Chapter Text
It was cold up on the roof, just like it was every other time you'd been up there.
Just like the first time you were up there.
You sighed, stretching your legs out in front of you. You'd found an adult sized chair to sit in this time.
Evan nudged your foot with her own from where she sat in front of you. You'd done rock-paper-scissors to see who would get the Go Diego Go! chair. She'd lost, much to your smug satisfaction.
You looked down at her from your high horse to see her hand stretched out, offering you a cig. It became sort of a thing between the two of you whenever you'd see each other. She'd offer you a a random cigarette from her pack and you'd read what it says. It was a bit more fun than fortune cookies.
You took the cigarette from her and read what she had written on it.
'Fuck ur lungs'
When you looked back at Evan, she only grinned in response and handed you a lighter after lighting a cig for herself. The ones she smoked never had writing on them, you noticed.
"So, you're getting stalked by a vigilante," She said. She took her cigarette out of her mouth at the same time you brought yours to your lips.
You must've pulled a face because she clicked her tongue and shook her head a little. "You brought it up. I'm just asking clarifying questions."
Honestly, you sort of forgot you'd said anything about your…situation. The nicotine had acted as a very good distraction. You remembered now, though, how you had run into Evangeline on the roof. It was one of those nights when you just wanted to see the stars and decided to test your luck. There wasn't a star in sight. Evan then offered to smoke with you.
It was sort of quiet between you, it was late and neither of you were sure of what to say. Evangeline asked you how you were and, after some silence you'd answered,
"Fine. It's just, uh, I think I'm getting stalked by a Bat, though?"
And that's how you found yourself here. Your lips twitched into a frown around your cigarette. You really needed to learn how to keep your mouth shut.
"So?" Evangeline prompted. When you didn't say anything else, she continued. "I don't mean to sound like a dick but, if you don't give me more context I'm going to assume you're a secretly awful person. You don't have any bodies in your closet, do you?"
You slumped in your seat and sighed. Loudly. "No."
"Just you in there?"
"Shut the fuck up," you replied but you were smiling and so was she. "Nightwing left a note on my balcony back when I was sick."
Evan leaned forward. "Right. And then?"
You took a long drag of you cig and looked out at the city when you jetted out the smoke. "That's it."
"Are you serious?" She said your name. "That was fucking weeks ago."
You scowled. "So what?"
"It's not stalking if it was a one-off thing that happened almost two months ago. What did the note say?"
"It said to get better soon. Look, I don't think you're seeing the point. How the fuck would he know which balcony is mine? That's fucking—could you cackle a little softer? That's stalker behavior. Straight from NCIS."
You watched as Evan's laughter died down.
"I think Criminal Minds would be a better comparison, personally," she replied. "I never said it wasn't fucking creepy. It's just, like, not technically stalking. You have seen or heard from him since then? At all?"
You turned back to the cityscape to hide your soured expression because, no you hadn't seen or heard from him since then.
You were well aware that you were at the risk of sounding like a pitiful, neglected partner but fuck, you were sort of pissed off. Nightwing met you at the one of the lowest moments of your life, a moment that you are still experiencing, and held a hand out to you as though he'd be the lighthouse that led you to shore. He talked you that night at that tacky restaurant like he'd continue to be there when you needed him.
You'd known from the jump that his little visits were bound to be temporary. That, in the long run, visiting you would lose whatever bit of priority Nightwing had to spare. You'd known all this because you're a rational, practical man and you are more than capable of knowing when something is too good to be true. But it still sucked.
So yeah, you were pissed at Nightwing because he managed to get you to be willing to accept the help you needed before promptly fucking off.
Now you didn't know what to do.
"Do you miss him?"
In an instant your expression went blank. You turned to Evangeline. "What are you talking about?"
Evan seemed to hesitate, chewing on her words. In the end, she said nothing at all.
"I met him twice. I wouldn't even know what there is to miss."
That was more like it.
What did you look like, throwing a pity party because a man you don't know decided to stop coming around? You shouldn't be sitting there, lamenting. Your line should be: "I knew he'd leave anyway so I don't care that he's gone. I'm not mad that he saved my life, treated me like I was worth saving, and then dipped out like he was wrong to do it. I could save myself if I need saving so bad."
Something like that.
Nobody spoke for a long time. There wasn't anything left of your cigarette and Evangeline had closed her eyes to listen to the city. Being left in the quiet gave you time to sort yourself out. Gave you time to think of a way to let Evan you're sorry for being a prick to her while being too cowardly to say the words.
