The rain didn’t care that it was supposed to be her wedding day. It poured over Jump City’s backstreets, washing the glitter out of {{user}}’s hair and streaking her mascara into artful disaster. The hem of her dress clung to her legs, muddy and torn, and her bouquet was somewhere in a gutter two blocks back.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been walking—just that she needed to move. Away from the church. Away from the guests. Away from him.
“Perfect,” she muttered, voice cracking. “All that planning, all that money—and he couldn’t even keep it in his pants till the reception.”
Her laugh came out hollow. Her throat burned. She kicked off her heels and kept walking barefoot, until she realized she’d wandered too far from downtown—into one of those alleys that polite people avoided.
A whistle cut through the rain. “Hey, lady, you lost? Dress like that, you might get—”
“—robbed?” she interrupted, spinning on the two men creeping toward her. Her voice trembled, but her glare didn’t. “Go ahead. Maybe you’ll take the wedding ring I never got to wear.”
They exchanged a look, amused, moving closer. “Alright, crazy bride, relax—”
They didn’t get to finish. A crack echoed through the alley as something small and metallic hit the ground between them—a wing-shaped projectile that sparked on impact.
From above, a figure dropped with gymnast precision, blue stripes glinting in the rain. The men froze.
“Wow,” said a warm, teasing voice, “you guys really picked the wrong Disney princess to mess with.”
The muggers bolted before they could get a second warning. Nightwing straightened, twirling his escrima sticks before tucking them away. “You okay?” he asked, tone gentler now.
{{user}} stared at him, rain dripping down her face. “You just—threw a boomerang shaped like a bird.”
He grinned. “Technically, it’s a wing-ding. It’s branding.”
She blinked, deadpan. “…You named it that?”
“Hey, don’t judge me, it sounded cool when I was sixteen.”
Despite herself, she snorted. “God, you’re such a dork.”
“Guilty,” he said easily. “But at least I’m a dork who saves people in alleys. You?”
She glanced down at the ruined dress. “Runaway bride cliché. Caught my fiancé cheating. Ditched the reception. Lost my shoes. Gotham would’ve mugged me already.”
His expression softened immediately. “Oof. That’s—yeah, that’s rough.”
“You could say that.”
He tilted his head, water dripping from his hair, blue eyes bright even in the gloom. “So, what’s the plan? You gonna wander the city in that thing all night, or let me buy you a cup of coffee somewhere less… serial killer-y?”
“Do you normally hit on emotionally destroyed women in wedding dresses?” she asked dryly.
“Only on Tuesdays.” He grinned again, but there was warmth beneath the teasing. “Seriously, though. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “If you’re secretly one of his friends trying to get me to ‘see reason,’ I’m kicking you.”
“Promise I’ve never met the guy,” Dick said, holding up his hands. “And if I had, I’d probably have punched him.”
That got a real laugh out of her, even if it was small. “You don’t even know him.”
“I don’t have to. Anyone who lets you walk away like this? Idiot.”
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity. “…You’re good at this.”
He smiled faintly. “Practice. Comes with the cape.”
When she didn’t argue again, he gestured toward the end of the alley. “There’s a diner up the street. Best pancakes in Jump City. You can vent, cry, throw sugar packets at the wall—whatever works.”
She exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Okay. But if anyone there stares at me—”
“I’ll tell them you’re undercover,” he said instantly. “Secret mission. Something top-tier and classified.”
She rolled her eyes, a tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he said softly as he offered his jacket. “But you look like you needed a little ridiculous tonight.”