dreamsanddisasters | Hotline (for Sarah)

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Hotline (for Sarah)

[ Well, interesting. This is where he's ended up, after everything. Secret shared, Bruce is really, actually alive, and when it finally leaves his hands he understands why he held onto it for so long, why he searched alone and risked taking it to his grave and condemning them both.

It gave him purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning and tell himself, "let's try really hard to not die today."

He's not trying so hard anymore. With this many assassins and killers and maniacs on his tail--

(amazing, really, how many people in this world pursue killing as a career)

--he's been playing a game of Russian Roulette, and maybe it's not him that'll pull that trigger, but he's not quitting the game, either. Does that count as suicidal intent? He's not sure. He's calling the hotline anyway. ]

Hey, so, hypothetical. Is it considered suicide if you keep putting yourself in situations where it's certain death, and it just sort of happens?

[ Or would he get a Darwin award for that instead?

Maybe he should be talking to Dick about this rather than to a perfect stranger on the phone. Dick is his brother. It'd be a great segue to reopen communication, to see if they can bring their relationship back to what it was: "Hey, Dick, I think I really do need to see that therapist."

But, he thinks, they're far past that point. He'd wanted help and support, to be listened to and believed, but that was then and this is now; things have changed. Calling the hotline isn't him reaching out. It isn't him looking to be convinced or persuaded. For someone with no god to pray to, this is him making his peace with the preacher. ]

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[ Jason had gotten this job because he needed gainful employment and he knew how to bullshit a resume. It was really as simple as that. Since he didn't have a corporation or a drug empire funding his own personal crusade, Jason took the steps he needed to to stay relevant and functional in Gotham's fast pace environment. The vigilante lifestyle wasn't cheap. Jason was just luck he still had some money squirreled away.

He hadn't known at the time what exactly he was getting into though, honestly. A dumb mistake, really. Some detective he made. (He'd take it to his grave.) But then-- he actually didn't mind it.

The job blowed, there was no denying it. It reminded him of some of his own underlying issues, listening to sob stories and fucked up kids looking for any way out. He hadn't yet reached that point again but if he didn't catch himself, well-- it could get close. But there came a point when he started to feel like maybe he was making a difference for some of these people. Just being an ear to talk into was enough, sometimes.

Sometimes it was more rewarding than his night job, but-- only sometimes.

Pressing the button on his headset, he started the latest call. This was not starting on a familiar note for him. See, calls tended to follow a pattern. A grim one, but a pattern none the less. He leaned back in his chair, scratching his head. ]

Well, would you mind if you died while you were out there in your uh-- situation?

[ He was not equipped for this, abort abort. ]

Edited 2014-10-19 05:20 (UTC)

Good question.

[ He turns it over, picks at it. It's strange, being able to answer a question like this honestly. Anonymity has its perks, and there's something easier about confessing to a stranger. No one gets hurt this way. Tim's transparency isn't going to inflict any damage here. ]

Depends. I mind if my death means somebody else gets hurt, or worse. That's usually why I'm up the creek in the first place.

[ He smoothes out the map on the desk. Tim is a master of multi-tasking and productivity. He can trace his route, plan his attack, casually track any little change in the environment, all while chatting on speaker phone. Nobody will be able to listen in, either; he's made sure of that. ]

But if there's nothing on the line anymore?

[ He marks his target with a pushpin, double-checks his calculations. ]

No. I just feel tired.

[ It's a strange dichotomy. Fighting is one of the few things he really enjoys anymore; he likes the challenge, it's fun, it's invigorating. Taking down bad guys is a great pastime. But at the same time, in that split-second between action and consequence?

He's tempted. Exhausted.

No, he knows what that means. ]

...Yeah, sounds pretty passively suicidal.

[ Something tickles the back of his head slightly, like this should sound familiar. Its obvious this kid is not an average teenager, if he's talking about things being "on the line"-- but maybe its gang related. The area code is from Gotham. Things happen, even if the Batman thinks he's keeping people safe.

The mere thought makes him sneer for a second but he drops it. This isn't the place to think about Bruce. He has a job to do. ]

Wanna talk about it? You're not alone. I'm a willing ear as long as you want me.

Yeah. Yeah, if you've got a few minutes to spare.

[ Meaningful contact is best kept brief and to the point. Skip the sob story. Avoid the messy, complicated emotions -- loss, betrayal, grief, fury. Just focus on what's at hand; the rest is circumstantial.

Tim won't take up too much of his time, not when this guy could actually be saving someone else's life tonight. ]

To be honest? I'm not sure what I'm hoping to get out of this. There's not a whole lot to talk me out of.

[ After all, he's not holding a gun to his head. He laughs, quiet and rueful and sharp, and pulls up some video surveillance taken earlier. ]

I think I just wanted a nice, civil conversation. No yelling, no blame, no guilt. Surprisingly hard to come by these days.

