Disclaimer: I do not own Batman. I did not write this fanfiction to be any form of slander no do I make any profit from it.
Warnings: Implied character death. Slash is squint worthy, but it's intended to be slash.
It clung to his skin as though it had been magnetized, holding on viciously and dying before it would let go. It were as though the city was crying and coating him in her grief - as though it were trying to show the sorrow he could not.
Crouched low in one of the many disgustingly darkened alleys of Gotham City, Batman's shadowed shoulders shuddered horrifically as his arms cradled the barely breathing body of his former sidekick.
The blood pouring from the wound in Nightwing's stomach seemed neverending, despite the falling rain - the thin line trickling from the corner of his lips equally stubborn. Batman cursed the day he had sworn himself away from guns - cursed the many opportunities he had missed to shoot The Joker in the forehead because of it.
Then again, Nightwing should not even be in Gotham, let alone dying in one of her filth-crusted alleys, waiting for Tim and the damned car to get there.
The call was weak, but Batman would have heard it across the planet. His gaze instantly dropped to the pale face, wincing when he saw the water eyes that should have been hidden by the infamous cowl. The slight smirk that tugged at Nightwing - no, Dick's - lips was painful to watch, and he cringed in sympathy with the accompanying groan. The boy must really be out of it, to risk his identity when it was highly likely The Joker was still lurking about.
But when he went to replace the mask, a shaky hand batted his away, reaching up until fingertips were grazing his chin. Carelessly, he placed a soft kiss the palm, stiffening as the blue orbs slid closed once more.
He barely heard the roar of the Batmobile's engine, or the sound of Tim - Robin's - feet slicing through the puddles to reach them. His own vision going dark, his body slumped over Dick's.
And the hand fell.