#dick is a ray of sunshine

[psychemochanight]

When the League meets Baby Robin(Dick), they are genuinely surprised, as it seems impossible that Batman is raising this little ray of sunshine who appeared from between his cape and then proceeded to greet them with the brightest smile they've all ever seen, completely adoring Superman, saying how great Wonder Woman is, and actually laughing at Barry's jokes.

Bruce takes care of his work, but occasionally stops to, in fact, help Robin who is trying to do his English homework. The other members also help out, of course.

So, Hal arrives at the Watchtower, and Robin, seeing the man his dad mentor has been so grumpy about because of the last meeting they had (Hal doesn't understand that Batman is the best at his job and is the one giving directions for a reason, duh!), decides he will exact revenge.

He carries on a normal conversation with the man just as he did with everyone else, subtly leading the topic until Hal falls into the trap:

Hal: What about your mom? I can't imagine anyone putting up with the old bat.

He speaks with all mockery, but then his smile freezes when he sees the tremor in the little boy's shoulders.

Dick: *shuddering and holding back a little sob* my mummy died in front of me a few months ago.... I...

Hal is pale now, because the child actually sobs, and runs off to hide in the cape of Batman, who was now standing, ready to stitch up his child.

He's not the only one, Superman and the others are already there too, looking at him angrily because he made the little bean cry.

Hal is in a panic.

And if he sees how the boy smiles at him when no one is looking, sticking his tongue out at him while moving his lips to send him the message "Don't bother my dad", no one would ever believe him, not while the little boy is now clinging to Batman tightly as he slowly blinks away tears that not even the best actors could ever pull off.

Only Hal knows the devil behind that angel face.

Batman knows it too, but he adores his precious little demon.

[h3lenofsparta]

Some batboys and their favorite drinks

[cebawoohoo]

As someone with siblings, I just thought of something we would do to each other to annoy one another and I thought it would be funny if the BatKids did it.

Damian who is sitting on the couch, staring at Tim:

Tim getting annoyed: Can you stop staring at me?

Damian deciding to be a little shit: I’m not staring at you.

Tim who clearly sees Damian still staring at him: Yes you are.

Damian: No I’m not

Tim: Yes you fucking are.

Damian:

Tim:

Damian:

Tim: Bruce! Tell Damian to stop staring at me!

Bruce who was just walking by and is running on thirty minutes of sleep and doesn’t want to deal with his kids just yet: Damian, stop staring at your brother.

Damian: I’m not staring at him, Father.

Tim: Yes he is! Tell him to stop!

Bruce, sighing: Tim, just try to ignore him.

Tim: No! I find it hella creepy for the little demon child staring at me constantly!

Bruce absolutely done with this shit: Damian, please don’t stare at your brother anymore.

Damian: But I wasn’t, Father!

Tim: Stop lying! We clearly see you staring at me!

Bruce: Tim, sweetheart, why don’t you leave the room if it’s bothering you?

Tim: No! I was here first and I’m not moving!

Bruce is absolutely done. This goes on for another twenty minutes before Dick comes in the room and starts being annoying towards both of his brothers, making Damian stop staring at Tim. Bruce is just relieved it’s over. Remind him to never adopt more kids.

[inkpotsprite]

Jason (buried underground): *panic, clawing, digging, catatonia*

Dick: *sings the beatles*

[kikipancakes]

[were-wolverine]

dick grayson has scary dog privilege but it’s just his younger siblings

dick: hi :D !!

cass, jason, tim & damian: *behind him, glaring*

[pinklotushere]

Five times someone was flustered by nightwing, and the one time it was by dick grayson

That is not to say dick doesn't charm people,he absolutely does, I just think nightwing is very different from dick if you know what I mean, he's got a certain charm that makes me want to rip my heart out and offer it to him

1

The café was dimly lit, its neon “Open Late” sign buzzing softly in the quiet Blüdhaven night. A handful of customers sipped their drinks in peace until the door slammed open, and a masked mugger stormed in, waving a gun.

“Everyone down! Empty the register!” he barked, his voice jittery.

The young barista froze, fumbling with the cash drawer as the customers cowered behind tables. Her hands shook so badly that coins clattered to the floor.

“Move faster!” the mugger yelled, slamming his hand on the counter.

“Maybe try saying ‘please,’” a voice quipped from above.

The mugger spun around just in time to see Nightwing drop from the rafters, landing with feline grace.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“its a cafe,” he said, twirling his escrima sticks. “And you’re ruining coffee night, pal.”

The mugger lunged, but Nightwing dodged easily, knocking the gun out of his hand with a sharp crack. A quick sweep of the leg sent the man sprawling, and within seconds, he was zip-tied to a chair.

The barista stared, wide-eyed, as Nightwing approached her. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, brushing a curl from her face. “Thanks, Hot—uh, Nightwing. Sorry, I didn’t mean—"

“Hotwing, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. “That’s a new one.”

Her face turned scarlet. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that out loud!”

“Relax,” he said, chuckling as he adjusted his escrima stick on his back and took a peek at her nametag. “Emily, right? You’re good under pressure. Just maybe work on the nicknames.”

She managed a laugh as he turned toward the door. “Thanks again!”

“Anytime,” he called back, disappearing into the night.

2

The apartment building glowed orange against the midnight sky, flames devouring the upper floors. Sirens blared as firefighters scrambled to douse the inferno, but a group was trapped on the fifth floor, coughing and struggling to find an escape.

“Hang tight!” a voice called through the smoke.

The firefighters looked up to see Nightwing emerging from a shattered window, his silhouette framed by the flickering firelight.

“Everyone still breathing?” he asked, scanning the room.

“Yeah, but we’re trapped!” one of the firefighters said. “Ceiling came down behind us!”

“Not a problem.” Nightwing fired his grappling hook, securing it to a stable beam. “Let’s get you out of here.”

As he helped the first firefighter across the rope line, the man stammered, “Holy crap, you’re really Nightwing! I—uh—I’m a huge fan!”

“Appreciate it,” Nightwing said, steadying him. “Now focus on not looking down, okay?”

Once they were all safely outside, the fanboy firefighter turned to his team, still buzzing with excitement.

“Did you see him? He’s even cooler in person!”

The others burst into laughter, and Nightwing, perched on a nearby ledge, called down, “You’re making me blush.” He gave a two-fingered salute before disappearing into the shadows.

3

The moonlight filtered through the trees of Blüdhaven Park, casting long, eerie shadows. Nightwing had just subdued a thief when he noticed someone sitting on a bench nearby, illuminated by the soft glow of a portable lamp.

The young woman was sketching furiously, glancing up at him every few seconds. When she realized he’d spotted her, she froze, her pencil hovering mid-air.

