Chapter Text
Tim had never been particularly close with his siblings. When he was young, he never really had people around who could talk to him, unless, well unless the ghosts count, so maybe that’s the reason why he never really got close to people.
Well, if Tim was being honest, he was close to no one, alive or dead. It seemed that people from both worlds chose to only talk to him when they wanted something, but its ok, at least he was useful. Alive or dead, his parents seemed to disagree.
It all started when his mom and dad started to bring their weird artefacts home, at first it was just very creepy to have very old things in the house but nothing seriously harmful, but then they went to this dig in India and brought back a Harappan pot with inscriptions engraved on it in a script that was yet to be deciphered. In his parent’s defense, even though they don’t deserve to be defended according to Bruce, they did warn Tim not to touch it, but his curious little five year old brain was not cool with that. Guess what he did.
You get zero points if you guessed it right, you get minus one point if you couldn’t guess and you get to be the President of a United States of America if you go it wrong.
Then suddenly, like completely out of the blue Tim saw at least 4 people in his line of sight, all of them standing near various artefacts, wearing variety of clothing and of different age groups. He knew that they shouldn’t be there, that they could be dangerous, hallucinations or not but, well, he was lonely, okay?
And when you are lonely you will find yourself becoming friends with Satan if they offered you a hand.
Most ghosts didn’t talk, Tim found that out the hard way. By talking to them, but they would never reply. A week after gaining his powers, he went to the dog park, he didn’t have a dog, god forbid his mom get fur on her precious imported couch, but the adults there were kind and would usually let him play with their dogs, it helped with the loneliness.
There were dead people and animals there too, he found it very difficult to differentiate between some of them early on but he got used to it over time as he realized that they were slightly translucent. He was staring around him when a labrador puppy approached him, nuzzling its adorable head against Tim’s leg. Tim smiled at him and bent down to pet him, he looked up and saw the owner jogging behind the puppy.
It was a man in his mid-twenties, dressed in all black sportswear, “Hey kid.” Dylan said.
Dylan had been Tim’s friend for a while now, apparently he used to babysit Tim when he was young, well, younger. He was a kid guy, he knew about Tim’s situation and often brought home-cooked meals for him, Tim usually found himself crying as he ate them. Today he could see, that Dylan was accompanied by a translucent husky, wearing a beautiful collar with ‘Trixie’ written on it. It was similar to the one Meadow, the Labrador had. Trixie barked happily at Tim, recognizing him immediately even though Tim didn’t recognize her.
It made Tim feel empty inside.
Meadow barked too, probably sensing the presence. “Down boy.” Dylan gently reprimanded Meadow, who just resumed basking in the attention Tim was giving him, Tim wanted to pet Trixie too, she looked so very sad, she whimpered and Tim’s little heart nearly shattered. That’s when he realized, they could produce noise. Maybe not al of them, but what even were the rules? Only animals could make sounds? Ancient people couldn’t speak? Tim hated not knowing. He made a mental note to experiment, but right now he was too focused on Trixie.
“Hey Dylan! I was looking through old pictures, and I found some of us, apparently my mom and dad took some of us, very sneaky of them.” Tim lied through his teeth and then shook his head, feigning exasperation, trying to put on a show that he was tired of his very affectionate (Hah!) parents.
“Did they?” Dylan asked, very confused.
“Must’ve because I saw them.” Tim replied dryly. Dylan chuckled and motioned for him to continue.
“Well, there were some shots of Trixie in them? I wanted to ask if, maybe, I could, I don’t know, I am so sorry, forget I even-“
Dylan smiled, “She is buried in this very park. She loved it here, I begged the authorities and they let me bury her, under that tree.” He answered pointing at an oak tree on the opposite side of the park.
“You don’t have to be sorry Tim, she was a part of your memories too, and you deserve to know about her. God, she loved you so much. Whenever we would come over to your house she would lick you all over your face and you used to giggle, because of you, I had such a terrible baby fever.” Dylan joked but there were tears in his eyes. Trixie and Meadow both nuzzled against Dylan’s legs, sensing his distress.
Dylan grabbed his wrist and dragged him across the part to where Trixie lay, while Trixie and Meadow followed them. For a full minute, they just stood there, staring at the slightly raised ground. Then silently Tim handed Dylan a treat and took one in his own hand. Dylan kept the treat near the root of the tree and Tim followed suit.
“My darling Trixie. You were so, so loved.”
Trixie barked again, she walked towards the Dylan, stood near his legs and then disappeared into a golden hue.
An hour later, Dylan left with Meadow, promising to bring Tim more food the next time he showed up. Tim sat on a nearby bench, just processing what had happened, it was nearly twelve in the afternoon and no living person was there in the park, but Tim had now where else to be either. A ghost approached him, an old lady with a walking stick, wearing a long black coat and sat next to Tim.
“You are good, Tim. But you must be tough too, do all the good you can, just don’t get lost in it.”
Tim was spooked to say the least.
The old lady let out a laugh, her walking stick trembled in her hands, “I heard Dylan call you that. I am Marie, by the way. I have seen you at the park often, so I know a little about you. I have to inform you Tim, you should help as many ghosts as you can, but please remember, you cannot help everyone. Us ghosts, we have unfinished business in this world, and this is a chance given to us by the universe to fulfill it, but when we can’t do that in time, we begin to forget. You must have noticed that not all ghosts speak, yes?”
“Yeah.” Tim nodded.
“It’s because they have forgotten how to. They don’t even remember their names anymore. When the universe decides your time is up, you begin to forget why you stayed in the first place. Its cruel, but it how things are. Also, you need not fear us, we cannot touch anything, some tasks we can finish, huh?”
“Can I help you?”
“No kiddo, what I want to do is selfish and will get people killed. I have committed enough sins in this lifetime.”
Later Tim would found out, that it was the ghost of Joker’s mother. Her greatest sin, was her son.