Nightwing was shuffling through Bludhaven at a pace a baby could have matched. It had been a VERY long night.
Dick hated winter with a passion; the one good thing about being a member of the Bat family was they did their work from the shadows, which meant unless a global disaster was imminent, they only went out after dark. But now it was winter, so it was dark from half four in the afternoon to half seven in the morning, which meant a lot more work and a lot less sleep for the vigilante.
But even someone trained by Batman had limits, and Dick knew he had reached his. He could feel he was about to collapse from exhaustion, and he preffered not to do that in the middle of the street.
For a brief moment, Dick missed having Alfred there to force Dick to take care of himself; Alfred wouldn't have let him stay out this long in the cold. Nightwing shook his head to clear it, and noticed a small coffee shop that was still open, despite the ridiulous hour.
Dick had a small debate with himself, and the part that wanted to feel warm again won. It was unlikely a barista was going to be a trained killer, he reasoned, as he limped towards the building.
As he pushed open the door he took in his surroundings like he'd been trained to do. Two members of staff, chatting to one another, one customer, looking like she'd just come fom a late night work out, judging by the lycra, one window and one door; Dick decided to take his chances.
"Double espresso please," he asked in his least threatning tone.
It wasn't enough, judging by the staff's reaction.
"Please, we haven't done anything. We just work here, whatever's going on we don't know anything about it. You can check in the back if you want," the guy said.
"Yeah. I know you haven't done anything. I just need-"
"Holy fuck! You've been stabbed! You need an ambulance right?" interupted the girl.
"No! I just came in for coffee. A double espresso please," he repeated, collapsing into an armchair.
"So you're okay?" asked the girl, who was still fixating on his wounds.
"Yeah," Dick answered, closing is eyes. "It was barely a hit, it'll stop bleeding now I've stopped moving."
"Well if you're okay, could you get out of our chair? Like seriously, we have to do the cleaning here, and we do not get paid enough to clean blood stains out of velvet," the guy asked, with his back to Nightwing, as he prepared his coffee.
Dick opened one eye to look at the man, wanting to make sure he had really just said that to a vigilante with a history of breaking the bones of people who annoyed him.
"He's serious," said the girl, who hadn't bothered to look up from her phone.
Dick sighed, and moved to a varnished wooden chair, that he figured could be wiped clean. It seemed Alfred's years of complaints had stuck with him.
"This okay?" he asked, with a hint of sarcasm.
"Sure," the guy shrugged, as he handed Dick his drink.
After a quick glance at the clock on the wall, he decided to down it one go. He really had to get home if he wanted any sleep tonight.
"Thanks," he said, fishing out a two dollar bill, and handing it to the guy.
"Wait. You're wearing a skin tight suit, where the fuck are you keeping your wallet?" asked the girl, looking incredulous.
Dick smirked, and shrank back into the shadows on his way out. Although he thought the mysterious effect was slightly ruined when he opened the door and set off the bell.