"…You had your exam yesterday, right? How'd it, uh—how did it go?"
Evangeline's eyes snapped open and she groaned, looking despondent.
"My professor is going to hell."
⎯⎯⎯⎯
Your conversation with Evangeline went well into the night.
You were glad that it was a Friday night because it wasn't until the clock struck eleven that you agreed to part ways.
You reached into your pocket for the cigarette she'd given you in the elevator, just before she'd gotten off on her floor.
"I hope you see your stalker again," she had told you, grinning.
"I hope your professor goes to hell," you'd replied.
Now, standing in the middle of your kitchen you read your second cigarette message of the night.
'Star grrrl'
Fuck it, sure, close enough.
You tuck the cig back into your pocket figuring you'd better save it for later. You turned your attention to your fridge. Your eating habits have been…less than ideal as of late. It wasn't something you could really help at the moment but you were fucking starving now. A fact that made you stare into your refrigerator with pure disappointment.
You closed the door then opened it again.
A useless, pitiful action because the shelves remained devoid of anything nutritional. A couple condiments and spoilt leftovers was that was left in there. You had a feeling that drinking mustard from the bottle wouldn't fill you up.
You would have to go out and buy dinner tonight lest you starve to death—the hunger pang you felt in your stomach told you that would be less than ideal.
"Damn."
You put your shoes on.
Most of the place near your apartment would be closed at this hour, you're sure. Most but not all. Your mind goes to that stupid restaurant Nightwing took you to all those nights ago. Jokerized fries didn't sound too bad right now.
You put on a jacket, next. You didn't bother too much with making yourself look presentable. It was late and, if you were lucky, there'd hardly be anyone around to see you.
With pockets full of all your necessary items—phone, wallet, keys, etcetera— you left your apartment and took the elevator down to the lobby.
Front Desk Guy was still there, looking as exhausted as you did. He flashed you a small, forced smile that you returned with a nod. Someone needs to let that man go home.
The city was windy tonight but, if you looked really hard, you could see a star or two peeking from behind the clouds. Or maybe they were just airplanes.
Gotham's streets were empty as you walked. It was like the city held its breath as you made your way to Bat Burger. It was the kind of silence that put you on edge without really knowing if it was warranted or not. But this was Gotham wasn't it? Every ounce of paranoia felt was warranted every time.
You put a little more pep in your step. It was late, you were hungry, you didn't need any trouble tonight. What you did need was maybe a Bat Burger Deluxe.
You supposed that what happened next was your own damn fault.
You did the one thing you shouldn't have on a eerie night like this. You got caught up in your head, moving on autopilot while barely aware. It was another bad habit to add to your list and something that's been troubling you for a while now.
You could try to think long and hard about why this was (though you knew it was just an unfortunate side affect of your mind fucking you over), but it wouldn't change anything. At the end of the day, you still wouldn't have heard the extra pairs of footsteps until it was too late to do anything about it.
You look over your shoulder. You were greeted by the sight of two men walking behind you. They're walking a slow, deliberate pace to keep about ten feet of distance between you.
You turned back around.
You should've stayed inside your apartment, should've just been hungry until morning. You just had to go out to get a stupid fucking burger.
You walked even faster now and tried not to think about the extra footsteps matching your pace.
You'd listen to whatever your monkey-brain instincts are telling you to do because, in all honesty, you don't fucking need this right now. You truly don't. You like to think you can be resilient, less like someone full of ambition and more like a cockroach that just won't die, but still. Even you can only endure so much and the straw already broke the camel's back when you ended up on that roof for the first time.
Plus, if your resilience could be quantified and measured in its current state, you'd say the scale would remain at rest.
That is to reiterate the point that You cannot fucking do this right now.
The footsteps were getting closer and you felt your heart beating so fast in your chest it almost made you dizzy. You were getting close to the restaurant, or, at least you thought so. You were basing your route off of memory but, in your current state, you weren't sure how reliable that was.
At some point in this game of cat and mouse, you stopped caring about the restaurant as a whole. You just wanted to get away.
You were running now and so were the people behind you.
You took random turns, pushed your legs as far as they could go, did all you could to escape. You did all you could.
Though, it wasn't truly enough, was it? You were tired, it was late, it was dark and you were running aimlessly.
You turned right and kept going until you saw a wall.
You were boxed in.
