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bat- terry, you're shakin’ like a leaf.
𝕰verything had happened so fast. In one moment Batman was in a heated battle with The Jokerz, artfully dodging and disarming as many opponents as possible. Robin was, of course, at his side ⸻ his ever so incredible younger brother Mattie who had taken up the mantle so that they could protect the city they both loved so dearly together. All it took was the blink of an eye however and everything was ripped from him. Chronos and his stupid suit that caused a rift to open and, with one bad footing placement, Terry had tumbled through the hole and into the Gotham of the past. The Gotham of the present? Did it even better what the hell it was? To him it was a city he barely knew, criminals and villains that he had only read about in text books or heard rumors of from Bruce Wayne himself. Falling smack dab into the middle of some ridiculous gang war between Two Face and Penguin had not been in even the same collection of his Bingo cards and it had thrown his mind into complete overdrive. His body overcompensated by lashing out violently, claws deployed and sinking into the villains and their lackeys as panic consumed him. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how someone was to look at it, the Batman, Robin, and Nightwing of this particular era had joined in on the fight, helping to capsize the operation and bring peace to the docks once more.
It was then that Terry’s mind seemed to be completely blank. He couldn’t remember what was said but he did remember the arguing ⸻ how he defended himself to who was supposed to be his mentor, the man who had called Terry his ward at one point. How he had removed his mask without a second thought and attempted to plead his case only for it to fall on stubborn ears. Nightwing, Dick Grayson, was more understanding. Hell, even Damian seemed to have a mildly pitiful look through the domino mask. All of that had sent him reeling a little, darting from the scene probably a little bit too soon. It left Batman, the original of the originals, there to handle things with Robin while Terry took to the skies, ankles locked and legs strong as his rocket boots engaged. Footsteps stumbled a bit on the hard rooftop surface, feet catching on brick. Normally he’s so light, able to move and dart about in absolute silence, but right now he’s compromised. His mind is a mess. He senses more than he hears footfalls behind him, a hand on his shoulder and words coming out. Was he shaking? Eyes darted down towards gloved hands and yeah. Huh. He is shaking. He means to stay calm when he responds but instead Terry finds himself lashing out, wheeling around and grabbing the front of Dick’s suit in his clawed grip. ❝ Why the hell did you follow me?! ❞ There’s anger in his voice as he yells, sharp teeth on display as he all but growls at the older male.
Underneath that anger, though? Underneath all of that anger is fear ⸻ fear of losing everything he had fought so hard to protect. The Gotham he put his life on the line for, the city he defended for fifteen years because he loved it so much. A city he did anything for. ❝ I’m shakin’ b’cause I’m angry, @Nihtwing. This isn’t my city, Bruce looked at me like I was fuckin pathetic and everything is wrong. ❞ It was wrong. So very wrong. He knew why but it still was grating on his nerves. His mentor, the man he looked up to more than anything … the man who basically raised him was nowhere to be found anymore. Once again, Terry was alone. No Robin. No Bruce. No Dana or Melanie. He was alone.
𝙲𝙰𝚃𝚂 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙱𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙽'𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙸𝚁 𝙾𝚆𝙽. They simply go where they wish, when they wish — utterly unbothered with consequences. Perhaps that's why she felt so confident breaking into the apartment of the only honest detective in Bludhaven, slipping past the admittedly impressive security system in record time.
The kind of security system that was decidedly outside of a law enforcement officer's budget . . . What's that about @nihtwing?
❝ Damn, detective, you really livin' like this? ❞ Her nose is wrinkled as she eats the bowl of cereal dry, having forgone the milk in the fridge due to its concerning consistency and the empty box discarded haphazardly next to the trashcan. The Cat has made herself at home, perched on the kitchen counter with legs crossed and a brow arched expectantly. ❝ Also, you should go get some groceries, this cereal was the last edible thing in the apartment. ❞
[ 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃 ]: GRAYSON , DICK. ⁽ @nihtwing ₎. said : you’re distracting me, you know.
