Nightwing Oneshots

Robin XII

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

"How are you handling Connor's death?" she asked.

I looked down, unconsciously rubbing the bumps on my wrist and unaware of me grinding my teeth together until I had to speak.

"I... could be better," I admitted, still not making eye contact with her. "It's still hard to accept that he's gone. I can't imagine how Megan feels."

She nodded and wrote some things down. "And have you been cutting recently?"

I moved my eyes over to look at my wrist. It was littered with older cuts and scars, but there were still some newer ones that I had made the day before.

"...Yeah," I mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "I just... feel numb sometimes. I know it's a bad habit, but it... helps take my mind off things."

She sighed and scribbled something else down. I glanced up at her and noticed she was already looking at me.

"Listen, Dick," she said, leaning forwards. "I know habits are hard to break, and I know that you have a hard time dealing with the deaths of people you care about, but you realize you are hurting yourself, right?"

I looked away, feeling... heavy, in a sense. "I know."

"And you're okay with that?" she questioned.

"No, I'm not!" I exclaimed, tears suddenly springing to my eyes. "I hate the fact that every time I can't handle my own g** da** feelings I have to run a razorblade over my f****** wrist to pull myself together. No, I'm not okay with it, but every time I try to stop I just—I just can't..."

I pressed my index fingers into the corner of my eyes and shakily breathed in and out, trying my best not to cry and feeling guilty about my outburst.

"I'm sorry," she said, placing a hand on my knee. "I know moving on is difficult for you. You have a lot of emotional and mental trauma that makes it hard for you to let go of things, including bad habits."

I breathed out and ran my hand through my hair as she took her hand off of my knee and leaned back in her chair. 

"Are you still... shaken up about Wally's death?" she asked gently.

I stared at the floor, beginning to anxiously bounce my leg up and down and rub my thumb over my scars. "I guess," I eventually muttered. "Everyone is."

"Dick, that was almost 3 years ago," she said. "Most everyone has accepted the fact that he's gone and has moved on, except for you. Is there a specific reason as to why that is?"

"You're awesome, Robin!" he said, suddenly sitting right next to me.

I glanced over with a small smile, staring into his green eyes. My smile slowly faded as there was a strange tugging in my gut. Were those... butterflies? Why was I nervous?

He drew closer and put a finger under my chin, and I closed the hollogram on my wrist as his lips touched mine. He slowly pulled away and smiled at me again, making my face go bright red. Was that what those feelings were all this time? Did I... like Wally?

I grimaced and placed a hand on my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut.

He shook his head. "Why would I be mad? I talked about girls a little bit too much to hide the fact that I liked some guys, too."

Before I could even react, he was right next to me and his lips were on mine. I closed my eyes and put my hand on the back of his neck as a few tears slid down my cheeks. He slowly pulled away but I kept my hand on his neck and we just stared at each other.

"I have to go now," he whispered, touching our foreheads together. "Just know that I really liked you, Dick."

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered, stumbling to my feet. "I need to go."

I quickly left the room, clutching my head and trying to forget about those memories. Black Canary was right: I was bad at accepting change. Maybe that's why I still didn't accept my feelings for Wally.

When I got to my room, I collapsed in the bathroom sobbing, fumbling for my razorblade and making deep, messy cuts across my wrist. I twisted the ring that Wally had given me on my finger until I managed to pull it off, then I threw it as hard as I could across the room, still bawling. My head hurt from remembering those stupid memories and my heart hurt from trying to accept and deny these feelings and my stomach hurt from butterflies and crying. I didn't even realize somebody was in my room until I was hugging them and sobbing into their shoulder and feeling like if I let go, they would disappear too.

When I finally caught some sort of control over myself and managed to pull away, I realized it was Artemis who was sitting on the floor with me, which made me feel even worse about my entire situation. I furiously wiped my eyes and face and whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"I didn't mean to intrude on your personal space, I just heard crying and wanted to make sure everything was okay," she said, taking my hand. "We should get you some bandages."

I glanced down at my hand and my wrist, which were trembling uncontrollably. I was bleeding pretty badly but I had only made about 6 or 7 cuts, which was good, because usually when I had a breakdown I would make way more than that. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered again. 

"I would say it's okay, but it's really not," she said, grabbing bandages and beginning to wash off my arm, which stung. "Hurting yourself isn't going to solve anything."

I stayed silent as she wrapped up my wrist and then turned to me, taking my hands in hers. "I don't know what happened in there with Black Canary," she said quietly, looking at the bandages around my wrist. "But I just want you to know that we're here for you to help you."

I nodded. "...I know. Thank you."

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-ziakalar