Dick had planted himself on the rooftop of Wayne Tower hours ago. The building was one of the tallest in Gotham and had a great view of the cityscape. It was the perfect perch to think on, and Dick certainly had a lot to think about.

After Jason left -rather abruptly might he add- he'd sat numbly at the apartment for a good hour. Dick just hadn't known what to do with himself after his not-so-dead-brother left. He couldn't go back to the manor because he'd probably tell Bruce or Alfred whilst having a breakdown, something he did not need right now.

So, here he sat, at the top of Wayne Tower, one of the tallest buildings in Gotham.

The wind ruffled his hair, and he let his mind wander. How would it feel to have the air ripped from his lungs if he threw himself from the building? Would he pass out on the way down? Would it hurt when he hit the cement? Had it hurt for his parents?

Dick placed his head in his hands, wishing he couldn't think thoughts like that. Was something so wrong with him that he constantly kept thinking about killing himself? Why? Shaking slightly -from the cold or emotions, he didn't know- Dick stood, wrapping his arms around his torso.

He moved to the edge of the roof, where a small cement wall had been placed, more than likely to keep people from falling off. Kind of ironic with the thoughts he was currently thinking. Dick laughed to himself and knelt down, resting his upper body on the ledge.

Was Bruce worried about him? It'd been about a day since Dick fled the manor, and he hadn't contacted anyone since the day before. Was Bruce scared or relieved? Perhaps he was even angry at Dick for leaving.

The wind blew softly against his cheeks. It was much more powerful higher up, but gentle all the same. If he were standing, it would've been the perfect nudge to send him over the edge. Dick sighed. Something was definitely wrong with him. Maybe he should call someone, let them know he's alive. Wally?

Dick rolled back onto his heels and reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his phone. It was at fifteen percent with ten missed calls and nineteen new text messages. He frowned. Guess people really were worried about him after all.

Dick scrolled through his contacts until he saw Wally's name, clicked it, and brought the phone to his ear, listening to the rings. Wally answered on the third ring.

"Dick?"

He didn't answer right away, "Yeah."

"Dick! Where are you!? Are you hurt?" Wally panicked, his voice fluctuating every other word.

Dick sighed, his breath rattling slightly, surprising him. Where were these emotions coming from? He was fine a few minutes ago. "I'm fine," He reassured, but it sounded fake to his own ears, "I'm sitting at the top of Wayne Tower."

"Don't move," Wally spoke with sudden seriousness, "I'm coming to get you. I'll be there in a flash."

"No," Dick half shouted, although he wasn't sure why, "You don't need to get me. I'm fine, really." He finished, cringing at the false reassurance.

"No, I'm coming to get you. Don't do anything, please," Wally pleaded towards the end. The phone went dead. Silence pierced its way through the speaker, a dead dial tone left buzzing in the background.

Dick held the phone to his ear, listening to the dead ring on the other end. Wally had really just hung up on him, hadn't he? That was a first.

It was just after Dick rested his body on the ledge again when Wally finally showed up. He was in civilians and his hair was sticking up wildly in every direction. Dick also noted the smalls bags beginning to take form under his eyes. He filed that away for later.

"Dick," Wally spoke, his voice sounding like a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders.

"Hi Walls," Dick started, not really knowing what to say, "Nice night, isn't it," He looked back over the city, "Perfect night to think," He inhaled the cool air deeply, hoping it would help calm his nerves.

Wally walked over to him slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, and sat down beside him, "I suppose," He looked at Dick, his eyes scanning him intensely, "But I think it depends on what you've been thinking about to really determine if the night is indeed, nice."

Dick chuckled, a small smile forming on his lips, "I guess you're right," he looked at his feet, "Then I think it's safe for me to say that this night isn't so nice after all."

Wally inhaled sharply, "What have you been thinking about?" He asked hesitantly, probably not wanting to know the answer.

Dick didn't respond. He didn't want Wally to see how much of a freak he'd become, but his silence was all the answer Wally needed.