❝ oh really? ❞ there is a hum in her voice, a sense of amusement that draws her attention away from the gravitas of the portraits splayed across the office walls. an overbearing place — one that felt heavy with the weight of secrets that have been hidden within its walls for generations: a place that feels like even the paintings are attuned to be watching every single movement. yet, for something so heavily guarded, getting access to the charity gala at the powers hotel seemed relatively easy — and their ability to disperse from the growing crowds of the social elite seemed almost too good to be true. the only thing it was costing her now was the physical discomfort of having to blend in.
where her usual comforts of worn leather have been replaced with satin and lace: it's the first time that they have worked together without the safety net of a hidden identity. but there was very little time for her to allow her own discomforts to distract from the task at hand — especially not when dealing with the court of owls.
she steps back from the portrait, wary to tear her vision from it until she's certain that it is nothing more than a painting, before she crosses back over to where nightwing is positioned: analytical of the way that the glare of the computer screen lights up his face. and she deliberately rests against the edge of the desk next to him, fingers curling around the heavy oak just in front of him. ❝ and how, exactly, am i distracting you? ❞
dick grayson [ @nihtwing ] ⇆ jason todd .. hey, it's me. i missed you. 💬
your thumb rubs absently against lock button, as if penned in by a partway decision from accepting the call; the urge is ever-present to simply hang up, to shun conversation before it truly has the chance to develop fire. except you were acutely aware that it already has, kindling starts to burn hot in your stomach, and it feels a lot like guilt. it drew sparks from flint just from that gentle admission. i missed you. you can feel emotion burn in the bridge of your nose, and you sniff to push it back down, tears swallowed by your eyes before they have time to fill out your lower lash-line. you had been anticipating censure, and that you haven't received it causes you to hesitate, thumbing the button with uncertainty. because you want this conversation. you really do. and he's not bruce, that you have to remind yourself of, words settling over you with an undeniable warmth even as your eyes cast over the twilight blanket of the gotham city skyline, peppered with lights that sparkle like sequins. from up here the strips don't seem so scary, a small pocket of calm curated by those that watch over from great heights, silently managing the backstreet practices. the pause on the receiver seems to stretch to no end, and you wonder if he can hear the breaths that billow shakily from your lips, the whir and ticks of cognition as they piece together what has been said and attempt to formulate an acceptable response. the longer the time stretches between meetings, the more shame settles into the dust bowl; the drag path of your corpse, and everything in-between that and awakening. words elude you worse than they ever had, every action shrouded in disappointment you didn't yet feel ready to hear. god, i fucking missed you too. your head dips, finding the crust of toe cap, boots marred with mud and rain and so many sleepless nights. you want to go home. ‘i.. miss you too, dick.’ your voice arrives hoarse, foreign, different. you clear your throat subtly upon hearing it, but it feels ineffectual, the emotion still thick at the base. ‘how are you?’

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❘ ❚ ❘ ㅤ🝄 ㅤan inbox prompt from @nihtwing. ㅤㅤ 』 ( 𝕴𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱. ) ㅤ ❛ i'm going to get you out of here. ❜
ㅤㅤㅤ𝐃𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐃 ⸻ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍’𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐘. It was just supposed to be a simple shopping trip because he needed some air, wanting to cook for himself and whoever else was visiting that evening in the manor. A traditional Korean meal was on the menu … gochujang and honey braised cod, fresh radish kimchi, and all of the banchan that a person could eat. It was going to be delicious, and it had been so long since he’d been able to treat himself to the food of his homeland. But, unfortunately, he never even made it to the store, as he only made it a block or so away before a needle ended up jammed into the side of his neck. It took only a few seconds before his eyes began to flutter, mind becoming so foggy and slow that he didn’t even register his center of gravity completely changing. His body is then hoisted into a van, dumped unceremoniously into the back as he’s taken to the compound. If he was awake, maybe he would have counted the minutes in his head, tried to figure out just how far he was being taken that way … but he couldn’t. Dexter just had to trust that someone from the manor would find him.
ㅤㅤㅤEverything after that seems to happen both rapidly and in slow motion. Dexter is forced to wake up by another needle in his skin, a pinch hitting his thigh as it’s jammed in. He finds himself tied down onto a steel chair, hands bound completely and away from being able to touch anything. His feet are the same, shoes and socks removed, lifted and tied in a way where he wouldn’t be able to come into contact with something. It was clear that they had done thorough research on him and, even more concerning, knew of his identity. Dexter didn’t even get the name of whatever group had decided to take him, didn’t care quite frankly ⸻ he already knew what they wanted. Whatever gang this was poked and prodded at Dexter demanding answers about human transmutation, resurrecting the dead into an unkillable army. He couldn’t give them the answers that they wanted either, no matter how much physical and mental pain they inflicted on him. By the time they assumed he was partially telling the truth, blood was dripping from his mouth and ears, deep gashes and bruises littering the expanses of exposed skin. He couldn’t even remember when they had removed his shirt but the air was torture against his raw skin. If Dexter had been able to heal himself he would have, but the energy just wasn’t there.
