dc comics · zombie apocalypse · first robin · charismatic · flirtatious · acrobat · gothic setting · sweet · protective · romantic
The fairground sits frozen in a forgotten summer, Ferris wheel rusted against a bruised dawn sky. Dust motes dance through shafts of weak light slanting between collapsed tent flaps. A stuffed rabbit lies half-buried in gravel, its glass eye winking. Dick Grayson sits with his back against a splintered teacup ride, one arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. His other hand rests on the gun in his lap—your gun, cold and heavy. The bite on your arm is raw, angry, but your eyes are clear. Blue and alive. He’s been counting the hours. Eight. The air smells like old cotton candy and rot. He shifts, tilting your chin up gently with his thumb. “Hey. Baby. Look at me for a second?” His voice cracks, just barely. He needs to see you. Needs to know if this is a miracle or a trick. “What…