Dick Grayson one-shots

A Nightmare come true

Spoilers for titans season 3

"What are we gonna do with all this?" Dick laughed, a diamond necklace in hand.

"Keep it" Barbara replied, half joking. "sell it", her eyes meet his, a mischievous glint present. The result of a night of thieving and robbing and having fun.

"We'll have to return it sometime" Dick sighs, but his smile returns and his gaze flickers back to the necklace. "But for tonight...let's enjoy it. Here."

She turns around and let's him clip the necklace on. Smiling over her shoulder at him she turns around. "Well?"

"Beautiful"

She picks it up looking at it. "Is it loose?"
She nods. "A little"
He gently places a hand on her shoulder, massaging small circles, hinting for her to turn around. The necklace fits perfectly around her neck, she closes her eyes at the soft brushes of his skin on her neck.

She turns back around, leaning in close, a hug first. She's soft and warm as he holds her firmly, just the right size that she can sit comfortably within his arms. She breathes him in, he smells a bit like Christmas and home.

Dick looks down at her, leaning in, kissing her gently. She pulls back and pulls at his shirt, he takes it off, flinging it across the room. She kisses him again before pulling away quickly.

He opens his eyes, questioning.

"Oh my god. What. What did I do?!"
She's panicking and prodding at his chest, her hands coming away red. She's disgusted.

Dick stumbles away stepping back, confused.
"What?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry"

He follows her gaze to his shoulder.

"Wha..?"

The world tilts as he opens his eyes, the room snapping into focus. He gasps and blinks. His head is heavy as it bobs up.

"H..uuughhh"

He lifts himself up off his bed, his breathing stutters as a stabbing pain pulls his attention elsewhere.

His bedsheets are wet and sticky as he attempts to sit up again. "Ergh...fuck"
He spots the red immediately, his bed is destroyed in blood, and he knows the damage. A snipers bullet had gone right through him.

"Fuck"

He rolls onto his back, steadying himself, regulating his breathing. His hand pulls at the sheets,  giving him support as he pulls himself up.

His legs barely take his weight, but this isn't the first time he's had to deal with something like this. He stumbles toward his door, it was wide open, a clear indication of his state when he arrived home.

A trail of bloody hand prints follows him down the hallway. How much blood had he lost?

His vision tunneled, he was getting dizzy and his rate of progress was getting slower. Should he call for help?

"No they don't need to worry"

His thoughts were fumbled, drunken. He was no longer thinking straight, walking straight. He groans as he turns the corner into the kitchen, no one was up yet and it was beginning to cross his mind that he needed help.

He tried to balance himself on the counter, he didn't realise he missed it until he hit the floor. The wind was knocked out of him, his vision turning white as the corner of the counter caught his injury. Any sound was stuck in his throat as he struggling to keep his eyes open.