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“Hey,” Dick called into the alleyway, getting the attention of the two people in it.
“Stay out of this man,” the man—no, he was a boy really—said, voice trembling. The other person in the alleyway, an older man, had his hands up in a universal gesture to stop towards the boy. The boy had a gun pointed towards the man’s chest.
“Put the gun down, kid,” Dick said, careful to keep his voice level.
“I’m not a kid!” the boy shouted.
“Okay.” Dick moved slowly, telegraphing his movements. “Okay, you’re not a kid.”
When Dick came closer, the boy swivelled his gun towards Dick for a moment, then back on the other man again. “Don’t come closer! I’ll shoot!”
Dick slid in front of the other man so the gun was pointed straight towards his own chest instead.
“You don’t want to do this,” Dick said softly.
“You don’t know what I want,” the kid said.
Dick shook his head. He was no longer a police officer, and here he wasn’t Nightwing, but Dick Grayson had to be enough. “Killing someone—that’s gonna ruin your life. You don’t want that.”
“ He ruined my life,” the kid snarled, but it was not threatening, more like the sound a cornered animal makes, “I have nothing left.”
“Come on man,” Dick said, “there’s always something. Let me help.”
“ How ?” the kid asked. “How can you help me?”
“My name is Dick Grayson,” he said, then added, “Grayson-Wayne.” The kid’s eyes widened at that. As much as he hated name-dropping, it helped immensely in moments like these. “I can help you get into a program, a charity. We can help you, whatever you need.”
The kid just breathed, searching Dick’s eyes for a sign of a lie, but Dick knew he wouldn't find any. Even if Dick was lying, he was never going to catch it.
“Okay,” the kid whispered, gazing darting behind Dick, then back at him. “Okay.”
Dick gave a gentle smile, one more sincere than his bright ones. “Good. Can you put the gun down please?”
The kid nodded.
Then, three things happened at once. There was a scuffing sound that told Dick the man at his back was running. Then, the kid’s eyes widened, surprised. Then, Dick heard the deafening gunshot.
An immense force punched into his chest, sending him stumbling back. The man screamed out a swear, but resumed running until his footsteps bounded out of the alley. The kid stared at him in shock, the smoking gun hung limply in his grip. Dick brought his hand up to his chest as he stumbled into a wall, holding up his weight. It came away wet.
“Hey,” Dick said, still as gently as he could, “Can you – can you call 911?”
The kid dropped to his knees. Dick slid down the wall after him.
“Kid?”
He just stared at Dick’s chest blankly. In shock. Okay.
Dick’s fingers felt clumsy, but he managed to fish out his phone from his pocket, dialling.
“ 911, what’s your emergency ?”
“... shot,” Dick rasped. Something gave in his chest and it hurt so fucking bad.
“ Sir, can you tell me your location ?”
Dick looked up, leaning his head against the cool brick wall behind him. He saw a street sign, just barely outside the alleyway, then told the operator what he saw.
“ We’ll get an ambulance to your location immediately, sir. Is there someone who can— ”
Dick hung up. He looked at his contacts, then lay his phone on his thigh. He leaned forward, groaning as he pulled his jacket off his back. It was difficult, especially when moving his shoulders felt like tearing another hole through his chest. No blood stains or holes in it; no exit wound. He bunched it up, then pressed it against his chest, triggering a blinding white pain to shoot through his body. He bit down on a scream.
His fingers hovered over his contacts. Clicked on one, then hoped whoever was on the other end wouldn’t pick up.
Before the fourth ring could go through, Bruce’s voice came over the line, “Dick?”
Dick breathed in. This was cruel. He needed to hang up; he couldn’t let Bruce go through this again.
“Dick, are you alright?” Bruce’s voice was concerned now, but Dick didn’t have the willpower to hang up. He couldn’t look down but he knew he was losing blood, so much blood. He didn’t want to do this alone, if it came to it.
“Hey B,” Dick said, his voice wet.
“Dick? Where are you? What happened?”
“Nothin’,” he said. He shuffled forward so he could lie down, discouraging gravity from pulling blood from his chest. He lay the phone next to his ear. “Just missed you.”
A beat. “I – tell me what’s wrong.”
He laughed. Tried to. Blood came through his throat, and he coughed, wet and hacking.
“I’m tracking your phone right now, stay on the line.”
Dick stared at the two buildings looming over him, closing between the overcast sky that could be seen past them. Dick said, “‘M sorry.”
“Don’t – come home. We can talk later, just come home.”
“I’m selfish,” he told his dad, “I just – I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m right here, chum, tell me what’s wrong. I’ll be there in a minute, okay?”
“I’m sorry for…” Dick took a deep breath, but he choked on blood. “... for making you do this – again. ‘M sorry. It’s not the kid’s fault, okay?”
There was a horrible silence and Dick had to close his eyes against the vivid imagination of Bruce’s expression in this moment. He wondered if Bruce ever cursed the way his mind could just know things like this. “No,” Bruce said, “ no – Dick, you can’t – you’re not – report .”
The command was so ingrained into him that even in this delirious moment he rattled off, “Gunshot to the chest. No exit. Internal bleeding. EMS called.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Bruce said, at first uncertain, but then he pushed steel into his voice, as if commanding the universe to bend to his will, “Dick, listen to me, you’re going to be fine. You’re not going to die.”
Dick continued trying to breathe, his eyes still closed. “That an order?”
“ Yes – god yes – I’m sending you the location, go – Dick?”
Dick couldn’t answer. He tried, he swore he did, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to speak.
“Stay with me, chum. Please , Dick – fuck !”
He could feel his heart beating through his head. He made a choked noise in lieu of speaking, a wordless I’m here .
“Dick, Dick – oh god – you’re not – you are not leaving before me, understood? That’s – that’s an order.”
He’d always been the best at defying Batman’s orders.
“You can’t – please, Dick, I can’t – I can’t do this without you—” his voice choked off in a sob and Dick so desperately wanted his dad.
Ozone filled the air, but Dick was slipping away. Bruce cried through the phone, so uncharacteristic of Batman. But this wasn’t Batman. It was his dad.
Someone lifted him up, strong warm arms enveloping him, making realise how cold he was. They smelled like lightning and ozone and darkness overtook him.