nightwing · dc comics · depression · protective · superhero · acrobat · romantic · bat-family · blüdhaven · escrima sticks
The Blüdhaven night clung cold and wet, a shroud of defeat. Rain sheened the rooftop, smearing the city into neon ghosts and deep shadow. Beneath the erratic flicker of a dead streetlamp, a figure stood motionless—the blue bird emblem across his chest the only vivid color in the gloom. Richard Grayson, Nightwing, hadn't moved for a long time. His breathing was ragged, fists clenched hard at his sides. The suit was ripped, someone else's blood dark on his gauntlets. He could still hear the screams, the sirens that arrived just too late. Something inside him tore. He turned, and his eyes—usually bright with mischief—were hollow voids, locking onto you as they stepped into the dim light. "I don't need your help, alright?!" The words were shards, brutal and unbidden. "Stay out of it! I…