A/N: For the Victims. I will say this over and over, I write these as a means to try to understand. There was one story that I read, about a grandmother who kept her grandson from making a terrible mistake. She noticed, and she cared enough to act to get her grandson help.

Caught in the Middle

By

Alisa

Three mass shootings on the same weekend. It was as if they were coordinated. When was it going to end. When was someone going to notice and stop the next person bent on killing in mass. Tim sat in class feeling numb. His teacher continued to droll on, as if business as usual, the lecture hall about as silent as a tomb. What faces he could see were focused on writing notes, as if they were trying to wipe the images from their minds by covering them up with words.

'How can he be so callous, so unaware? How could anyone ignore what had happened this weekend?' Tim felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" Stephanie whispered in his ear.

He turned to face her. "No," Tim said. "Let's get out of here."

"We shouldn't leave in the middle of the lecture," Steph said.

"We're at the back of the hall. He'll never notice."

Tim grabbed his books and backpack and got up. Stephanie was quick to followed him. They walked a short way to the exits near the top of the lecture arena's seats that would take them out into the hall.

"Tim, what's wrong?"

Tim stopped and leaned against the wall. He pulled out a newspaper showing the headlines of the three mass shootings. One right after another.

"Are we really doing the right thing, leaving everyone behind to deal with all of this?"

"You're the one who got accepted at Ivy League. You deserve to go to college, take a break from all the crazy stuff."

"And you came along so I wouldn't be alone and worry about the others," Tim replied. "My heart wrenches every time this happens."

"You told me once that you weren't going to be Robin forever, or even Red Robin."

"I know, but Spoiler isn't exactly the name of a kid hero. You can continue. Me, I feel like I'm caught in the middle. A part of me wants to go find each of those persons and throttle them. Another part wants to go back in time before it happens and talk some sense into those three people."

"There's nothing you could have done," Stephanie said. "They were determined to kill others."

"One guy killed Mexican Nationals, Steph. That could cause an international incident. None of this should be happening."

"I agree, but we can't do anything about it."

"Then why are you taking Psychology?" Tim asked.

Stephanie didn't answer at first. "For the same reasons you are."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't question your motives. I'm just feeling powerless."

"That's all right, you're forgiven. What would you do in a case like this?"

"If I knew the person, I would listen, learn, talk with that person," Tim replied. "I used to talk with some of the victims from the Earthquake, when I was CEO of the Wayne Foundation when Bruce was . . . . " Tim went quiet when the lecture hall started emptying out.

"Let's go to one of the study rooms. They're sound proof and we can talk more."

Tim placed the newspaper back into his backpack, along with his books. He followed Stephanie down a set of stairs and they entered another hallway. It was lined with doors. Each door led into a small room that had a table and six chairs. Stephanie checked each room to find one that was empty. Once she did she pulled Tim inside, turned on the light, and threw the switch on the door to indicate that the room was occupied, but not locked. Most students understood the need for privacy so they wouldn't be interrupted unless it was important.

"Okay, now we can talk. Now what were you saying?"

"I was saying that I would talk with some of the victims after Gotham had that earthquake, after Bruce was gone. A few were so bitter, angry, even afraid. Some even believed their whole world had come to an end, because they lost their whole family. You could see it in their eyes and the way they talked. They wanted to not just die, but take those responsible with them. Their mental state was so fragile. And in many respects, I knew how they felt. My response in handling that kind of tragedy was far different. You remember that shooting that happened last year."

"Yes?"

"The man who did it was one of the people I talked with. I feel like I failed him in some way."

"Tim, you didn't fail him. He just refused to listen."

"But I should have, Steph. I should have taken his words far more seriously and tried harder."

"Tim, you're not a licensed mental health professional."

"That man was a victim just as much as the people he shot, more so. He lost his whole family and he couldn't cope with that. If there's anything I've learned, we do affect the people around us more than we realize. And paying attention to what people say, and what you say, can make a difference whether that person can rise above their pain, or take that pain out on others. We've lost the ability to see "the other" as people like us."

"Maybe you should be taking psychology classes," Steph said.

"Maybe if I had, that man would still be alive today," Tim replied. "There was a beginning psych class at my high school for Advanced students, but that doesn't help now. All those people, gone in an instant."

Tim hung his head and Stephanie wrapped her arms around him, letting him weep out his sorrow for those lives who were caught in the middle and lost.

End