“Nice night for art,” Nightwing said, strolling over.

“Uh… yeah,” she stammered, clutching her sketchpad like a shield.

“What are you working on?”

She hesitated, then flipped the pad around to show him. The drawing captured him mid-leap, his escrima sticks glowing, his movements frozen in perfect, exaggerated detail.

“Wow,” he said, genuinely impressed. “That’s incredible.”

“You think so?” she asked, her cheeks reddening. “I thought I might’ve overdone it…”

He tilted his head, studying the sketch. “Maybe a bit on the muscles, but hey, I’m not complaining.”

She laughed nervously. “Artistic choice?”

“Exactly.” He smiled. “You’ve got talent. Keep at it."

“Thanks,” she said softly.

As he turned to leave, she called out, “Wait! Can I give this to you?”

“Sure,” he said, accepting the sketch. “But only if you sign it. Gotta keep it authentic.”

Her face lit up as she scribbled her name at the bottom. He gave her a wink before vanishing into the night.

4

The clinic was quiet, its fluorescent lights flickering against the darkened windows. Nightwing leaned against the counter, holding a hand over the shallow cut on his arm.

“Can I help—oh!” the nurse gasped, nearly dropping her clipboard when she saw him.

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t mean to scare you.

“You’re Nightwing!” she blurted, then immediately cringed. “I mean, obviously you’re Nightwing. Sorry! Uh, what do you need?”

“Just a quick patch-up,” he said, lifting his arm. “Nothing too serious.”

She nodded, her hands trembling as she grabbed the supplies. “Sit here, please.”

He perched on the exam table, watching as she cleaned the wound. Her hands steady as she worked.

“You sure I’m not making you nervous?” he teased.

“What? No!” she said quickly, then winced. “Okay, maybe a little. It’s not every night you stitch up a superhero.”

“Fair point,” he said with a grin.

As she tightened the last stitch, he winced.

“Oh no! Did I hurt you?” she asked, looking horrified.

“Not at all,” he said quickly. “You’re doing great.”

She finished and handed him a lollipop from a nearby jar. “For being brave.”

He laughed, tucking it into his belt. “Thanks, doc. I'll eat it with pride.”

5

The night sky over Blüdhaven was clear for once, the stars twinkling above a rooftop wedding. Strings of fairy lights bathed the intimate gathering in a soft glow, and the bride and groom had just started their first dance when chaos erupted.

Three armed men burst onto the rooftop, shouting orders.

“Hands in the air! Phones and wallets, now!” one of them barked, his gun waving wildly.

Guests gasped, clutching each other in fear. The bride clung to her groom, her veil fluttering in the breeze as she whispered, “What do we do?”

Before anyone could answer, a grappling hook hissed through the air.

“Sorry to crash your party,” Nightwing said as he swung in, landing right between the thugs and the wedding party. “But I’m not a fan of uninvited guests.”

The first thug lunged, but Nightwing dodged with ease, disarming him in a heartbeat. The second went for his gun, only to get an escrima stick to the wrist. By the time the third thug turned to run, Nightwing had already tripped him with a spin-kick.

The bride and groom stared, wide-eyed, as Nightwing zip-tied the men and turned back to the guests.

“Everyone okay?” he asked, brushing off his gloves.

The bride stepped forward, her dress shimmering in the light, face slightly flushed “We are, thanks to you. You saved our wedding!”

“Glad I could help,” Nightwing said, his grin warm. He glanced at the decorations. “Nice setup, by the way. Love the string lights.”

“Stay for cake?” the groom asked, half-joking, his face suspiciously warm.

Nightwing chuckled. “Tempting, but I’m on the clock. Congrats, though!”

As he turned to leave, the bride called after him, “Wait! At least let us take a photo! You’re part of our night now."

He hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Alright, but just one.”

The guests quickly gathered, and someone snapped the shot: the bride and groom in the centre, with Nightwing standing behind them, his arms crossed, and a playful smirk on his face.

“Thanks again,” the bride said as Nightwing stepped back.

“Anytime,” he replied, disappearing into the shadows.

+1

The mall was bustling with weekend shoppers, the hum of conversation, and the jingling of a carousel filling the air. Dick was taking a rare day off, dressed casually in jeans and a leather jacket, sipping a coffee as he strolled through the crowd.

A small voice caught his attention.

“mama? Mama?”

Dick turned to see a little girl standing near a fountain, clutching a stuffed bunny to her chest, her wide eyes brimming with tears. She couldn’t have been older than five.

“Hey there,” he said gently, crouching to her level. “You lost?”

She nodded, sniffling. “I can’t find my mommy.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” Dick said with a reassuring smile. “What’s your name?”

“Lila,” she whispered.

“Hi, Lila. I’m Dick.” He held out his hand, and she took it hesitantly. “Now, let’s go find your mom. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

“A pink sweater,” Lila said, clutching his hand tightly as they weaved through the crowd.

It didn’t take long before Dick spotted a frantic-looking woman near the food court, scanning the area with wide eyes.

“Lila!” the woman called, relief flooding her face as she spotted them. She rushed over, dropping to her knees to hug her daughter tightly. “Oh my goodness, I was so worried!”

“Mama!” Lila cried, wrapping her arms around her mother.

The woman looked up at Dick, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you so much! I don’t know what I would’ve done if—” She cut of, suddenly realizing who he was.

“You’re… Dick Grayson?” she asked, her eyes widening.

Dick laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s me. I’m just glad I could help.”

The woman’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I… uh… Wow, okay. Thank you. Really. You’re—uh—taller in person.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning slightly playful. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She laughed nervously, still flustered. “I didn’t mean to—sorry! I’m a little overwhelmed."

“No need to apologize,” he said warmly. “I’m just glad Lila’s safe.”

“Thank you again,” she said, glancing between him and her daughter. “You’re a real hero.”

Dick gave a small wave to Lila, who beamed up at him. “You’re welcome. Stay close to your mom, okay?”

“I will!” Lila said, hugging her bunny tightly.

As Dick walked away, the woman muttered under her breath, “Of course he’s ridiculously nice, too.” She shook her head, still blushing, as she scooped up her daughter and headed home.

[mmmmmmeow]

LMFAO THE GLARE its giving my mom when i was younger 😭😭 Bruce has already got this dad thing DOWN

Batman & Robin: Year One

[celaenaeiln]

Batman: *to the Justice League* This is Robin. He's in my care from now on.

Robin Dick: *emitting light from his smile* hi!

Justice League: Awwww! He's really cute but Batman, are you sure about this?

Batman: I've never been more sure.

JL: okay...

Dick: I'm robin! i'm 8! And you guys are the coolest people ever!!

