Warnings: illness, mentions of child assassins, not Titans!verse I just think Brenton is pretty
Summary: You’re feeling sick but refuse to admit you are. Damian intervenes and makes sure Dick is aware of the problem.
This is apart of Assassin!verse that you can read here
You had been shot, stabbed, poisoned, thrown through windows, and broken numerous bones, but for some reason, this sore throat was going to be the end of you. When you woke up that morning, it started as a simple scratchy throat that had bloomed into some demonic rash of pain that coated your throat and made every swallow feel like knives scraping against your skin.
“You are unwell,” Damian observed. You ignored him in favor of jabbing the small needle through the taut fabric and tugging it down. Cass had recommended embroidery as a hobby you should try out and you found that it was soothing, fun, and an outlet for you. After spending years surrounded by silence and met with anger if you spoke out of turn, sometimes you needed to retreat from the constant noise of the Wayne Manor.
While you had your apartment in Bludhaven, some problems in Gotham required the both of you, and Haley of course, to stay at the Manor for a few days.
Where two of the family members attended school and the others interacted with the public every single day.
So, of course, you got sick.
You stabbed the point into the fabric once more and pulled it taut. You hoped that Tim would like the screaming possum design you were making for him. He loved sending you those memes and delighted in the fact that he gets to teach you about memes and pop culture.
“I’m fine.” You internally winced at how rough your voice sounded. Nothing screamed “picture of health” more than sounding like you were choking on gravel. Your head pounded, the ache radiating at your temples and along the sides, and your nose felt like cotton was shoved up there. All in all, you felt miserable. All you wanted to do was go back to the queen sized mattress shoved in Dick’s old bedroom and sleep for a thousand years.
But Dick, Bruce, and Tim were all making appearances at a gala to collect intel and you needed to stay awake so you could assist if something happened. What if the gala was under attack? Or what if they needed a quick getaway? Or what if-
The couch dipped as Damian crawled onto the cushion next to you. He settled in comfortably, Alfred the cat resting comfortably in his arms, and blinked up at you with those wide eyes of his. You set your embroidery down and gave him your full attention.
While Dick was your closest friend, companion, and lover, Damian understood you better than anyone aside from Cass. Damian knew what it was like to be trained from a young age. When Dick first brought you to Wayne Manor, bloodied and weak and still as fiercely on guard, Damian was the first person to gain your trust aside from Dick. And if this kid was your boyfriend’s brother, then dammit, he was your little brother too.
“When I first came to live with Father, he sat me down one day and told me that it is one thing to know when to be on guard and ready. But it’s another thing to live your life always on edge waiting for the next attack. Father helped me realize that I was living my life feeling like I was never safe made me sure that I would never be safe. He assured me that he and the family would never let anything happen to me.”
Your mind was cloudy with fatigue and fever, but you nodded slowly as you tried to grasp what he meant. “Okay…?”
Damian turned to face you fully, the little tuxedo cat in his lap snuggling in closer to his owner’s arms. “We would never let anything happen to you or to one another. You can rest.”
You swallowed painfully against your aching throat and offered him a tight smile. “Thank you, Dami. I’m fine.”
He huffed and climbed off the couch. “You’re not fine. I am telling Pennyworth.”
“Don’t!” The exclamation left you so quickly that he looked at you with more concern than before. “He’s busy right now. He doesn’t need to be bothered with a little sniffle. Please don’t tell him. I swear I’m fine.”
He stared at you, doubt written all over his face, and then sighed. “You are more stubborn than Richard. It’s a miracle the two of you get anything done.”
With that, Damian and Alfred the cat exited the room. Silence fell over the leather furniture and aging books once more. You inhaled deeply, fighting against the stabbing pain of your sinuses, and focused on your embroidery once more.
It wasn’t a half hour before the door to the library flew open. Dick strode in, impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo. Damian. That little rat.
“I’m fine!” you insisted. Damian peeked out from around the doorframe and you, the adult, stuck your tongue out at him. He merely smirked and disappeared, probably to go find his next victim.
“Richard, I am fine,” you snapped. He ignored your protests and laid the back of his hand against your cheek before doing the same to your forehead. You shuddered at the cool touch of his skin against yours and he immediately stepped back.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dick demanded.
