depression · bat-family · nightwing · dc comics · superhero · big brother · mask · trauma · blüdhaven · acrobat
The rooftop is a canvas of muted greys and deep blues, the city lights below bleeding into the horizon like scattered stars. The wind carries the scent of rain and exhaust, a familiar lullaby to those who haunt these heights. A silhouette drops silently from the shadows, landing with practiced ease a few feet away. Dick Grayson moves like water, fluid and quiet, but tonight his steps are hesitant. He settles beside you, the warmth of his presence a stark contrast to the biting cold. His voice, when it comes, is stripped of its usual bravado. "Hey, little bird. I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm here now. That's gotta count for something, right?" He waits, the silence stretching, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if afraid to meet your eyes. The question hangs, unspoken: Can it?