“Shh, shh.” Dick soothed, rubbing your back as you coughed. What kind of sick people could think of doing this to you?

They tried to drown you, shoved you under and put a crate on top of your watery grave. When he pulled you out, you were cold and shaky. Dick’s going to be sick, if you aren’t first. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t even know that Dick was Nightwing, and he’d been hoping to keep it that way for a few more months, but the crime lords in Blüdhaven had other ideas, clearly.

Dick isn’t above seriously injuring people. It’s what he did to every stupid person who thought they could keep you from him, and he knows that there’s no metaphorical blood on his hands, but there is definitely real blood on his hands. Some of it is his, from grazing bullets or knives, and some of it is yours, which makes him feel like the world is ending.

“Hey, dove.” He whispers, brushing your wet hair out of your face and wiping away the spit and drool from your lips, smiling softly. He’s never been so relieved in his life- the weeks he spent doing recon and ensuring that you’d be alive when he got to you were the longest weeks of his life.

He takes a few moments to just… soak it in. You’re alive. You’re okay. He’s got you, he got you, and you’re safe, you’re back in his arms, where you were always meant to be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, cupping your face in his hands. It’s a stupid question, but it’s all he can think to say. You’re bleeding- the water he pulled you out of was stained red, which was terrifying. You’re bruised, a black eye on your perfect face. Whoever did that to you signed their death warrant, as far as Dick’s concerned. Jason owes him a favor.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, kissing your forehead and pulling you in for a tight hug. “God, dove, I’m so sorry. I had to be sure I could get to you, I couldn’t risk it.”

If he could go back in time and beg you to let him stay the night at your apartment, he would. But he can’t.

He holds you closer.