I was about sixteen when I saw my first ghost.
It was around six months after I was brought back from the dead, when it was easy to write off things like that to my overactive imagination and still-not-quite-sane mind. And at first, I had tried to convince myself that it was only that, but soon after, the spirits started appearing in greater numbers and more often.

I've seen plenty of ghosts since then, but nothing will ever compare to the weight that I felt land on my shoulders when I saw that first transparent face. I couldn't do anything. I had been frozen with fear as he stared at me, a sad expression flickering over the half-visible face. His dark brown hair was flat against his head, and he had worn a white shirt stained with red. He had reached out to me as if to grab my hand, and then as suddenly he appeared, he vanished.
To this day, it is still a mystery as to why I can see things others can't. Tim says it's because I came back from the dead. That once you cross over onto the other side, you'll never shake your new connection to the afterlife.

I don't know what to believe.

Bruce doesn't know about it. Neither does Dick. I chose not to tell them for obvious reasons; they would never believe me. And it would give Bruce yet another excuse to put me in therapy.
Tim knows purely by accident.

I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling when Tim walked in and sat on the edge of my bed. I turned my head towards him. "Hey, baby bird. What's up?"

Tim sighed. "Damian just drove me out of my room. Is it okay if I hang with you for a little while?"

I nodded. At first, Tim and I didn't have the closest relationship. I did try to kill him, once...
But over time, I calmed down and we were on speaking terms. I wanted him to be my Robin when Dick replaced him with Damian. Tim refused, insisting that my 'methods' for dealing with criminals were too extreme. Even though he declined, we helped each other out from time to time. I was still on the outs with Bruce and the rest of the family before old Bats disappeared, but Tim kept in touch with me. When Bruce returned, I started working with Roy and Kori. Bruce then contacted me about being part of Batman Inc., and I reluctantly accepted. The only catch was I had to permanently change my identity to that of Wingman, because Red Hood was a well-known criminal. So, now I had not only a new identity, but I also had my old room back at the manor.

"Is the demon putting death traps in your room again?" I asked him.

Tim shrugged. "Hell if I know. That kid still hates me, even after he stole my job."

I raised my eyebrow "Shit, little bro, looks like you finally are seeing things my way."

Tim fell back against the bed. "Yeah, I just wish he wasn't so arrogant. I swear that kid has a superiority complex the size of a small country."

I chuckled. "Well, look at the people he's related to. Between Bruce, Talia and Ra's, I sure as hell am glad I am not in that family tree."

Tim laughed in his turn. "Yeah, that's true. As messed up as our family is, it will never compare to being the son of Talia and the grandson of Ra's al Ghul."

"Hell, I spent months with them, and I didn't even know what they di- ugh." I rubbed the bridge of my nose between two fingers, fighting back the sudden wave of dizziness as it swept over me, along with a nauseating pain that pulsed behind my eyes and throbbed all along my jaw.

Tim sat up. "What's wrong?"

I grunted, blinking slowly. This really had come out of nowhere. "I just got a splitting headache."

"You need me to get you an Aspirin?" he asked, a concerned frown on his face.

"No, no… I'm... fine," I insisted, although it wasn't true by any stretch of the imagination.

And that's when it happened.

My head felt like it was split open. I gritted my teeth and rubbed my forehead, trying not to cry out. Grown men, least of all grown vigilantes, don't shout at a headache, I reminded myself.

Then, in the other side of my field of vision, ghostly, translucent faces and bodies appeared. They were everywhere. I couldn't even see Tim anymore, just those faces and their hands as they reached out for me. All of them looked as if they wanted something from me.

A second later, the headache intensified, and I started to recognize them. My parents, my stepmother, Tim's parents, Dick's parents; even Thomas and Martha Wayne joined the group, and a few men that I've killed on various drug busts. They all looked like they were trying to warn me about something, something important.
And they were all standing in front of a large circle of black.

My mother pointed at me, and then pointed at it, her red hair whipping around her face and into her eyes, which held something I couldn't quite decipher but somehow knew to fear-compassion? Or perhaps she was merely afraid for me. I instinctively knew, that it was the entrance to the world of death, the world I had escaped.

They didn't have to speak. The look on their faces said it all: You shouldn't have lived. You need to come back with us…

I started screaming now, and it was from fear, not the migraine.

I've had seen ghosts before, but it was never like this. The pain was indescribable. My head felt like an atomic bomb was going off in my skull, and the wispy creatures, barely more than stick figures with eyes now, were pulling me towards the black hole in the middle of the room. I could feel Tim grab me and try to hold me down.

"No, no, no!" I yelled batting my arms, desperately hoping it would make them go away. That I'd perhaps have some hold on them. "Go away!" I screamed, voice hoarse.
The headache got so bad that black spots swam across my vision, and I knew I was going to pass out. Though I would be grateful for it making the pain go away, I couldn't stand the thought of being helplessly pulled into the sinkhole in the center of my room.