JL: *melting into a puddle of love*

Hal Jordan: Man, how'd you pop out a kid like this bats?

Dick: He didn't. I adopted him.

Hal: what?

Dick: He's under my care now, all opinions and complaints about his behavior go through me.

Hal: uh. Well in that case, I feel for ya kid because Bats is a-

Dick: denied.

Hal: what?

Dick: your complaint is denied. rejected. unforgiven.

Hal: .....???

Dick: bye.

Batman: *tearing up behind his mask* Best. Decision. Ever.

[killerplink]

HOME

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Words: 5,7k

A/N: This one's for the bestie who suggested a part two for the previous chapter. I absolutely loved writing it, and I hope you guys enjoy it just as much! Thank you for all the love on "Fractured" and for wanting to see more of this story. Writing this soft, protective, doting Dick Grayson was everything, and I hope it gives you all the warm, snuggly feels. Let me know what you think, besties 🥹

Previous chapter here

You're in the hospital bed, waiting to hear if today's the day you finally get to go home. The hospital is top tier—private room, plush bedding, the best care money can buy—courtesy of Bruce, obviously.

But no matter how nice it is, you just want out. You want your bed, your things, and more than anything, you want to be wrapped up in Dick's arms.

And speaking of Dick—he's been here every day, every minute, like he doesn't trust anyone else to take care of you properly. He's brought you food when you didn't like the hospital meals, kept you entertained when you were bored, and basically hasn't let go of your hand since you came out of surgery. Even when you sleep, you wake up to find him still there, sometimes stretched out uncomfortably in the chair, sometimes curled up beside you on the edge of the bed when the nurses aren't looking.

He's been so patient, so sweet, but you can tell he's been on edge this whole time. Watching you closely, waiting for any sign of pain, tensing every time a nurse comes in like he's expecting bad news.

It's not just protective, he genuinely hates seeing you hurt. And while he trusts the doctors, he won't be able to really relax until you're home, safe, and finally snuggled up with him like he promised.

Dick barely has time to register the way you shift before you're whining, your voice soft and just a little bit dramatic as you shift against the pillows.

"Baby... when is the nurse coming? I wanna go home."

Your bottom lip juts out ever so slightly, your brows furrowing like you're personally offended by the wait. And honestly? You are. You've been waiting since seven in the morning, and it's now two in the afternoon.

That's seven hours of staring at the same white walls, listening to the beeping of machines you're sick of, stuck in this stupid hospital bed while the promise of going home keeps dangling just out of reach.

Dick, who has been watching you with the softest eyes this whole time, leans in without hesitation, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

"I know, my love," he murmurs against your skin. "She'll be here soon, I'm sure."

You huff, flopping back against the pillows, arms crossing over your chest. "She better be, or I'm gonna start walking out myself."

He chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Baby, you literally just got permission to start walking yesterday without me hovering over you like a lunatic."

Your pout deepens. "Well, maybe I wouldn't be so antsy if they didn't make me wait all day for an answer."

His hand finds yours, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your palm. "I know," he soothes. "But we wanna make sure you're really good to go, right? No setbacks, no unnecessary risks."

You groan, head lolling to the side as you stare at him. "I just wanna be in our bed, in your arms, eating something that isn't hospital food."

Dick laughs, squeezing your hand. "You'll get all of that soon, I promise."

And thankfully, finally, he's right. After what feels like another eternity—but is really just half an hour—there's a soft knock at the door before it swings open, revealing your nurse, a kind faced woman in scrubs who steps in with an apologetic smile.

"I'm so sorry for the wait," she says immediately. "We had some unexpected delays with the discharge paperwork, but I come bearing good news. You're officially cleared to go home."

Your entire face lights up, and the relief in your voice is palpable when you gasp, "Oh my God, finally!"

Dick, ever patient, rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, smiling at the way you practically vibrate with excitement.

The nurse chuckles. "I know you've been waiting all day, so let's go over everything quickly so we can get you out of here, yeah?"

You nod enthusiastically, and she flips through her tablet, getting straight to business.

"Alright, so, first things first. You need to keep an eye on your stitches. The incision looks great right now, but we don't want any infection, so you'll need to keep the area clean and dry. No soaking in the bath for at least two weeks. Showers only, and be gentle when washing around it."

You nod, taking it all in, but Dick is already a step ahead, reaching for his phone to set a reminder. He's been memorizing every instruction since day one, because if you forget even one thing, he won't.

"On pain management, you've got your prescription, but if you don't need the heavy stuff, regular over the counter painkillers should work just fine. Just don't overdo it, and if the pain gets worse instead of better, call your doctor immediately."

"Got it," you mumble, already reaching for Dick's hand again, and he laces his fingers through yours instinctively.

"No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity, and I know you'll feel better soon, but that doesn't mean you should rush things. Your body still needs time to heal. And if anything feels off—pain, dizziness, fever, anything—I want you to call us, okay?"

"Okay," you promise, feeling a little overwhelmed but so ready to leave that you'd agree to just about anything.

The nurse gives you a warm smile. "And last but not least, take it easy on yourself. Healing takes time, and there's no rush to bounce back overnight."

Dick hums in agreement, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry," he assures her. "I'm not letting her lift a finger for anything."

And honestly? You believe him.

With all the instructions laid out, the nurse makes her final notes before grinning at you. "Alright, looks like you're all set. You get dressed, and I'll go grab your final discharge papers. I'll be back in just a bit."

And with that, she's gone, leaving you alone with Dick, who is already helping you sit up, hands careful, movements gentle.

"You hear that, sweet girl?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "We're going home."

And God, it feels so good to hear that.

The hospital might've been top tier, but nothing—nothing—compares to being out.

It's been a full hour since the nurse gave you the green light, and now, finally, you're in the elevator, tucked firmly into Dick's side as you descend toward the exit. The elevator is packed, people standing shoulder to shoulder, and the last thing you need right now is someone bumping into your healing wound.

Dick knows it too. That's why his arm is wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close, a silent promise to keep you safe from any accidental elbows or shifting bodies.

He leans down slightly, murmuring against your hair, "Almost there, baby."

You hum in response, breathing in the familiar scent of him, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. And then, finally, the doors slide open, and the fresh air hits you the second you step outside.

You didn't realize how stuffy the hospital had felt until now, but God, you breathe so much easier out here, like the past few days had been pressing down on your lungs, and only now are they able to fully expand.

What you don't expect, though, is the sight waiting for you just past the curb: Alfred.

Standing prim and proper beside a sleek black car, the older man is already moving, one hand reaching for the door handle, the other resting neatly behind his back.