You turned back to entrance of the ally to see the two men standing there. You couldn't see there faces still but you could see the anticipation in their stance.
They didn't plan on leaving you unscathed.
You were no John Wick but you knew enough to defend yourself when it mattered. You supposed this was one of those times when it really, really mattered.
All you could do now was watch as the men inched closer to you and prepare the best you could for what came next.
The men got tired of playing with you rather quickly. Suddenly, they were no longer walking that leisurely, condescending pace. Suddenly, they were running at you.
You brought your arms up to protect your face, it was all you had time to do before they were on you.
There was no preamble, no words, no anything. Just fists connecting with any part of you they could find. Your arms, your back, your stomach—it had to be adrenaline that stopped you from feeling it all. You're sure you would later.
You did what you could in response—blocked and countered and blocked some more. Your hits landed but they lacked in power. You were tired and you've been that way for a long time. You can't fight like you used to, can't protect yourself like you used to.
You tried to keep up with the onslaught, truly you did, but it wasn't enough. Your guard was slipping and, eventually, you stopped trying to hit back.
One good clip to the jaw had you lose your balance. Once you were on the ground, they started kicking and you wondered what you could've done to deserve this. You were just hungry. You just wanted food. It wasn't fair.
Resignation set in soon after that. You curled in on yourself on instinct but there was no longer any attempt at protecting anything.
Futility will do that to you.
And you did all you could.
A shoe connected to you face, knocking your head back. Pain erupted in your nose and you were seeing stars.
You supposed you should be a little thankful. You weren't conscious enough to feel their hands roam over you, feeling around for anything worth taking. You were too busy blinking away dark spots in your vision, rendering you too preoccupied to notice when the hands were no longer on you.
You would never know what came of those two men after that.
But they were the last thing on your mind when you were greeted by a familiar face.
"Batman," you asked, voice pained and fragile.
Nightwing's frown deepened and you started to think you might be a bit delirious at the moment. Why else would you think about how you'd like it better if he smiled at you instead?
There was a gentle touch on your cheek by a gloved hand—a stark contrast from the fists that bruised your skin but you flinched just the same.
"I'm sorry," you heard Nightwing say but you didn't understand what for. You watched as he looked over his shoulder. There was something so angry in his expression that you couldn't look away from.
When he looked back at you, he was smiling. It was as tense as it was bright.
"Let's get you off the ground."
With one hand supporting your shoulders and the other on your lower back, Nightwing helped you get to a sitting position. The movement made your head swim and fuck did so many parts of your body hurt.
You started to speak but paused when you tasted blood in your mouth. Whether it was from your nose, a bitten tongue, or a busted lip, you couldn't be sure. You swallowed it back and spoke around the pain. "Didn't think…I'd see you here." It took more effort than you thought to keep the slur out of your words.
Nightwing hummed, shifting you so that you had an arm over his shoulder. "I didn't expect to see you here," he retorted, keeping his tone light. "I should've…I'm so sorry you got hurt this bad," he said your name so softly it almost hurt worst than everything you already felt.
You didn't respond for a long time, just leaned all your weight against him as he got you to your feet.
"I was going to that—that place you showed me. Just eanted the…fries. I didn't—I couldn't have known…" you trailed off. You were growing too tired to speak.
You couldn't have known it would end this bad. Or maybe you should've. It was Gotham, the city doesn't need an excuse to make bad things happen to fools who think they'd never happen to them. And what a fool you were.
"How could you have known?" Nightwing asked. From the corner of your eye you saw him look down at you. You couldn't even see his eyes but somehow you knew they looked sad beneath that mask. "It isn't your fault that this happened. It'll never be your fault."
You didn't have anything to say about that. You were sure you'd refute it when you had the strength to but you didn't have it now. Your head lulled onto Nightwing's shoulder. He took all your weight like it was nothing. Like it was easy.
"I'm going to take you to a friend of mine. She's a doctor, she'll fix you up way better than I could. Is that okay?"
I trust you, is what you wanted to say. Some muffled sound of agreement is all that came out.
Nightwing didn't mind.
"I'm going to get you out of here."
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
You were in and out of consciousness for the rest of the night.
Just when sleep would take you, pain would bring you back to awareness—sharp and debilitating as it was. You'd wake up with tears in your eyes, tears Nightwing would wipe away with a pacific touch.
"I'm sorry," you remember him telling you, and he sounded so fucking sincere. "Go back to sleep, I'll take care of you."
