Dick Grayson one shots

Luck

He groaned as he lay on the ground catching his breath. 'Why me?' He wondered, climbing slowly to his feet and heading to his car.

—

10:40am

Dick was sitting patiently at a red light when he heard a crunch and felt his car lurch. "Come on," he whined, pinching the bridge of his nose before putting his car in park and stepping out.

—

1:49pm

"I think something might be a little off with my gun," Officer Andrews said, pulling out his standard precinct-issued handgun and showing it to Dick.

"What's wrong with it?" Dick asked.

"When I try putting the safety on..." Andrews started, pausing to point at the safety on the gun. When his finger touched the small button, a shot rang out.

Dick let out a muffled cry of pain, glancing down at the bullet hole in his thigh.

Officer Andrews dropped the gun like it was on fire, looking over at Dick's paling face.

Dick had experienced his fair share of bullet wounds, but he still found himself feeling lightheaded as he looked at the sheer volume of blood that was soaking his uniform's pant leg. "Lucky shot," he mumbled with a quiet chuckle.

"Grayson, I... I'm sorry, so so sorry. A-are you ok?" Andrews asked.

Dick mumbled something unintelligible, his eyes drifting closed.

"I'm going to call an ambulance," was the last thing Dick heard before he blacked out.

—

"Bruce..." Dick said quietly. "I don't think I should go out on patrol today."

Bruce gave Dick a strange look. "Why is that?" He asked.

Dick hid his face, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment. "I've been... I've been having really bad luck today." Not to mention having a bullet wound on his leg.

Bruce laughed despite himself. "Dick, if I didn't patrol every time I was having a bad day I'd stay home at least once a week," he said with a chuckle.

Dick's embarrassed blush darkened. "It's not like that..." he started. "Bad things have been happening to me all day."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You'd really put your own comfort over the lives of innocents?" He asked.

"No," Dick mumbled, sighing as he shuffled toward the cave's locker room. Why did he let Bruce guilt him like that?

—

Patrol had pretty much gone as usual. Bruce had told them all to keep an eye out for Killer Croc, but scouring the city had slowly devolved into a high stakes game of keep away with Jason's helmet.

Dick had favoring his good leg all night, deciding a few hours into patrol that swinging around was much easier than running, which is why he was swinging through Gotham with Jason's helmet tucked under one arm.

Jason might've been impressed, had he not been chasing after his brother on his motorcycle, a domino mask the only thing protecting his face from the cold.

Dick caught what looked like a flash of white scaly skin down by the docs and immediately turned his course, losing Jason in the process.

—