Nightwing, (accidental?) Agent of SHIELD.

Three

Bonjourrrrrrrr my dudes

I just watched Wonder Woman and,, my friends, it hath shooken me. I'm just--

I can't. I cried??? Like it was so perfect!!!!!!!1!1!1!1

Gal Gadot is so beautiful?? Like -- and she's so badass??? I'm so proud of dc for hiring her!!! ((Fanboying ahead beware:: did u know she was Miss Israel for a while??? And that she served in the Israeli military??? And that she was shooting WW whilst she was 5 months pregnant??? I'm just ---???)))

And Chris Pine my boiiiiii,, he's an awesome Jim T Kirk and he was a goddam well-written and perfectly-portrayed (literally so canonically accurate?? did they make him in a lab??)) Steve Trevor and I??? Can't help it. I love him too. Ack.

But ANYWAY, this story::

Dick's shitty morning hadn't really starting in the morning; but rather pre-dawn and post-paralytic nightmare that's heavy, dark weight was still crawling around his mind like black widow spiders.

A bad wake up like this is usually a sign of...some kind of indiscernible danger looming, and there's a stirring in his gut that makes Dick want to hide in his training suit with the bulletproof fibre and then strap several weapons all over his body. He limits himself to just the armoured black undershirt, and only a few thin knives stuck to his thighs. His brain feels itchy. So does his skin. The cold, numbing shower he'd taken after he'd crawled out of bed hadn't aided in clearing any kind of fear and paranoia lingering from his night terror, which leads him to sitting at the kitchen counter table and staring into a bowl of cereal for about 4 hours until Roy (fully dressed and wide awake, looking exhilarated from his first night of sleep in his new apartment, in his new independence) walks into the open kitchen and living area at around 8am.

He takes a single look at the blank, brooding expression on Dick's face, the now-crippled spoon clutched in a warm fist, and the bowl of mushy and pigment-less, flavourless cereal, and sighs. A big, heaving, exasperated sigh.

A hand swipes the bowl away from under Dick's glare, unflinching when the spoon is stabbed into the wooden counter top with such force that it sticks like a knife and stands upright. "If you're done with looking at food, we should go and eat some. We only have cereal, milk, bread and ham and unless you want a ham and frosted flakes sandwich; we need to go grocery shopping."

Dick blinks, and lets the tension bottled up in his body snap out of him as he stretches his arms over his head. The breath he takes, then, feels like the first wisp of fresh air he'd consumed morning. "Can we have bacon and eggs?" If his throat sounds hoarser than normal, Roy either doesn't notice, doesn't mention it, or just doesn't care.

"Can you cook bacon and eggs?"

"No."

"Then there's your fucking answer, Dickwad, so no, we're buying toaster waffles." Roy grabs the apartment key off the counter and slides it into a pocket of his wallet. He then stares expectantly until Dick goes looking for a pair of shoes, and by the time Dick returns (victoriously, with some Superman converse, which will never stop being hilarious) Roy has already opened the door and his footsteps are bouncing down the hallway and into the apartment.

"Harper, slow down!" Dick skids out of the apartment, shutting the door as he goes, and unfortunately colliding with a broad chest on the way.

"Woah!" Exclaims Rogers - who had apparently just started walking out of his own apartment - as Dick bounces off his chest, falling to the ground. Behind the blond, stands an expressionless Bucky Barnes in a suspiciously heavy leather jacket. From his sprawled and slightly dazed position on the floor, Dick deduces that the man is hoarding a small weapons cache on his body.