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Jean-Paul was sitting in a warehouse, in his bulky- almost suffocating- vestments. He had shed the Azrael mask some time ago, allowing himself to think clearly as Jean-Paul. Azrael, the Avenger, the Merciful Angel, would be of no help here.
In Jean-Paul’s arms was Dick Grayson, still in his Nightwing uniform. He had been stabbed, and he was losing blood quickly. Jean-Paul’s hands were stained red as he moved for Dick’s mask, pulling it off his eyes.
“Jean-Paul…” Dick whispered through gritted teeth. They were completely alone, Azrael having… taken care of all of the criminals they were supposed to bust. Perhaps, for once, Jean-Paul’s rage burned alongside the angels. “Your sword.”
Jean-Paul’s brow furrowed, moving a hand down to push against Dick’s wound. It was across his abdomen, the normal black of Dick’s suit now painted in crimson. “What do you mean? What…” He said, his voice shaky as he tried to stay focused.
“The- The fire.” To cauterize the wound, Jean-Paul’s mind filled in. He moved one of his hands, desperately scrambling for his sword. The rosary beads that hung from its handle hit the side of his hand, and Jean-Paul quickly prayed that Dick would make it through this. That he wouldn’t die here.
“I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you,” Jean-Paul said, feeling a single tear run down his cheek and land on the concrete below them. Fist tightening around his holy blade, fire ran up the metal quickly, illuminating them both in a slight orange-y glow. “I’m so sorry, Dick.”
Moving his hand back, Jean-Paul brought his sword to the top of Dick’s cut. He took in a breath as he pushed the sword down; the searing sounds of flesh against hot metal filled his ears. It was only another moment before Dick started screaming. Jean-Paul pulled back quickly, eyes wide with fear as he dropped his sword and grabbed Dick’s face, pulling him close.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Jean-Paul cried, hands trembling with fear and guilt. He didn’t want to have to hurt someone he loved. He didn’t like hurting people; he really didn’t.
“It’s okay, you’re okay. You have to keep doing it- Please.” Dick’s voice was slightly broken, his throat already hoarse from screaming. “I- I’m going to die here if you don’t, Jean-Paul.”
Jean-Paul let out a pathetic-sounding whimper at the thought, fist tightening before he grabbed his sword again, sitting up and facing Dick head-on. “I will not let you die. I swear it to you, Dick. You won’t die while I’m here.” His voice filled with new conviction.
He held the tip of his sword back down against Dick’s abdomen. Right before he began, though, Jean-Paul extended his long sleeve towards Dick’s face. “So that you don’t scream.” He said, watching as Dick nodded and shoved the fabric in between his teeth.
Jean-Paul pressed down again.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The morning sun seeped in through the window of Dick’s apartment, hitting Jean-Paul square in the face. After a few moments, he started to blink the sleep out of his eyes and push himself up. He yawned, about to stand, before feeling a hand move around his waist and pull him back.
“Mm- Don’t get up yet.” Dick’s voice was muffled slightly by the pillow he had his head pushed into. “Stay here… It’s warm.”
Jean-Paul looked back, smiling slightly to himself. He leaned back down into the bed, rolling over to face Dick. “Don’t you have work today, dear?” He asked, reaching a hand out to brush through Dick’s hair.
“Not if I pretend to be sick and we stay in bed all day.” Dick turned his head, facing Jean-Paul now. It was clear how tired he was; he must’ve been out late last night.
“How sweet. In this scenario, am I missing work as well?” Jean-Paul teased, moving his face closer. They were sharing the same pillow now, noses only inches away from touching.
“Ugh- No fun,” Dick grumbled, wrapping his arms around Jean-Paul’s shoulder to bring him into a soft kiss. They stayed like that for a few beautiful moments, soft lips on chapped ones. Jean-Paul hummed, pulling back to look at Dick incredulously.
“Are you going to kiss me until I stay here with you?” Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow, moving his hand up to hold Dick’s cheek.
“No. Yes. Is it working?” Dick gave his best grin, batting his eyelashes.
Jean-Paul leaned back in, planting his lips on Dick’s once again. He pulled back just as quickly, staying close enough that his lips would just barely ghost over Dick’s as he spoke. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
That had been this morning, when everything felt so much easier, when they weren’t crime fighters, when they weren’t putting themselves in harm’s way. When Jean-Paul and Dick just got to be people, people in love.
Jean-Paul finally pulled his sword back, tossing it across the room with a clang. His sleeve fell from Dick’s mouth, a ring bite marks and saliva left on it. He cradled Dick’s face in his hands, feeling his neck go weightless.
“Dick? Dick- Can you hear me?” Jean-Paul begged, giving his head a shake to see if he was still conscious. Tears started to form in his eyes. “Dick!”
Dick didn’t respond, his head lolling to the side. Jean-Paul couldn’t bring himself to check for a pulse. “Please, please. God, please don’t take him away from me.” He whispered, his prayer falling on deaf ears. Or maybe uncaring ones.
He moved down, pressing kisses into Dick’s face and trying to ignore how cold his skin felt underneath him. “Dick- Dear, please don’t go. I’m sorry- You were right. We should’ve stayed in bed all day. It’s my fault, it’s my fault, I’m sorry.”
Dick didn’t make any kind of movement or show that he was even still here. That he hadn’t left Jean-Paul all alone on the concrete floor. The cross that hung from his sword caught the reflection of the morning sun. Nothing would ever be like it was yesterday, a mere twenty-four hours ago, Dick was alive, Dick was begging him to stay in bed.
Jean-Paul should have listened.