The black spots grew larger and larger, until their faces disappeared and I was dragged under.

Eventually, I woke up in the medical bay of the cave, with Bruce, Tim and Dick standing over me. "Jason? Are you alright?" Bruce asked, and his voice was more worried than even he would have admitted.

"Just peachy, obviously," I grumbled.

"What happened to you, Little Wing?" Dick inquired. "I was down here working with Bruce when Tim carried you down the stairs. He said you had a panic attack and passed out."

Tim gave me a look that clearly said, I left out some details, but you are going to explain what happened.

"Uh, it was nothing, really. Just a really bad headache. I didn't have a panic attack."

This technically wasn't a lie.

Bruce gave me a look saying he didn't fully believe me, when Dick added, "A migraine?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I haven't eaten anything all day. Hence the massive headache."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, and I almost rolled my own eyes. Not the Batglare again. "Why haven't you eaten anything?" he questioned, tone stern.

"I don't know, Bruce. I just haven't been hungry lately. Maybe I'm getting sick, or something." I said, and wished fervently that I was a good enough liar to fool the Bat. "Now, if we're done playing 20 questions, I'm going to go get some rest."

"Okay, Jason. I'll have Alfred bring up some soup for you in a little bit. In the meantime, get some rest." Bruce ordered.

I could tell by the look he gave me that he was still suspicious, but right now he decided not to interrogate me.

"Thanks."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and walked lazily up the stairs to the study, with Tim following behind me. When I got to my room, I sat down on my bed. Tim closed the door and looked at me expectantly, a little disgust in his eyes.

Typical. He always was the nitpickiest of the Robins, even about lying.

"Jay, what happened back there?" Before I could utter a word, he cut me off. "And do not say it was just a headache."

Damn, if I couldn't fall back on that answer, then I didn't know what to say.

"I want to help you, Jason." Tim added.

"I don't need any help. I'm fine."

Tim wasn't having any of it. "Well, you weren't fine half an hour ago, when you were screaming your head off."

"I'm fine now," I replied sullenly, not meeting his eyes.

"What happened then?" I could see he didn't believe me, not at all. "Why were you screaming? What did you mean when you yelled 'go away'?"

I considered my options as lying went, but couldn't really say anything. To my surprise and disgust, my eyes started to water.

"Jason," Tim asked quietly, in a voice that wasn't far from sounding scared. "Please."

Something in the way he said it broke me. It was hard for me to lie to him, since he was with me when it happened. I looked down, staring at the red rug on the floor.
"Ghosts," I whispered, hating how silly it sounded. "I saw ghosts."

He definitely hadn't expected that answer, but honestly, how could he? A heavy silence fell. Finally, Tim spoke in a wavering voice.

"W-what do you mean?"

I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat didn't go away. "I saw ghosts," I repeated, taking a shaky breath. "It's been happening ever since I came back from the dead. But what you just saw was the worst vision, sighting, experience, whatever the hell you want to call it. I know it sounds crazy, but it's real; my parents, your parents, Dick's parents, heck, even Bruce's parents were there, and they weren't alone. There were others with them."

I waited then, not sure what to expect. Would Tim laugh? Tell me I was crazy? Accuse me of lying and demand to know what actually happened?

"Why is this the first time I've heard about this?" Tim finally asked. "didn't you tell me? Do you know what it was like to see you like that and not know what was happening? Do you know how scared I was?"

I was too stunned to speak, both from his outburst and the fact that he believed me.

I swallowed again, and a little of the lump went away. Maybe telling the truth every once in a while would do me good.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked, frantically. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have believed me?" I paused, and resumed my moody stare, this time at the curtains. "Because I know for damn sure that Bruce, Dick and the Demon wouldn't."

Tim dejectedly dropped his shoulders and sat next to me. "You are probably right. Had I not seen you have the vision, I wouldn't have believed you either. But the way you explain it makes sense. I mean, just looking at the stuff we face on a daily basis... Seeing ghosts isn't exactly that far of a leap."
Tim took a deep breath, then continued, "But that doesn't explain why it happens at certain times. We have to figure out why it happens when it does, and what the spirits are trying to tell you."

"We?" I asked.

"Of course. I'm not leaving you alone on this. You're my big brother; you'd do the same for me." He replied, pausing for a moment. "Probably."

"Damn straight, Timmy." I grinned.

Three months have passed since that day. So far, I haven't had another ghost sighting as painful as that one. Also, Tim and I have been trying to figure out what the significance of that particular sighting was.

We didn't get our answer until two days ago.

That was when the spirit of Damian Wayne appeared before me.