“Because I knew you would blow it out of proportion and make a big deal out of nothing,” you retorted.
“You’re burning up. And Damian said your lungs rattled a bit when you took a breath.”
“Damian’s a trained liar.”
“Stop with the bullshit!” His outburst caused you to pause. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. You had been in much worse condition than a little cold.
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” you said quietly. Therapy with Dinah was helping you express your emotions, as she said. It helped in times like this. Dick’s face crumpled and then he pulled on the mask of assuredness that you were used to seeing. He crouched down so you were face to face rather than him towering over you.
“You don’t have to act like everything is fine, Buttercup. You’re allowed to let your guard down. You’re allowed to get sick.”
“But I can’t,” you blurted out. “If I’m sick and you or one of the others needs me-”
“We have legions of people that can help us,” he interrupted. Dick reached up to gently cup your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You are allowed to rest.”
“My head hurts,” you admitted.
He smiled that crooked grin of his and you shut your eyes, inhaling deeply. He stroked gentle lines across your face and of course he was still there once you opened your eyes once more.
“I’m tired.”
He stood, his hand falling from your cheek and entangling itself with your free hand. You set the embroidery down on the coffee table and stood. Before you could take one step, Dick swept you into his arms and started down the hall towards the bedrooms.
“You realize that I’m going to coddle you until you’re back to normal?”
You tightened your grip on his neck and grinned. “Can we watch Riverdale?”
“I’m going to throw Timmy off of a fucking roof for introducing you to that show.”
Summary: You would be stepping out in public as Dick Grayson’s girlfriend for the very first time and you needed something formal to wear. Well, fuck.
Part of assassin!verse but can be read alone
“Well, I think the only reasonable solution here is that I go ask Ivy if she can concoct something that will keep me housebound for a week and we have to cancel the date,” you announced from the other side of the curtain. Stephanie booed as Cassandra tossed a shoe at your feet. You emerged from the thick rayon fabric and sent a half-hearted glare at the three women seated in front of you. You spun in a slow circle, your arms extended at your side to show off the dress Cass had picked out. Barbara glanced up from her phone and scrunched her nose up.
“Nah. Too much sequins. That would be so uncomfortable to eat in,” she declared. You dropped your arms to your sides and grimaced. She was right. The little plastic circles dug into your skin and it would be a bitch and a half to move around in.
“Fuck it. I’m staying home,” you declared.
“Who taught her that word?” Damian sighed as he emerged from the racks. “Right. Todd. I don’t know why I even bothered to ask. May I just say, those sequins are awful.”
“Thank you, tiny Tan France,” Stephanie said. “We get it. It’s a bad dress.”
“Sorry, Steph.” You knew she wasn’t taking the criticism to heart even if she had picked the dress. It was just the first time you would be going on a real date with Dick to some high-end Bludhaven restaurant as both a PR opportunity and as a mission. Rumor had it that a certain politician would be present with one of the largest cartel leaders and Dick needed a chance to bug their dinner and gather intel.
Which meant that you would be stepping out in public as Dick Grayson’s girlfriend.
Dick Grayson, the son of the Prince of Gotham. The Heartthrob of Bludhaven.
The man who fell asleep into his oatmeal this morning.
“Is it too late for me to fake my death, change my name, and fall off the face of the earth?”
“Been there, done that,” Damian hummed. “Father can’t possibly do even more of that paperwork. It nearly took him out the first time.”
Cass nodded. “No, no. This could work. He ate the last oreos. Go ahead. Fake your death.”
“No one is faking anyone’s death,” Barbara cut in. “Let’s just try a different store.”
You groaned. “This is the fourth store we’ve tried and we have three hours until reservations. I might as well just go in sweats and call it a night.”
Stepping back into the dressing room, you ignored the bickering outside from your entourage and instead focused on stripping off the dress and putting it back on the hanger. It wasn’t your fault you didn’t have any formal wear. You were never assigned jobs where you needed to get dressed up. Your role was always to hide in the shadows, not to be seen. This was the exact opposite of what your training required and it was starting to grate on your nerves. How could you do this?
As if he could sense your frustration, your phone rang from the pile of your belongings tucked on the bench in the dressing room. You picked it up and glanced at the caller ID, a small smile crossing your lips as you swiped your thumb across the screen and answered.
