Author: laynee PM
Dick Grayson ends up over his head at the end of a stakeout, he's out of options and calls on the one place that he knows will help him-even if it means letting go of some pride. hurt/sick grayson, distantly caring bruce, faithful alfred -some languageRated: Fiction T - English - Hurt/Comfort/Drama - Chapters: 7 - Words: 9,892 - Reviews: 22 - Favs: 70 - Follows: 18 - Updated: 03-21-08 - Published: 01-27-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4037676
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I don't own Nightwing, Batman or any other characters. There's no point suing me because I'm a college student over my head in student loans. This is my first Nightwing fanfic…so sorry if it isn't up to the standards that the brilliant people at DC have created.
Dick Grayson stayed back in the shadows of the air conditioners on the building's roof. The mist that had hung low all day turned to steady rain. An icy rivulet traced its way down his back and he repressed a chill. He brushed his wet hair back from his face and focused his attention to the men on the street below.
Two men were waiting apparently for the third who pulled up in a car. The two men walked to the driver's side of the car and leaned in close to the window. The wind and rain foiled any attempts as Dick tried to listen in on the conversation.
The shadowed figure in the car pointed towards the roof Dick was on. The two men looked up as he stepped further back into a shadow.
Dick heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking behind him and turned.
Joseph Fyllen, one of Bludhaven's finest criminals, stood a few feet back from Dick. "Look what I caught."
Dick set his jaw and smirked. "I could say the same thing."
"Nightwing." He hissed.
Joseph had once made an honest living as an escape artist in a magic act with his brother. Daniel Fyllen was an innocent bystander in a drive by a few years back. His older brother, Joseph, swore revenge on all of Bludhaven. He'd take down good cops, bad cops, anyone and everyone in an attempt to avenge his brother. He and Dick had a few run ins over the past year, each secretly admired the others work. Fallen could blend in and out of shadows as silently as Bruce, he could slip handcuffs and jail cells faster than a blink.
"It doesn't have to end like this, Joseph."
Joseph's eyes hardened. "Time to save yourself."
Dick was ready for the gun Joseph pulled. In a few minutes of hand to hand combat, each had handed out and received several good punches. The icy rain fell harder and the wind picked up.
Dick pinned Joseph to the rooftop. "I could handcuff you to one of these pipes, but we both know that would be a waste of time, not to mention that I'd be out a pair of cuffs." Dick pressed Joseph's face into the rough tar. "My quarrel is not with you tonight."
Dick swung and knocked Joseph out. He stood and felt the places that would be bruises in the morning.
A shot rang out and something white hot took hold of Dick's left shoulder. He fell to his knees and saw the blood, darker than his blue and black suit, bloom around the ragged hole. His breath was short and painful and spots danced in his vision. He raised his head and saw one of the men from the street blow on the opposite roof.
"Shit." He muttered.
Dick pulled out a small gun, he aimed carefully and fired. A rope shot out and wrapped itself around the man. Dick pushed himself to his feet. Everything spun around him for a moment as he staggered to catch his balance. He ran for the edge of the building, swung over and landed on the street a few minutes later. His shoulder throbbed with the quickened pace of his heart and he could feel the blood run warm down his chest.
His apartment was dark and cool when he finally arrived home. He stripped off his wet uniform, pulled the mask from his face and went into the bathroom. The light blinded him for a moment and he gripped the counter to keep from falling. His reflection looked back at him pale, bruised and shaking. With his right hand he gently touched the bullet wound and winced as the pain sharpened. He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.
He rummaged through the drawers until he found a stack of gauze and some tape. He quickly bandaged his shoulder and winced as the pain ratcheted up as the taped it down. He was dizzy and knew it wasn't good.
Dick walked into his room and pulled on a pair of jeans and a gray sweatshirt. His hair dripped down his face and he wiped the water away with his sleeve. He stepped into his tennis shoes and hung his Nightwing in the closet to dry. The moving nearly made him pass out a few times and he needed to lean on the wall for support.
He grabbed his cell phone off the table and left the apartment. The drop of the elevator messed with his already delicate equilibrium and he braced himself against the wall. He got out at the ground floor and nodded to the guard at the door.
"Rain picked up. Do you want me to call you a cab, Mr. Grayson?"
Dick hoped his smile didn't reveal the pain he was in. "No. Thank you, Tom."
He stepped out onto the sidewalk and was immediately greeted with the storm. Even if he hadn't loaned his car to Roy for the weekend, he still wouldn't have trusted himself to drive in his current condition.
The clinic was four blocks down. He wasn't thinking straight. If he was, he would have let Tom call a cab and he wouldn't be walking in the torrent of rain and wind. He felt cold seep through his arms and legs. His head swam and he just wanted to sleep. He paused in a bus stop shelter and pulled the cell phone from his pocket.
He searched through the numbers before he decided on one. It was his pride that kept him from pressing the call button and the blood that started to run down his chest again that made him press it.
He counted the rings on the other end and prayed to whoever was up there that someone would answer.
His sigh of relief was more a gasp of pain. "It's Dick. Could you come and get me? I got a little banged up and Roy has my car."
He coughed and tasted blood. Darkness rimmed his vision and he fought to stay awake. "The bus stop at Seventh and Anderson." He closed the phone and leaned against the corner of the bus shelter. He shivered from the damp sweatshirt and blood loss. His only thought was to stay awake.
Alfred wasn't expecting the call from Dick. Since the young man had left nearly two years previous, there hadn't been many unplanned calls. Dick called about once every two weeks or so, the ties to his only family remained strong despite the conflicts that had occurred. From Dick's voice, Alfred could tell that the young man was exhausted.
Bruce was out on a job so Alfred scribbled down a note on his way out. Alfred hoped that exhausted was the only problem that Dick had.
Alfred sped down the rain-flooded streets. Years spent with Bruce and Dick had trained him in knowing how to read between the lines when one of them said they were 'a little banged up'. He saw a dark silhouette sitting under the yellow lights of the bus shelter. The figure was slumped against the walls as though they were needed to keep vertical.
Alfred slowed and stopped the car in front of the bus shelter. He climbed out of the car and walked up to Dick.
Dick wearily raised his eyes to Alfred's. A faint, pain filled smile spread across the young man's pale face.
"Master Richard, what have you gotten yourself into now?"
"Just a scratch." Dick muttered and pushed himself to his feet.
Alfred caught him as he almost fell. "Where were you going in this weather?"
He loaded Dick into the backseat of the car and turned up the heat.
Alfred's eyes glanced up at the rear-view-mirror. "Would you like to go there first or take your chances at the manor?"