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Tim wasn’t the most alive person in the world.
It was ironic considering he was. Alive that is. He’s breathing, he has blood flowing through his veins, and he could move.
It wasn’t like he was moving much lately anyways.
Always laying down. Always tired. Always sleeping.
He laid on the bed, just counting the ceiling tiles over and over again, humming songs from the top of his head.
Trying to imagine.
Dancing in the field with Cass again.
Yelling curses at Cass who pushed him higher and higher on the swings and eventually tumbling off and eating a shitload of wood chips.
Creating monster battery acid, a dumb drink he had seen on tiktok, and screaming in pain as his chapped lips met lemon salt and taurine, Cass laughing so hard she cried holding her stomach.
But, Tim could not.
He was confined to his bed, left staring at the blank walls, gray, normally bright bleu, eyes looking at each individual dot.
That’s what happens when you try to kill yourself after all.
The world doesn’t feel real after an attempt.
It’s more gray and it's like everything blurs together, in a hazy view of dull, unsaturated colors.
To be fair, in the hospital room he currently occupied, there were almost no colors. The blue-gray of the walls were the only color in this damn room. And the colors that his family brought him of course.
If he could, he would whack them on the IV stand in his room.
His entire family were constantly walking on eggshells around him.
“Oh Timbo, I’m so sorry I didn’t notice how you were hurting earlier.”
“Tim, how could you be so selfish and not tell me how you felt?”
“tim”
“Tim”
“Tim”
TIM TIM TIM TIM.
Everything was finally about him, but at what cost?
The privacy he had always had before was ripped from him.
The constant coddling, “Would you like some pudding? I know you used to like chocolate.”
The tears of his little brother, “You said you were fine the last time we talked. You said you were okay!”
His friends messaging him, not even bothering to call, “hey, heard you were in the hospital, hope you get well soon.”
Dick had given Tim his phone after he woke up on the hospital bed, delirious and in so much pain.
His stomach was aching, his arms sore, and his throat felt like he had just tried to swallow a whole bottle of prescription meds.
He snorted at the thought.
But, Bruce took his phone anyway. It’s not like Tim had it when he tried to rid himself from the world. He left it in his room, sending one last goodbye text to Cass. That bastard blew Jason’s phone up, in turn alerting both Dick and Bruce of what Tim had tried to do.
He would have succeeded.
‘Just a few more minutes and you would have died’ Damian whispered, repeating what the doctors had said when he woke up.
His eyes filled with tears and anger ran throughout his entire body, he should’ve been left on the bridge.
Tim screamed at Damian, ‘Why did you take me? I should’ve died! You should’ve let me die!’
Damian broke down sobbing, eventually having an asthma attack, he wheezed heavily and Bruce had to take them out of the room.
Damian was the one who had found Tim.
His phone was on silent, taking one of his nightly strolls.
It was by pure chance that Damian just happened to have passed by.
Tim knew how isolated that road was.
His throat was constricting with guilt, tears once again filling his eyes as he switched from one tile to another.
He knew every hidden spot on that road. Every piece of graffiti. Every rock.
And he knew that Damian also knew.
He had hidden behind the walkway on the bridge, listening to the chirping of crickets, hoping to die peacefully, the rushing of the dirty Gotham river underneath him calming his nerves, lulling him to sleep.
And everything else he could not remember.
He zoned back in and heard shoes walking into his room.
The squeak of the leather of boots.
He didn’t even need to look down from his tile-dreaming to know that it was Jason.
Three knocks to his door, “Hey.” that damn dull, monotone voice.
Tim grinned, “Hey, Jay.”
“So. You tried to kill yourself, want to tell me more about that?” Jason rolled his eyes, and picked at his nails, trying his best to look uninterested.
“Yeah, no. Good try though. Dick already tried that.” Tim laughed at the way Jason’s mouth fell slightly agape, looking slightly like his first pet Goldie. Who was… obviously a goldfish. Listen he was like, 8. He wasn’t going to be some great namer.
Jason sat down on the chair next to Tim’s bed.
“You know, after this Bruce said he’s going to finally get that therapist you wanted. Whenever you feel sad now, you can just manipulate him into buying you shit. He feels really guilty for not noticing sooner, you know.” Jason was playing with his fingers while saying all of this, looking at his black, painted nails and picking the paint off.
“You really worried all of us. When Damian called and said that he had found you by the bridge, we thought he wasn't being serious. You know how Damian is, always overexaggerating things.” Jason combed his hair back with his hands, a white strand falling back into his eyes.
Tim rolled his eyes, “He doesn’t exaggerate. That’s just how he sees the world. You’re just ignorant.”
“Great, you even sound like him now.” He sighed, and tied his air into a loose ponytail.
Tim leaned back into his hospital bed, suddenly drained.
He just looked back up at the ceiling tiles.
“Maybe if you visited more, you would have found out earlier. Even Dick was aware of Damian’s mental health issues years before he moved out.”
Jason was silent.
“Is that what this is about? You tried to die because I was too busy to visit?”
Tim felt his heart begin to tear. His eyes closed, taking a deep breath in. He was Atlas with the world on his shoulders, trying to carry the weight of all his problems. If he had succeeded, he wouldn’t have had to deal with this.
The arguing, the victim blaming.
“I’m sorry.”
Tim’s eyes snapped open.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I wasn't there for you. I’m sorry I didn’t take more days off to visit you. I’m sorry I never noticed how you changed.”
Tim watched horrified as his brother’s face crumbled in self loathing.
Eventually, tears began to roll down Jason’s eyes.
His, usually stone-faced brother who could watch sad dog movies without even frowning, crying.
Because Tim had tried to kill himself.
His brother, whose smile was so rare that there wasn’t a single picture in their family photos that had him grinning ear to ear. Those precious moments saved in only their memories.
Full on ugly sobbing, using his sleeves to try and stop tears from coming.
Tim blanked.
Just watching. Like he had always done. Watching as Jason tried to calm himself down, watching as snot ran down his face, watching as he cried.
Tim’s mouth fell open, and closed. Like Goldie.
“I… I’m so sorry. It's… It wasn’t your fault. I just… ” Tim’s eyes began to water, and his vision blurred as he felt his lips begin to curl outwards.
He began to choke on his words as he leaned off the bed to hug his older brother, struggling to find words that became tangled in his mouth.
He was stuttering and shaking and his arms felt so weak. He felt like throwing up.
Tim felt like he was dying a second time, as he screamed into the shoulders of his brother.
Screaming I’m sorry’s, I didn’t mean it, It’s not your fault.
Crying and hugging as tight as he could, hoping that this moment could last forever.
His eyes hurt and he just kept crying, snot running all over Jason’s jacket.
Tim didn’t feel numb anymore. He just felt sad. Sad and ashamed.
Jason hugged him and rocked Tim in his arms, “Never do that again, please. I can’t lose my little brother. We can’t lose another Robin.” He mumbled into Tim’s hair, holding him tightly, not wanting to let go.
I won't.
(He could do that but he could also go home being all mad and upset and then what if everyone is just gone
And then he dies
Treble the cat is alive bitch
Bruce OWNS MINECRAFT
MINECRAFT PARTY)
ily ghost
-Chef