topkapi | ❝am i still your charm or am i just bad luck❞

creativity exchange for

It isn’t exactly what Dick had planned on doing with his Saturday night—or Sunday morning. It’s 2am, and he’s staggering back to the Tower with a gash across his left thigh that smarts with each awkward step. On his right is Roy, one arm slung over Dick’s shoulders as he curses up a storm. It’s as if the other man can’t manage a few moments of silence.

(To be fair, Dick’s had more exposure to brooding silences in his life. And his injuries aren’t quite as severe as his friend’s.)

He can feel the digital scanners doing their work, verifying their IDs (“Nightwing, A01; Arsenal, A05”). The gate swings open and Dick lets out a sigh of relief, adjusting his grip on Roy’s waist as the two of them limp across the lawn.

“Still think we didn’t need backup?” Dick asks slyly, when they reach the main door. He’s having a bit of trouble trying to slide it open while propping Roy up.

“Hell, no.” It might be a wheeze or a laugh that escapes Roy next; it’s hard to be exactly sure. He braces one hand against the wall and eases off of Dick some, which allows him to push the door open. “Where would the fun in that have been?”

“I dunno, I think it’s pretty fun when I can walk with only minimal pain. Or, you know, to really mix things up—not getting punched in the face for more than a week running.” They’re scrambling inside, now. There’s the staircase that’ll take them up the four floors to their respective rooms, but they glance at one another and shake their heads. No way they’re making it that far. Even getting to the elevator, on the opposite end of the hall, seems like a gargantuan task.

They end up limping down the hall in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen.

“You’re such a baby,” Roy says, batting at Dick’s face with his free hand. He ends up covering one eye, his nose and lips. Half-blinded, Dick stumbles and sends them both scrambling for purchase. “Wow—talk about graceful, Mr. Acrobat.”

“Would you like to carry yourself?” It’s not really much of a threat. As soon as he’s regained his footing, Dick reaches for Roy and the two of them make it, inch by careful inch, to the stainless steel island.

Dick pulls out a stool and shifts Roy onto it, taking note of the way the other man winces as he adjusts. They haven’t turned on any lights, but it’s easy to glance over Roy and catalogue his injuries—an angry gash across one cheek, his arm hanging at an awkward angle, the blood seeping quickly through the tight material of his pants around one knee. Dick heads over to the sink and lets the water run, pulls off his mask and rolls his shoulders to rid them of stiffness.

“I’m just saying,” he continues as he opens up a cabinet, reaches for the First Aid Kit, “Five of us—or hell, even three of us—could’ve made quicker work of it.”

Roy manages to get himself turned around, leans his uninjured arm back against the counter and tilts his head skyward. His eyes closed, he huffs out a breath.

“Figured you know what it’s like to have to do some things alone, Nightwing.”

Dick flashes a grin, runs one hand through his hair ruefully. “You still called me.” He heads back to the counter with a wetted washcloth and a roll of bandages.

“Yeah,” Roy says, “I did.” There’s something challenging in his voice, but then again there usually is. They all went through the rebellious teen phase (it’s practically a membership requirement) but Roy’s the one who never really moved past it.

Dick rolls his eyes, smacks the washcloth straight onto Roy’s face and watches him sputter. But a moment later he picks it back up, sweeps it over the cut on his friend’s cheek with particular care. The white material is soon streaked pink with watery blood.

“You know what we need?” Roy asks as Dick presses a bandage over the wound. “A healer. A healer who can teleport. Tell me that wouldn’t be strategic.”

“I think you’re describing Zatanna,” Dick says. “And we build our teams based on people, not powers. Remember?”

Roy tries to wave him away, but winces as he pulls at his injured arm. “Yeah, I know. They’d obviously have to pass muster on everything else. But it’d be nice. Convenient.”

Dick just shakes his head, grabs up the roll of thicker bandages and starts fashioning Roy a sling. He’s crowding the other man’s space, Roy’s head level with Dick’s chest as he stands over him.

They lapse into a companionable silence as Dick works, until he says, “We should probably get your arm back in its socket.”

Roy purses his lips. “Fuck, yeah. I know.”

So he holds his arm as straight as he can while Dick braces one hand each on his shoulder and forearm. “You want something to bite down on?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself. Three… two…” He doesn’t wait for one, just snaps Roy’s arm back into place with expertly-applied force.

Roy bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, holds out for a count of three before he throws his head back. “Motherfucker.”

“Shush. You’re gonna wake the whole Tower.”

“Yeah, and that’s the last thing I need. I already get enough of the ‘reckless and irresponsible’ speech from Ollie and Dinah.”

“At least you know they care.” He means it to be wheedling, but there’s something hollow in Dick’s voice, and he immediately regrets it.

Roy’s lips curve into a half-smile, his gaze sympathetic. “Hey, if you ever want mother-henning, you know who lives five floors up. Just never, ever tell her about tonight, alright?”

Dick laughs. “Of course not. You think you’re the only one who doesn’t want Donna finding out about this?”

As if on cue, the light floods the room. Dick and Roy both blink dazedly as they hear someone else enter the kitchen.

When the stars fade from their vision, Donna’s standing before them in lounge pants and a too-long tank top. She crosses her arms over her chest, stares them both down with fire in her dark eyes.

“You don’t want me finding out about what, exactly?”