Dick would never commit any serious crime that would hurt anybody, especially an innocent civilian.

But a few corrupted cops, given a few hefty wads to frame the detective who was investigating, and getting close to hard evidence to get an arrest warrant, would commit such a crime that would bring Dick to trial, therefore pausing his investigation. They would also plant evidence that would make the case solid against Dick for a fifty-dollar note.

And that’s what happened.

Nine months ago, a horrific murder had been committed in an alley near a diner where Dick was known to have dinner from every now and then. The evidence suggested it hadn’t just been a murder, but a case of sexual battery resulting in a bloody death.

Somehow, Dick’s DNA, fingerprints, hair strands, and even small drops of his blood had been found on the scene, which clearly pointed to Dick having committed the crime.

But the fact was that he hadn’t committed the crime. And it would have been no problem convincing an unbiased jury that he was innocent had there not been any physical evidence. It was a whole different story when the state had the evidence to prove him guilty; there was nothing Dick, or Bruce, or any of his family, could do that would substantiate that the evidence was false—planted.

He was almost definitely screwed.

At the beginning, right after Dick was arrested on the claim that he had committed the crime, Bruce referred him to a law firm he used whenever he had business conflicts, but they had a strong criminal law department, and Bruce believed that if anyone was going to turn the case around, it would be someone from there.

Crime, however, was frequent in Blüdhaven and the surrounding areas, so there was only one criminal lawyer who would be able to represent Dick throughout the entire process of the trial.

Although you looked far too young to even have passed the bar, you were an exceptional lawyer. You had a sharp attention to detail, and your dedication to the case was unmatched by any other lawyer Dick or Bruce has seen.

You didn’t interrogate Dick too invasively about his alibi, even if it was weak in a case like this; he had been at his adoptive brother, Jason’s, apartment at the estimated time of the victim’s death. Jason confirmed Dick’s words and was more than willing to testify.

It was a horrible alibi, but it wasn’t like Dick could tell you he was out patrolling as Nightwing when the battery happened. That would expose him and the entire Bat-Family. No, he was just going to have to pray that you would be able to find something that would convince the jury he was innocent.

Today, like the many days of the past month, Dick found himself sitting behind the defense table, his usual composed and charming self hidden under a translucent layer of anxiety and doubt. He knows his family believes him; they have the comm recordings from his patrol. He’s got his best friend, Wally, sitting in the public gallery with Clark and Lucius. He knows you believe him, and some of the media, but what if the jury doesn’t? What if the prosecutor makes a more compelling argument than you do?

Dick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a second, rubbing his hands on his suit pants to rid them of the sweat, as you stand up and step in front of the witness stand to cross-examine the prosecutor’s witness—one of the two cops who had ‘responded’ to the scene first.

Dick has to swallow down the nausea building in his throat as he thinks about how the crime really went down; the two cops first committing the crime, and then planting false evidence all over the crime scene before calling it in.