"Oh...I see," he paused, gathering his thoughts, "Dick, I need you to come back to the manor with me, please?" Wally put his hand into Dick's line of sight, waiting for him to grab it. Expecting him to.

"I know," Dick started. He knew this was the inevitable question Wally was going to ask, "I just, I just don't like being there." I miss my apartment, went unspoken.

He took Wally's hand and let himself be dragged to his feet. Lacking the energy to do it himself.

Wally smiled sadly and Dick noticed how it reached all the way up to his eyes. They were glassy and red with a tad hint of sadness in the pupil. Not to mention the light gray bags, just about ready to turn into that black and blue shade of exhaustion. Dick was far too familiar with those types of bags. It made him frown. Wally was always happy, why would he suddenly be so sad?

"Dick...here, hop on my back. I'll give you a piggyback ride. You used to love those, right?" He spoke with false happiness that Dick wasn't used to hearing from his friend. Wally was always so happy.

"...Yeah, just like old times," Dick climbed on, unsure of the awkwardness blooming in the air.

Wally sped off, ignoring it, and Dick wrapped his arms tighter around Wally's neck, not wanting to slip off. In return, Dick felt Wally tighten his grip on Dick's legs, making sure Dick wouldn't slip away into the night.

It was only then, as they sped across the city, that Dick realized, he was going to have to see Bruce again.

His heart dropped.

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Superboy had been feeling off all day. Not like a sick off, but the kind that really gets under your skin. The kind that eats away at you until you've figured out exactly what was wrong. He felt like he should be doing something, but he didn't know what. Something really important.

Grumbling to himself, he stomped over to the couch and sat down, turning on static. Maybe this would help him remember. Help him clear his head a bit.

Watching the static did help, for the most part. Connor wasn't sure if it had been ten minutes or thirty, but he was finally able to discover what kind of 'off' it was. Something bad was going to happen, and he knew it. Something bad was going to happen, and they would be too late. It was something Connor knew he wouldn't be able to stop, and that made the feeling even worse. But he just didn't know what 'it' was.

He had just begun to analyze the feeling further, attempting to figure out exactly what would go wrong when the zeta beam announced Robin's arrival. Superboy hadn't seen him in a few days. Maybe something had happened in Gotham? Was that the cause of his great unease?

"Hey, Robin, what's up?" Superboy asked, "I haven't seen you here in a few days."

Robin looked a little out of it, glancing around the cave nervously, but never looking directly at Connor, "Oh nothing too much," he started, his voice a little higher than usual, "But hey, I have to ask. Have you seen Nightwing recently? Any calls?" He finished, finally settling his gaze on the half-Kryptonian.

"No? Why do you ask?" Conner replied, anger suddenly overtaking his emotions. What did Robin want with Nightwing anyway? Did he do something to Tim? That guy was a liar and Tim shouldn't be wasting his time on a brother he couldn't trust.

"It's nothing. Batman sent me to find him. He only needs to talk to him, that's all," Tim stated firmly, already turning back towards the zeta to leave.

"Robin," Superboy called, still sitting on the couch. This was the only chance he'd been able to talk to Tim in days. Something must've happened in Gotham. Something having to do with Nightwing.

Robin halted, turning his head to the side, but leaving his body towards the exit, "Yeah?"

"Don't waste your feeling on someone who doesn't value them," He started. Connor knew that what he said next would hurt Robin deeply, but it needed to be said. He cared for Tim and didn't want to see him get hurt because of someone he thought was family. Not like he'd been.

"I know Dick's your older brother, and I know you care about him, even if you're mad at him right now. But, he's hurting you, Tim, don't you see it? You and Bruce. Alfred, hell, even the Team," Connor paused, taking a deep breath. Robin moved to fully face the exit, "I know he's your family, and you don't want to turn your back on him completely, but Tim, you need to," Connor stood up, finally making his way over to Tim and stopped when he was in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Family or not, if they're dragging you down, you need to cut them loose."

