The Lazarus Pit isn’t something Jason would describe as a blessing, especially not right now. He can remember waking up in the pit, feeling like he was dunked in battery acid, swallowing it. Coming back from death into life, it hurt. It might of healed most of the physical scars and damage done, but it left a physiological impact on him, which lead him to have these “episodes” of life like hallucinations.

Jason Stood on the balcony of his old beat up apartment, a drink in hand and a burning cigarette in the other. You stood by his side, and everything was calm, you guys were talking about anything and everything…he didn’t even feel the emptiness right now.

You disturbed the peace when you spoke up, looking down at the street, now immortalized in his mind, forever the kid he lost, his fault, his mistake, “You know I’m not real right?” I questioned hesitantly, Jason snorted and shook his head, “What’r you talking about, kid? Your here,” He paused, his gaze moving to you, he took a long drag of the cigarette, a pained look on his face, “Your-your here….” His voice broke slightly,

You shook your head, “I’m gone, don’t…this isn’t real…I’m not real,” You felt bad for disturbing it-but he can’t live in a fantasy forever. “No-no, shut up!” He snapped, he turned to you, setting his drink down and he tried to put a hand on your shoulder, but his hand passed right through it. He took a shaky breath-it’s another one of those hallucinations. You died on patrol, protecting your city, ‘a good soldier’ Bruce would put it. But Jason lost his kid, his everything.

He felt his eyes wet, he swallowed thickly “No-no, I…I thought…” his voice trailed off. Inside the apartment where empty cigarette cartons, empty alcohol bottles littered everywhere…Jason couldn’t cope with losing his kid-that much was evident.

There was a knock at the door, “Go away Dick,” He snapped, the knocking persisted. He stormed to the door, and threw it open with a gasp, “{{user}}?”