“Hi, Buttercup,” Dick greeted. Warmth suffused through your veins at his soft greeting and you ducked your head as heat rose to your face. Fucking hell, you had at least seventeen confirmed kills under your belt and Richard Grayson made you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.
“Hey,” you replied. “Are you cool with me wearing a bathrobe and slippers to dinner tonight?”
He laughed and you wished desperately that he was here in this tiny dressing room with you. You wanted to feel his hands enclose around your waist, stroke along your skin, and kiss your temple. You wanted to feel the safety he offered. You had four Batlings sitting on the other side of the flimsy curtain and you had years of training, but you never felt as safe as you did when Dick was near.
“Babe, you could wear one of my old shirts and those cute little shorts you wear and I wouldn’t care. I take it shopping isn’t going well?”
“I didn’t realize Damian religiously watches Queer Eye and Drag Race because you would think I’ve committed the most egregious fashion sins with the options I picked.”
He laughed again and then sighed. “I figured it wasn’t going well since you weren’t home yet. Stop stressing yourself out, baby, I can hear you thinking over the phone. Anything you wear is going to look amazing, okay? Just wear whatever makes you comfortable.”
“But the media…”
“Fuck the paparazzi. Fuck them all. Your comfort is more important than a stupid magazine cover.”
You gave up fighting the grin that spread across your face and shook your head. Holding the phone with one hand, you tugged your pants on with the other. “Okay. We’ll try one more store and if I can’t find anything, I’ll come home and figure it out.”
“Good. I miss you, Buttercup.”
“Miss you too, Westley.”
You hung up so you could pull your shirt over your head (it was actually Dick’s shirt that you had stolen but he wasn’t going to argue) and gathered up your wallet and keys. You emerged from the dressing room to join the others and your little gaggle of Batlings led you to another shop at the mall.
“Wait,” you called once your eyes caught on a mannequin in the window of some store. Steph nearly collided with you when you stopped in the middle of walking. The blonde examined the outfit and a crooked grin spread across her face.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” she cooed. “Let’s go try it on.”
Dick kept himself entertained as he waited for you by playing fetch with Haley. Cass and Steph had practically shoved you into the apartment with a bag clutched in your hand, waved at Dick, and disappeared as you darted towards the bedroom before he could say anything. He was glad he already changed into his tux because the clock was inching closer to your reservation time.
The bedroom door creaked with its aged hinges but it was enough to catch his attention. Dick raised his head and promptly lost all ability to breathe, think, and speak. You offered him a shy smile and ran your hands over the soft fabric that clung to your body. A thick strap rested over one shoulder, leaving your neck and arms exposed, and pulled taut across your chest. You had forgone a dress, but the jumpsuit was still formal enough for the restaurant you were attending.
And it was Nightwing blue.
“How does it look?” you asked, your voice quiet with apprehension. Dick sucked in a big gulp of air and he dropped the ball in his hand, sending Haley scrabbling across the wood in pursuit. He rose and crossed the room to stand before you. His hands rose to hover over your hips as his eyes raked over every inch of your body.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. His hands finally came down to settle on your waist and then drifted down to cup the back of your thighs, pulling you into his chest. You laughed at his desperation and eagerness.
“Is that a knife strapped to your thigh?” he murmured against your lips. You fixed the lapels of his suit and smoothed them down, a mischievous smile taking hold of your face.
A/N: I'm alive. This is...a Lot. Maybe taking a break from writing was a mistake lol
Requested? yes but also no. I took an idea and decided to try and rival Usain Bolt with this sprint
Warnings (PLS READ FOR THIS ONE): a lotttt of introspective thoughts, existential crisis, grief, allusion to child loss, reader's past as an assassin, confusing language as a representation of the confusing and frustrating world we live in
the gif is really just bc i need something to break up the wall of text and his face is pretty
Assassin!Verse masterlist
You barely recall being awoken. On the precipice of sleep and wakefulness, you allowed yourself to reside in that quiet place. For so long you lived alert to the latent dangers of the world, but there was no prickle of anxiety on your skin this time. Not when Dick sat so closely next to you.
His hands rested, one on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. He had woken you when the sky was still dark, but the phantom calls of birds rang out amongst the stars as they searched for the coming sun. His touch was gentle, as it always was with you, and his words spoken gentler so he didn’t wake Damian who had declared himself your guardian.
