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Jason held the throbbing jar at a safe distance—the farthest he could manage—as he offered it to Tim.
The zombie blinked once, shifting his gaze from Jason to the jar. A second of uncertainty passed before he accepted it, wrapping both arms around it and clutching it protectively against his chest.
Jason wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that Tim hadn’t attacked him or offended that he hadn’t, apparently preferring Bruce’s artificially sustained heartbeat to Jason’s still-real, still-beating one.
Oh, yes. Tim had killed Bruce, by the way.
Dick tensed when the door opened, tightening his grip on his fencing sword as he turned toward the newcomer.
The weapon dropped with a dull thud.
He blinked, trying to process what he was seeing. Trying to make any sense of it.
“Jason?” he murmured cautiously.
Jason gave him a little wave.
“What’s up?” He glanced at Dick’s face. “Why so pale? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Dick decided to ignore that and focus on what actually mattered.
“What happened?”
Jason raised his drink. “I got a Zepsi. I can get you another one if you want.”
Dick slowly shook his head, trying to comprehend just how badly Jason had lost his mind.
“No, I... I mean Tim.” He pointed.
Tim’s skin was paler than usual, blood trickling from his mouth. He was clutching a jar containing something Dick couldn’t identify, a steel collar fastened around his neck, with Jason holding the attached chain.
“What happened to him?”
“Oh, that.” Jason waved a hand. “A zombie bit him. But he’s relatively harmless.”
Dick felt his eye twitch.
Jason had completely lost it.
“And what does he have in his arms?” he asked, regretting the question almost as soon as it left his mouth.
“It’s Bruce’s heart.”
Dick’s soul dropped straight through the floor.
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s incredible.” Jason beamed. “I managed to grab the heart before Tim could eat it or something—” Tim shot him an angry sidelong glance, clutching the jar tighter. “—and I found a jar and some stuff to keep it beating. I think it’s some kind of Lazarus Pit derivative.” Jason shrugged. “Whatever it is, it keeps Tim calm.”
Dick shook his head. This was far too insane to be real.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He forced out a laugh. “This can’t be real.”
“It is,” Jason assured him. “I was talking to Bruce, planning, figuring out where to look for supplies, and the little bird jumped him out of nowhere.”
“But—”
“And like I said, he’s really smart. He figured out how to get through Bruce’s armor in seconds.”
“Jason—”
“And before I could stop him, he’d ripped his heart out.”
“Stop—”
“Amazingly, he didn’t go after me afterward. He just stayed there, cradling the last few beats like Gollum with the Ring.” Jason gave the chain a small shake, drawing the slightest flicker from Tim’s eyes. “Because apparently, I’m not interesting enough for him to rip my heart out.”
“Jason—”
Dick felt stupid, but the rest of the sentence refused to come. His mind had wandered somewhere else entirely while his brother explained how their little brother had ripped their father’s heart out.
“And it gets worse!” Jason pointed at Tim.
Tim looked away, turning slightly to present Jason with more of his shoulder. He was very deliberately ignoring him.
“He hasn’t tried to attack me once.”
Dick’s breath caught when Jason stepped closer to Tim. He grabbed the jar and easily wrenched it from his hands.
Tim immediately reached for it, but Jason lifted it over his head, keeping it just out of reach.
As Tim jumped for it, Jason looked at Dick.
“He won’t even attack me to get it back.”
He released the chain, gave Tim a slight shove, and hid the jar behind his back.
A shiver ran through Dick as Tim’s gaze immediately snapped toward him.
“Oh, my God.”
Dick stumbled backward as Tim lunged, fury and need boiling in his eyes.
He hit the floor, his heart pounding erratically against his ribs, with Tim hovering over him, inches away but unable to reach him.
The chain snapped taut.
Jason hauled Tim back, pushed him down, and returned the jar. Tim clutched it tightly to his chest, growling at Jason.
“I...diot.”
“He talks, too.” Jason gestured toward him. “His perfect little brain must still be intact. Maybe that’s why he goes after hearts or something.” He looked down at Tim, his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Because he’s a heartless bastard.”
Tim blinked once, then turned around on the floor and presented his back to Jason.
He still looked so much like Tim that Dick’s heart ached.
“You said he was harmless.”
“Relatively,” Jason corrected. “You shouldn’t be alone with him. If you die, and I’m the one left, I won’t be able to—”
“Damian,” Tim interrupted. “Damian’s next.”
“You cannot be serious,” Jason complained.
“Cass after,” Tim mumbled against the glass of the jar, almost drowsy. “Steph... Alfred.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Jason cut him off, a pout pulling at his lips. “I don’t matter to you—”
“You do,” Tim whispered, his voice low and tired. “Very... important for... dying.”
Jason’s mouth snapped shut. For once, he had nothing to say.
Dick had stopped trying to understand what was happening a long time ago. He sat on the floor, staring at his little brother hugging a jar containing their father’s still-beating heart.
What kind of badly written dark comedy was this?
“You killed my father,” Damian muttered through clenched teeth.
Tim nodded without loosening his grip on the jar cradled in his arms.
Damian glanced at Jason, asleep on the couch, one hand still wrapped around the chain tethering Tim.
“Will you attack me if I let you go?”
Tim shook his head. His eyes, now completely black, remained fixed on Damian without blinking.
“No,” he rasped, his voice distorted.
Damian flinched. He hadn’t expected him to speak.
“Bruce... with me.” Tim tightened his arms around the jar.
“Why?” Damian asked. One question among thousands, none of them with answers. “Why him?”
“My dad...” Tim lowered his gaze, his expression sad and confused. “Safe... with him.”
Damian swallowed against the anger and tears burning in his eyes.
“He was my father, too.”
Tim didn’t look at him. Instead, he curled further around the jar, making himself smaller.
“Sorry.”
“I should kill you,” Damian spat.
“Yes.” Tim nodded. “You should.”
Damian felt the weight of those words. The obligation. The katana in his hand.
“Yes,” he said. “I should.”
He didn’t.
No one knew how much longer Bruce’s heart would keep beating inside the jar.
That made Tim a ticking time bomb. Eventually, he would go off.
Locking him in the Joker’s cell was the safest option. No one had the heart to kill him when, despite everything, he still looked completely like Tim.
“Too smart to be a proper zombie in an apocalypse,” Jason remarked.
Dick hit him with a right hook. Jason went sprawling across the floor.
Tim laughed from inside his cell. “Nice hit.”
“We should lock him in there with Tim and see whether he’s actually a zombie or not,” Damian suggested.
God, Dick was so fucking tired. Christ.
