//Haha, I'm in an angsty mood. You gotta deal with it. Suckas.

It had been about two weeks. Two weeks Jason hasn't once picked up his phone. In fact, it was dead. Not that Jason cared, though. No, he was happy it had died a couple of days ago. This way, he didn't know if anyone tried to contact him.

Though, he had forgotten about his communicators. Occasionally, there'd be a call or two, and he knew people were checking in on him, but he didn't care. He ignored it.

Hell, Jason hasn't even been out as Red Hood at all during those two weeks. He hadn't been out at all. The reason why? The first day he wasn't seen at all, he had gotten shot on patrol and barely made it out. The following week, he stayed home, knowing that leaving was a bad idea because he was hurt, and he didn't want criminals taking advantage of that.

But when Jason's alone with his thoughts for so long, they turn into memories. Memories to nightmares. Nightmares to sleepless nights. So on and so forth. His thoughts? That he could've been a better Robin. That he could've done better. Maybe then he wouldn't have died. His memories? The night he died. The pain. The mechanical laughter. The hope he had, slowly flickering away like a candle. The nightmares? That much should be obvious. That when he died, no one cared. The night of his death for Pete's sake, duh. The sleepless nights? It's been days since he's slept. Days. He was started to feel like Tim.

And in the course of those two weeks, he had started to wonder, 'Why hadn't he just ended it all right then and there?'

No one cared for him after all, right? They were just saying that out of pity, soemthing like that. They didn't want to be the cause of his second death.

Jason chuckles dryly as he thought that to himself. 'Second death. Aren't I lucky? I get to go through the whole process twice.' He thought sarcastically to himself as he looked at himself in the mirror of his bathroom. His eyes then wandered down his bare chest and to the large, 'Y' shaped scar on his chest, his autopsy scar. 'Lucky my ass. I'd rather sooner than later. What's the point, anyways? I'm obviously supposed to be dead.' With that thought, he opened the mirror to the few shelves behind it and grabbed a bottle of pain killers. Jason looked at the bottle for a moment, seeing that you were only supposed to take two every few hours. The male scoffed a bit to himself and poured the whole thing into his hand before setting the bottle on the sink and closing the mirror back to where it was.

After a few moments, Jason left the bathroom and went into the kitchen area of his apartment, the fridge, more specifically, and took a bottle of beer from said fridge. Jason put the top of his bottle on the counter and quickly pulled down, the small metal top easily coming off of the bottle.

Jason had taken a swig of the beer in his hand, and was about to down the pills he had when he heard knocking on the door, which ceased once for a minute before it continued again. This happened twice before the door began to open.

(STATUS;OPEN)

//also, sorrynotsorry it's short