The faux leather upholstery was cool against your cheek and you savored the way it soothed your burning cheeks. You don’t know when the salty tang of tears began to drip down your cheeks. Had you been crying for the whole drive? Or had the tears always been a part of you, but only now they were exposing themselves as your mask slowly chipped away?
He pulled the car into a small lot that was composed of a few concrete blocks that functioned as parking barriers and grass trampled by hundreds of feet. Dick wordlessly exited the car and took a moment to inhale before he rounded to your side and opened the door. You felt clumsy and shy, like a newborn foal trying to walk for the first time. What happened to the grace that was instilled in you? It wasn’t lost, you knew that, but today was not about who they had made you to be.
He pressed the stems of the bouquet into your hands and the presence of soft, bumpy earth bit into your skin with a mental sharpness that rivaled thorns. The sharp exhale and inhale of your breath mixed in a tentative dance with the cool air that nipped at your skin. It was bitterly cold. It was practically frozen.
It was a perfect reminder of your mortality. You loved it.
Dick walked in tandem with you. Up the lane, past the wrought iron gates that creaked in greeting, and past the weathered stones and marble blocks that showed so little of so lived a life. He faltered in his steps once you caught sight of the small stone and his hand fell from its careful place in the crook of your elbow. You surged forward and let your heart carry you with all its heaviness.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to fall to your knees and present the bundle of red and white spider lilies, but it happened and there you were. You were here and there. You were the lines of etchings engraved into stone and you were the finger touching the worn surface. Other flowers crowded you as you sank into the unfathomable realization.
Most people (you cannot bring yourself to say all because you are proof that it is not all, and you know others who struggle with this realization) only live one life. There is no guidebook that explains step by step how to proceed in this big, scary world around you. Every person from the barista at the corner coffee shop to your own mother are all experiencing the world for the first time. They are experiencing the profound joy of the simple things and the devastating loss of the greatest loves of their lives.
You are one of these people. You are not one of these people.
Before you sat an epithet to the person you were. There is no space in your mind to consider the life you might have lived if the things that happened to you hadn’t happened at all. But would that have been you? You have had these discussions with Alfred many times late at night, raving at a God who, if he exists, destined you to a life with stains of blood on your hands placed there by people who should have protected you.
The sun crests the hill and bathes the world in an unfelt warmth and it ignites the anger in your veins. How dare these people weep for a child they barely knew? You hate yourself for thinking it. How dare you grow angry at the love of a parent?
They knew you. They don’t know you.
You are two people; a ghost and a mirage kneel side by side on the frozen ground that covers an empty casket. Your name marks the stone, but it is not the name you call yourself. It does not ignite the warmth of familiarity that it does when it comes from the tongue of your found family.
You don’t know how long you stay there, grieving the loss of who you once were and coming to terms with the choice laid before you. The sun has decided to cling to you and despite the chill, you can feel the way it bites at your skin.
It is simple, the answer to your choice.
You were once a child. You are now an adult. These two things can coexist.
But you were once this child. You are now this adult.
The fabric of the small toy seated at the grave is rotten with weather and age. The plastic eyes are scratched, but they gaze up at you with a sincerity you know only in one other person’s eyes.
Dick had been here before you. He laid this small robin at the foot of your grave and you nearly weep at the sight.
Instead, you slowly pull yourself to your feet, draw yourself up high, and let who you once were lay protected and loved.
His hand enclosed around yours and you let yourself fall into the warmth of his embrace. The two of you turn your back to the past and, together, step into your choice.
The Sun, Moon, and Stars // D. Grayson x gn! reader
Requested? Yes!
Warnings: mentions of a strip club, sliiiight panic attack
Summary: part of assassin!verse Jason needs help with a mission and enlists you to go undercover at a strip club, but it makes bad memories boil to the surface. Dick pulls you out and makes sure you know just how loved you are.
It was fine. You were fine.
You repeated the words over and over to yourself in some desperate prayer that it would come true and your breathing would go back to normal instead of the hitched, choking spurts of air that kept escaping you. It had been fine. Truly.
