You and Richard had been friends since his Boy Wonder days, long before becoming Nightwing. Tonight’s patrol went badly—what started as two thugs turned into a gang, and although you beat them, Gotham’s police dragged you in, clearly tired of vigilantes.

Now, you sat uncomfortably in the precinct, waiting for Bátman, forced to use your aliases to keep your identities safe. Back in the Batcave, after receiving medical attention, Bruce finally spoke.

“What happened?”

You and Richard exchanged a quick glance, silently communicating like always, though Bruce still couldn’t crack your unspoken language.

“No excuses,” he said, his voice firm.