Chapter 13

Warning: Talks of feeling hopeless, depression, smoking, addiction, etc.

In this chapter it will be seen sorta from Tim's point of view.

No slash in this story.

Hope you enjoy.

I don't own batman or DC or monsters inside me - (go back to first chapter.)

Chapter Thirteen

It had been two weeks since Jason had been placed in the hospital's care. In that time different specialist had flown in from various parts of the world all ending up saying the same thing, Jason wasn't going to make it.

They hadn't said those exact words but they might as well have. All the, 'Due to circumstances-,' '- you should start preparing for the worst,' 'There's little we can actually do in this field of concern due to-.' Different words same meanings; Jason is going to die again.

They had gotten little sleep in the past two weeks desperately clawing for answers and solutions. 'Stalling,' Tim thought while practically power walking through the hospital's halls.

He needed to get out. Everything was just becoming too much, again. He really didn't want to have another panic attack, again.

He had just finished having another 'discussion' with Bruce about the reality of this situation. Pieces of it still streaming through his head at what felt like one-hundred miles an hour clips.

"-you may be willing to give up-."

"I'm not giving up!"

Tim started blinking rapidly making his steps more deliberate as if that could will away his thoughts. He could feel panic clawing at his chest, desperately trying to consume him as a wheeze of breath escaped his lips.

'No, no! Not here, not again. Just push it down.'

Tim disliked this- these moments of panic that would try and overwhelm him at times. It might be due to the fact that he often didn't allow himself 'feel.' Emotions would blur his actions, make him more desperate which could lead to being rash.

Somebody had to keep a leveled head, Bruce might seem to be but bringing up the- the facts quickly brought out Bruce's true colors on this matter.

'Just because I accept the reality of things does not mean I like it!'

Before Tim even thought to stop himself he quickly delivered a sharp punch to the wall of the hall he was turning into, letting out a dry sob that he just barely reigned in swallowing down the rest.

Seeming to quell some of his building panic if only for a few seconds. When he pulled away he saw blood smeared onto the wall, his blood, due to the walls being made so thickly.

He looked down at his bloody knuckles, 'reckless' he thought while quickly rubbing at blood with the sleeve of his hoodie. Pulling away he saw that his attempt at cleaning up his mess had only caused it to smear more, causing him to let out a watery, half desperate laugh at the how symbolic that seemed; fitting perfectly into the mess that was his life right now.

'I don't have time for –,' Tim let his thoughts wander as he made a beeline for the hospitals staircase, leading in two different directions and two different options, the lobby that would then lead to the doors that would get him out of this place, well physically, but he didn't want to think of that. To think that he couldn't truly shake the realities this place brought.

The other direction leads up to the roof; two different directions, two different options both inevitably leading to the same goal, same place, out.

Tim quickly decided to make his way down the stairs trying to keep his thoughts elsewhere, anywhere other than this place and the depressing reality that it threw at anybody who walked through its doors.

Tim was steadily growing a deeper and deeper dislike for hospitals with every passing day. He had never truly been fond of them in the first place, sure hospitals were there to fix people, but that was the problem wasn't it; hospitals were constant reminders that there was always somebody in need of fixed and it's awful hard to fix something that isn't already broken.

'Jason is broken,' dark thoughts whispered into his already heavy mind 'and he's not going to get fixed either.'

By the time Tim had made it to the lobby he was blinking rapidly and harshly, willing his thoughts away. Tim needed out he needed to get away – he needed to do something anything to quell the panic and ease his thoughts.

Dick ran when life became so suffocating, he had a need to move, to fly. Jason would fight, Jason would- Jason would smoke.

Thoughts came rushing into Tim's mind of all those times he'd catch the subtle shake of his brother's hands, how he'd get twitchy sometimes. How when life would be crashing down again on Jason's shoulders, he'd watch his brother quell that panic through fighting and aggression but also through smoking. It was almost like two different vises, two different problems to numb down the bigger, more up front one.

Rationally Tim knew what his brothers did was 'wrong' numbing their pain with vises that would slowly grow into something much greater and nastier. How Dick would become more reckless with his stunts, not always looking before he jumped and grappled, how that would also bleed into his fighting and then surely his life.

How many times had he watched Dick slip into a depression because of that? Where he couldn't even bring himself to hand out those overly excited 'fake' smiles he was so known for wearing? Even if those closest to him only seemed to see the fakeness in his overly enthusiastic personality; even then not always.

How many times had he seen, experienced Jason lashing out recklessly? Letting his hurt and pain consume him to the point that he had almost no regard for those he was hitting until it was too late. Leaving himself and the others affected to live with the consequences dealt out.

How many times had he seen the effect smoking has on his brother? Leaving him chain smoking away his problems in the late hours of the night on rooftops alone. How it would also affect his life, slowly seeping into his work life, especially if he was having a bad week, leaving him smoking all the more. How his cough would sound even worse if he ever had a simple cold or sickness.

How at the end of the day he'd just run out of cigarettes starting the cycle all over again, causing more frustration, causing more hurt, which too would lead to depression, which he knew Jason would often have due to a multitude reasons.

Vices were addictions and addictions were all a sort of drug and just like every drug it runs its course leaving you feeling even more hopeless.

Tim wasn't going to let himself contemplate these things, not this time. On one of these rare occasions Tim didn't want to think at all. Because if he allowed himself to do so he'd start to think about the building he had just fled from.

