It was serene, dark storm clouds littered the night sky, a foretelling of heavy rain to come. The wind was harsh and cold, chilling him to his core. Even with the insulating layers of his suit, he was still freezing, teeth chattering loudly throughout the silent rooftop. Every now and then, a small raindrop would land on his cheek, mixing pink with the blood that leaked from his mouth.

His eyes were fuzzy, and the shattered lens of his mask weren't doing him any favors either. He coughed once, only a light push of the lungs. A slight strain. It wasn't a cough that hinted at sickness, but a light cough that spoke wonders about the state of his respiratory system.

As he lay there, waiting for the inevitable, he couldn't help but think about how his luck always turned out dry. Of course the weather would do this to him, especially on a night like this. Seemed like it only ever happened to him. He was sure that Batman never got rained on when he was busy. The clouds were too afraid of him to do that.

It was stupid, what he'd done. Stupid. Should've listened to Batman and brought back up. Should've, would've, could've. It didn't matter now. What's done is done, he thought bitterly.

Maybe if he would've known Joker and Deathstroke had set a trap for him, if he'd done a bit more reconnaissance, then maybe a dart wouldn't have been shot into his neck. But still, that's a lot of maybes, and you certainly couldn't live off those.

Thunder cracked above him and startled him slightly, making his body jolt painfully. It would start pouring soon, he could smell it in the air. Even with his discomfort from the previous fight, and the unknown toxin running through his blood, the smell still managed to calm him.

He was starting to drift as the wind softly caressed his face. His eyelids were begging him to close, but he couldn't let them. If he did, he would surely never open them again. A sad thought, but true nonetheless. He let out a small gasp of air, his chest tightening ever so slightly with every exhale.

Maybe he should call Batman?

No. They weren't on speaking terms right now, not since their latest argument. He didn't need Batman's help. Wanted to prove that he could do this. That he could handle himself. On his own.

He lay on his back, resting on the cold hard ground for minutes, perhaps even hours before he lost feeling in his legs. A painful tingle taking their place instead. The wind picked up as a slight drizzle began to wet his clothes. Perhaps he would die of hypothermia before the toxin killed him. He chuckled, coughing blood up in the process, a funny thought.

He wondered briefly how Bruce would take his death. It was too late to call the man for help, his pride wouldn't allow for that. Would Bruce mourn? Host a funeral? Do nothing at all?

It was weird, thinking that in just a few short hours, he'd be dead. A blotch of ink on black paper. Unnoticeable and forgotten. How long before people came looking for him? It was quite possible that they never would.

It wasn't that he was afraid to die alone -no, he was content with it- he'd just hoped that it wouldn't be lonely. He hadn't expected it to be so lonely. So empty. There was so much he wanted to say, but who was here to listen?

His eyes closed on their own accord -albeit he didn't fight too hard to stop them. He'd rest for a few minutes, only a few, then he'd call Bruce. Swallowing thickly, he attempted to spit some blood out of his mouth. Attempted being the key word because he ended up coughing and puking instead.

What a mess he must look, soaked to the bone, blood all over, and now puke on his face. Lying in a puddle of his own bodily fluids. Oh, what this would do for his already fragile reputation. What a mess.

The rain began to fall harder, and he had to close his lids tightly together to prevent his eyes from hurting. At least the cold chill that had settled into his bones was finally starting to fade. He ignored the fact that he could no longer feel his chest, nor the air entering and leaving his lungs.

His breath turned ragged, and he knew it was almost time. Maybe he should call Bruce. The least he could do was let the man know. Stretching out his arm, he dragged the limb across the gravel, a trail of blood following it, and brought pressed the comm in his ear. The whole process took just a few minutes. Everything was too sluggish. His brain was too foggy.

But at least the pain had left.

The comm rang, "This is Batman."

He let out a hiss of rattling breath, causing the man on the other line to go silent for a moment. Batman spoke again, but he didn't hear it. It was pouring now, a full thunderstorm underway, muffling the words being yelled at him through the comm. They sounded concerned he thought, but everything was to quiet to tell for sure.

Everything around him quieted as he focused in on the sound of falling rain. It was peaceful, the thought drifted through his mind. Just a few more minutes and it would all be over. He smiled slightly, showing bloody teeth.

He opened his eyes once more and looked up at the sky, after all, Dick found peace in the rain.

So this was just a short story based on a prompt that said, "Have your character die with their last words being "Person found peace in the rain."

So this little story was born.

What do you think? Any favorite parts? Please, let me know in the comments. And if you have any story requests, let me know, and I'll write them!

I think that's it for now.

Til next time,

Rachel