You believed him, too. Half-conscious and dazed, you believed that he'd take care of you. And god— what a feeling it was to know that you could rely on someone else. Just for a little while.
That you could rest.
The next time you closed your eyes, you didn't open them again for a long time.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Your mind was full of blissful nothing when you woke up.
You stared up at the ceiling in front of you. Everything seemed so far away from you and it was just as well. You didn't mind how every thought seemed to slip through your fingers.
I'm high, it suddenly occurred to you. Fuuuck, I needed that.
The door to…wherever you are (you'll care more about that when the morphine wears off) opened slowly, drawing your attention to it.
A woman with graying hair and tired eyes, clad in a white coat stepped through the threshold before walking to your bedside. The look on her face is so severe you were sure she was about to say you were dying.
Oh shit, wait—
"Calm down," the doctor instructed. "It's okay, you're fine." She spoke to you slowly, the same way one would talk somebody down.
The same way you'd talked to someone who's about to rob you while you're on your way to Bat Burger.
Your mood dropped instantly. What the fuck kind of world did you live in that you couldn't walk down the street without getting accosted? And you're still hungry, dammit. What a load of shit.
You knew before the guys even caught up to you that this wasn't something you could handle right now— you knew— but the world didn't fucking care. One more thing that you know for fact is that, when you come down from this high? You'll be at bedrock bottom and there might not be a feasible way to get you back up.
The doctor said your name and you blinked tears out of your eyes. She looked concerned now but you didn't want it. You couldn't say what it is that you do want but it's not that look on her face.
"Did you hear what I said?"
You stared passed her at a wall. You didn't want to talk to her right now. You didn't want to talk to anyone.
You silence seemed to be enough of an answer for her, though. "My name is Dr. Thompkins and you're in my clinic right now. A mutual friend of ours brought you in. It's a good thing, too, you had some serious injuries. Are you ready to talk about them?"
Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You had a sneaking suspicion that what Dr. Thompkins had to say about you and your broken body would be hard to hear. You hoped being as high as you were would help soften the blow.
"Okay. You had some cuts on the back and side of your head, nothing serious but the head bleeds a lot even with small wounds. I had to reset your nose after a break, there's some swelling and bruising there and around your left eye. It should go down in time. You have a greenstick fracture in your collar bone—that is to say that only one side of the bone is fractured. I had to reset a dislocated shoulder. You two broken ribs and some that are bruised.
You have no major breaks in your arms or legs but you do have some severe bruising and minor scrapes along them. I…know how this must sound to you but, with time, you will make a full recovery. In the meantime, I have you on a morphine drip for the pain, I'll decrease your dose as time passes. I'll want to keep you here until you're fit enough to go home. Do you have anyone that should be notified of your health status?"
You opened you mouth, closed it, opened it again.
"Just my workplace," you mumbled.
You pressed your eyes closed and you felt a pain in your chest, one entirely separate from you fractured clavicle and fucked up ribs. You were so hurt and you only had your workplace to tell, and even then it would just be you letting them know you'd be taking time off.
When you opened your eyes again you were met with the same ceiling. It just seemed a little more dull this time.
"I see, we can come back to that later. I think you ought to rest. You seem tired."
You didn't reply and Thompkins had nothing more to say.
You didn't hear when the door clicked shut. You were too busy staring up at nothing.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
The next few days came and went in quick procession, one that you hadn't quite noticed.
You thought you would've had a bit more time before you got like this. That you'd get to ride out on the bliss that is unawareness for a while longer. That hadn't been the case, however, and things were getting bad again.
Dr. Thompkins was in and out of your room during this time.
She spoke to you and tried to get you to respond back. It didn't always work and she never you too hard to say anything. It endeared her to you, her consideration. If you weren't so…buried within yourself as were now, you would've already told her how much you appreciated her taking care of you.
But you couldn't then, so sometimes you'd squeeze her hand, just once before letting go. And she understood. You were so glad that she did. You'd tell her very soon.
She was in the middle of changing your dressings now. You got the impression that Dr. Thompkins wasn't much of a chatterbox but she had taken to telling you about herself and her day.
"I think you'll be okay for discharge within the next couple of days," Thompkins remarked, sounding pleased. "I think the worst is behind you."
You nodded and she smiled at you a little. "You know," the Doctor began as she fiddled with some expensive machine you were hooked up to. "There's been someone trying to seek you out since you arrived here. I had to keep turning him away so you'd have time to rest. If you think you're ready for a visitor now though, I'll bring him in."