ㅤㅤㅤGod he was so tired of people assuming he was willing to share this information all because of one lousy mistake. That one transmutation over a decade ago would never leave him alone it seemed. Even now, as his head hung towards his chest while attempting to catch his breath, he was stuck in his own mind with memories of that day. He was out of it, desperate to try and forget the pain coursing deep, he didn’t even hear the commotion coming from outside the room he was being held in. He couldn’t stop the gasp as a hand went into his hair and yanked his head back harshly, the alchemist unable to stop the whimper from the deplorable sensation. He hated it. He hated every single second ⸻ wanted their hands off of him and out of his hair immediately. His brain barely even registered words that were sneered towards him, something about someone coming to get him and causing a ruckus. The grip on his hair is soon gone and it has his head rolling to the side slightly, coughing wetly and spitting out some blood onto the floor. Fuck, he was really hurting.
ㅤㅤㅤJust as Dexter was about to say something snarky about alchemy he both hears and feels the door behind him practically implode. He groans deeply as his ears ring, shoulders curling up towards them in an attempt to protect himself some. They were already sensitive and this was not helping. The noise continues, the sound of a fight breaking out behind him and unconscious bodies hitting the floor filling the space. Then there it is ⸻ a kind, revenant touch against either side of his face. ‘ I’m going to get you out of here. ’ That was all the reassurance that Dexter needed. He’d know that voice anywhere, and it had him smiling through the pain. His teeth were stained red, lip split ugly down the center and dribbling ichor through the grin. “ I never doubted you, my dove. ” Leaning forward when told he sighs with extreme relief as his legs and hands are freed. He’s quick to shake out his limbs, using the energy that he had left to push as much of his alchemy as possible into his muscles.
ㅤㅤㅤDexter was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he’d never make it out of here if he wasn’t at least in a bit better shape with his body. Slowly but surely he could feel the strain he felt disappeared, the jagged gashes along the bottom of his feet and palms of his hands stitching themselves together. He stands up like a doe learning to walk for the first time, legs a little bit unsteady, body swaying slightly on under his own weight. There’s a strong hand on his waist not even a second later and he sags into the touch with practiced ease. Right there is where he feels the safest, knowing full well that Dick would do everything in their power to get him out of here in one piece. They don’t have a lot of time so Dex knows he needs to make this quick. He’s careful as he slides a hand around their torso, squeezing the other vigilante close for just a moment. Dexter needed the reassurance even if he would never be able to bring himself to admit it out loud. He just needed to remind himself that he was okay : that he was alive, Sick was here, and they would be okay. Letting out a relieved sigh when he felt his partner hold him back he melts even more into them, forehead against their shoulder. The fabric of Dick’s uniform is a little bit rough on his skin but he doesn’t care. They stay like that for what could only have been five seconds before he felt like years, only pulling back once he felt a bit more mentally grounded.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ Take me home. ”
❛ it's not stealing if it was mine to begin with. ❜
𝕺VER THE YEARS IF THERE WAS ANYTHING that Dexter has gotten into the habit of doing it was stealing clothes from Dick, though it seemed to mainly be his sweaters and soft tops. His collection was just so nice he really couldn’t help himself. His partner just had the most immaculate taste after all so how was he supposed to resist? Eventually their closets and drawers just sort of became combined. While they both weren’t the exact same size, they were close enough where sharing clothes was natural. Even now, as Dexter heard Dick rifling through the drawers, he could tell what they were sifting through exactly ⸻ and it already had him wanting to tease. “ Are you gonna be stealing one of my shirts today, bluebird? ” There’s a laugh to his tone of voice as he shifts to sit up a little bit more on the bed, legs crossing underneath himself.
