𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ━ peter parker

viii. "late to your own birthday party"

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 ㅤㅤㅤROBIN DANCED BACKWARDS as a fist was swung in his direction. The waters of Gotham Harbour surged roughly against the concrete shore, threatening to swallow the teen as he let his back handspring become a round-off with a delicate flourish, legs kicking out towards the brute attempting to slug him with heavy, bruised hands.

The brine-infused winds stung the tiny cuts on his cheek and thigh, plastering the ribbons of his slashed uniform to the open wounds maliciously. Dick could taste the salt as he wet his lips, focused on keeping balanced on the perilous edges of the dock. His arm screamed in a white-noise of pain at the disproportionate effort he was applying to it, sharp-edged and burning. He grit his teeth through the roar in his blood, swallowing down a grunt as he caught a boot to the face and spitting his bloodied saliva into the face of whoever owned the tread marks on his cheek.

It was a rush of pure, simple thrill, and Dick thrived in it.

A storm-front crackled electrically several miles out; dense, vertical towers of swirling maelstrom brewing angrily over the channel that connected Gotham to Metropolis. The crash of thunder served as a soundtrack to the aggressive fight, backed by a chorus of heavy breathing and painful skin-on-skin collisions.

Dick twisted to the side, sweeping the legs of a brutish woman as she approached, club in hand. Gotham's a magnet for lunatics, he thought sullenly, delivering a harsh blow to a blurred figure, pummeling their solar plexus. He felt the bone snap beneath the force of his palm, chest caving in as the thug crumpled to the floor. Do opposites truly attract? Or are we two sides of the same coin?

Such thoughts often flooded his mind when out on patrol, plaguing him with uncertainties in the moral grey of Batman's endeavours. It was macabre thinking, especially when he himself was helping to sully the population of pathogenic people living in his city, one by one.

Quick as a whip, Robin snatched himself from the depths of his brain to lunge sideways, away from the razor edge of the stainless steel targeting his face. The knife was jabbed forwards towards his eye, missing the soft skin of his jaw by mere inches, before the handler decided to aim low.

"Missed me." Dick teased, diving beneath the next attempt to gut him. A charming grin graced his face as he rolled to his back, bouncing to his feet behind the surly skinhead trying to maim him. Dick slammed his escrima sticks into the side of the man's head with a gruesome crack, kicking him away. "Nice tattoos, by the way."

The henchman let out a fierce cry as he staggered away, fingers scraping at the warm, bloody mess at the side of his face. Those blood-soaked hands curled into fists by his side, grip tight around the handle of the butchers knife they carried. Furious, clouded eyes narrowed, reddened teeth grinning in some hysterical smile, and suddenly Dick was yanked backwards mid-bound.

The ground rose to meet the boy painfully, a blunt sensation of fire rippling up his back, diffusing into his chest, as Robin collided with concrete in an echoing crash. Stubby fingers had found purchase in his cape from behind, wrapped tightly in the black and gold material, and Dick found himself being dragged backwards across the rough ground.

His eyes widened from behind white lenses as a muscular arm patterned with the green ink-vine stain of clan tattoos lifted him from the ground, suspending him mid-air by the scuff of his neck. The Butcher crept closer, rusted cleaver in hand, grinning like the Cheshire-cat:

"You're a real polite kid," he snarled, grabbing Dick's jaw between his fingers in a vice-like grip. The boy thrashed desperately; arms pinned as he tried to raise them protectively over his face. "I'm gonna enjoy this."