This was a fact finding mission that Jason enlisted your help in because he needed someone to go undercover as a server and the club was in Bludhaven. Dick hadn’t liked the idea of sending you into a strip club because, while you were trained, you weren’t trained for espionage or covert operations. You were trained to hide amongst buildings, not people. Your usual uniform was all black head to toe so you could blend in with the shadows, not the stringy and sparkly number Jason had procured.
Jason and Dick were both in your ears thanks to the comms that hid within your ear canal from view. Jason kept giving instructions, pointing out who you needed to talk to and who to avoid, while Dick kept quiet aside from the occasional remarks that kept you level headed.
But then you started to realize how many eyes were on you and you blanched. You were used to being invisible, damnit. Your skill set wasn’t dependent on how you looked but how you moved and apparently, the less than legal underground of Bludhaven found you both appealing to look at because of how you looked and how you moved.
It was like they were admiring a good steak or some other kind of meat instead of a body and for a moment, you were back in that cage as your handlers displayed you to some investors, discussing your worth in the value of monetary budgets and kill counts. You grit your teeth and shut your eyes, pushing back the memory and locking it into the vault of things to address later. You needed to focus. You couldn’t fuck this up. Not when Jason relied on you. Not when the people he was working to help needed you.
“Buttercup,” Dick’s low, smooth voice came over the comm line and you inhaled deeply at the sound of his voice and the affectionate nickname he had taken to calling you after you expressed your love for that damned movie he showed you. Opening your eyes, you took in the glaring lights and vibrating bass that shook the walls. It was fine.
“I’m okay,” you whispered. “Just had a moment.”
“Okay,” Dick announced. “I’m pulling it. Buttercup, get out of there. I’ll meet you in the alley on the left side of the building.”
“‘Wing-” Jason started to protest.
“No. Ask Artemis or Roy or fucking, I don’t know, Kyle. I knew this was a bad idea from the start.”
Jason huffed but relented, hearing the hard edge to Dick’s voice. The whole family understood that you were and always would be Dick’s main priority. If he put his foot down when it came to you, they knew to immediately back off.
You stumbled out of the club and into the icy night air, grateful for a reprieve from the constant onslaught of sensations. Spinning on your heels, you sped towards the alley Dick said he would be in and immediately deflated when you saw the familiar kevlar-spandex weave come into view.
Dick reached up and plucked your comms out of your ear before pocketing it. He studied your face for a brief moment and then he held his hand out for you to take. You knew what to expect and you shut your eyes as soon as your skin met his glove, because he swept you into a tight hold and then directed his grappling line towards your shared apartment. You didn’t open your eyes until your feet landed on solid ground and you found yourself on your fire escape.
Pushing open the window, you smiled softly at the sight of Haley curled on the couch awaiting your arrival. The little dog cracked one eye open and then yipped in excitement when she saw her favorite people. You slid into the apartment and scooped her up in your arms, both using her as a way to gain cuddles, but also as a defense mechanism.
Waiting until the window was closed, you turned to face Dick and sighed. You pressed your face against Haley’s soft fur and peeked out at him from over her wriggling body.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just…I messed up. I’m sorry for ruining the mission.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he immediately shot back. “I should have said no to Jason. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
You shook your head and finally let Haley down so she could run to her other favorite person in the world. Dick accepted her sweet kisses against his fingers and then he stood, stripping off his gloves and heading for the bedroom. He beckoned for you to follow and you nervously stood in the doorway as he began to remove the Nightwing suit.
“Dick, you can’t just hide me in this apartment forever. I…I want to help, but I just…” You trailed off, unable to verbalize your shame at your fuckup. Dick immediately stopped removing his armor and instead moved to stand in front of you. His hands came up to grasp your shoulders and you melted into his touch. Tilting forward, you pressed your forehead against his shoulder and let out a shuddering breath.
“I was just a thing to them. Just something to admire and pet. I was a tool again. I wasn’t…I wasn’t a person. I didn’t have worth outside of what they determined.”
His lips pressed against your temple and he enfolded you into a hug. “But you’re worth everything. They don’t see that and the bastards who took you never saw that. You’re worth fucking everything, Buttercup, don’t you ever forget that.”
“You won’t ever let me forget it,” you joked and he chuckled, soft breath wafting over your cheek. Standing there, in your room, in his arms, you felt wanted. You felt loved.
