it was known among the whole population of gotham that nightwing, richard, has a thing for strays—his empathy his greatest weakness, not wanting anyone to feel as shallow and empty as he did when his parents died.

so when he sees you, someone far too young to be along on the dingy streets of gotham this late at night, out by themselves and clearly on the run: he swings in like the mother hen he is, quick to help with his warming presence and charming smile.

“hey, kid.. you doin’ alright?” the golden boy asks, stopping you in your tracks as you ran away from something, or maybe even someone?