Nightwing Oneshots

Robin XXIII

Tim's POV

⚠️Mentions of PTSD | Mentions of Self Harm | Depression | Anxiety | Mention of Death | Mental Health Struggles | Implications of Suicide⚠️

"Hey, Alfred, have you seen Dick?" I asked the butler. "I checked in his room and he wasn't there."

Alfred frowned as he dusted a side table. "I'm not quite sure, Master Tim. He went out on patrol but never returned."

"Okay, I'll check his location," I said, pulling out my phone and leaving.

I was starting to get anxious. He never returned? Dick always came back before he went somewhere else. 

I tried to check his location on my phone, but it wasn't showing up, which was odd. No one could have disabled it except for Dick himself...

Oh sh**.

It immediately clicked in my head what was going on, and I could only think of one place he could be. I ran as fast as I could to the elevator and clicked the button to take me to the top floor. 

"Hurry..." I mumbled, tapping my foot anxiously as it rose. 

I was hoping I would be wrong about what was happening, but I knew better than that. I got to the top floor and burst out of the elevator, seeing the open glass door leading to the balcony open. The cold rain poured in, but I could care less about that at the moment. 

I quickly ran out to the balcony and began scaling the side of the building, slowly but steadily making my way to the top. When I finally reached it, I pulled myself and did a quick glance of my surroundings. To my right a little bit, at the other end of the rooftop, was Dick.

He was still in his Nightwing uniform and he was curled up in the fetal position, trembling. The tips of his feet were slightly over the edge of the roof and the rain dripped off of them and fell down far, far below. He had his hands up by his head and pressed against his forehead was a gun.

I froze for a brief moment. I knew why he was up here, but seeing it felt different. I felt... scared. He was more of a mentor than Batman ever was to me, and he felt like an older brother. He always looked so proud when I accomplished something, and Batman never really seemed to bat an eye. I couldn't bear losing him.

I had known about his PTSD and depression for a while and tried my best to help him, but he always pushed me away, saying I was 'too young to know' or that 'I wasn't his therapist'. So eventually I stopped bothering him about the cuts on his wrists, because I knew that he wouldn't tell me. But now, here he was, sitting at the top of the mansion with a gun against his forehead. 

I forced myself to move and quietly ran over to him. When I was next to him I crouched down and grabbed onto the gun, cautious of his finger hovering over it and the small sobs escaping his lips.

"Hey, let go," I said gently, pulling the gun away from his forehead.

He slowly let go of it, not looking up but beginning to sob harder. I set the gun down next to us and hugged him tightly as he let it all out.

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-ziakalar