising the dead.
Tim thought about it.
"Jason's very talented," he said. "I have full faith in his ability to break through earlier than anticipated."
Bruce glanced at Jason, who looked mostly bored and a little tired. He didn't seem like he was trying particularly hard to break through earlier than anticipated.
Jason met Bruce's eye, and looked suddenly uncertain. His grip on Tim's hand spasmed. He ducked his head and bit his lip, looking almost guilty. If this was Jason, the real Jason, then Bruce had an idea of what was upsetting him so much.
"Does he need to bunk with you, Jason?" Bruce suggested.
"Yes," Jason answered immediately.
"Alright," Bruce said, sighing as he stood up. "We'll trouble you to stay in a guest room until we can go to a hospital tomorrow and get your blood looked at-"
"Tim knows," Jason said.
Bruce and Tim looked at him. They both looked confused.
"Tim knows you're Batman," Jason specified. "Just do my bloodwork in the Cave."
Bruce looked at Tim. Tim's face went white, his eyes anxiously darted around for a moment, and his grip on Jason's hand contorted quickly.
"I don't know you're Batman," Tim stated, a bit too quickly.
Bruce felt, suddenly, much wearier than he'd felt in a long time.
Tim laid next to Jason. The room had a second bed, but Jason had crawled out of it at some point in the middle of the night and was curled around Tim, his arms wrapped tightly, almost possessively around his shoulders and their legs intertwined. Tim wasn't sure how Jason managed to entangle them together so thoroughly every night without waking him up, but manage it Jason did.
It had been nearly two months. The end of Tim's summer break was quickly approaching, and yet Jason still seemed as stuck on him as he had in the beginning. If Tim had known that bringing a teenager back to life would result in the teenager following him around like a duckling day and night for two months, he might have had second thoughts.
Who was he kidding? He still wouldn't have hesitated even for a second. Bruce Wayne was finally back to normal, or at least something resembling it, he wasn't throwing himself recklessly into danger anymore at the very least, and Robin was alive. Both of Tim's biggest concerns, both assuaged by his actions. He would do it again a thousand times, if he had to.
As it was, he spent hours at a time poring over books of magicks, trying to figure out why the imprinting wasn't going away. At first, Bruce had assumed he made Jason imprint on purpose, but the longer it lasted and the more haggard Tim appeared, the more he believed that it was just an unfortunate accident. He even helped by supplying him with more books to look through. He seemed almost apologetic, even though Tim was the one who should've been apologizing. Every time he tried, Bruce just patted his shoulder and told him he'd get there eventually.
"You should be helping too," Tim told Jason as he studied. "Don't you want to be rid of me?"
Jason looked at him in silence for a long moment.
"Okay," Tim muttered, slightly flustered, "don't you want to go back to being Robin?"
"Technically, I was fired," Jason told him. He balanced his chair on its back two legs and put his feet up on the back of Tim's chair. Effectively trapping him. "I don't think Bruce has hired me back yet."
"He's asked you to go out with him like thirty times," Tim stated.
"I can't help it if he hurt my feelings," Jason claimed. "He'll just have to live a Robin-less existence. Boo-hoo."
"I should've tracked down Dick Grayson," Tim sighed. "I should've just tracked him down and given him the photos I took of Batman fighting Ravager and convinced him to be Robin again."
"I see how it is," Jason said. "You'd rather Dick be imprinted on you rather than me."
"I didn't say that," Tim said.
"I'm hurt!" Jason wailed, throwing himself forward out of his chair to drape himself over Tim's back instead. "I'm crushed! Your ambivalence has wounded me!"
"Stop it!" Tim insisted, shoving at him. "I didn't say that!"
"You didn't have to," Jason sighed as though pained. "It's written all over your face. I can't believe you're leaving me for an older model."
Tim's cheeks puffed out like an angry hamster. He looked a few steps away from biting him. Jason knew, because he'd managed to get Tim to bite him before.
"Really," Jason said, abruptly standing upright and tilting Tim's chair back until he looked up at him. "You made the mistake, you should deal with it."
"Don't you think I'm trying to fix it?" Tim asked, legitimately hurt.
"Of course you're trying to fix it," Jason assured him. "But, in the meantime, you have to deal with it. Which means you can't replace me."
"I've never said anything about replacing you and you know it, you melodramatic-"
"Me?" Jason gasped. "Melodramatic? Words hurt, you know."
Tim, laying in bed with Jason coiled around him like a snake, thought again about how he could possibly get Jason's imprint to end, preferably before school began so he wouldn't have to deal with the inevitable drama that would come with it.
Jason, wide awake and watching him worry through his eyelashes, smiled. The imprint was long gone, he was pretty sure. He was able to leave Tim alone, mostly while Tim was in the middle of doing something else and wouldn't notice, for at least an hour at a time, and he didn't get hives from the absence anymore. It was possible that just knowing where he was was what made it bearable, but Jason had a feeling it was the imprint itself fading.
Not that he was about to tell anyone that. He'd died, and while he'd mostly come to peace with that, surely he deserved something for all the trouble, right? Something like a kid who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky no matter how much he teased him? Like a kid who had cut his own life in half to give it to him? Like a kid who was warm and comfortable and huggable? Like a kid who listened to his problems and tried to offer help to fix them? He was like an emotional support dog in the form of a wordy thirteen-year-old. How could Jason, having had it, ever give this up?
Tim was clever; Jason had no doubt that he'd notice sooner or later. Most likely sooner, since his desperation was getting worse. It was fine if he noticed. The imprinting made for a good excuse, but one day Tim would have to get it through his thick skull that Jason just liked having him around.
Hopefully, Tim would figure it out before the shotgun wedding plan had to be put into play. Jason had read those black magic books with him, after all. And, if it'd get Tim to stick around longer, he'd use whatever means necessary.
Bruce and Alfred were both wise to his state. Bruce was slightly concerned, at first, but he must've taken a liking to Tim as well, probably from the hours they'd spent talking cases, and he barely even blinked when he saw Jason looking at the chapter full of questionable tactics to get men to stay. Alfred also seemed to like Tim, though he'd pulled Jason aside twice already to tell him to just talk to Tim instead of doing anything heinous.
Jason didn't think it really mattered. Really, as long as Tim still smiled at him like he did subconsciously while they talked, Jason figured he could even manage to live with just being roommates who slept with each other.
He dug his chin into Tim's hair and felt Tim pat his head, like he was trying to soothe him so he wouldn't wake up.
"I like you," Jason said softly. A common occurence.
"For now," Tim sighed. As usual.
He'd figure it out one day, Jason thought, smiling to himself.