The hospital would still be in view if he turned around, but he didn't want to turn around. He didn't want to be reminded that his family was still in that very hospital at a loss about what to do with their dying member; lying in a bed, just lying there.

Because what else could Jason be doing? Nothing! His brother was stuck in a comatose state on life support as his brain slowly faded away and they couldn't fix it; the doctors couldn't fix it either. Tim really didn't want to think about it!

Tim didn't want to think about how Dick was just slowly detaching himself with the situation in general except for the many occasions he deemed it appropriate to have some sort of outburst with Bruce. It had originally been outburst with just about everyone, now it seems to just be Bruce and Alfred apparently if he tries to interfere with their oh so important arguments. Alfred hasn't tried doing so since.

He didn't want to think about how he'd often catch Dick just sitting there almost eerily still, so unlike him that it would become unnerving. Staring at the hallway's blank white walls locked somewhere else in his own head.

Or about how he'd caught Damian crying on the hospital roof one night after a particularly hard day one filled with harsh words, empty apologies from the doctors and threats of calling security. Sure it had been going on for numerous days before hand but that had been a particularly hard, fun packed day.

The fact was that Damian didn't cry often. The only time Tim could think of was when Damian had found out that Dick was dead while he was alive.

Tim didn't want to think about Bruce's persistence, his 'hope' that Jason would make it and refusing to believe otherwise. Tim wondered if Bruce actually believed that at all. 'Denial was a very common symptom of grief.'

But Jason wasn't dead, so then why did it feel like he already was? 'That's hopelessness,' his brain would supply but he quickly tried to direct his thoughts to elsewhere.

He let his feet lead him to the nearest convenience store and wouldn't allow himself contemplate about what he was doing as he bought his first pack of cigarettes, the kind he'd catch Jason smoking most often and a lighter.

He mumbled his thanks to the clerk and quickly made his way out the door. The cold wind almost immediately hit his face in a gust of wind. He looked down at his hands, at the objects in them. A red lighter he hadn't spent much thought grabbing, a pack of cigarettes and the receipt; he had wanted to keep it for some reason.

He stuffed the receipt into his pocket looked up at the dark sky littered with rooftops before making his journey up one of them. Once he'd settled on the ledge of a particularly high building but not as high as many of the others surrounding, he allowed himself to re-examine the two objects in his hand. The reality of what this might mean for him started to cloud into his mind; doubts or was it logic?

He opened the box of cigarettes before taking one of them out and slipping it in-between his fingers. After that he, almost carefully, placed the box close to his left thigh making sure it wouldn't go toppling over the edge if a strong gust of wind came by.

He soon found himself studying the objects in his hands, mainly the cancer stick. How something so small can cause so much damage. He quickly altered his thoughts before he could start coming up with a million different analogies in his head about these two object that he held almost delicately in his hands.

Why had he bought these items anyways? 'To escape.' To numb the problems and hurts that plagued him right now. He'd often turned to research and working to do just that, but that's what he'd been doing almost nonstop for the past two weeks and were had that gotten him? It only left him feeling more depressed and hopeless, because no amount of research was going to save Jason.

He let those thoughts run through his mind as he lit his first cigarette.

Jason smoked; Jason smoked these kinds of cigarettes. A strong gust of wind hit him and lifted some of the smoke from the end of the cigarette with it, leaving the air with a smoky tobacco tang to it.

'It smells a little like Jason.' It smelled a little like his brother that probably wouldn't be here for much longer and with that Tim shut his eyes bringing the cancer stick up to his lips only to stop short of taking in a puff.

An edge of the cigarette touched his lower lip before he pulled it away all together. 'What am I doing? I'm not smoking to forget I'm smoking because it reminds me of my older brother, I'm smoking because it makes me feel like I have a part of him with me. Which is stupid because really Jason was a fifteen-minute walk from here.

But Tim didn't want to go back and see said brother who didn't even seem to be there anymore. Who looked dead already and the only indication and reason he was alive at the moment was due to all the machines they had him hooked up to. Forcing air in and out of his lunges; life support.

The low beeping indicating that he was still alive, for now. Jason might be alive right now but it made Tim utterly hopeless sitting there, watching him for hours, days, huh even minutes seemed to hurt! Knowing that they couldn't help him anymore, all they had left that they could do without giving up would be to hope for a miracle.

Tim felt tears sliding down his cheeks and for the first time in a while he didn't get the immediate urge to wipe them away and rein himself back in.

Jason would be brain dead soon, they all secretly knew/thought it but that was the thing about secrets like these, nobody wanted to talk about them. They were like surreal secrets. Sure they all knew that they were all in on said secret but once they actually started to whisper about said secret it wasn't a secret any more. And nobody wanted that, because that would make it real.

Tim's hands were shaking and he let the cigarette slip through his fingers briefly watching as it made its descent to the ground below. Tim looked out at the city before him, seeing part of the hospital in the not so far, distance and let out a breathless sob.

Tim felt his heart thudding in his chest as he finally fell apart.*

Notes:

* that sentence is a little iffy depending on how you look at it? Tim was already falling apart, but I'm saying more so that he finely allowed himself to really let go of the 'façade?' - for the moment.

Hope you enjoyed.

Bible verse:

John 16:33:

"-I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take to heart; I have overcome the world."

- Jesus