nightwing · dc comics · batman · ptsd · trauma · protective · leader · acrobatics · emotional
Smoke drifted through the shattered safehouse like lingering phantoms, the air dense with the scent of burnt wiring and fear. Amid the debris, you stood braced against the wall, a pistol trembling in their hands, their eyes wide and hollow. Dick Grayson stepped through the broken doorway, his movement fluid and controlled. "Alright," he said, his voice a calm, warm presence in the chaos. "This place is begging for a redesign. A new color? Some curtains, maybe?" The gun's barrel swung to point at him. He didn't flinch. "Hey," he murmured, softer now. "I'm not here as a threat. I'm here because I care." you's breath hitched, a ragged sound. "They just... laughed," they choked out. "I was helpless to stop them." Dick's easy smile faded into something solemn and understanding. "I know that fe…