Dick Grayson one shots

Hunted

Whumptober day 14: Left for dead

Dick pressed his back up against the wall, trying his best to quiet his breathing.

Bile rose in his throat when he caught a glimpse of his mangled wrists. He looked away, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth.

How had this all gone so wrong?

Lex Luthor. That's who'd really started this downward spiral. Him and his poisonous tongue, turning the world against their heroes, pushing laws against them.

You'd think vigilantes were doing more bad than the criminals themselves by the way they were being hunted down.

That wasn't even the worst part. Dick could deal with the cops. In fact, avoiding them wasn't all that hard.

It was the bounty hunters who'd been worrying him, criminals released from their high security prisons and instructed to hunt down the heroes of the world as if they were some sort of prized deer during hunting season.

Bruce, of course, had hung up the cape for the time being, instructing all his protégés to do the same. "Let them see how much they really need us," he'd said.

Dick, however, hadn't been able to tuck his Nightwing suit away in a similar manner. Reports of crimes, especially the totally preventable ones had laden him with guilt until he'd donned the suit once more.

Unfortunately, the bounty hunters had been waiting for him.

—

Dick tripped and fell as he ran, not risking glancing behind him as he struggled to his feet and hurried on. He had a head start on whoever it was chasing him, but he knew it wouldn't last.

He'd been running for days, never daring to stay somewhere more than a few hours to catch a quick nap.

All roads leading into and out of Gotham were blocked, a barricade of police officers and criminals turned bounty hunter encircling the city. He'd hoped to be able to find some normal clothes to change into, however, he no longer knew the codes for Bruce's hidden caches of supplies and weapons, and he wasn't about to mug someone and steal their clothes or rob a store.

He'd tried time after time to reach out to anyone at the manor. It seemed, however, that the batcave hadn't been in operation in a while as his attempts at communication had gone unanswered.

He turned the corner, dragging himself over a fence and up a fire escape before collapsing in the shadow of a rooftop storage room. His breathing was heavy, too loud, he realized, trying to quiet it.

Dick knew he had to get up, had to keep running. He tapped his emergency beacon, doubting that anyone would receive its signal.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed his legs up underneath himself, managing to take a few steps before collapsing back to the rooftop, his eyesight slowly fading to blackness.

—

Dick shifted as he regained consciousness, pain radiating through his wrists. He regretted not finding something to wrap them with as soon as he escaped from his first attempted captor. They were swollen and red now, blood and puss sticking his skin to the fabric of his gloves.