"Miss," he greets, his lips curving ever so slightly as he looks you over. "It is good to see you up and about. I trust you are feeling better?"

You blink, momentarily stunned, before offering him a sheepish smile. "Uh, yeah. Thank you, Alfred. But..." Your head tilts slightly as your brows furrow. "Why are you here?"

Dick chuckles softly beside you, clearly having expected this reaction. Alfred's expression doesn't change, though there's a small glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Master Bruce wanted to ensure you made it home safely."

Your eyes flicker to Dick before darting back to Alfred, your brows shooting up in mild disbelief. "Really? Damn, didn't know Bats was this concerned."

Alfred lets out a knowing sigh, his voice as even as ever. "Ah, yes. You will never hear him say it, but he was rather... stressed."

You huff out a laugh, the idea of Bruce pacing his cave, brooding even more than usual, just because of you being in the hospital, making you grin.

"That's kinda sweet," you admit, stepping forward carefully as Dick moves to help you into the car.

Alfred's lips twitch slightly, like he wants to say something more, but instead, he simply dips his head. "Do try not to make a habit of this, miss. Gotham's hospitals are good, but not that good."

You snort, settling into the seat as Dick slides in beside you, his arm immediately wrapping around you, guiding your body into his.

"No promises," you joke, leaning against him as he presses a kiss to your temple.

The car pulls away smoothly, and you can't help but relax into the ride, the world passing by in a soft blur of familiar Gotham streets. It's a little cloudy, the sky a dull gray, but there's something so comforting about it, something that feels like home.

Dick's fingers trace light patterns against your arm, his warmth seeping into you, grounding you in a way that makes your chest ache. You close your eyes for a moment, just listening to the hum of the car, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

God, you missed this. You miss the comfort of your shared apartment, the familiarity of your bed, the quiet intimacy of just being with Dick without the sterile, impersonal walls of a hospital around you.

"Almost home, baby," he murmurs against your hair, his voice a quiet promise.

And you can't wait. The moment your building comes into view, you're practically buzzing, fingers twitching against your thighs as you fight the urge to bounce in your seat.

Dick notices, of course. His lips quirk, his hand finding your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Excited, sweet girl?"

You nod, not even trying to hide it. "You have no idea. I just wanna be home, in my pajamas, in our bed, with you."

His smile softens at that, and before he can say anything, Alfred smoothly pulls the car to a stop in front of your building.

"Here we are," he announces, shifting into park before turning to face you.

The second he steps out, you move to follow, only for Dick to beat you to it, already out of the car and rounding the front to your side. But before he can get there, Alfred is already opening your door, standing with that ever composed expression of his.

"Thank you for driving, Alfred," you say earnestly, flashing him a grateful smile.

He nods, ever polite. "It was my pleasure. I—"

He doesn't get to finish because before you even think twice about it, you're leaning in, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. You feel the moment it surprises him—his body tensing slightly, his breath catching—but after only a second, he's hugging you back, firm and steady.

"Take it easy, miss," he murmurs, his voice a little softer than usual. "And do try not to get into any more trouble."

You snort, pulling back to grin up at him. "No promises."

He lets out a long suffering sigh, though there's a flicker of fond amusement in his gaze as he steps back. Dick chuckles beside you, reaching for your bag in one hand before slipping his fingers through yours with the other.

"C'mon, baby. Let's get you upstairs."

The walk up is slow. It's frustrating because honestly, you just want to move, want to get inside and collapse into your own space, but your body still isn't fully back to normal yet.

Dick knows this. That's why he stays right beside you, keeping his pace even, his grip firm but gentle as he helps you up the steps.

"I hate this," you grumble under your breath, pushing through the dull ache in your side.

He huffs a laugh, squeezing your fingers. "I know, my love. But you're doing great. Almost there."

You sigh, leaning into him slightly as you push forward, and sure enough, before long, you're standing in front of your door.

Home. Finally. With a deep breath, you unlock the door, pushing it open, and freeze.

The air is different the moment you step inside. Not because something's wrong, but because something is... off. It takes you a second to process, but when you do—

Holy shit.

First of all, the entire apartment is spotless. Not that you're a messy person, but let's be real, you were in a rush the night you got stabbed. There were definitely dishes in the sink, a pile of unfolded laundry somewhere, a few things out of place.

But now? It's pristine. Everything is neatly arranged, the air crisp and clean, like someone went through every single room with a fine tooth comb. And then there are the flowers. So. Many. Flowers.

Bouquets upon bouquets of them, filling every available surface with splashes of soft pinks, vibrant reds, delicate whites. Your mouth parts slightly as your gaze sweeps over them, taking in the sheer amount of stuff surrounding you.

There are gift baskets—luxurious ones, filled with high end chocolates, fruit, bath products. There are wrapped boxes, little notes attached to some of them. It looks like a goddamn florist's shop exploded in your living room.

"Baby..." you breathe, turning wide eyes to Dick. "What is all this?"

He rubs the back of his neck, looking mildly sheepish. "Well... let's just say the Batfam was a bit... worried about you."

You blink. "This is more than a bit worried, Dick."

He chuckles, pulling you closer. "Yeah, well. They've been crazy busy, so they couldn't visit, but they wanted to make sure you knew they were thinking about you."

Your heart clenches. You step forward, running your fingers over the petals of one of the bouquets, overwhelmed in the best way.

"They really did all this for me?" you murmur, glancing back at him.

Dick smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Of course they did, baby. You're family."

And just like that, you feel like you might cry. But not now. Right now, all you want is to finally settle in.

You turn to him, eyes still a little wide from the overwhelming display of affection filling your apartment, but when you look at Dick—all steady warmth and love, watching you like you mean the world to him—something inside you softens.

Slowly, you push up onto the tips of your toes, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as you lean in. He meets you halfway, his hands settling on your waist as your lips press together in a kiss so sweet it makes your chest ache.

His lips part for you just enough, letting your tongue slide against his in a slow, gentle glide, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine. He tastes familiar, like mint and something inherently him, and when he deepens it just a little, just enough to make your breath hitch, you let out the softest whimper. That's what makes him pull back.

His thumb swipes across your cheek as he exhales, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Okay, that's enough for today."

You giggle, still a little breathless. "I'm fine."

He levels you with a look. "No, you're not. Don't downplay this." His fingers trace gently along your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. "It's not a scratch, sweet girl."

You pout, lips puckering. "Baby, I'm okay."

He huffs. "We'll see about that."

Before you can argue, he asks, "Are you hungry?"

You nod. "Yeah, but.... I really wanna take a shower and change first."

He smiles, already taking your hand. "Okay. C'mon."

You barely get a step inside the bathroom before he's kneeling at your feet, hands already reaching for your sneakers.

