DC One Shots

Seeing Red (Dick Grayson) (Action/Fluff)

You were watching the news before you got a knock on your apartment door. You put your Chinese takeout on the coffee table and go to answer the door. There's another knock on the door before you reach it.

"Hang on, hang on." You grumble, "Who the hell would be knocking at my door at eleven pm?"

You open the door to see-

"Dick!?" You shout.

Dick is swaying, he's hurt. Battered and bloody, looking like he could be knocked over with the slightest gust of wind.

"I didn't know where else to go." He mumbles.

He falls forward, and you catch him, dragging him into your apartment before anyone sees you talking to Nightwing outside your apartment.

"What in God's name happened to you?" You bring Dick to the couch, and rush to the kitchen to grab a clean towel, and dish soap.

"Red Hood." Dick grumbles in pain.

"That Bucket Head did this?!" You dampen the towel and rush over to Dick, "After I patch you up, I am killing that guy." You pat the wet towel on the bullet wound on Dick's shoulder, and he stiffens in pain, "Don't be a wuss."

"A wuss? You just jabbed my bullet wound!" Dick complains.

You look at Dick's bruising face, "Grayson, there's multiple reasons I retired from being a vigilante, and one of those is because I didn't like being an inch from death every other night. I'm just saying-"

"If you're telling me to quit, it's not gonna happen."

You shoot him a glare, "That's not what I was gonna say, I was going to say, take a break. Give yourself some down time, maybe it'll do you good. I mean, come here, live with me for a month or two. Away from Gotham, away from the villains, and henchmen," You gently continue cleaning him up, "What are you doing in Atlantic City anyway?"

Dick doesn't answer, just stares out the large window framing your living room.

"Dick. What are you doing here?" You say, in a more serious tone, getting concerned.

"I need your help with something."

You raise an eyebrow at this comment, "You mean with something other than cleaning your injuries?"

"Yes. Red Hood. He's here, searching for you, and I need help to take him down before he can get to you."

You sigh, "Dick. The only people to ever know my secret identity has been the Waynes, and Titans. And I wore a full-face helmet, who could figure that out?"

"Y/N. Red Hood is Jason."

"Jason is dead. He died two years ago, you know, by the Joker's hand. There's no way he survived." You look at Dick, he isn't lying, "No. He didn't survive. I saw his body in the morgue."

Dick looks at you, sympathetically, and you pull the towel from Dick's injury.

"How long have you known?" Your nose flares, showing a sign of anger.

"A year and a half." Dick says, knowing exactly where your next sentence is going.

"You knew, that long and you didn't find it necessary to tell me!? I mean, that is a whole new level of low, Richard!"

"Oh god, don't call me Richard," He groans, as he shifts on the couch to calm you down.

"No, do not tell me what to! You watched me cry at his funeral! You watched me mourn for weeks after that! You didn't think to tell me that sooner?!" You try to compose yourself from your fueling rage.