Peter just gazed from where he sat on the rooftop, legs dangling freely.
It was dark, well into the early morning, there was a chill against his skin.
The view was probably breathtaking.
Peter didn’t know, instead he was focused on his bright red shoes, laces undone and soles worn through.
He slipped closer, his body creating a warmth that told the world he was alive, with the blood through his veins and heartbeat loud in his throat.
Yet his brown eyes, once warm and competed to honey, were now dull.
A stranger said he looked lifeless. That was the push Peter needed, the realisation that he wasn’t living anymore, just surviving.
Peter was tired of surviving.
The road below home was dead, not a single person in sight.
It’s as if they knew to stay indoors, like they knew Peter would be here and didn’t come to save him.
That’s okay. Peter would finally save himself from this hell.
He pressed forward over the edge, mind blank. His body started to just barely tilt.
The pit of his stomach sank, right on the edge. If the wind just hit him a little too hard then Peter would fall all the way down.
He took one last breath of air.
The world tilted.
Not from falling, but from being tugged away from salvation. A hand was gripping the back of his shirt collar in a tight grip, it made Peter choke on air.
“Woah, kiddo. Little close there.” A strong voice said, there was a false cheer, however, despite the tone the man had now wrapped another arm around Peter and rugged him against his chest as they scurried back.
Peter just went limp in the stranger’s arms, however the man behind him didn’t seem fazed from the added weight.
Peter glanced up, his head was resting on the person chest, right above their heart which was pounding from an afterlife rush.
His vision made contact with a black mask over golden skin.
Black hair spilled around the man’s face, towards the back of his neck in messy waves.
Peter briefly looked at the ocean blue on the man’s chest beside his head.
His groggy mind put together who had grabbed him.
Nightwing.
“You know, the view is just as pretty from back here.” Nightwing smiled as he carefully sat Peter down and finally let go.
Yet he didn’t stray far, taking a seat right next to Peter, far enough for Peter to breathe but close enough to grab in case Peter made a bolt.
However, Peter was too tired to try anything with the babysitter beside him, so he just laid back flat on the rooftop, staring up at the darkened sky.
It was silent, then Nightwing paid beside him.
Peter would have found it comical if not for the swirling defeat inside him.
It made him feel sick to his stomach.
“Can I have your hand, please?” Nightwing asked.
Peter didn’t even hesitate, he just flopped his arm over towards the man. He didn’t even care anymore, Nightwing could break it for all he cared.
Instead, Nightwing gently took Peter’s wrist and felt the slow and steady pulse.
Peter realises that Nightwing was checking for any anomalies in his heart, likely from drugs or alcohol.
“Takin’ anything lately? Something you weren’t supposed to?” He grinned, but it was pained, “Promise I won’t tell.”
Peter just shrugged. “No.”
Nightwing nodded beside him, but still kept Peter’s wrist in a gently hold.
It was as if they were in a bubble, away from the hardships of the world. Peter felt like he was stuck in time, all that he could feel was the prickling cold of the wind, still blowing as if nothing had happened.
“What brought you up here, kiddo?” Nightwing finally asked. The dreaded question made Peter’s palm twitch. Nightwing just rubbed it comfortingly, Peter barely felt it.
“Just life.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It’s silent again.
“Why would life bring you up here? Seems like a strange path.” Nightwing whispered. Careful to keep his voice low.
Peter was glad, he liked the bubble they had created. It was kind of numbing, his brain had just turned off for a bit.
“It’s just done.”
Nightwing hummed. “Seems a little early to be ‘done.’ Don’t you think?”
Peter didn’t respond, so Nightwing continued. “Why do you think it’s done?”
“I’ve got nothing left to live for.”
Nightwing turned to look at the side of Peter’s face. “There must be something?”
Peter shook his head slightly. “There isn’t, life is done and I am too.”
“Do you often feel like this?” Nightwing asked as his thumb moved back towards his pulse. The Kevlar was rough against his skin.
Peter sighed deeply. “It’s not like I want to die. I just don’t want to live either...” Peter bit his lip. “I’m not depressed.”
“Okay.”
Peter glances at Nightwing. “Seriously, I’m not. Depressed people feel sad. I don’t.”
“Then what are you feeling?” Nightwing murmured.
Peter stares straight into Nightwing’s mask.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Nightwing questioned.
“Nothing.” Peter confirmed. “I literally don’t even care anymore.”
It was quiet, not a single sound.
Peter then sat up. His wrist still in Nightwing’s grip.
Peter started at the edge, despite the distance he felt a sense of calmness wash over him, his mind sort of just numbing itself.
“What is I told you that I’m slowly dying painfully. Would that change anything?” Peter mumbled.
