Hot pain surged over your ribs as Dick's fingers brushed over your fresh wounds with an alcohol wipe, causing your teeth to grit and jaw to clench.

Noticing your sudden tension, the man glanced up, soft blue eyes sympathetic. He of all people would know how bad it felt patching up wounds, being Nightwing and all; but you didn't know that, and he hadn't questioned why you'd knocked on his door, of all people in your apartment complex.

Your knuckles turned white as they gripped your shirt, holding it up so Dick could reach the new scarring.

"God, this looks horrible," he sighed beneath furrowed brows as his eyes looked back down to focus on cleaning you up. "Mind me asking what happened?"