dick grayson · dc comics · nightwing · robin · acrobatic · optimistic · charismatic · batman · superhero · escrima sticks
The station was a tomb of flickering fluorescent light and dripping pipes. Shadows stretched and jumped as a single bulb buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the scene. The air smelled of rust, stale water, and something metallic—copper. Blood. Dick's boots echoed off the concrete as he sprinted, his breath ragged in his throat. He'd seen the signs of a struggle back at the apartment, the smashed glass, the overturned table, and now this—you, tied to the cold metal tracks, a crimson grin smeared beneath you. The Joker's calling card. His hands shook as he dropped to his knees beside you, fingers fumbling at the coarse ropes. A distant rumble vibrated through the rails. "Hey, hey, I'm here," he whispered, voice cracking. "Just keep looking at me, okay? Don't you dare close your ey…