Hotline (for Sarah)

[mistersarcastic]

[ 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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[waywardbird]

[ 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. ]