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Nightwing was tired and outmatched, blinded by the glowing lights of the Wayne Industries lettering and coming a hair too close to getting hit by each punch and kick Deathstroke threw at him.
They were getting closer and closer to the edge, Deathstroke pushing him closer and harder. The fight had started in Bludhaven, both speaking and taunting one another as they raced across rooftops.
Now they were in Gotham and it took almost all of Nightwing’s concentration to keep breathing.
“Getting tired, boy?” Deathstroke asked as another punch barely missed Nightwing’s head.
“What gives you that impression?” Nightwing asked, leaping over Deathstroke’s roundhouse kick and delivering one of his own to the side of the mercenary’s head.
“If I had known just giving it an honest try to kill you would shut you up,” Deathstroke drawled, grabbing Nightwing’s arm and throwing him into the large ‘W’, stalking over to him as the acrobat crumbled to the ground with a groan, one hand on his dislocated shoulder. “I would have given it an honest try years ago!”
Nightwing gave a breathless laugh as he struggled to his feet, vision blurring as he rolled under the blade Deathstroke had thrust towards his head.
“Maybe I just don’t like giving jokes to a deaf audience,” he forced himself to reply. He felt like he was going to throw up. He actually did throw up when Deathstroke’s steel toed boot got him in the stomach.
He curled up on his hands and knees and heaved, groaning when the mercenary grabbed him by the collar of his suit and threw him across the rooftop, dangerously close to the edge.
I have to get up. He thought, looking over to find Deathstroke stalking closer. I need to get up. I can’t let him kill me. I can’t-
“I’m going to let you in a little secret,” Deathstroke drawled, standing over Nightwing but just outside of the weak and tired vigilante’s body. “I’m not longer immortal. But I’m not afraid of dying, do you know why? Because you are so afraid of daddy’s disapproval that you’ll never take a life.”
Nightwing groaned, hauling himself to his hands and knees and then to his feet, wondering why Deathstroke wasn’t taking the finishing blow.
“You just had the advantage,” Nightwing said, one hand on his stomach as he tried to breathe. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
“There’s no honor in killing a downed opponent,” Deathstroke replied as he took a few steps back and pulled his katana from its place on his back. “When I kill you, I want you facing me on your feet. I want you giving your all and dying knowing that wasn’t good enough.”
Nightwing bared his teeth as he reached up to grab his escrima sticks, the throw to th ground having shoved his shoulder back into place.
“That’s all?” he demanded, flipping the electricity on.
“Of course,” Deathstroke replied with a grin. “The best part is, you will walk into death with open arms. Because daddy has forced you to never turn your back on a fight, even when you’re so terribly outmatched.”
…………………
Deathstroke was right that Nightwing wasn’t going to turn his back on this fight. And he was right that Nightwing would walk into death with open arms.
Because he’d faltered. He tripped, got to close.
Got Deathstroke’s katana right to the gut, stumbling backwards to teeter on the edge of the rooftop, eyes wide as his hands fluttered around the blade. He whimpered when Deathstroke stepped forward and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, the only thing keeping him from falling to his death.
Falling to his death.
Falling.
Death.
Deathstroke was mortal. He could die. A fall like this would kill him.
Maybe it was the pain that was making Nightwing delirious. Maybe it was the fact that he was going to die anyway so who gave a shit.
With the last of his strength, he reached up and grabbed Deathstroke by the front of his uniform, grinning and showing off bloodied teeth when he saw Deathstroke’s one eye go wide in realization.
“If I’m going down,” Nightwing rasped. “I’m taking you with me.”
“You don’t kill.” even facing death, Deathstroke was calm and collected. Nightwing envied that, wondering if the mercenary could hear his racing, stuttering heart.
“I’m going to die,” Nightwing reminded him. “Who gives a shit?”
The mercenary might have been bigger, heavier. But that served Nightwing’s favor as he threw himself backwards off the roof and took the mercenary with him, kicking Deathstroke away to ensure his body didn’t soften the mercenary’s landing.
He flashed a smile when he noticed the mercenary watching him.
They hit the ground a second later.