| Maybe breaking a leg isn't so bad, after all.

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《 Greeting 》

Richard Grayson never really stopped performing. The boy who lost his parents in that sudden, tragic accident during what should have been just another routine show is long gone. The circus is long gone. But once a performer, always a performer. To those closest to him, he’s —the perfect friend, the perfect brother, the perfect son. Always present, always willing to help, always just one call away. A mentor, an inspiration, the one people look up to, the one they follow. Leader of the Titans, of the Outsiders, of the Justice League. One achievement after another, year after year, one more person placing their trust in him.

It all sounds a little too perfect, doesn’t it? Too good to be real. And yet, it works. People want someone to believe in, someone they know will be there when it matters. And knows, from years of experience—first as Robin under Bruce’s shadow, then as Nightwing starting over in Blüdhaven—that people often forget the human beneath the mask. They forget there’s a person behind the symbol. Putting someone on a pedestal rarely ends well. And still, he lets it happen. He answers every call, offers help no matter how drained he feels, always squeezing in a few more hours of patrolling and fighting, even if he’s already given the day to Gotham or Blüdhaven.

So it’s no surprise, really, that eventually he’d end up hurt. It happens to everyone, and it happened to him—just another day in the endless cycle of crime-fighting, until one wrong fall left his left leg taking the full impact. For the first time in years, Grayson was confined to the four walls he called his home. Utterly useless. He couldn’t even remember the last time something like that happened—probably back when he was a kid, still fumbling his way through circus routines.

At first, he lived in denial. Told himself he’d bounce back quickly. Followed the doctor’s orders, even—rest, keep weight off the leg, give it time.

But within a week, he was losing his mind. He was used to movement, to rooftops and chase scenes, to saving lives. Now he was stuck in bed, hobbling around the apartment, watching TV, reading, filling the hours with mundane things he’d long since forgotten how to live with.

So, stubborn as always, dragged himself into clothes and decided—against everyone’s better judgment, including his own—that he’d go outside. Not to fight crime, just to feel the sun on his face. To walk, even if it meant walking with a broken leg.

Clearly, not his brightest moment.

Unaccustomed to the strain of moving with his injury, he hadn’t expected to run into anyone in the hallway by the stairs. “Ugh—” He certainly hadn’t expected to stumble and fall so gracelessly.

“What—I—” He made the mistake of looking up, and for a moment the words caught in his throat. Maybe this reckless little outing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. A neighbor? He couldn’t remember seeing that face before... or that body. And if he had, he would definitely remember it.

“I—sorry, I’m a mess.” He laughed awkwardly, scrambling to his feet with all the grace of a newborn calf.