Nightwing’s gentle grip tightened. “Well, are you?”
Peter was tired, his gaze shifted to the ground. He just wanted to sleep and never wake up. “Does it matter?”
The unspoken question between them lays heavy.
Would you let me jump?
Peter can tell that Nightwing is thinking carefully, the man’s mind is drifting through options and consequences.
Then he sighs. “No.”
I wouldn’t, I would still catch you.
“I’m sorry.” Nightwing says, voice cracking and heartbroken. As if that would change anything, as if that would let Peter forgive him for dragging him back down to hell.
Peter suddenly feels a spike of hatred towards the man for grabbing him. It then disappears just as quickly, like dust in the wind.
Peter was so close to escaping, so close to finally being free.
Yet, here he was. Sitting on a rooftop with Nightwing beside him, still holding his wrist as if it’s the only thing keeping Peter grounded.
It is, it isn’t. Peter doesn’t know wether he would jump now.
He doesn’t even care anymore, he doesn’t even care enough to worry about that thought.
Peter can’t even be bothered to die.
It’s not that he wants to, it’s not that he can’t.
It’s just that he can’t be bothered, he doesn’t even care. Getting up and walking to that ledge feels like such a tiring thing to do.
Maybe it was his mind trying to protect him, keep him safe by draining all his energy u til he is just a fatigued mess on the ground. Feeling numb is better then feeling sad.
Peter doesn’t even feel love anymore, that great feeling that use to swarm his chest is gone. It feels like every ‘I love you’ he has ever said is just lies. There is nothing there to love with.
Nightwing sits up beside him. “Anyone I can call to come collect you?”
Peter shakes his head. “No.”
Everyone is gone, dead, in another world.
He wouldn’t even want them to see him, see how far he has fallen, how he has failed.
How bad his life has gotten.
“No one?” Nightwing asked “Not even a friend?” He prompted.
Peter is about to snap that he doesn’t have any friends, but then he thinks of school.
The small group that have attached themselves to his hip like they are stitched together.
Tim, Duke and Steph.
Tim talking over notes with him while sharing his coffee and snacks, doting the ‘i’ on all of Peter’s work.
Duke sitting with his feet in Peter’s lap, playing tunes that he thinks Peter will enjoy while telling him the meanings behind the lyrics.
Steph drawing flowers and hearts all up his arm in different coloured markers while colouring his nails with highlighter, gossiping about her own family.
“I...I don’t know.” Peter finally stuttered out.
“Well, I can’t leave you alone, Peter.”
Peter’s shoulders slump. “There are a few people at school.” He finally admits.
Nightwing smiles encouragingly. “Want to give them a call?”
Peter nods, defeated. He doesn’t want to talk anymore.
Twelve minutes later and Peter can hear Tim climbing up the old fire escape.
He walks until he is in front of Peter, blocking his view of the ledge. Then he crouched down. “Duke’s in the car. Wanna grab some ice-cream on the way home?”
Peter doesn’t even correct him that it’s not his home. He just nods his head.
Tim grabs his hand to lift him up, he doesn’t let go, however he notices that Tim’s hand is trembling just slightly. Must be colder then Peter thought.
“Thanks, Nightwing.” Tim smiles, it’s sad but grateful.
Nightwing just nods back. Peter doesn’t even say anything, doesn’t thank Nightwing for ‘saving’ him or for the burning humiliation from being seen in this state.
Tim guides him to the fire escape.
“Come on, I’ve got a jumper for you in the car.” Tim grins. “Then we can grab ice-cream. Nothing better then freezing ice-cream on a freezing night.”
Slowly, they get lower to the ground. It feels like endless steps under Peter as he walks, the concrete gets closer and closer.
“Steph is waiting at the manor, she is basically raiding every cupboard for blankets. We are going to be a sweaty heap of limbs.”
Peter just bobs his head.
He really doesn’t care, but he also can’t be bothered to say that.
They finally get to the car, Duke is in the drivers seat, head bopping to a random song. “Hey, Peter!” He cheers as he turns the heater up.
It sounds false, dead. Like walking on eggshells. They all know what almost happened.
They all know that Peter just tried to kill himself.
Peter feels like he is being pitied. But, he can’t even remember what Pity feels like anymore so it doesn’t bother him much. Let them pity him.
It won’t change anything.
As Tim gets in the back seat beside him and passes Peter a jumper, Peter notices the sound of the child locks being turned on.
No one mentions it.
Instead Duke starts to drive.
Peter’s mind turns off. Nothing registers but the lights of the street lights flashing over his face.
Throughout it all, Peter doesn’t even remember that he never told Nightwing his name.