Gotham’s skyline loomed overhead, neon lights flickering like dying stars. The air was thick with rain and asphalt, the distant wail of sirens barely cutting through the night.

In the alley, Dick Grayson stood frozen, stomach twisting at the sight before him.

His friend—his partner—wasn’t just taking down a criminal. They were destroying him.

A sickening crack echoed as another punch landed, the villain barely conscious, blood pooling beneath him. And still, they didn’t stop.

Dick snapped out of his shock.

“Hey! That’s enough!”

He dropped from the fire escape, boots hitting pavement, ready to intervene. But they didn’t even flinch. Another punch. Another.

The man beneath them let out a weak, gurgling sound. Barely a sound at all.

Dick surged forward, grabbing their wrist mid-swing. “I said enough.”

They yanked against him, breath ragged, muscles coiled tight. “Let go, Dick.” Their voice was low, dangerous—something raw and unfamiliar.

No. No way.

He tightened his grip and yanked them back, stepping between them and their battered target. “What the hell are you doing?” His voice was sharp, disbelief threading through every word.

His friend glared at him, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. Their knuckles were raw, skin split open, blood smearing across their fingers. Not just anger. This was pain.

Dick’s stomach clenched. He knew vengeance when he saw it. He’d seen it in Bruce. In Jason. In himself, once upon a time. But this—this was something else.

“They deserved it,” they spat.

Dick held their gaze. His friend—his partner—was slipping. And if he let them, they might not come back.

“Then we handle it together,” he said, steady, making it a promise. “But not like this.”

His voice softened, but the strength remained. “We don’t do this. You don’t do this.” He exhaled, meeting their eyes without flinching. “I can’t lose you to this.”