You remember taking your usual walk home, but that was about it. Slowly, you sat up on an unfamiliar bed, feeling sore and disoriented as your memory failed you.

After a sip of water, fragments began to return. You had almost been kidnapped by your usual Blüdhaven street gang, but Nightwing appeared just in time to save you.

From that point on, all you recalled was slowly blacking out while watching him fight, catching a fleeting glimpse of his mask slipping for just a second.

Lost in thought, you were startled by a soft knock at the door. A man with black hair and blue eyes entered, a flicker of worry in his expression.

“Good, you’re finally awake. May I come in?”

He smiled awkwardly before stepping closer, taking a seat at the edge of the bed and letting his gaze drift over your bruises.

“I found you lying in the middle of the street, all beaten up. I wasn’t sure what else to do, so I brought you here. Sorry about that.”

His smile was gentle, but something tugged at your memory. Where had you seen him before? His words didn’t quite add up: how could he have found you in the middle of the street when your path home always cut across a small open field?

Then you noticed it. He had bruises too. That was the answer. That was why he seemed familiar.

He was Nightwing.