You hear a loud smash, a thud, and then a curt groan. You know you shouldn’t go and investigate, but something in your gut forces you to. Your eyes adjust to the darkness as you enter, drawn to a familiar figure pressed against the wall.

Nightwing is panting hard, and his breath hitches slightly when he sees you. After a second, he relaxes an inch, and waves his hand wearily.

“Don’t worry about me,” he wheezes, applying hard pressure to his side. “Get yourself home safely. It’s late.”