A nice civil conversation, huh?

[ For some people, talking about their potential death wasn't what they needed. For some, they just needed a place to go for a while and just-- not deal with it. Talk about different things, hear different voices, see different perspectives. A break from all the other stuff they always had.

There was really only one place to start in casual conversation. ]

So nice weather we're havin', huh?

[ Okay maybe that's TOO civil. ]

[ He snorts, catches himself, but a laugh escapes anyway. ]

Yeah, actually? Yeah. Compared to the last few days, today's been pretty good to me so far.

[ Well, 90% chance of raining assassins during the early evening, but so far it's been blue skies. ]

One of those days that's perfect for taking the bike out. Or the convertible. I used to have one -- called her Redbird -- and she was made for days like this.

[ Made, also, for crashing countless times, and standing up against bullets and bombs alike. Man, he misses that car. ]

I got a bike. She's not fancy or anything, but on a day like today, she's perfect. Plus, feels good to finally get some sun. [ Gotham. You shady, shady city.] All we get here are clouds and smog.

[ She's actually very fancy, but there's no reason for a suicide hotline guy to have a fancy tricked out vigilante-level motorcycle. So for now, she's just plain old plain old. ]

Why 'Redbird'? Kind of a funny name for a car.

[ Maybe he was one of those dramatic types. Artistic and whatnot. ]

Honestly? She was red, and flew like a dream, and we already had a Nightbird, so fifteen-year-old me thought it totally fit.

[ Fifteen-year-old him. Like that wasn't only a short few years ago, like he wasn't still a few months off from being an adult. Sort of seems like a lifetime ago, though. ]

Found a big orange tabby once, pretty sure I was planning on naming it Red, too, if I ever got to keep it. I'm, uh, not the most original guy when it comes to stuff like that.

[ Sheepish. Dramatic artiste, Tim is not. ]

[ Wait a second.

While the kid rambles about cats, Jason has to take a moment to think about everything that's been said so far. Dangerous situations, things being on the line, names for things that do not need names; this kid was a cape.

Worse, this kid was Tim Drake.

(He remembered Dick Grayson talking about cars, once. Talking about names he'd call it, in one of those rare moments when he could stand to stay in Jason's presence. 'Nightbird'. Christ almighty.)

Jason had officially made up for his previous detective fail. ]

Well, I mean. I never name anything so I think you're still probably more creative than me.

[ What should he do? Christ, what should he do? Is it a breach of privacy if he tells someone in the family that Tim needs to be checked on? Or, wait-- why does he care?

This job is making him soft. He's quitting in the morning, just watch him. ]

You got a car at 15? Lucky. My old man didn't trust me behind the wheel of anything.

I was kind of a car buff--

[ (Kind of. Slightly. Still is. If Tim had his way he'd have a garage full of machines.) ]

--and needed a reliable ride to school anyway. Plus, I think he figured I'd get into more trouble without one?

[ Thanks for those bulletproof panels, Bruce. Came in handy. ]

Honesty hour, though -- did you ever give a joyride a shot, anyway?

[ Hey. Tim definitely remembers being fifteen, and being told he wasn't allowed to do something. Pretty much just a challenge to do it anyway. ]

...Once.

[ Jason admits, quiet, after a moment of pause. ]

He had more than one car and this one was uh-- it wasn't his favorite, so I thought I'd get away with it if I was real sneaky. He had to go into the office and I took my chance. He didn't catch me, but my uh, grandfather-- he did.

[ He remembered the garage opening and Alfred standing there, cool as a cucumber. He'd never been so horrified in his life. ]

I thought I was about to get the whooping of a lifetime. But he surprised me; it was our secret. And he promised to help me study for my drivers license.

[ Of course, he never got the chance to but-- Jason didn't get the chance to do a lot of things other kids did. It was just another for a long list. ]

[ He hears the pause, the low response, and it doesn't take a detective to know the memory's on just this side of painful for the man on the other end of the line. He hums in quiet, amused confirmation. ]

Called it.

But your grandpa doing that... that was cool of him.

[ There's something to this that stays his working hand, turns his focus to the call in full. Equal parts curiosity and empathy. ]

You know, I don't think I ever caught your name. Mine's--

[ alvin robin wayne gary richard, a hundred others, any pseud will do ]

--Tim.

[ Just Tim, for once. ]

Peter. Nice to meetcha, Tim.

[ His middle name, but also his working alias. He could hardly apply to any job with his real name as he was still, legally, dead. But despite it being his cover, Jason also didn't want to give his full name and make Tim feel...

...uncomfortable.

This was a suicide hotline, after all. ]

He was a cool guy. Taught me a lot when I was growing up. [ He sounds fond at the thought. Alfred was truly one of the better people Jason had ever met. He was one class act. ] What's your family like? Mine was pretty small, but we had our moments.