"Dick, seriously, I'm—"

"Don't be stubborn and let me help," he interrupts, voice firm but so gentle.

Your mouth snaps shut because yeah, you knew this was coming. You knew he'd be extra protective, hovering over you like you might fall apart at any second. And honestly? You'd be lying if you said it didn't do something to you—seeing him like this, so serious, so sweet. So instead of fighting him on it, you nod.

"Good girl," he murmurs, slipping your sneakers off with care.

You whine instantly. "Baby, you can't say stuff like that. You know it makes me horny."

His chuckle is deep, amused, as he gets up, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "We'll have plenty of time for that. When you're feeling better, I promise."

You sulk, but he just grins, guiding you toward the shower before turning on the water, making sure it's warm but not scalding. And before you can even move to start undressing, he tsks.

"I've got it," he says, reaching for the hem of your top.

He's so careful, peeling the fabric up inch by inch, making sure it doesn't tug too much against your wound. His touch is reverent, like you're made of something delicate, something precious.

Once your top is off, he makes quick work of the rest, helping you step out of your bottoms, sliding your underwear down your thighs with a level of patience that makes your stomach tighten.

He guides you into the shower, waiting until you're under the warm spray before the rustling of fabric behind you makes you freeze.

"Dick—"

And then he's stepping in behind you. Completely naked. Completely hot.

You groan. "Dick!"

He blinks, feigning innocence. "What?"

You glare at him over your shoulder. "You're naked."

"We're in the shower, baby," he says, biting back a grin. "That's kinda the point."

You huff, muttering under your breath. "Just standing there, all hot, and I can't even do anything about it—"

His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you gently against his chest, his lips finding your shoulder in a slow, deliberate kiss.

"You don't have to do anything, baby," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the side of your neck. "Just let me take care of you."

And then he's turning you to face him and he's kissing you again—slow, lazy, deep, and it only makes you burn. Because fuck, you want him so bad. But right now, all you can do is let him spoil you.

He takes his time with you, washing you with a care so tender it makes your heart swell. His hands glide over your skin, careful and reverent, smoothing soap over your shoulders, your arms, your back. And between every few motions, he kisses you—soft pecks to your shoulder, a lingering press to your cheek, the tip of your nose, your forehead.

By the time he reaches for the loofah to lather up your front, your stomach tightens, breath hitching at the way his hands skim over your waist, over the swell of your hips, dipping down between your thighs just long enough to make you shiver.

"You're killing me, baby," you mutter, voice low.

He grins, tilting your chin up to meet his lips in a slow, teasing kiss. "Not my fault you're so cute."

He finishes washing you with practiced ease, rinsing away the soap, making sure not a single sud lingers. And then, while you lean back against the warm spray, letting the water soothe your tired body, he quickly gets to washing himself.

Or at least, he tries. Because you don't miss the way he angles himself away from you, his movements a little stiff, a little too focused.

You smirk. "Baby."

He stills. "Yeah?"

You reach forward, trailing a single finger down his spine before wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, pressing yourself flush against him. "You hard?"

His laugh is sheepish, breathy. "I—"

Your hands dip lower, teasing over the firm cut of his abs, feeling the way his muscles twitch beneath your touch.

"Baby," he groans, shifting on his feet. "Not fair."

You giggle against his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. "You really couldn't keep it down?"

He sighs, turning in your hold, wrapping his arms around you again. "Can you blame me? My girl is hot, what can I say?"

You beam, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he gently turns you back toward the spray, rinsing you off one last time.

When you step out of the shower, the air is thick with steam, the scent of the body wash still clinging to your skin. Before you can reach for a towel, he's already got one in his hands, wrapping it around you and gently rubbing you down, taking care not to be too rough over your wound.

"Dick," you sigh, even as you let him.

"Shhh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He moves slow, drying you off completely before reaching for one of his t-shirts, slipping it over your head with careful hands. Then, he helps you into a fresh pair of panties and your softest sweatpants, tugging them up your legs before pressing a kiss to your stomach, just above the waistband.

You let out a tiny whimper at that, but before you can act on it, he's already pulling on a pair of boxers and sweatpants himself, taking your hand and guiding you back to the living room.

Outside, Gotham is drenched. Rain patters steadily against the windows, the city skyline blurred with mist. Most people hate this kind of weather—the endless drizzle, the way the sky never really clears—but you love it. The sound of it, the smell of it, the way it makes everything feel a little softer.

Dick gets you settled on the couch, easing you down before draping that ridiculous cow print fluffy blanket you love over you. You sigh happily, snuggling into the warmth.

He grins, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your face. "What do you wanna eat, baby?"

You hum, considering. "I don't know. Something comforting. Something good."

He watches you, waiting, and then, you both say it at the same time.

"Tacos!"

His grin widens. "On it, my love. Anything else?"

You pause, then nod. "Some tea, but I can—"

Before you can even move, he presses a firm hand to your shoulder, pinning you to the couch. "I've got it. No need to move around so much."

You pretend to huff, arms crossed. "You're so bossy."

His brows lift, a teasing glint in his eyes. "You like it."

You try to glare, but then he tickles your side, and you break—giggling, swatting at his hands until you're breathless.

He kisses you, quick and playful, before standing. "I'll order the tacos and get your tea, okay?"

You nod, still smiling as you watch him go, warmth pooling in your chest. The rest of the afternoon passes in a warm, easy blur.

The tacos arrive, and you don't even try to pretend you're not excited, sitting cross legged on the couch with your plate balanced on your lap, sipping on your tea between bites. Dick sits beside you, his own plate in hand, watching you with that familiar, soft look in his eyes.

"Good?" he asks, grinning when you let out a tiny moan of satisfaction.

"So good," you say, licking a bit of sauce from your thumb before reaching for another bite.

You eat together, wrapped up in the comfort of each other's company, the rain still falling steadily outside. And when you're done, Dick doesn't even let you lift a finger, gathering up your plates and setting them aside before you can protest.

After that, you start unpacking some of the gifts, curiosity getting the best of you. The sheer amount of them is honestly kind of overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

"I still can't believe they sent all this," you murmur, eyeing the bouquets, the neat stacks of wrapped packages.

Dick hums, handing you a small box first. "Well, you did nearly die on them. They worry."

You snort but take the gift, unwrapping it carefully. The tag reads From Damian, and when you pull out what's inside, your heart melts.

It's a book—a first edition of one of your favorite novels, the pages edged in gold, the cover smooth beneath your fingertips.

"Oh my God," you whisper, running your hands over it.

"Kid went all out," Dick notes, eyes twinkling.

