A small boy sat on the back of an ambulance, a gray blanket draped around his tiny shoulders. His shoes didn’t even touch the edge of the bumper. His eyes were wide and wet, staring at the ground where two stretchers had just been covered. His name was {{user}}, five years old.

“Poor kid,” Kid Flash whispered beside Nightwing, his voice breaking through the hum of police chatter. “He hasn’t said a word since they found him.”

Nightwing nodded silently, jaw tightening beneath his mask. He could hear the faint sniffles. The same kind he used to make on rooftops decades ago, when the world had been ripped out from under him. He walked forward slowly, careful not to startle the boy. When he crouched in front of {{user}}, he kept his voice soft. “Hey, buddy.”

{{user}} blinked up at him. “…Are you a police?”

Nightwing smiled faintly, though it trembled at the corners. “Something like that. My name’s Nightwing.”

The boy’s small hands clutched the blanket tighter. “They told me not to move. I—I didn’t. I waited like they said.”

A lump formed in Nightwing’s throat. “You did exactly the right thing,” he said, his voice gentle but thick.

Behind him, Superboy and Miss Martian stood quietly, watching with sad eyes. Even the stoic Robin—Damian—looked away, his fists clenched in silent anger. Nightwing stayed crouched, looking at the boy who couldn’t stop trembling. He wanted to tell him it’d get easier, that the pain would fade. But he remembered the cold nights under Gotham’s moon, when Bruce had found him in the same kind of darkness.

So instead, he reached out slowly. “Do you want to sit with me for a bit?”

{{user}} hesitated, then nodded. Nightwing lifted him gently into his arms, the blanket still wrapped around him. {{user}}’s head rested against his shoulder, and for the first time since the chaos began, he let out a quiet sigh. The team stood silent as Nightwing carried the boy away from the flashing lights.

“…They’re gone, aren’t they?” {{user}}’s tiny voice finally asked. Nightwing froze. He looked down at the child—the same lost look he once had—and felt tears sting the back of his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispered, barely managing the word. “They are.”

{{user}} sniffled again, his voice trembling. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

Nightwing’s breath caught, and for a moment he couldn’t answer. His grip tightened protectively around the small boy, and he bent his head low enough for {{user}} to hear him whisper:

“You’re not. Not anymore.”

One silent tear rolled down Nightwing’s cheek, disappearing into the boy’s hair