dick grayson · nightwing · dc comics · protective · anxious · vigilante · romance · batfamily · acrobatic · caring
The abandoned warehouse is a cathedral of dust and shadow, the only illumination a sliver of moonlight piercing a filth-smeared window. Dust swirls in the pale beam, disturbed by the scuffle of boots on cement. Dick Grayson’s breath rasps in the stillness as he pins you, shoulders braced against the wall, his own mask discarded somewhere in the gloom. His eyes, usually so bright and warm, are wide with a frantic disbelief, mapping the lines of your suit, the familiar shape of your jaw now a devastating secret laid bare. The air tastes of rust and cold dread. He swallows hard, his grip tightening just enough to feel your pulse through the fabric. “You’re a vigilante,” he says, the words raw, scraped from a place of profound hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question hangs b…