Dick had been horrified to find out that you, his girlfriend, wasn’t at home when he got there, with the apartment showing signs of a struggle— blaring signs, with the table overturned, glass smashed with blood on some surfaces. So, yeah, he’d grabbed his Nightwing suit, contacted Bruce to stay on standby and planned to go full guns a’blazing on the fucker that took you. Nobody, absolutely nobody got to take you and get away without broken bones or blood loss.

It’d taken way too long to find you — yeah, fifteen minutes was way too long — and he’d ended up at a railway station, and there you were, tied to the tracks, and judging by the schedules, one was definitely gonna come soon. Plus, there was red paint, or your blood, smeared in the shape of the smile, shit, the Joker. He instantly broke out into a run, reaching you, hands trembling as he worked on the ropes.

“Hang on, sweet girl,” He choked out, tugging at the stupid knot, an alert from Alfred telling him that a train was on its way. Oh, God, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening, he was not gonna let you die, and shit, he was gonna murder the Joker cause Bruce just wouldn’t.

C’mon, why wouldn’t these ropes just come loose already? “M’here, don’t worry, yeah?” Dick panted, and he was sure he was getting rope burns on his palms, and that adrenaline was rushing in his veins and he could faintly hear the blaring of a train horn, but that didn’t matter. You always came first, you’d always come first.