You smile, already making a mental note to hug the hell out of Damian the next time you see him. Next is Tim's gift, which makes you laugh the second you unwrap it, because of course he sent you a ridiculously expensive, state-of-the-art, all in one smart mug that keeps your drinks warm at all times.

"He's so practical," you giggle, holding it up.

Dick chuckles. "Yeah, and now you'll never complain about your tea getting cold again."

Barbara's gift is a weighted blanket—deep blue, soft as hell, and heavier than you expected.

"Ohhh," you sigh happily, pressing it to your face before draping it over your lap.

The weight settles over you instantly, grounding, comforting in a way that makes your shoulders relax.

Dick chuckles beside you. "Babs knows you too well."

"She really does," you murmur, already imagining how good it'll feel to curl up under it later.

Cassandra's gift is a gorgeous silk robe, the fabric light as air, with delicate embroidery lining the edges—cherry blossoms stitched in soft pink and white. It's the kind of thing that makes you feel effortlessly elegant just by touching it.

You hold it up, eyes wide. "Oh my God, this is so pretty."

Dick hums, running his fingers over the silk. "Yeah, you're never taking this off, are you?"

You grin. "Not a chance."

Stephanie? A basket filled with every single one of your favorite snacks, plus a personalized playlist on a tiny USB drive labeled To keep you entertained while you heal. Love you, bitch!

Wally's gift is a custom comic book featuring you and Dick as superheroes. The comic is hilarious, with Wally's signature sense of humor, showing you both getting into ridiculous situations, like trying to save Gotham while barely avoiding getting caught in superhero mishaps. There's a note inside:

Figured you'd need something to distract you when you're laying in bed, recovering. Plus, thought you'd enjoy seeing Dick and you kick butt. Don't try to get any ideas from the comic though...

You hold up the comic, eyebrows raised, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "Look at this," you laugh, flipping through the pages. "Wally really went all out. I can't believe he turned us into superheroes."

He glances over your shoulder, shaking his head in amusement as he looks at the comic. "Oh, you better believe it. That man has no filter. But I gotta admit, it's pretty impressive. His art's getting better."

You point to one of the panels, where the two of you are depicted mid fight, surrounded by goons. You're holding a ridiculous oversized hammer, and Dick is dramatically flipping through the air, all muscles and heroism.

"I look like I could take down a building," you joke, smirking.

Dick chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. "Well, that's a fitting look for you, don't you think?" He reaches over to flip through a few pages, stopping at a particularly funny moment where you're both getting tangled up in a huge net. "Seems like Wally gave us the perfect fight scene... I'd say it's accurate."

You snicker, leaning into him, and shake your head. "I swear, he's gonna be the death of me with his antics," you pause, flipping through more pages. "But this? This is actually really sweet of him."

He wraps an arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "He cares. And you mean a lot to him, even if he's terrible at showing it."

You grin, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, the comic still clutched in your hands. "I think it's one of the best gifts I've ever received."

Dick pulls you closer, resting his chin on your head. "I'm not sure about that, but I'm glad you like it. I think you're his superhero too."

You both sit there for a moment, flipping through the comic, as if the world outside doesn't exist—just you, Dick, and your silly superhero alter egos, surrounded by love and laughter. As you smile, still holding the comic, you start to unwrap the next one.

Jason's gift surprises you the most—it's a hoodie. One of his own, worn in and warm, clearly something he's had for years, the fabric soft from countless washes. A little note is stuck to the front.

I figured you'd like something comfortable, since you keep stealing my hoodies when you come over. Don't get blood on it this time, dumbass.

You grin, holding it to your chest. "Jason, you soft bastard," you murmur.

Dick just shakes his head fondly. And then there's Bruce's gift. Of course, Bruce sent something insane—a fully paid vacation for whenever you feel up to it, a little envelope containing a sleek black card with your name on it.

Your jaw drops. "What the—"

He leans over to read the note inside. "Take some time off when you're ready. Everything's taken care of."

You stare. "Bruce is out of his damn mind," you whisper.

Dick just smirks. "Yeah, but you should probably accept it before he changes his mind."

You shake your head, placing the envelope aside before sighing, reaching for him instinctively.

"Come here," you murmur.

He doesn't hesitate, shifting closer, letting you burrow into his warmth. You sigh against him, fully relaxed for the first time in days, his arm curling around your shoulders as you tuck your head beneath his chin.

For a while, you just exist like that, wrapped up in each other, the TV playing some random movie in the background. He presses soft kisses to the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns down your arm.

You tilt your head up slightly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He turns, catching your lips in a slow, sweet kiss, his fingers tilting your chin up to deepen it just a little. When you part, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"Comfy?" he murmurs.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. "Mmhmm. Love you, baby."

He squeezes you tighter, his voice soft as he whispers, "Love you too, pretty girl."

Dinner is another lazy, indulgent affair. Neither of you has the heart—or the will—to let go of each other long enough to cook, so Dick orders sushi, making sure to get all your favorites, plus mochi and bubble tea, because he knows exactly how to spoil you.

You eat curled up together on the couch, still wrapped in that fluffy cow print blanket, sharing bites between quiet laughter. He feeds you pieces of sushi with his chopsticks, smirking when you moan at the taste, and you return the favor, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth after slipping a piece between his lips.

The past few days—full of pain, fear, and far too many sleepless nights—fade into the background, replaced by this warmth, this steady, endless love between you.

It's late when you finally pass out against him, somewhere between half watching a movie and listening to the rain.

Dick had felt your body go lax first, then the soft, slow rhythm of your breathing, your cheek squished against his chest, warm and safe in his arms.

He doesn't have the heart to wake you.

Instead, he moves carefully, shifting just enough to slip one arm under your legs and the other beneath your back, lifting you with all the gentleness in the world. You don't even stir, still snoring softly against him, your arms instinctively curling toward his chest.

He carries you to bed like you're something fragile, something precious, setting you down with deliberate care. His fingers brush over your hairline as he tucks the blankets around you, watching the way you sigh in your sleep, your lips parting slightly as you settle into the warmth of the bed.

He slips in beside you, and immediately, you find him in your sleep, curling toward him, seeking out his warmth. It knocks the air from his lungs. Because God, he loves you.

He's loved before, he's cared before, but never like this. Never in a way that shakes him down to his bones, never in a way that makes the mere thought of losing you feel unbearable.

And for a brief, gut wrenching moment, he lets himself go there. Because he almost did. He almost lost you.

He thinks about how worried everyone had been, even Jason and Damian, who don't usually give a fuck about just anyone. They have sisters, sure. But you? You're different.

You're the one who gets away with shit no one else does. The one who drags a grumbling Damian into a hug and makes Jason tolerate sappy pet names. And they'd burn Gotham to the ground before they let this happen again.

