Nightwing - One Shots

~Plain Sickness~

Nightwing sat back with his hands folded on the back of his head and his feet crossed against the table. His head and hands rested on the head of couch he was laying against.

He snored softly in the midst of all the chatting going on behind his chair. His eyes were shut tightly in hopes of blocking out pretty much everything related to flying on this crap ridden jet that could crash at a moments notice.

A sudden jolt in turbulence shifted the plane while it was flying and Nightwing was yanked out of his peacefulness and back into the panicky realism that he was in a flying jet. And this jet was flying freaking fast.

He awoke, gasping slightly. Glancing around, he was relieved to see no one had noticed...or so he thought. He gulped and settled into the couch again, grabbing earbuds and placing them carefully into his ears. He closed his eyes and settled on listening to some calming music.

Suddenly someone sat down beside him. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulder from behind and he felt the man's hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. Nightwing opened his eyes slightly to look at him. He grinned with assurance and relief to see the man he so quickly referred to as his brother now.

Connor patted his shoulder again, no one in sight to see this happen luckily. As much as he hated it, Connor was obviously a softy at heart when it came to friends.

Nightwing nodded as Superboy removed his arm and crossed his arms together, letting the other lean against him in hopes of helping calm through the flight.

"So," Connor muttered, looking about the room in such a way he almost seemed to have no interest in his spot beside the leader.

"Is it the jet? Or is it the height?" He asked calmly, bumping his friend lightly shoulder to shoulder to get him to look away from the window.

Nightwing turned and looked at him with fear glinting through his eyes. He shook his head, lowering his head in silence.

"It's the jet. I don't mind heights. That's one of the things that gymnasts or hero's have to get used to." He had partly a smile, but it disappears sooner than Connor wanted it too.

"So...what you're saying is that you've got...motion sickness." Connor asks seriously, glancing at him. Nightwing nodded and shrugged at the same time.

"Sure, yeah. That, and jet lag." He muttered ruefully, scowling.

Connor made a face that Nightwing couldn't exactly tell for sure what emotion was passing through his tough eyes.

"Hey, just look out the window at the peaceful clouds and stars, it is night. Your name is Nightwing. Trust me," Connor stood up and began stepping away from that area, "it'll be fine."

Nightwing nodded, head lolling back against the headrest and looking out the window again. His eyes wandered the star in wonder. Tens of billions of small balls of heat just...sitting there, burning out until nothing. As if they had no soul, now...motivation to do anything other than be a star, than to shine and then die. He sighed softly, feeling the plane jostle again, but only barely. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, right? He gulped nervously.

The next time he looked over to the other seat, Nightwing saw the man he trusted with his life since he was a kid. He couldn't help a small smile twitch onto his face, but by the next jostle of the plane Nightwing jolted and shut his eyes tightly.

Bruce placed his hand in his son's and squeezed it softly in reassurance. In doing this, he pulled the fearful kid to his side.

Nightwing breathed out through gritting teeth and could feel his stomach churning in fear and sickness. He groaned softly, head bowed in pain.

Bruce squeezed his hand tighter and then brought his other hand up to run his hand through the sweaty, floppy black hair that hung in front of the leader's eyes.

Nightwing's breathing was slightly labored as he suddenly clutched his stomach in fear of bringing up any contents from their lunch-like snack that they had earlier. He really was surprised at how motion sick he was getting.

Bruce ran his cool fingers through his black locks with as much love as a father would a biological son. He had taken his hand out of the Batman gloves he had been wearing and was paying full attention to his son now.

Richard muttered incoherent curse words and gritted his teeth together as he felt as though he was imploding, curling in on himself in the process. The hand carding through his hair helped in a way, but not for the pain.

Before he could fall of the chair into a ball, Bruce wrapped his arms around the smaller frame and pulled Richard into his chest with a gentle word of reassurance. The older man bent down and as he carded his hand through the boy's hair again, he whispered soothingly into his ear.

"It's ok, it's only about a half hour left of flying and then we'll land. Just go to sleep, buddy. I'll take care of you. I'll always take care of you, always, you know that, right?" Bruce asked as he bent down a little further and kissed the boy on the forehead gently.

Richard's eyes fluttered and he muttered something back softly, barely heard, as his hands slumped and his chest slowed in breathing, breaths  slowly going to normal as sleep took over him.

"I know... You've always been there when I need you... Dad."