Nice to meet you, too, Peter.

[ And he means it. Tim doesn't meet a whole lot of nice people these days. Assassins just aren't the friendliest, no mind for pleasantries at all.

Was. Tim picks up on that. ]

It's good. To have someone like that around. The kind of memories you keep years and years later.

My family-- it started out pretty small, actually. Got a little bigger and crazier for a while there. All of us did our own thing, and we argued a lot, and man, my older brother could be a dick--

[ Ha. ]

--but...they were the ones that'd have my back when push came to shove. Used to, anyway. Flying solo, now.

[ He remembers a time when it was Dick on the other end of this line, when he hadn't thought twice about calling him. ]

But we had our moments, too.

My older bro was a dick too, I totally get it.

[ Haha. ]

They sound nice. If you don't mind me askin', Tim-- and you don't have to respond if you don't wanna, you don't owe me anything, this is on your terms-- why didn't you, y'know. Call them and talk to them about it?

[ Jason wasn't a part of their family. But he always thought that they learned their lesson; you have to look out for your own. But things had changed a lot in the last couple of years-- the family had too. It was possible that they had forgotten.

Jason hoped Tim didn't give them a refresher course on that particular lesson. ]

[ He thinks about it, for a moment, quiet, but he's already had the reason. Kept it close, tucked beneath his rib cage to keep him burning instead of breaking, keep him moving forward long past the point when his legs should have given out. ]

They didn't believe in me. There was something I needed to do, and I was right, but no one else could see it.

[ Bruce. Wasn't. Dead. And, finally, he had the proof. ]

They took away the one thing I had left--

[ He'd lost his parents, his friends, his girlfriend, nearly everything, and then he lost Robin. Benched him, stripped him of his identity as a hero, pitied him, and damn Dick for thinking he was doing Tim a kindness for it. ]

--and they told me it was just grief finally pushing me off the deep-end.

[ His eyes are burning; he scrubs at them, wearily. Takes a moment to let the anger and hurt drain from his throat, settle back down. ]

Hindsight's twenty-twenty. 'Cause we -- I -- already did the same to someone else. History repeating.

[ Not for the first time, beneath the frustration and the stress and the violence that characterizes every confrontation, he still hopes Jason's gonna make it. ]

[ Jason listens to it all silently, emotions curling up in his chest. He'd been there. It hadn't been pretty-- and it looks like he wasn't a special case.

For the first time in a long time, Jason was feeling something that wasn't resentment towards Tim Drake. ]

It can be really hard to move past that stuff. Especially when it's the people who are supposed to be there for you doin' it.

[ He sighs, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. ]

Do you ever think that humans are stupid? We invest a lot of our emotions into each other only for it to backfire spectacularly at any moment. But if we don't, then we don't get the good side of that too. I don't regret the friends I've made, but I know that I give them the power to hurt me just by being around them-- it's like a big game of Russian roulette.

I guess the point is, I understand where you're comin' from, kid.

[ He laughs at that, though it's a little wetter than he's really comfortable with -- yeah, humans can be dumb. Tim's hurt plenty of friends, and he knows it; dropping out of contact, not paying attention to them, saying the wrong thing or prioritizing the vigilante life over the personal. It's how he hurt Steph. ]

This is why everyone should just get a dog. Problem solved.

[ Dogs are amazing like that. ]

It's uh, what's it called? The Porcupine's Problem?

[ Tim's got his specialties, but philosophy really wasn't one of them. ]

...Thanks, Peter. You know, for just -- talking with me. For understanding.

I do what I can, kid. It's no problem at all.

[ And this was why Jason did this-- he could feel the thing in his chest getting warm as he heard Tim speak. It felt...good to make a positive impact on someone's life.

Especially knowing this was someone he actually knew, even if they did have a weird past. ]

You got anythin' else you wanna talk about while you got me? I'm all ears.

No, I think -- I think that's all.

[ A nice, civil conversation. A moment of real human connection, outside of the whirl and frenzy of vigilante life, where it was Just Tim and just someone willing to listen. ]

Don't wanna take up too much of your time. And got a... few things of my own to take care of in a bit.

[ He hasn't even looked down at his plans in the last ten minutes, utterly forgotten. Scanning them now, it feels like the cape settling back over his shoulders after something like years. Reality to Timbo, come in, Timbo: back to the fight, now.

He doesn't know if this changed anything, not yet. But he thinks he may be starting to hope so. ]

Well, if you ever want or need to call again-- you know where to go. Glad you're feelin' better, kid.

[ He was getting soft-- he genuinely was happy that Tim had sought help. Christ almighty. ]

Til next time, Tim.

[ Jason reached into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone, and scrolled through the contacts til Tim's name popped up. He looked at it for a moment before setting the phone back down; he'd text later. When it wasn't quite so suspicious. ]

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Hotline (for Sarah)

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