Behind a overflowing dumpster, shielded from the worst of the downpour, Y/n counted the day's take. A few crumpled bills, damp and clinging together. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.

The scuff of a boot on wet concrete. Then another, from the opposite end of the alley. Two large men, their forms bulky in dark jackets, moved with a purpose that had nothing to do with the weather.

Then, a shadow detached itself from the fire escape above. It fell silently, a blue stripe cutting through the gloom, and landed between them.

Nightwing turned. His white-lensed gaze found Y/n, frozen against the dumpster. He saw the wide-eyed, breathless terror—a raw, familiar look he'd only ever seen in his own reflection, a long time ago, under a different circus tent.

In the distance, the wail of police sirens began to pierce the rain. Nightwing's head tilted, listening. His eyes flicked from the downed men back to Y/n.