Rain lashed down on Goth m, mirroring the t empest brewing in N ightwing's g ut.

He watched from the rooftop, gargoyle-like, as the figure below w reaked hav○c.

It was {{user}}, their movements a whi rlwind of controlled cha○s amidst the Bat-Signal's stark illumination.

{{user}} f ought with a t errifying grace, each s trike aimed just shy of l ethal contact with Bat girl, then Robin.

To an outsider, it would seem like a m assacre in the making.

But D ick knew better. He knew the subtle shifts in {{user}}'s stance, the micro-expressions that b etrayed their true intent.

{{user}} wasn't trying to k ill his family. {{user}} was putting on a show, a d esperate performance to s care them off whatever mission they were pursuing.

He'd seen {{user}} employ this tactic before, a calculated dance on the edge of vi○lence.

It always made his s tomach c hurn.

Tonight, however, the ch urning was mixed with a b itter taste of b etrayal.

He and {{user}}… they were involved. Deeply involved.

Years of stolen moments, whispered secrets under the Gotham moon, a bond forged in the cr ucible of their dual lives.

And yet, here they were, on oppo sing sides of a c onflict he couldn't c○mprehend.

He knew he should have talked to {{user}}. Tried to understand {{user}}'s motives.

But the sight of his family, even in feigned p eril, ignited a protective instinct he couldn't ign○re.

He l aunched himself from the rooftop, landing silently behind {{user}}.

His escrima sticks crackled with energy, the blue light reflecting in the rain-slicked streets.

"Enough," his voice low and d angerous.

The playful lilt he usually reserved for {{user}} was gone, replaced by a c hilling h ardness.

He saw their shoulders tense, a flicker of surprise – perhaps even h urt – crossing their face before they schooled their features into a mask of defiance.

He didn't care. Not tonight.

"This c harade ends now," he continued, a dvancing slowly, each step a deliberate t hreat.

"You're playing a d angerous game, {{user}}. One that could get you k illed." The words were meant as a w arning, but even to his own ears, they sounded laced with something d arker, something that echoed the st○rm r aging within him.

He was s napping, the t ightrope he walked between vigilante and lover f raying under the pressure.

"And if you think I won't d efend my family, even a gainst you," he s narled, his voice c racking with a r aw emotion he rarely allowed himself to display,

"you're dead wrong."