#meant to make danny wittier in this. i even had a few jokes in mind. but alas :( couldn't get them in. damn adhd messing everything up

[starry-bi-sky]

The world blurs into a mess of oil smears as Danny's stolen away into Gotham's smog-smudged skies and sickly yellow light, and he clings onto the shadow of a man he met like a lifeline. It is a lifeline for all he cares, as they get further and further away from Vlad.

Half his face is smudged into the man's body armor, and Danny's only partly aware of the blood he's smearing onto the... fabric? The material -- on his shoulder. He's got half a mind to apologize. He doesn't.

Instead, through the loud whistling of the wind, Danny mutters a string of slurry, delirious "thank you's" on a repetitive loop. He's not even sure if he can be heard, but the terror in his heart turns into pained relief anyways.

Flying always makes him feel better -- the chill, the pressure, the weightlessness -- and it feels even better now. For a moment he can forget that Vlad stuck blood blossom extract into his veins. He sighs out, eyes closing, and almost regrets it when blood covers his teeth.

His reprieve is broken a cruel, few moments later when they land on a rooftop with a sharp -- at least to him -- drop, and with it so does his stomach. The hand splaying against his back jostles him curtly.

"Hey," The shadows whisper, Danny blinks his eyes sluggishly open, and blearily sees the white reflectors of the man's eyes looking at him. "Keep your eyes open."

"Sorry." He murmurs, nose scrunching up as nausea roils unpleasantly in his stomach. He licks his lips again, his blood is drying on his skin, and it feels like paint sticking onto him. It's uncomfortable. "The wind f'lt nice."

They're running across the rooftop, the jostling movement only makes him feel worse. But the shadows said to keep his eyes open, and Danny figures that's a pretty smart idea considering Danny's predicament. But he's going to vomit if he keeps looking at the world spinning around him...

He makes a mental compromise and buries his face into the crook of the man's neck, clawing at his shoulders to try and keep purchase. He latches his fingers onto the cape and despite his trembling arms, refuses to let go.

Danny only turns his head when there's a sharp pain in his lungs, he presses his forehead into his shoulder and coughs blood over his pauldron.... oops. "Sorry," he repeats, voice hoarse, "'m gettin' blood on you..."

"Hn. It'll come off." He's told, and Danny blinks lazily again, nodding curtly. The man's voice sounds nice, as raspy and soft as it is. But before he can tell him that, they're in the air again, the wind whistling in his ears.

Danny relishes in it, but keeps the thought in the back of his mind. Up until they land again, and as another wave of sickly nausea and pins-needles pain washes over him like the tide, he blurts out; "I like yr'voice."

...He doesn't get a response back.

Danny drifts in and out of consciousness, with the Night jolting him awake every so often with a sharp, quiet reminder to keep with him. Danny doesn't bother deigning a real verbal response to that beyond wordless grumbles and mumbles. A few times he stops to cough up his lungs -- even once gagging on air like a cat trying to spit up a hairball. Nothing comes out, and Danny is more embarrassed and exhausted than he is anything else. He wants to vomit, but he's terrified of what might come out if he does.

The man picks up greater speed after that.

Eventually they leave the roof to the stars -- as hidden as they are amongst the sickly clouds -- and drop down into an even darker alleyway than the one Danny found the horned man in. They land on something, and the man slides them off onto the ground.

There's a gentle hissing sound, and Danny opens his eyes just as the man places him in a leather seat and straps him in. "Wh're w'goin?" He asks, lolling his head to the side to peer up tiredly.

"Somewhere I can help you."

Danny already knows he was doing this to help him -- the man wouldn't have taken him away from Vlad otherwise. But still, he can't help the tears pooling up in his eyes and beading on his eyelashes; threatening to drip down his face and mix into the blood.

There's a lump in his throat that he swallows down with a side of copper, but he manages a smile. He can't get the words out, but he hopes the man can see the hope in his eyes.

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.