Bruce had no luck finding the bastard who stabbed you. But Jason did.

Dick doesn't even have to ask. He just knows. Knows Jason didn't waste a second before hunting him down, knows he didn't stop until he found him. Knows he tortured the bastard for days before finally putting a bullet in his head.

Dick should care. Should ask. Because usually, he's against killing. But he doesn't. Because if the roles were reversed? He might have done the same. Maybe not as brutal, maybe not as messy, but there wouldn't have been a second chance. Not when it comes to you.

He doesn't wake you when his grip tightens slightly, when he buries his face in your hair, breathing in your warmth, your scent, grounding himself in the steady beat of your heart. A sound, a feeling, he almost lost.

He doesn't sleep. Not even for a second. Instead, he holds you, just like he promised. His fingers trace slow, absentminded circles against your back, like he's mapping out proof that you're still here. And every time you shift, every time you whimper in your sleep, he's right there, pressing soft kisses to your temple, whispering I'm here. I've got you.

And he does. He always will.

[lambypop]

so uhm imma just be writting down stuff cause yes (PLEASE FEEL FREE TO COMENT)

My principal 2 ideas

how this could start is either way patrol goes bad or a Mission with the JL or both combined and everyone is mad at Bruce because yes his paranoia IS a problem but they all could have reacted better beacause THEY KNOW BETTER, Bruce has dedicated his life to try and teach them better than what he knew himself and also had TRIED to keep them out of the "Heroism" beacuse i need to do the reminder that most of them were the ones that started as vigilantes and not Bruce pushing them into that.

his children (imma go more in deep here cause this is the rout i will probably go for):

Dick started because dude has enraged cause his parents died and wanted to track down their killer, and B trained him so he (dick) didnt get killed. Jason was happy being robing cause "it gave him magic" (IT DID, but when a ray of sunshine is to bright the world destroys it)

Tim didn't even wanted to be robin in the first place, i mean ofc he wanted but the baby had many issues, so he looked for Dick and quite literally asked him to "pls be robin again, bat is angy and bein mean to people" by mean i meant HES PUTTING PEOPLE INTO EMERGENCY CARE, eventually i think Dick and Bruce got into troble with BANE and fucking alfred gave the robin suit to an UNTRAINED child and told him "Yo go save them chum" and Tim in his rational mind went to save 2 vigilantes as a child and untrained (alfred IS also the problem),

yes, i havent forgot that Tim did kinda blackmailed Bruce and half-"man-handle" him into self and kind of mental health in some comics, Bruce didn't wanted Tim to be Robin because he still couldn't forget Jason's death wich still haunted him and still does. then Tim almost fckin dies and he needs to stay in bed rest and then

Stephanie is Robin for like a while and then she wither quits or Bruce fires her i think, and she comes back as Batgirl and the Spoiler

Cassandra is literally there by choice, she says it in the comics "Im Batman's Daughter By choice" also she's a trained assasin, she wants to be there, she wants to help and She does not kill.

Duke is Adopted cause of his parents situation (they are jokerized) and he's a meta (also the only bat that does patrols at Daytime) and he was the lider of the ROBINS club, bro literally had a mini gang of people calling themself's Robins to help Batman (i havent read stuff in a while so FEEL FREE TO CORRECT ME)

Barbara was there from the start and even before Dick in some characterizations (or shes as old as Bruce, as she sould be) Girl has gotten DE-aged so many times just to be shipped, GIRL DESERVES BETTER, so she should be older than him atleast by 7 years plssss, and when she started as Batgirl she didn't even worked for bruce.

then there is Maps (Mia "Maps" Mizoguchi) WHICH I will make her appear in the story (she's a student from Gotham Academy, she's also the founder of the "Detective's club") "Her journey as Robin is explored through various comics, including Batman: Black and White. Batman's perspective on Maps' role is officially revealed in The Brave and the Bold #12. Maps isn't just any sidekick; she's a named Robin in Batman's eyes as of 2024." -Google chrome and me cause i read the comic

--------------------------------

it resolves in everyone (exept some) snapping at Bruce and making him for the first time in a LONG time think about throw in the Cowl, yes. imma make it so gutrenching angst and also very fluffy, because Bruce has started to go once a month to a therapy session with Dinah either in person or bya Zoom or somtheing like that and its been doing okay, and the thing is those sessions are just a follow up from the previous stuff he was doing cause in Tim made him go to therapy at first (cause of Jasons death and Bruce's other issues) and this event is just gonna make Bruce just go to france to have a very well needed stayacion.

and well everyone is worried asf beacuse BRUCE WAYNE has dissapeared

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS MONDAY AND HE HASN'T FELL INTO A FOUNTAIN?!

what do you mean he isn't there for the WEEKLY meeting with his workers were he's there just praising how well they work (he has never NOT come)

what do you mean he isnt there for FAMILY DINNER?

what do you mean he is not there for the JL obligatory meet up

what do you mean he isn't on a crazy Yacht party

what do you mean he isn't there when scarecrow gases gotham again? (even tho they can do it perfectly)

what do you mean he isn't at the kent farm like he usually does when he's stressed and he need that pie from Ma' kent

What do you mean he isn't with clark or louis?

What do you mean he isn't with oliver queen doing stupid stuff

What are you in when the Bat-kids (Damian) call the LOA (The League of Assasins) asking if casually they have Bruce (Damian calls Talia to ask if she got her "Beloved" with her)

What do you mean even Ra's Al Ghul is taken aback with the news that his Daughter gave him

Why are the Gotham Villians being nicer???? (B isnt there and they are worried kinda)

What do you mean Bruce Wayne is spotted in DISNEYLAND PARIS with a GROW UP normal child on his shoulder and smiling brighter than a thousand suns with pure and entire Happyness looking at that kid as if it was his entire world??

What do you mean he looks happier without them (he isn't but he really needs a fucking break)

[psychemochanight]

My favorite rays of sunshine (and Bruce's, who's in the corner wearing sunglasses because he'd go blind if he looked directly at them).

Uncle, farm boy, and nephew, circus boy ✨

I just want to say, originally the canvas was flipped, but I forgot to flip it back before I put the drawing of the Superman logo on Dick's shirt, and I don't have the patience to correct it anymore, so, that's how it stays.

[batfam-belfry]

Idk why, but Bruce, a character that we know well and have seen a million and one pictures of, being portrayed as a shadow sitting in a dark room like the bad guy from Inspector Gadget is just so in character

[cebawoohoo]

Family Game Night at The Waynes

Dick: Okay everyone, what’s should we play for family game night?

Jason: Uno?

Dick: That ended in Damian nearly dicing up Tim.

Duke: Monopoly?

