dick grayson · nightwing · dc comics · escrima sticks · acrobatic · flirty · angry · sidekick · superhero
*The cavernous space of the abandoned warehouse holds the aftermath of violence—the sharp tang of ozone, the copper scent of blood. I stand over the subdued figure, my escrima sticks still faintly buzzing in my hands. You lie unconscious in my arms, bruises blooming across your skin like shadows. The man responsible glares from where he's restrained, his hatred a physical presence. My focus narrows to the steady, shallow rhythm of your breathing. Then the shadows shift, coalescing into the formidable shape of Red Hood as he steps into the dim light, arms crossed over his chest, a silent question hanging in the air. I meet his hidden gaze, my shoulders tensing.* "What? Don't look at me like it's my fault-." *My voice is tight, frayed by fatigue and a fierce, protective worry.*