“C’mon, let’s get out of these clothes, take a shower, into pajamas and then…” He left the ending of his sentence up to you and you tilted your head up so you could beam up at him.
“And then we watch Love is Blind?”
“I’m going to kill Cass for introducing that show to you, but yeah.”
You fiddled with the collar of his under armor and he nudged his nose against your temple, encouraging you to talk. Dick was always patient when you struggled to express your wants. It wasn’t something that you were trained to do. The Wayne family always pressed you to say what you wanted to do or eat or listen to and they always tried to ensure those wants were carried out.
“We could bake some cookies?” You asked it so shyly that his heart ached. He wanted to give you the whole world along with the sun and the stars, if you so desired it. No one should feel timid about asking for some fucking cookies. In fact, his blood damn near boiled when he thought about how you didn’t even know what a cookie was when Alfred made some the first week you were at the Manor.
“As you wish,” he murmured against your hair. Maybe you didn’t want the sun and the stars, but he could certainly get you cookies if that’s what you wanted.
Warnings: blood, gun violence, canon typical violence, reader has thoughts that could be viewed as suicidal, self hatred, ANGST
Summary: The prequel to First Christmas, or, how Dick saved you.
This is part of the Assassin!verse that you can read here
The roof was solid under your feet, but it still felt like the world was shifting and sliding out from under you. Nightwing stood in front of you, his brow furrowed at your words.
“I failed the mission,” you repeated. One month out of the cages and your handlers were getting twitchy. They were recalling you for reprogramming and extra training and sending a new agent to take over your case. This would be your last chance. To do what, exactly, you weren’t sure.
You realized you were slipping four days earlier when your neighbor, a friendly guy named Dick Grayson, invited you over to join him and his little sister, Stephanie, for dinner and to watch a movie. The plot seemed so contrived and random, but you found yourself seated on the couch with your knees pulled up to your chest and your eyes fixed on the screen. The Princess Bride, they told you it was titled. By the end of the movie, Steph was fast asleep in between you and Dick, and you were horribly confused.
“Why would he go through all that trouble to save her? I mean, he practically died. She can’t be worth it that much.”
You could see him staring at you out of the corner of your eye so you rested your chin on your forearms and tilted your head towards him. The light of the TV flickered over his handsome face, those kind eyes and smile that seemed to be glued onto his face. He studied you and in that second, you felt for a brief moment that this was the life you were supposed to always have.
In all of the movies Dick had shown you, the main character always seemed to win in the end. Did your life feel like winning? Spending your days pacing the length of your cage until they let you out to train or study targets or sharpen your skills before being placed back into that cage with a measly bowl of watery soup? That was winning?
“What do you mean you failed the mission?” Nightwing asked. He stepped closer to you, his escrima sticks hanging loosely in his hands. You took an involuntary step back and he raised his hands to signal peace before he slid his weapons back into their holsters.
“You. You were my mission. I thought that was obvious.”
He huffed out a low laugh. “Yeah, I figured from the amount of times you tried to kill me. But you’re still here. Aren’t you going to keep trying?”
The black fabric of your balaclava and hood hid most of your face from view, but your eyes still peeked out from behind your mask. Tightening your hands into fists, you suddenly relaxed them and shook your head.
“I…I’ve been compromised,” you admitted. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, but I wanted you to know so you could be prepared.”
“Why?” The question was bordered with anger and maybe a tinge of sadness. “You’ve been trying to kill me for a month. Why tell me this?”
“Because they told me you were my target. That meant you did something to deserve death. But I have seen the way you take care of this city, these people, and I cannot conceive of a single reason as to why you should die by my hand.”
He faltered, his lips pursing, and you wished for just a moment that you could see underneath his mask and know the man that hid behind it. Was he as kind out of the suit as much as he was inside of it?
“Let me help you,” he finally said. “I know people. I can get you to safety, get you away from whoever is giving you orders, and I can get you your life back.”
A miserable moan escaped you. “There’s nothing for me to go back to, don’t you understand? This is all I know, this is all I’ll ever know.”
“You won’t survive.” His words reminded you of a quote from that movie Dick showed you. A small smile lifted your mask slightly and you shrugged.
“Nonsense. You only say that because no one ever has.”