Dick: That ended in us breaking the Penguin out of Arkham to ask about the legality of parts of the game.

Tim: Spot-it?

Dick: That ended with Duke having a broken hand because we all slapped the deck too hard.

Damian: War?

Dick: Too long and we don’t need anymore plans on taking over the world.

Cass: Charades?

Dick: That ended in at least five pieces of furniture and decorations broken.

Steph: Jenga?

Dick: Jason and I both sprained an ankle for trying to climb on furniture to reach the top.

Bruce: Poker?

Dick: Shut up, old man, you don’t get a say.

Bruce: :(

Babs: How about Candy Land?

Dick: You know what? Sure. What could possibly go wrong?

[teju-v]

NIGHTWING STUDY

I love this man so much it’s not funny

Really wanted to draw him after posting the starfire portrait and since I failed to replicate that style well

I can’t render for life

[pinklotushere]

*throws this and runs*

Blüdhaven was used to the flips, the twirls, and the relentless quips that came with Nightwing. The acrobat in black and blue had long been the city's shadowy protector, darting from rooftop to rooftop with a grin that never quite matched the chaos he left behind.

But something had changed, and the people of Blüdhaven were starting to notice.

“Yo, remember last week when Nightwing—uh, if that’s still him—just shattered Luka’s arm? Like, no banter, no nothin’? Just crack.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair at The Last Stop Diner, his gaze fixed on the group of regulars seated at the corner booth. He wasn’t the only one with questions.

“I thought I was imagining things,” Carrie chimed in, stirring her coffee. “But I swear to God, the guy’s built like a brick wall now. You see him take down the Steel Street crew? No flips. No acrobatics. Just…straight punches.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Eddie slapped the table for emphasis. “He didn’t even bother dodging. Just ate one of their hits like it was nothin’ and decked the guy right after. I don’t think he even grunted.”

“Maybe it’s steroids?” someone suggested.

“Or a mid-life crisis,” Carrie shot back, rolling her eyes. “Dude looks fifty now, minimum.”

But speculation didn’t make sense of the facts. Gone was the lithe, nimble Nightwing who once turned gang fights into chaotic circuses.

In his place was a towering figure, six feet of raw muscle and no nonsense, fighting with the kind of technique you’d expect from a hardened boxer rather than a trapeze artist.

Even the criminals were baffled.

“Hey, Luka, how’s the arm?” Eddie called to a guy limping past the diner window.

“Shut up,” Luka snarled, holding his sling protectively. “Don’t know what that guy’s problem is, but it ain’t normal.”

The Steel Street gang had been laughing when they saw Nightwing show up last week.

“Aww, here he comes,” one of them had jeered, “with his flips and twirls!”

And then the old man had decked him.

No clever quips, no acrobatics—just a straight, brutal left hook that left the guy crumpled on the ground. The others tried to jump him, but every one of them got the same treatment. A solid punch here, an elbow there, and a particularly nasty uppercut that sent Luka to the hospital.

By the end of it, the gang wasn’t laughing anymore.

The rumors started spreading.

“You think it’s still him?”

“Gotta be. He’s wearing the suit.”

“But the guy’s, like, twice the size he used to be! And where’s all the snark? I haven’t heard him say anything in weeks.”

Whatever had happened to Nightwing, one thing was clear: Blüdhaven’s protector wasn’t playing games anymore. And the city hated it.

“I miss him,” Carrie admitted one evening, staring out at the skyline. “Like, the real him. The guy who made all this crap we deal with…bearable.”

Eddie nodded solemnly. “The flips. The jokes. The way he’d tie those gangsters up in, like, Christmas lights and leave ‘em swinging from a lamppost? Where’s that guy? Where’s our guy?”

When he came back, the city didn’t let him go quietly.

It had been months of fear, confusion, and speculation, but when Nightwing finally swung into action the way he used to—quips, flips, and all—it was like the entire city exhaled at once.

Carrie spotted him first. “No way,” she breathed, pointing to the figure perched on a rooftop, striking his usual pose.

When he leapt down, somersaulting through the air to knock out three gangsters in one motion, Eddie cheered so loud he nearly lost his voice.

The word spread like wildfire

By the time Nightwing finished his patrol, there was a small crowd waiting for him at the edge of a park.

People—actual civilians—approached him with tearful smiles, holding out fruit baskets and baked goods.

“Uh…” Nightwing hesitated as a little girl shoved a bouquet of flowers into his hands. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re back!” Carrie exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a hug so tight he nearly dropped the flowers.

“Don’t ever leave us again,” Eddie begged, thrusting a pie into his free hand.

“Wait, what?” Nightwing blinked, completely baffled.

“You abandoned us!” an older woman scolded, shaking a finger at him. “Where were the flips? The sass? Do you know how scary you got?”

“I…uh…” he stammered, utterly lost.

The crowd parted slightly, and to Nightwing’s utter disbelief, a few familiar faces emerged from the shadows. Gang members. Former enemies. Even a couple of low-level villains.

“Yo, man,” muttered one of the Steel Street crew, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh…we kinda brought you a thing.” He held up a sleek, black and blue leather jacket. The stitching was uneven, and the Nightwing symbol on the back looked like it had been traced from a comic book, but it was clearly handmade. “Figured you could use something fresh. Y’know, for the cold nights.”

“...Thanks?” Nightwing said, taking the jacket with a mix of confusion and astonishment.

Another thug shuffled forward, holding a battered book in his hands. “Here.” He thrust it at Nightwing. “It’s a joke book. You’re always crackin’ one-liners, right? Well, these might be better than what you’ve been using. No offense.”

“None taken,” Nightwing replied dryly, tucking the book under his arm.

A burly enforcer stepped up next, dragging a pair of free weights behind him. “These are for ya. You were hittin’ like a freight train last time, so, uh…might as well keep it up, right?”

A lanky member of the Steel Street crew awkwardly handed him a single boxing glove. “For when you’re really feelin’ old-school,” he joked. “Signed it for ya too, in case you wanna auction it off someday.”

Nightwing stared at the growing pile of gifts in his arms, the ridiculousness of it all threatening to overwhelm him.

“So, uh, promise you’re not gonna leave us hanging like that again?” Eddie asked, still clutching his pie.

“I…promise?” Nightwing managed, his voice tinged with disbelief as he juggled the flowers, joke book, weights, and jacket.

Somewhere in the back of the crowd, a man muttered to his wife, “You think he’s weirded out by this?”

“Probably,” she whispered back. “But it’s Nightwing. He’ll make a joke about it later.”

Nightwing, overwhelmed but smiling faintly, realized he’d never understand Blüdhaven’s people. But for once, he didn’t mind