Chapter Text
The call connects seconds after Nightwing crashes on the roof of the 13-story high building.
Gravel sinks into his suit, the pain of the impact sinks into his body, and his groan is swallowed by the crowd of euphoric citizens below enjoying their Friday night out.
“Perfect timing,” he manages, at last, somewhat detaching from the usual anger that’s clouding his voice, body and mind these days.
A sudden wind cuts through the night, a cold, sharp shiver runs down Nightwing’s spine.
“As usual,” comes the reply, right in his ear. Cheery, bright and warm, so unlike the cold ghosting over Nightwing’s cheeks. Seconds later, the same warmth is placed with a touch of serious concern, “Where are you N?”
Nightwing lifts the grappling hook in his hand for a better look, the metal catching any light Blüdhaven has to offer. An ugly glint reflects off the wire.
The broken snapped clean through wire.
A click of tongue interrupts any thought, “You said you’d end patrol, what, 15 minutes ago?”
“Ah, well actually ” he rolls to his back, hoping the throbbing on his side was just a bruise, possibly obtained from the fight 30 minutes ago “I’m stargazing.”
The silence speaks louder than any words the voice in his ear could exhaust.
“... stargazing.”
“Yeah,” he says, squinting at the sky. Surprisingly, he does find a star.
“In winter? In Blüdhaven ?”
“Where else?”
Miraculously, he finds a second one.
“ In Blüdhaven?”
Nightwing huffs then winces at the pain that climbs from his side to his chest, and momentarily puts any plans to get up on hold, “The pollution’s rather generous tonight. Must be my lucky day.”
No noise below would conceal the desperation held by the voice in his ear, “Come home, Nightwing.”
Trust me, he almost says, almost pleads, closing his eyes, if coming home was easy, I’d find you in a heartbeat.
“If you’re too far…”
Those words get him up faster than any threat ever could, despite the surges of pain travelling up his body.
Rapid, unforgiving.
“Absolutely not,” Nightwing says, and it’s an order that is equally rapid and unforgiving.
“You’re shaken,” the voice argues, and Nightwing hears papers being slammed down on the table, “You were already injured in the first place, and with what’s happened three weeks ago-”
“Exactly,” he nears the edge, staring down in dismay, dragging a hand above the parapet that is standing between him and a painful and rather tempting drop as he searches for a fire escape, “ Three weeks ago . I’ll be fine.”
“In what world do you imagine those words will convince me?”
Below, a loud cheer interrupts the feed in Nightwing’s ear. He stops, waits, considers the sound and only after confirming that there is absolutely no one in danger does he continue to walk - small, careful.
His words… not so quiet.
“I was counting on the fact that, y’know, you’d believe me,” he hurls the words without regard, staining his tongue with a sour aftertaste, “And not see me as the liar the world seems to brand me these days.”
There is silence, and then that familiar pressure of nails digging into his palms from under the glove.
A sigh follows, from both of them and Nightwing has no energy to distinguish which was voiced first, and which sounded more disappointed. More regretful.
“This isn’t going to work for you, sweetheart. You know this.”
“I know,” Nightwing said, the most honest he’s been this whole evening, “I’m just not ready to acknowledge it yet.”
“Is that why you called him two weeks ago?”
The words cut him to a stop just as he nears the corner.
Suddenly his hands are colder than they’ve been all night.
A sigh this time, “N, I’m not blaming you, I’m just-”
“Yeah,” he bites and continues to walk. His steps firm, eyes narrow, and a storm of anger and hurt brewing heavy in his heart, drowning through his veins.
An attempt at damage control, “Nightwing is already in trouble with that gang-”
A scoff, “Nightwing is always in trouble in Blüdhaven, W.”
“You know this is different, N! Your arm’s still-”
“I’ve had worse.”
“You’re careless, bone-deep exhausted and in no mind to-”
His hand comes down on the railing. Hard. It rattles the side of the building, echoing into a spiral that ends in the alley below Nightwing’s feet.
The voice smartly doesn’t comment.
The wince and hitch in his breath makes Nightwing regret the whole evening faster than drugs spread in the dark corners of Blüdhaven
“ I’ve had worse, ” Nightwing says through gritted teeth and if it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself then he is trying to convince his De Facto guy in the chair, then we'll… “I’ve had worse. I’ll see you in ten. Don’t wait for me.”
They both know it’s as unlikely as Nightwing missing patrol. And for a moment, Nightwing fears he’ll argue back.
He only receives a sigh, “I’ll see you soon, Dick.”
And Dick cannot help but sigh either, stepping onto the fire escape, feet silent.
With an even quieter whisper, voice tethering heavily, he says, “See you soon, Walls.”
The call disconnects. The November wind cradles the silence. Without another word, Nightwing climbs down, holding his side with one hand and the rusty metal with the other, hissing at every step.
The three-minute journey passes in a haze, apology after apology formulating in his head until the very last step. The darkness of the alleyway swallows him and his colours soon enough. Silent
And this time with company unexpected.
And before he can react, there’s one, two, three little clicks of a gun. One, two, three small needles pierce his neck. One, two, three seconds before his vision swims, his body feels unusually heavy, and his heavy heart has little to do with it.
“Don’t worry,” Nightwing barely registers the thug’s words, head connecting with the concrete before he has a chance to struggle against his attackers, toeing that dangerous cliff between sleep and wake, “You’ll be treated no more worse than you’ve treated us, bird bastard.”
Then, there is darkness. Absolute.
No Nightwing leaves that alleyway that night.
Dick Grayson doesn’t come home.
27 hours later, Alfred Pennyworth answers the bell that rings through Wayne Manor, a frantic Wally West on the other end.