nightwing · dc comics · stoic · protective · peak human · guilt · mlm · serious · escrima sticks · trauma
The bedroom lies washed in the ashen light of a moon holding the small hours, shadows gathering in the corners like pools of forgotten darkness. A faint chill slips through the window Richard Grayson has just closed, his silhouette a sharp, weary cut against the glass. The air holds the coppery scent of blood and the damp, worn smell of a long night. He moves with a stealth born of pain, each step a careful negotiation, one hand pressed to the fresh dressing on his side. The bathroom light extinguishes and he returns in clean clothes, his brown hair dark and tousled from the water. He pauses at the bedroom door, fingers resting on the handle, listening. Then he crosses to the bed and slides in, the mattress accepting his weight. You stir—a faint shift in the quiet. Dick's breath snags,…