There was really only one "him" that could be waiting to see you right now. You would not deny being glad to see Nightwing again and under less threatening circumstances.
"I'd like that," you replied and meant every word.
"I'll go get him then."
Not long after Dr. Thompkins left did Nightwing walk through the door with a plastic bag in his hand. He smiled at you from where he was in the doorframe. Then, he was at your bedside, pulling up a chair to sit next to you. You forgot how fast these people can move.
"You look like you're doing a lot better," Nightwing observed. He sounded like he was immensely satisfied with this conclusion. He leaned in, "The swelling has started to go down too." Nightwing faltered for just a moment. You noticed that his shoulders slumped a fraction but the smile he send you was full of relief.
"I'm…I'm really happy to see you doing okay."
You stared up at him, disbelief clear in your face. You hadn't expected a reaction like this from him. Maybe a nod and thumbs up but not this. Just a couple days prior you were thinking about how stopped caring, that he was just a stranger to you and that's all you were to him.
You wonder if Nightwing cares this deeply for every stranger he meets.
You break the eye contact first. "Uh, could you help me up?"
"Of course."
True to his word, and with the most gentle care you're sure you'll ever experience, Nightwing helped you sit up. He set your pillows behind you for support and fussed as though you'd break something else. It was…you didn't hate it.
Even after you were settled Nightwing was steady rambling about something you weren't completely listening to.
You set a hand on his forearm and Nightwing stopped talking.
"Thank you," you breathed. "For everything. For the other night, for the roof. I–" you sighed, trying to figure out your thoughts. "I would be here without you. Or, I don't know, I'd be…a lot more fucked up."
Nightwing, who had waited patiently for you to say all that you needed to, spoke up. "You don't need to thank me for that. There wasn't a chance I would've left you alone in either situation."
"You…are a really sincere person," you replied, because you wasn't sure what else there was to say. None of what you felt after hearing those words were something you should voice right now. You couldn't tell Nightwing that was he had said just now would be something you'd think about for a long, long time after this. You couldn't tell him that your chest felt kind of light or that you wish he'd keep talking about how he wouldn't leave you alone.
So you told him s different truth and removed your hand from his arm. It wouldn't do you good to get all attached to the first person who to save you. Especially not when it was his job to do it. You need to get a grip.
That bright, boyish smile was back on Nightwing's face as he looked at you. Oh, you really need to get a grip.
"Thank you!" Nightwing straightened suddenly as though he remembered something he'd previously forgotten. "Have you eaten?"
"No...?" Your eyes trailed down to the bag he was picking up from where he had set it on the floor. It was the same one he had walked in with. With an unnecessarily slow pace Nightwing revealed two paper bags with the Bat Burger logo on them.
"Thought you might be hungry."
"Fuck, you're beautiful," you sighed. Dr. Thompkins was an angel gracing the Earth but you couldn't stomach the food she was giving you any longer than you already have. Plus, it all came full circle here. All you had wanted that night was Bat themed meal and now you had it. You eagerly reached for the closest bag in Nightwing's hands. You could fucking kiss him. After you ate. The food smelled delicious.
The vigilante in question let out a surprised chuckle. He might even have sounded a little flustered if you were paying attention to him, which you weren't. "You think so–"
"Which one's mine?"
"Uh, this one," Nightwing held out a paper bag to you.
It didn't take long at all for you to open it up. Nightwing got you an adult sized meal this time. Somehow, it still came with a toy.
"You should see who you got this time." You could tell Nightwing was trying really hard to sound casual when he said it. The grin he was trying to suppress told on him, though.
"Yeah, sure. After I eat."
"Oh, right, you must be hungry! Don't worry it can—" Nightwing took in your clearly amused expression and faked a frown. "You're cruel."
"You'll be alright." You opened your blind bag and wasn't at all surprised to see a misshapen, discolored Nightwing figurine inside.
"So, who'd you get," asked the shameless vigilante.
"Robin."
"You're so mean to me."
Nightwing talked to you for hours after his arrival.
He stayed as though there was nothing else he'd rather do. Nowhere else he'd rather be.
You thought back to that night, before it went to shit, to when you were trying explain away your hurt.
You had been wrong then and it was a relief to say it. You didn't want any of that shit you'd said to be true, even if some of it— like your time with Nightwing being temporary— was true.
You were tired of being alone.