“Please. Let me help you.” He said it so softly, with such desperation, that you wished you could take his outstretched hand and let him whisk you off into a new world. But that could never work.
“I can’t be saved, Nightwing. I can’t be redeemed.”
A glint of metal reflecting off of the numerous lights of Bludhaven caught your eye. Shit. They must have sent someone already to eliminate the threat.
Nightwing hadn’t appeared to notice the sniper rifle which meant he didn’t react when you hurtled yourself towards him and twisted your body to stand in between man and machine. A startled gasp escaped you as the bullet entered the fleshy part of your abdomen and you immediately fell to your knees as your body absorbed the shock. Fuck, you had been shot before but it hurt like a bitch everytime. Fucking hell, fucking damnit. You needed to move. Needed to get out of the line of fire.
Lying flat on the ground, you tried to shake off the ringing in your ears, but it seemed like your body was just intent on betraying you. Something grabbed your arm and you whirled around, aiming a knife for whoever touched you, but they quickly pulled away. You stumbled to your feet and clamped a hand down over your stomach before stumbling towards the edge of the roof. Inhaling deeply, you turned to look back at Nightwing one last time before you let yourself tip over the edge into the safety of your zip cord.
You practically fell into your apartment once you crawled to your fire escape. Briefly, you wondered what Dick was doing, but you brushed that thought away. By dawn, you would be dead or in a truck being transported to be tortured into submission by your handlers. There wasn’t time to think about the people you would leave behind.
Russet streaks and fingerprints marked the walls as you stumbled towards the bathroom. Your head was fuzzy from blood loss and black spots crowded in on the edges of your vision. Everything smelled and tasted vaguely of iron and your hand was soaked with your own blood.
Your knees gave out mere feet from the bathroom and you crawled on all fours to the cabinet that held your first aid kit. The sopping viscous liquid that coated your hand made it damn near impossible to open the wooden door and you nearly cried out in success when you were able to nudge it open.
“Pliers, pliers, pliers,” you chanted as you threw the massive bag down and began to sift through it. The adrenaline had worn off about now and fiery hot pain licked up through your side and into your lungs. Every breath felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest and your temples pounded with each thready heartbeat. You needed to get this damn bullet out and then you could pack the wound and apply pressure.
Was this all even worth it? What would happen if you succeeded in patching yourself up? You would just be sent back to kill again. The blood on your hands now was freshly painted by the same people who had sent you to do the same thing to others time and time again. If Nightwing was innocent, who’s to say your other victims weren’t unjustly murdered?
That’s who you were. An assassin. A machine. You were a gun loaded and pointed by your handlers. You were simply a weapon.
They wouldn’t cry if you bled out on this bathroom floor. They would simply toss your body into an unmarked grave and drive off to find some other child to snatch in the night and train into their perfect little soldier.
“Damnit,” you hissed under your breath as you fumbled with the zipper on the bag holding gauze patches. In a fit of rage, you threw the kit into the bedroom and watched as the various bags and first aid supplies scattered across your room before falling to the ground with a muted thud. Your chest heaved with wild, strained breaths and then you were sobbing. Shit, you were weeping.
The cries wracked your already weak body and you let yourself slip down until your cheek was pressed against the pool of blood that had gathered underneath you on the shoddily tiled floor. You pulled your knees up to your chest as best as you could, the fetal position they called it, and waited for the reaper to claim you.
A banging noise faintly registered in your mind, but you were too tired to consider who it was they sent after you. Perhaps they would be kind enough to toss a dandelion on your grave. You wondered for a moment what your headstone would read if you were graced with one.
Agent 2327. Failure. Killer.
“Hey, hey.” Someone was speaking. A hand slapped your cheek and you tried to open your eyes, but heavy weights were pulling you under. First things first, to the death, you recalled the quote from the movie. No. To the pain.
Everything was a fuzzy, blissful feeling. It was like waking up from the best dream, but then you realized with a start that you shouldn’t be waking up at all. You let your eyes adjust to the dim lighting in whatever room you were in and tried to take in your surroundings. A popcorn ceiling, a Black Canary poster on the wall…where the hell were you?
“You’re awake.”