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Tim entered the Batcave with a sinking feeling in his chest. What Connor had said to him...well, he wasn't exactly wrong. Ever since Dick left the Team and moved to Bludhaven permanently, he'd ignored Tim. Honestly, he more or less ignored everyone. Friends, family. Everyone. Yeah, Dick might've hurt a bit when he got kicked off the Team, but people move on.

Tim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Why was everything so complicated? And to make matters worse, Dick had to go run off to God knows where doing God knows what. And like always, Bruce was out looking for him.

His feet felt like lead as Tim climbed the stairs, with the feeling slowly creeping into his other limbs. What was this? He shook his head, entering the manor and heading straight for his room. He could look for Dick tomorrow.

He was passing by Dick's old room when soft voices fluttered from behind the dark oak. Soft and worried was one, panicked and weak was the other. Had Wally found Dick?

Deciding to go against his instincts for the first time in a long time, Tim pushed the door open an inch, not too much to be noticed, but enough to see through.

He had been right. Sat on the blue comforter of the bed, was Dick and Wally, but something was wrong, he noticed, but he couldn't see what it was. Tim crouched, giving himself a better angle to peak through.

Dick's shirt was off and he was crying as Wally held his arms in his hands. Wally's expression was hard to describe. To Tim, he looked like Bruce when he'd watched Jason's funeral from the T.V. Wally's expression was that of a man who had just lost everything, and yet, nothing at all.

Tim tried to get a closer look at Dick's arms. What could be there to cause such a ruckus? In doing so, he moved the door open a few more inches, but Wally and Dick didn't notice. To enamored in what was going on in front of them.

His breath caught in his throat. Tim's eyes watered slightly from the shock of what was being displayed before him. It was when Tim finally realized what he'd done -contributed too- that Dick started babbling out apologies, hurting Tim more than he thought it would.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Wally, I'm sorry," Dick sobbed, more tears running down his cheeks, staining his t-shirt. His face was a splotchy red and he was shaking badly. Tim wouldn't be surprised if he slipped into a panic attack right now.

"Shh, it's okay Dickie, I'm not mad, It's okay," Wally soothed, rubbing Dick's arms, although it wasn't doing much to calm Dick down. He just kept shaking and crying. Tim couldn't ever remember a time where he'd seen Dick get this bad.

"It's not okay! I promised you! I promised!" Dick shouted, startling both Wally and Tim. No one was expecting to hear the boiling anger in those words. Anger that was only directed at himself.

"Dickie, it's okay, everything's going to be okay," Wally tried, almost like he was trying to console himself more than Dick.

Everything was not going to be okay. Tim couldn't watch this anymore. Instead, he let the cries fade out of his mind and he slowly entered his room, closing the door softly behind him. He tried to forget what he saw. He tried to forget the sound of Dick's broken cries. Wally's expression that all but said he didn't know what to do.

But he couldn't.

Tim couldn't get Dick's arms out of his head. His bloody, mutilated arms. Lines and lines of scars -some old and white, whilst others were, too fresh and still bleeding.

Was this his fault? The Teams? Is this what all those jibes and harsh words had done to Dick? What their ignorance had wrought?

Tim clenched his fists, a few loose tears splashed onto the hardwood floor as his nails dug deep into his skin. It was his fault, and he needed to fix the damage he'd done. Dick was hurting and it was his fault.

He needed to tell Bruce.

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Well, here is chapter eight. I don't know why, but I felt unbearably sad while I was writing this, and this chapter isn't even that bad. Did any of you feel this way as well?

This is a longer chapter, and I'm glad it is. I feel as though I rushed some scenes in the others when I kept the chapters shorter. What do you think?

Anyway...any favorite parts? Lines? Quotes? Scenes? Let me know in the comments below.

Also, if there is anything you want to happen in the story, or that you think will happen, leave a comment and I'll see what I can do :)

I think that's it for now so... 

Til next time,

Rachel