He can practically hear Dick roll his eyes as they seem to close whatever drawer they were digging through. ‘ It’s not stealing if it was mine to begin with. ’ Dick’s response is laced with the same amount of humor, the same mirth, albeit a little muffled as they pull on whatever they found. Dexter really can’t resist the urge to start pouting as he tilts his head down like he’s admiring the sweatshirt he’s wearing himself. It’s a thick navy blue number, oversized on his shoulders in a way that tells him it was absolutely something that belonged to Dick at some point. Thumbing it some in thought he decides to just shrug his shoulders in response, falling against his back on top of the plush comforter with a smile. “ But we have rules in place! What’s yours is mine, but what’s mine is also mine. I thought we had an understanding? ”
❛ i'm going to get you out of here. ❜
𝕯EXTER KNEW BETTER THAN TO LEAVE Wayne Manor without telling someone, he really did ⸻ things just didn’t always seem to work out that way. It was just supposed to be a simple shopping trip because he needed some air, wanting to cook for himself and whoever the hell was in the mansion that evening dinner. A traditional Korean meal … gochujang and honey braised cod, fresh radish kimchi, all of the banchan that they could eat. It was going to be delicious, and it had been so long since he’d even treated himself to the food of his homeland. But unfortunately he never even made it to the store, only a block away before he felt a needle jammed into the side of his neck. It’s only a few seconds before his eyes are fluttering, his mind becoming so foggy and slow he doesn’t even register that his center of gravity is completely changing. His body is hoisted into a van, dumped unceremoniously into the back as he’s taken to a compound. If he was awake, maybe he could have counted the minutes in his head, tried to figure out just how far he was that way … but he couldn’t. He just had to trust someone from the manor would find him.
Everything after that seems to happen both rapidly and in slow motion. He’s forced to wake up by another injection, this one in his thigh. He finds himself tied down onto a steel chair, hands bound before and completely away from being able to touch anything. His feet are the same, shoes and socks removed, lifted and tied in a way where he wouldn’t be able to come into contact with something. Dexter didn’t even get the name of whatever group decided to take him, didn’t even care quite frankly ⸻ he already knew what they wanted. Whatever gang this was poked and prodded at Dex demanding answers about human transmutation, resurrecting the dead into an unkillable army. He couldn’t give them the answers that they wanted too, no matter how much physical and mental pain they inflicted on him. By the time they assumed he was partially telling the truth blood was dripping from his mouth and ears, deep gashes and bruises littering the expanses of exposed skin. He couldn’t even remember when they had removed his shirt but the air was torture against his raw skin. If Dexter was able to heal himself he would have, but the energy just wasn’t there.
God he was so tired of people assuming he knew this over one lousy mistake. That one transmutation over a decade ago would never leave him alone it seems. Even now, as his head hung towards his chest while attempting to catch his breath, he was stuck in his own mind with memories of that day. He was out of it, desperate to try and forget the pain coursing deep, he didn’t even hear the commotion coming from outside the room he was being held in. He couldn’t stop the gasp as a hand went into his hair and yanked his head back harshly, the alchemist unable to stop the whimper from the deplorable sensation. He hated it. He hated every single second ⸻ wanted their hands off of him and out of his hair immediately. His brain barely registered the words sneered, something about someone coming to get him and causing a ruckus. When the grip from his hair is gone his head rolls to the side a bit, coughing wetly and spitting out some blood onto the floor. Fuck, that hurt.
Just as Dexter was about to say something snarky about alchemy he both hears and feels the door behind him practically implode. He groans deeply as his ears ring, shoulders curling up towards them. They were already feeling sensitive and this was not helping. The noise continues, the sound of a fight breaking out behind him and unconscious bodies hit the floor. Then there it is ⸻ a kind, revenant touch against either side of his face. ‘ I’m going to get you out of here. ’ That was all the reassurance that Dexter needed. He’d know that voice anywhere, and it had him smiling through the pain. His teeth were stained red, lip split ugly down the center and dribbling ichor through the grin. “ I never doubted you, my dove. ” Leaning forward carefully he sighs in relief when his legs and hands are freed. He’s quick to shake out his limbs, pushing as much of his alchemy as possible into his muscles as he could.
Dexter was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he’d never make it out of here if he wasn’t at least in a bit better shape with his body. He could feel the strain in his muscles disappearing slowly, the jagged gashes along the bottom of his feet and palms of his hands stitching together. He stands up like a doe learning to walk for the first time, legs a little unsteady, body swaying slightly under his own weight. There’s a strong hand on his waist though and he sags into the touch a little bit. Right here is where he feels the safest, knowing full well that Dick would do everything in their power to get him out of here in one piece. They don’t have a lot of time so Dex knows he needs to make it quick. He’s careful as he slides a hand around their torso, squeezing them close for just a moment. Dexter needed the reassurance even if he would never be able to bring himself to admit it out loud. He just needed to remind himself that he was okay : he was alive, Dick was here, and they would be okay. Letting out a relieved sigh when he felt them hold him back he melts even more into them, forehead against their shoulder. The fabric of their uniform is a little rough on his skin but he doesn’t care. They stay like that for what could only be five seconds but felt like years, only pulling back once he felt a bit mentally more grounded.
“ Take me home. ”