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“Is that it?” Steph asks when Dick runs over. She lets him lean on her shoulder as he hacks out the smoke collected in his lungs. “Is everyone out?”
It’s hard to hear her voice over the sirens wailing from every direction, an ominous chorus. Not to mention the screams of civilians, the flames crackling inside the building which crumbles brick by brick. It’s only a matter of time before the entire thing collapses into a pile of rubble.
“I think so. We cleared the top floor.”
Steph’s Batgirl uniform is dusted with soot so the bat symbol on her chest is more of a black and gray blob, and Dick can’t imagine he’s faring any better in his batsuit. He and Damian have been evacuating the building as fast as they could while Steph tracked down Two-Face. “Did you get him?” Dick asks through a wheeze.
“He’s on his way to Arkham as we speak.”
Good. The son of a bitch needs to pay for setting those bombs in the first place. Luckily, no innocents have died. Yet. Dick’s eyes sting behind the lenses in his cowl, but he cracks them open anyway to survey the crowd for a red tunic and green boots. “Have you seen Robin?”
“Yeah, he’s—” Steph turns, looks around with a frown. “He was just here a minute ago, I swear.”
“Shit.” Dick straightens, dizzy as he is, and surveys the pandemonium around them. “Robin? Robin, report. Robin!” Then he sees it. A flash of yellow cape, disappearing right back into the building through the door Dick just left. “No! Robin!” Dick lunges after him, but Steph holds him back.
“You can’t go in there! The place could go any second.”
The building creaks in agreement, all five stories waiting to plummet in a stack. Right on top of his little brother. Steph may be good, but Dick is better—he fights her off, breaking free from her grip in seconds. “Batman, stop!”
He ignores her, pushing past firefighters and EMTs to charge right back into the fray.
Highhhwayyy to the danger zone,
his internal monologue sings. He covers his mouth with his elbow as the smoke hits like a wall of poison. He already gave his last rebreather to a civilian on his last sweep, so he’s going to have to be quick about this. He just hopes that Damian still has his.
The interior of the place is in shambles, flames licking at the walls with a vicious hunger. Pieces of wood and drywall break off, falling to the cracked floor in clumps. There isn’t much time.
“Robin!” Dick shouts, dodging rubble and ashen furniture. Damian can’t have made it higher than the first floor yet. There’s still time. “Robin, where are you! Robin!
Damian!”
A deafening creak rings above him. Dick looks up and his eyes widen.
Shit.
He has barely enough time to jump backward before a massive chunk of ceiling falls, hitting the ground right where Dick was standing with a crash. Dick is helpless to do anything but watch as concrete and metal beams plummet around him, the building giving way in one last breath.
Smoke and flames burst from every angle, swirling around him like a sick carousel ride with Dick at the center. There is nowhere but this flame-riddled room, this crumbling building, this disaster he’s directly in the eye of. Dick can’t even see past the destruction, but he can hear. He hears screams outside as the onlookers watch the building collapse for good, and all Dick can do is wait—wait for it to flatten him completely, right along with his baby brother.
It feels like it takes forever before the world goes still once more, and Dick almost doesn’t believe it because there’s no
way
he could have gotten through that without getting flattened. He just prays the same miracle was extended to Damian, wherever he is. Dick coughs, ignoring the burn in his lungs as he navigates through the debris, his heart sunken all the way through to the basement.
“Damian! Damian, answer me!” Where
is
he?
It’s too dark to see through the piles of rubble, but Dick picks through it anyway, his heart pounding. Damian can’t be gone. He needs to be here somewhere—he needs to be
alive.
“Damian, where are you? Damian!”
Then Dick’s heart stops altogether when he spots a dirty green glove sticking out from a pile of plaster and concrete.
No.
He stumbles over on phantom limbs, shaking with desperation.
Not him.
Please, not him.
Not my Robin.
Dick’s fingers are numb as he digs through the rubble, terrified for what he’ll find. He finally uncovers the kid’s face, and his skin is covered in ash and blood from a cut on his forehead. There’s a support beam lying across his legs, keeping him pinned down. He’s curled around something bunched in his cape, and Dick feels dead himself before he catches Damian’s chest rising and falling weakly.
Dick all but sobs with relief. “Damian? Kiddo, can you hear me?” He’s wary of any broken bones as he pushes the beam off of Damian and slips a hand behind the kid’s head. “Hey, Dami. Wake up for me, okay? Please, wake up.”
Finally,
finally,
eyes crack open beneath the domino mask. “Gray—” Damian coughs, wheezy and hacking. There’s no rebreather in sight. “Grayson?”
“Thank god,” Dick breathes, pulling Damian into his chest and wrapping his arms around him without a second thought. “Oh, thank god.” He pulls away. “What the hell were you
thinking
running back in here? You could have gotten
killed.”
They still might.
Damian’s eyes narrow even as he coughs. Weakly, he shifts in Dick’s grip. He unwraps his cape to reveal a tiny white kitten cradled against his chest, its coat blackened with dust and ash. It lets out a mewl. “I couldn’t let her die.”
In spite of everything—in spite of the fear, the adrenaline, the call so close it should have been a done deal—Dick lets out a laugh. It’s more desperately hysterical than anything. He hugs Damian close, burying his face in the kid’s black curls that smell too much like smoke.
“Jesus,
kid. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”