Dick Grayson one shots

Not funny

Whumptober day 19: blood trail

"H-hey B?" Dick said, finger resting on the little communication device in his ear. He listened intently to the silence that came next, praying that Bruce would pick up regardless of the rough terms they were on.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking measured breaths as he waited for Bruce to respond.

His eyes drifted closed for what felt like only a moment. When he opened them again, however, the first light of dawn was dusted across the sky.

Dick couldn't find the energy to check how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been long. He wouldn't have woken up if it had been.

"B-atman," he called again, waiting in silence yet again.

Bruce eventually gave a grunt in response.

"You busy right now?" Dick asked.

"You're supposed to be patrolling," Bruce snapped, his voice tinged with annoyance. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten how to do that."

Dick let out a weak breath, a sudden fit of coughing shaking his frame.

"Nightwing?" Bruce asked, the annoyance that had filled his tone replaced with a cautious concern.

The only response was pained rasping breath.

"I'm coming to your location," Bruce said, a slight panic rising within him.

—

Blood. There was so much blood. A trail of it led down a dark alleyway... It pooled under Dick's body, smears of it streaking across his face.

Bruce was immediately at his son's side, replacing Dick's applying pressure to the gushing wound on his chest. "Wing, stay with me," he murmured, panic filling his body. He wished he hadn't been so reluctant to reply to his son's attempted correspondence.

Dick mumbled something in response, his head lolling to the side. "G-got a new piercing n-ow," he added to whatever he'd tried to say before.

"I don't think stab wounds count as piercings," Bruce replied.

Dick let out a wet laugh, groaning when Bruce increased the pressure on his chest, shifting to having one hand pressed to the wound so he could grab the medical supplies from his belt.

A sharp gasp echoed in the narrow alley as Bruce began packing the wound. Dick shifted, trying to escape the pain.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, his voice barely a whisper. "I shouldn't have..." His voice broke. "I shouldn't have ignored you."

Dick coughed, blood bubbling up from his lips. "N-now you know w-hat n-ot to d-do with... with your next kid," he mumbled.

The tone of his voice told Bruce there was some deeper meaning to what his son had said. He wanted to ask, to explore the topic further, but Dick's eyes were drifting closed.

He quickly finished packing the wound, trying to ignore every time Dick's muscles tensed, his face scrunching up in pain.

Bruce stood, typing a sequence into his utility belt.

"Tati," Dick mumbled.

Bruce knelt next to him, lifting him, holding him close to his chest.

"T-Tati... 'm cold," Dick breathed.

Bruce's heart stuttered in his chest. "You'll... you'll be alright," he said, his voice shaking as he wrapped his cape around his son.

"C-cold," Dick whimpered.

"You've lost a lot of blood. Being cold is one side effect," Bruce replied, more to fill the silence than to offer a reason for the cold.

He still couldn't get that line out of his head 'Now you'll know what not to do with your next kid.' It probably would've been said with more bitterness had Dick not been fighting unconsciousness.

The Batmobile skid to a halt by the mouth of the alley, the door popping open.

Bruce stood slowly, shifting his son's body in his arms.

Dick's head lulled, falling to rest on Bruce's armored chest plate. The streaks of blood stood out on his paled face, his normally tan skin faded to a porcelain white.

Bruce stopped, Dick's chest was still, his body growing cold.

No...

He knelt again, setting the acrobat gently on the ground. His breath was coming slightly quicker, his heart pounding against his ribs. He tugged his glove off, shaking fingers pressing against Dick's neck.

There was no soft thrum of a pulse beneath his finger, no flicker of movement. Nothing.

Bruce braced himself on the ground, his head seeming to spin...

He started chest compressions, feeling ribs give way beneath his clasped hands.

"Please," he pleaded under his breath. "Wake up..." the words Dick had spoken earlier came to mind. He'd known he was dying...

More dark blood dribbled from Dick's mouth as Bruce continued chest compressions. He wasn't waking up.