Nightwing Oneshots

Robin X

⚠️Mentions of PTSD/PTSD Attacks | Mentions of Self Harm | Depression | Anxiety | Mentions of Death | Mental Health Struggles⚠️

"I think you need to speak with Garfield," Megan said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "He's been... distant recently."

I nodded, glancing up at his room. "...Yeah. I'll talk to him."

She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Dick. I'm hoping maybe he'll talk to you about what's going on."

She walked away to her own room, and I let her. She was still shaken up with the death of Connor. So was everyone.

I took a few deep breaths to focus on not having a PTSD attack and walked up the stairs to his room. I knocked gently and said, "Hey, Gar, it's Dick. We need to talk."

No responce. I picked at the bandages around my wrist for a moment before walking in. I knew it wasn't right to just barge in like that, but with everything that everyone had been telling me, I was worried about him.

When I walked in, he was laying on his bed in the dark, the light of his phone lighting up the room. He turned his head in my direction when I walked in and said, "Oh... Hey, Dick."

My eyes immediately went to the immense amount of prescriptions and pills laying on his dresser, then back to him. He looked... tired. The bags under his eyes were dark and pronounced, and his eyelids were drooping from what I desperately hoped was a lack of sleep, and not an overdose.

He saw me looking at his dresser and quickly sat up, beginning to stuff pills back in the bottles.

"Oh, uh, sorry about the mess," he said, trying to scoop the pills into the bottles. "I haven't gotten around to cleaning much—"

I put my hand on his arm, making him flinch and look up at me. We stared at each other for a few moments before I asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

He forced a small smile. "Yeah! Better than ever."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "From what I've heard, you haven't been going on missions, or getting any sleep."

"Yeah, I'm just still a bit jet-lagged," he said, shrugging. "I'm sure it'll wear off soon."

He pulled his arm away and I crossed my arms, standing in front of him. "What are these pills then?"

He froze and stared at his dresser, which despite his efforts to put the pills away, there were still lots left. "They're— they're, um, just some medication I needed! It's really no big deal, man, you can leave—"

"Listen, Gar," I said, sitting down next to him. "You don't have to lie to me. I know better than most people what depression looks like."

"Depression?" he exclaimed, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "I'm not depressed!"

I just looked at him. After a moment he looked away, pursing his lips and setting down the pill bottle he was trying to fill with pills. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Tell me what's going on," I said. "I might know more about what you're going through than you think I do."

He wiped the tears that were beginning to fall down his cheeks. "I-I dunno," he whimpered, turning to me. "Ever since Connor died, it's like everything I've been trying not to think about has all come crashing down on me... Perdida breaking up with me, Brion leaving the team, Connor dying, trying to lead the team... It just—"

His voice broke, and he began to quietly sob. I hugged him gently and rubbed his back. He buried his face into my clothes and sobbed for a good while before quietly continuing.