FAULT LINES ━━ titans [REWRITING]

TWENTY SEVEN.

HOMEMADE DYNAMITE !
❝ TIES THAT BIND. ❞

ABIGAIL LANCE WAS GETTING REALLY TIRED OF BLEEDING OUT ON BATHROOM FLOORS. And yet reality left her painting the white tiles a spectrum of reds and crimsons, staining them irrevocably as her blood seeped into cracks and crevices.

She was sat on the floor, back against a cabinet and ruined leather jacket haphazardly thrown to the side, half in the bathtub. Scattered first aid supplies laid around her from the mirror cabinet above the sink, torn packets and stray bandages.

She didn't fit in with the room, with the white paint and the clean counters and bright lighting. She stuck out, black clothes and blood soaked skin and shadowed eyes, she seemed to darken the bathroom with her very presence.

Letting out a sigh, her head fall back with a thud. Rolling to the side, her gaze fell through the open archway of the bathroom to the glass-encased shower, she could see Dr Adamson's unconscious form still lying on the floor.

"Same, pal," Abby muttered.

The brunette looked down to her shoulder, watching the blood slowly but surely soak through the badly pressed roll of fabric held to the wound. Fuck.

"You're really making a mess in here."

A voice drew Abby's eyes upwards.

Dick Grayson had arrived, scraped and weary and leant against the doorframe with his arms folded and his brows creased. She'd seen that look many a times before. Her lips twitched downwards subconsciously.

"Thought I'd liven the place up, add a bit of colour," Abby replied nonchalantly, though he could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

He breathed out through his nose. "Sound like you're having fun."

"Yeah, I happen to like my blood ruining Bruce Wayne's floor instead of being, y'know, inside my body," Abby drawled, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe try remembering that next time you take a bullet, Lance," Dick laughed, stepping over her sprawled legs and squatting by her other side, his hands moving to the cotton swab she'd pressed there. "C'mon."

His words were gentle, little more than a nudge, his fingers barely grazing her own — but she knew he wasn't asking.

With a reluctant sigh, Abby lifted her hand, letting her scarlet fingers drop to her lap. Dick's hands were quick to move the bloody tissue, his warm touch a shock to her cold and clammy skin, eliciting a whimper from her that knitted his brows. He pulled her towards him lightly to check for an exit wound, finding little comfort in seeing it as her forehead landed on his shoulder.