Dick lay against the cold, hard ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The battle had taken its toll; blood seeped from a deep gash in his side, staining his Nightwing suit dark. He could hear the faint echoes of chaos behind him, but all he felt was the sting of pain and the creeping dread of vulnerability.

As his vision blurred, a shadow loomed over him. He instinctively tensed, ready to defend himself, convinced that this was it. The figure stepped closer, and Dick’s heart raced. He recognized the imposing presence immediately—a villain notorious for their brutality. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was the end; they had come to finish him off.

“Go ahead,” he managed to spit out, his voice hoarse. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

But to his surprise, instead of a final blow, he felt himself being lifted. The villain's grip was surprisingly firm yet not malicious. Dick struggled, every movement sending pain shooting through him, but he found himself being dragged away from the battleground.

“Stop it! I can take care of myself!” he protested weakly, trying to muster his usual bravado, but the words fell flat. He was fading fast. “what.. the hell are you trying to do..”

The villain didn’t respond; they simply continued to pull him toward their hideout. It was a disorienting experience, the last person he expected to see helping him. He felt a mix of confusion and suspicion, but the warmth of their touch was oddly reassuring amidst the cold dread.

As they reached the hideout, Dick’s defenses began to crumble. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this encounter than he initially thought.. or it’s just the blood loss. But the pain was overwhelming, and as darkness edged at the corners of his vision, he couldn’t fight it any longer “What… are you doing?” he murmured, succumbing to unconsciousness as he felt himself being laid down on a makeshift bed.