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Do not cry. Do not cry.
That’s all Tim can tell himself as he stiffly walks back to his car. He knows how this is going to go, he’s not too sure why he got his hopes up. He feels like an idiot.
Finally, in the safety of his car, he actually looks down at the referrals he has been given. One for a CT scan and the other for an overabundance of blood tests. He didn’t ask for either. All he wanted was a referral to see an ENT, but the doctor hadn’t even looked at him before she started talking over him and suggesting other ideas.
There’s a few things we can do before you see an ENT. It’s been a year since he started feeling like this. All he wanted was to see a specialist, someone who would know what was wrong.
It’s probably not what you think it is. Probably?
You’re crazy, nothing is wrong with you.
Nothing is wrong.
Nothingiswrongnothingiswrongnothingiswrong
He throws the referrals across the car before slamming his fist into the steering wheel and letting out the loudest scream he could. It peters off into a sob when he realises he can’t hear anything. Well, anything but a high ringing. He sits there hyperventilating in his own version of silence.
He calls the CT place while driving, desperately trying to sound like he hasn’t been crying. He almost breaks down when the receptionist mentions he had the same test done around this time last year.
As he pulls into the driveway of the manor, he takes a moment to calm down. Firstly, because he doesn’t want to talk about it, and secondly, because he feels guilty for being upset. At least the doctor was running tests. Sure, she didn’t really listen to him and suggested tests for allergies and anemia, which he is sure he didn’t have, but she still decided to do tests. Other people have been sick for years and don’t have doctors listen to them, so he should be grateful.
Maybe she doesn’t think he’s crazy.
He tries not to think about the fact that if the CT scan comes back and shows his sinuses blocked, the doctor might put him on his fourth round of antibiotics. Even after the other three rounds have completely tanked his immune system. Or that if the blood tests show he is anemic, she might focus on that instead of the actual problem. Like the horrible constant congestion that makes him feel like his brain is being compressed into a liquid that’s going to explode out of his ears and nose. Or that if he does have the disease he thinks he does, he might lose his hearing. He really doesn’t want to think about that part.
When he enters the manor, he heads straight for the cave. He’s hoping for the perfectly healthy distraction of vigilantism. His hopes are immediately crushed when Bruce turns to him and asks him how the appointment went.
“Oh, uh, it went ok. We’re redoing some of the tests we did last year,” he says awkwardly, wishing for once Bruce would notice he didn’t want to talk about it. Once again, his wishes go unheard as the older man just looks concerned. “You don’t seem too happy about that.”
No shit, man, no clue how you got the title of world’s greatest detective.
He tries to push away the resurfacing anger by laughing, but it comes out wrong. “Yeah well, last time the results didn’t really get us anywhere. So, I was kinda hoping she would try something else.” Another laugh. Bruce nods and turns away. Either he finally got the hint or doesn’t know where to go with Tim’s response.
Relieved that the conversation is finally over, he starts heading to the computer when he hears Jason scoff. “Ya know what I think you need? Some concrete to harden you up.”
Harden you up. Fucking whiny baby.
Harden you up. Ungrateful child.
Harden you up. Nothings wrong with you Tim, you’re out of your mind.
Tim stops in his tracks and turns his head slowly to face the older boy. “What?” he says coldly, causing Jason to raise his hands in surrender. “Hey! I was just joking with you.” he laughs, and Tim’s eye twitches. “No, explain it to me, so I can understand how it was supposed to be funny.” He can feel the anger rising again. Jason lowers his arms, looking guilty for his ‘joke’, but Tim couldn’t care less. “I just meant that you complain a lot. It’s kinda miserable.” He answers, sounding defeated, but again Tim couldn’t care less. “Why do you think that is Jason? Do you think I’m complaining because it’s fun?” “No—“ “No! I’m not! I am fucking miserable! I’m exhausted and dizzy and I feel like my brain is rotting in my skull! And I’m sick of people not listening to me and thinking I’m fucking CRAZY!” His throat hurts from screaming. He’s hyperventilating again, but he can’t hear it over the sound of the ringing again. It hurts. He shakes his head to try and clear it, but it just makes the world spin around him. A hand reaches out to steady him but he pushes it away.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” God, his voice is always so much louder when his ears are blocked. He stumbles up the stairs, knowing he’s probably stomping, but he can’t hear that either.