Nightwing - One Shots

~Safe~

A grunt came from his right and in an instant, pain flared in his neck, he flinched away, pushing himself in every direction he could. However, the hand that just now showed up was slamming his head back against the wall in a position that made it nearly impossible to move.

His insides felt like they were half on fire, half numb. He felt the use of his limbs leave him and his head fell forward limply. His breathing constricted and then quickened in fear. He couldn't move.

He'd never felt this much fear before. No. That's not true. He had. He did not want to relive that ever. Never. He tried to blink the memories away. His mom would not want him to think of her like that as a memory, nor his father.

His father.

That's who he needed. Maybe his last name didn't end in Grayson, but it didn't really matter at this point. If he was being honest with himself, it never really mattered. It might have at the beginning, but it's been so long since then. He's no longer 'Mr. Wayne' or 'Sir' or anything of the sort, and they both knew it.

With his eyes still blindfolded, he couldn't really make sense of what happened next.

A gun cocked.

A groan sounded, and yet it wasn't from him this time. It was always from him. What happened?

"Hey!" Was the first voice he actually heard say something and he didn't realize how much he had actually missed voices, much less faces.

A smack sounded from his left and then a rush of wind fluttered against his cheek like a makeshift breeze from a fan, but with less power. Was someone running? He just assumed that this room was small, not enough room to run around in. Maybe he was wrong.

Another smack, a grunt, a bang, and then a major clatter sounded as if a whole tray full of metal hit something as hard as cement. Maybe that is what happened.

Nightwing could feel his breathing pick up and he couldn't help the tiny whimper that escaped him when he felt a hand hit his shoulder, remembering he had no strength or able-ness to even move to be able to flinch even a centimeter. The hand stayed for barely 5 seconds before leaving him again.

"Don't touch him!" A voice wildly screamed from in front of him and he could just barely grit his teeth together in worry. He knew that voice. He knew it.

A bang could be heard from his right and suddenly the sound of air hissing met his ears with a terrible pitch. It sounded like a child screaming with no voice. Or maybe that was him. He couldn't scream. He couldn't move. He could only whimper and flit his eyes to see out of the barely lit crack underneath his eyesight. It burned to look down that far, but he had to try something. He could only move his eyes and his vocal cords strained to speak louder than a whimper. But it hurt, and he had screamed so much in the last week. So he whimpered.

"It's okay. It's okay." The voice was back again, louder, like a yell, and closer to him now, but yet so far away.

BANG

The gun went off and he shut his eyes tightly, squeezing them so hard he felt like they would never open again.

—(Okay now bare with me, I don't know if I can do Batman's third person concern very well. Let's try this.)

The Flash and Batman stared at the body slumping in front of them, not dead, but never having been quite alive either.

It was in an instant that Batman immediately hurried forward to grab at the chains that hung his son in such an awful position.

"It's alright, I've got you," he whispered, fumbling with the chains and then reaching in his pocket. He grabbed one of his batarangs, specifically for this type of issue. It was made of something Alfred never said, but always told Bruce that they would do the trick. And boy, did they do the trick.