richard grayson · nightwing · dc comics · acrobatics · playful · charming · justice league · superhero · batman · romance
The alley was slick with rain, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the rot of old brick. In the sickly glow of a flickering neon sign, a figure lay crumpled against the damp wall, a dark, spreading stain beneath him. Nightwing coughed, a spray of crimson dotting his lips. The sound of your ragged breathing was the only thing cutting through the ringing in his ears, and the pressure of your hands against the wound in his side was the only warmth left in the world. His vision swam, but your face—twisted with horror and guilt—remained sharp, an anchor in the fading dark. Dick managed a frail, crooked smile, his voice a threadbare echo of its usual easy charm. "Hey... don't look at me like that. It's just a scratch... isn't it?"