I don't really blame you for being dead

Deal With It

"Since you're really here, you no doubt realize what I'm doing." Grey sighed, slightly annoyed.

"Yes. Foolishly not taking my advice, obviously."

"Oh please, who would you be haunting if I were dead."

"Probably no one," Robin stated flatly, holding His gaze to Greys eyes. The detective frowned and turned back to the papers he has spread around him.

"Do you want to help?"

Robin barked a laugh. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Well, will you at least-"

"No."

"Why not?" Grey asked slowly, turning back to Robin; his distrust at the criminals true presence resurfacing again despite their conversation.

"Think about it."

"It's understandable you don't want to destroy your drug work, but-"

"No," Robin interrupted sharply. "Think about it."

"You don't want me to go back to The city."

"No," Robin dismissed. "I really don't care where you are and the truth is neither will you when you finish, so."

"I don't understand."

Robin arrowed his eyes in evaluation before sitting back, then with an odd twist of his mouth he said: "You'll see eventually then."

Regardless of Robins proof that he was real, Grey was never quite sure he wasn't just talking to himself.

Most often these moments of self-doubt took to him when they were talking on the street. They'd step out of his room, in the middle of some discussion, and it would just continue as Grey went about his daily business.

Except the thing was that only Grey could see Robin. To everyone they passed, it seemed that The Detective was talking to himself and, if they noticed, they tended to stare.

It wasn't like he'd ever really cared about their opinions. He still didn't now.

Sometimes Grey couldn't believe his luck. He didn't know what he would have done if he had to quit Robins drug stuff. The drugs were one thing, but Robins ghost was something else entirely.

So maybe he was talking to himself. So he was talking to Robin Faery and people were staring. So people had always stared and it didn't matter.

"What's it like? Being dead?" The Detective couldn't help but ask.

"Boring as fuck," Robin said in a dry matter of fact tone. He slumped down further in his armchair, as if to illustrate his similar disinterest in this conversation.

"Really?"

"Do you really think I'd be following you around if I had something better to do?" Robin eyed the detective.

"...Is that supposed to be a trick question?" Grey asked turning back to Robins face scrunched in a facade of mild disbelief.

"You tell me," Robin said, teeth catching on the right side of his lip, dragging, as he continued to stare at Grey.

But then the detective wondered if a dead person haunting a live person was what death consisted of; if that was really death at all. Grey had never believed in an afterlife or any higher power. Everything about the apparition's appearance flew in the face of the detective's understanding of death, but Grey doesn't need to tell Robin of all people that.

The detective wanted to know how it works, this haunting thing, but that was really the thing about them that he always seemed to loose sight of in a panic. Grey never needed to lord the threat of force over Robin. The criminal would tell him if he really wanted to know. If he asked.

It worked like this, Grey asked and Robin told him what he could sometimes he would ask for Taco Bell gift cards. As Robin explained he was new to this. He didn't really know all the kinks or how long it would last, or even why.

Of course, Grey only ever had more questions for him. And it wasn't really a surprise that, even after death, Robin was still the most fascinating puzzle the detective could find on earth, he never really understood the criminals thinking process.

They never talk about it; how they came to be here or if Robin is really just going to follow him around until Grey kicks the bucket and joins him on the other side. The detective had given himself two missions that he would accomplish before those questions could even be considered. Grey refused to distract himself from the work by deliberating them over.

Grey didn't ask why Robin did it. He didn't really need to ask. He knew why. Still, the question lingered after he wakes up from nightmares consisting mainly of the distorted reverberations of Robins slow breathing and pills falling on the floor.

He couldn't forget the feeling of Robins hand in his. Worst still, he didn't want to.

When the Detective did cases, Robin liked to distract or annoy him, with an odd joke here or the needling remark there. Surprisingly, neither of those things were as distracting as Robins presence alone.

Call it a draw. It was the same feeling as what had passed between them whenever they were in a room together while Robin was alive. This desire to be closer. To know every thing that was going on in the criminal's mind. Robin liked to be an annoying bugger, but Grey didn't think the criminal was aware of the effect he had following the detective. Mainly because Robin would just sit in the seat opposite like they were going for a Sunday drive; nothing a miss, not a worry. Grey wondered if he's imagining the crackle of electricity between them. Well, between him and thin air. It was distracting.

Grey noticed that Robin never came close to touching him. Well, he would if Grey moved into the apparition space, but even then Robin took care to not make contact. Their sleeves never brushed. They never touched.

Which maybe wouldn't be odd if Robin didn't make a habit of walking through every other person who was in his way. When they were on a crowded sidewalk, Robin would just breeze through people regardless of what they were doing, refusing to delineate from his path with a careful ignorance on behalf of both parties. Grey did not want that to happen between them.

Still Grey wanted to know if Robin felt anything when he passed through them. Actually, the detective wanted to know if he would feel Robin. If Robin would feel anything with Grey. But admitting this curiosity would be too close to admitting his desire.

Editing by LBLS_OwO