You let your head fall to the side and met kind blue eyes. Dick Grayson sat beside you in a chair that didn’t look terribly comfortable, but he didn’t appear to be in any discomfort as he leaned in closer to you. It was then that you noticed the familiar black and blue uniform that you had been tailing for a month clinging to his body.
“You…” The words failed you and he offered you a small smile.
“Yeah, me.”
Why did he save you? You had been hunting him down and trying to kill him for the past month. Was this some kind of sick ploy for him to extract information from you? You knew he worked with Batman occasionally in Gotham. Was he going to turn you over to him?
But that wasn’t Nightwing. That wasn’t the hero you had watched over the past month. That wasn’t the man who snagged kittens out of trees, took down trafficking rings, and faced enhanced threats that tried to destroy his city. That wasn’t the Dick Grayson you had met either. Dick was kind, welcoming, and always made an effort to be…well, neighborly.
You had a choice to make here, but it looked fairly obvious what path you should take.
“Please help me,” you whispered. He leaned closer, his arm stretching out over your head and his thumb stroking along your temple. His eyes were hard and you missed the warmth that usually effused from them. Shutting your eyes, you waited to hear him reject you. To inform you of what he would do with you now that you were defenseless and broken before him. Would he send you to Arkham?
“You’re safe now,” Dick assured you. “I’m going to help you, I promise. You’re safe. You’ll never have to go back there.”
And for the first time in a long time, you truly believed that you were safe.
“I trust you, it’s ok” is soooo Assassin verse 👁️👁️
Sooo true bestie hope u enjoy this :)
He stood in the doorway and watched as you carefully stepped into the room. The walls were littered with posters and pictures of bands to circus performances to photos of the numerous people that came and went from this place. The covers on the bed were rumpled, the bed unmade, and your fingers ghosted over the rich blue plaid detailing on the comforter. Medals and trophies filled a shelf next to books that had pages sticking out, scrawled handwriting detailing calculus equations and English essays.
You swallowed past the sudden dryness in your throat as you took in this perfectly domestic life. A heavy breath escaped you and you pushed aside the sudden clawing ache of loneliness that bubbled up in your chest. Was this the life you could have had?
“Why are you showing me this?” You settled on asking. “You don’t…I tried to kill you. Repeatedly. This is your life. This is personal.”
Your voice was bordering on hysterical by the end of your words. After being shot a week ago, your life had descended into chaos. Bruce Wayne, Batman, was Dick’s father. Dick, who was Nightwing, your target for the past few months. He had known about your hit on him, but he also had intel that the organization that trained you would continue if he didn’t stop them. He figured he could get information from you, but you suspected that he hadn’t factored in taking you in full time.
And now you stood in his childhood bedroom in this massive manor where a kind butler insisted on helping you do everything and Bruce Wayne drank his coffee black with one sugar in the morning and Dick Grayson kept assuring you that you were safe.
But how could you be safe? Everything you knew, everything you had been told, and everything you had done in life was being slowly chipped away to reveal the horrific truth. You were a victim of kidnapping, trafficking, and unspeakable crimes. You were a child soldier turned assassin. The ground under your feet shook with every revelation, every new strand that was revealed in this tangled spider’s web of hell.
“I trust you,” Dick said simply as if he were just talking about the weather and not an emotionally charged statement that made your chest tighten. “It’s okay.”
You wanted to protest and tell him that he shouldn’t. You weren’t someone to be trusted. You were someone that followed orders and that was it. You had tried to kill him for fuck’s sake.
He must have seen the distress on your face because he called your name softly because you had a name, not just that stupid fucking number. Bruce had correlated your identity with missing persons reports and matched your DNA with the case. Your family was gone. There was no one out there looking for you any longer. But there was this one man standing before you, saying your name and giving you a chance to reclaim your agency.
He spoke your name with a softness that you didn’t deserve and it made the wound under your bandages burn with the lingering reminder of who you were. Were. Past tense. You didn’t have to be that person anymore if you didn’t want to be. Dick had told you that. Alfred had told you that. Even Dinah, a therapist who apparently specialized with people like you, told you that.
Looking around the childhood room of a man that trusted you, you began to realize that maybe they were right.
Dick grinned when he saw the fiery spark return to your eyes. He tilted his head and motioned towards the hall.
“C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet. I think you might find a lot in common with him. I warn you though, he really likes making zombie jokes. Ignore those.”
