What Happened?

His Suffering...

This is written in the same style as the chapter "Regret"

Trigger Warnings: cutting and some strong language.

Well... he has made it through a whole year. He just turned seventeen a few days ago, fifteen to be exact.

Christmas was almost here. All the more reason to hide how he really feels.

Around the team he is his usual self. But whenever he has a moment to himself, especially in his bedroom, he lets the 'I'm fine facade' go.

So basically, his past time consists of being hunched over his toilet and vomiting whatever bile is in his stomach and passing out due to dizziness.

And yes, I mean bile.

Just stomach bile, there's no food to throw up because he hasn't been eating.

It's not that he didn't want to eat. He couldn't.

The moment he put any solid matter into his mouth he would instantly regret it and not only that, he couldn't taste anything anymore.

But that wasn't the worst of his problems.

On the morning of December 14th... he started vomiting blood.

And that was yesterday.

Thank God there were no alerts recently...

"Urgh..."

Robin slowly roused himself from his slumped position and slowly wobbled towards the sink.

He looked in the mirror and nearly retched again. He looked terrible.

His face was pale and his lips were pure white. His once vibrant blue eyes are now no more than a dull gray. His eyes seemed to sink into their sockets and he looks so much more skinnier.

At least I have my mask to hide it...

He was never supposed to get this bad. That is, as long as he watched the emotional stress.

But sometimes you just can't control those things.

It started with nightmares of his parents' deaths.

And then the nightmares twisted reality into his worst fears.

Being completely scorned and hated by the Titans, YJ, League, and Bruce.

It got so bad to the point where he started getting beatings in the dreams.

And when he woke up the fear and sadness would not go away. Which caused his condition to worsen.

He was becoming afraid to sleep because of the nightmares.

But when he didn't sleep he would have daydreams and hallucinations.

It was a never-ending cycle.

But that was his life now.

Starving himself, nightmares, hallucinations...

And pain, pain, pain.

But he wouldn't tell the team.

It's almost Christmas for goodness sake! They really thought he was getting better, just as long as he hid it.

And things just kept getting worse.

He stumbled out of his bathroom and towards his computer.

Maybe if he caught up on current events then it would take his mind off of everything.

Or not.

The first story was from Gotham, how Batman and Robin successfully stopped another drug gang.

Well fan-fucking-tastic for them!

Second story wasn't much better.

It showed a charity foundation sponsored by none other than Bruce Wayne.

And there was a picture.

Bruce standing regally, accepting the damn applause like always.

And Alfred... standing by his side just a little ways off.

Dick finally let a tear slip.

He missed them. Alright?

He doesn't give a damn if it makes him look like a baby anymore!

He misses the Manor. He misses Alfred and Ace and, God help him, he misses Bruce.

And he misses being Batman's Robin.

The only thing that gave him a sense of purpose since his parents died.

But what hurts the most?

He has been replaced. And not just as Robin, it's been made painfully obvious that he's not missed. Especially by Bruce.

The man he has wanted to please since he became Robin, the man he saw as a father figure since Bruce took him in.

In Bruce's eyes... he's nothing.

He shakily gets up from the chair and walks over to his bed.

Losing his strength he falls down on the bed, on his back.

If only he could just get rid of the pain. And not just the physical pain...

He looked over at his nightstand, he dropped his knife there as soon as he ran in to empty his gut, and slowly picked up the blade.

He's been thinking about this for a year. It was supposed to be a last resort.

But maybe he was to that point now.

He was going to die now, and soon.

But it was probably going to be slow and painful...

He sat up and rested against the pillows.

He flicked the blade open.

At least this way it can be quick and hopefully less painful.

He narrowed his eyes as he ran a finger along the length of the blade.

He was reminded of something he told himself a year ago.

"That's not how heroes go down..."

But was he even a hero anymore?

He didn't think so.

He rested the blade upon his left wrist, testing the feel. How deep it would need to be.

He flexed the blade so that it was at an angle.

And slowly pressed down...

Beads of red slowly came to the surface.

Needs more pressure...

He suddenly heard footsteps coming down the hall, calling for him.

If he was going to do it, he has to do it now. And fast.

He pushed harder and quickly sliced.

That's enough...

He quickly repeated it on his right wrist.

He was already weak enough... he was already starting to fade.

Someone just barged into his room, yelling his name.

But he didn't care, everything was already getting dark and fuzzy.

He barely registered his mask was off, he must have left it in the bathroom when he tore it off to retch.

"Guys, he hurt himself! Gotta get him to the medbay!"

"... contact Kid Flash!"

I'm sorry guys... but I couldn't handle it anymore... Cyborg will take care of you now...

Dick finally closed his eyes.

The last thing he heard was the clattering of the bloody knife as it fell from his limp hand.