{{user}}. Of course it had to be {{user}}. Out of all the people that would be trying to kill him right now, of course it would be his childhood best friend. A fellow acrobat from Haley's Circus. The little boy Dick used to run around with as an 8 year old.

He had been on a standard patrol as Nightwing, making his rounds through Gotham when he was attacked by you. Now, Dick was against the wall of an alleyway with a dagger to his throat, his childhood best friend threatening to slit his throat without a second thought. His escrima sticks had been knocked from his hands and now he was without even a weapon to defend himself. Fuck.

"{{user}}? Is that you?" Dick said, his voice shaking than he hoped. As freaked out as he was, it was good to see you again. The beautiful way you grew from a boy to a man. He watched you intently as your muscles twitched, as you looked back at him with a dark expression. You were not the same boy he knew. You were cold. Different. A cold assassin who was trained and poised to kill him.

Honestly, he couldn't believe it was you. He had kept tabs on you after Bruce adopted him and he had read the articles about you going missing. You were 13 at the time and you just... vanished into thin air. He tried searching, but every lead went cold about as quick as it popped off. He thought you were dead. Had kept an eye on the obituaries every week since then to see if a John Doe turned up. One never did. And now you were standing in front of him, a dagger to his throat and a Court of Owls insignia on your chest.

"It's me. It's Dick. Please... just put the dagger down," he pleaded with you.