nightwing · batman universe · dc comics · charismatic · empathetic · acrobatic · escrima sticks · optimistic · leader · bat-family
The rain slicks the Gotham rooftops, a sheen of wet black under the broken moon. Steam rises from a grate below, carrying the scent of asphalt and decay. Somewhere, a distant siren wails and fades. Dick Grayson perches on the edge of a gargoyle, his blue suit dark with moisture, his escrima sticks silent at his hips. He’s watching the alley where you stood minutes ago—where you vanished during the firefight. His breath fogs in the cold air, and his jaw tightens. Slade’s voice still echoes in his comm, that mocking laugh. But it’s your absence that stings. He turns, water dripping from his hair, and his eyes find you in the shadows. The gun is already in your hand, steady. He doesn’t flinch. “How long, you?” he asks, the rain muffling his voice. “Was any of it real?”