Hey guys! So, I was looking back at some of my stories, and I re-read this one, and realised that my writing has changed quite a bit, and while I was fond of the plot, I was not so fond of my writing style. So… I'm editing! Yay! (Just a reminder, this fic is still based loosely on xxoraclexx's fic Batgirl:Genesis.

I still don't own Batgirl, by the way. That hasn't changed!

You'd think by now, Barbara would be used to the smell of blood.

From gunshot wounds to stabbings, papercuts to periods, she'd seen-and smelled-it all.

This, however, this was different.

Barbara let out a bloodcurdling scream as she stared in horror at the body on her living room floor. Her scream surprised even her, especially given how much violence she had seen in her life. Barbara wasn't a screamer. She prided herself on her ability to keep calm in emergencies, to not be that girl who pointed and screamed and did nothing to help.

And yet she screamed.

The pungent, metallic scent she'd grown to associate with blood filled the air, and her stomach rolled.

Concentrate, Barbara. Focus.

This wasn't some nameless crook, or even some poor soul she'd been too late to save. It was her father, lifeless and limp, and that familiarity stunned her before she rocketed into action, making her way to the phone without a second glance.

"GCPD, what's the nature of your emergency?" A familiar greasy voice asked.

"Bullock? Is that you? It's Barbara. Barbara Gordon. I need an ambulance at our house. You've got to get over here now, its dad, he's been shot, please help!" she declared shakily, trying to get a hold on her emotions. She stooped over and picked up her father's broken glasses in one hand, holding back a sob. "What do I do?" she asked, rolling up her sleeves.

"Is it safe to approach your dad? Is the gunman still in the house?"

"There's no sign of him. It looks like I scared him off when I came home."

"Great, then I need you to approach your dad. Check his pulse and breathing. Is he conscious?" Barbara knelt down beside her father, tentatively taking his pulse as if her touch might injure him more.

"He's not conscious. I can't find a pulse, and he's not breathing," she declared shakily.

"I've got a dispatch team on their way. Stay on the line with me Barbara. Do you know CPR? I need you to begin compressions," Bullock ordered, and for once she felt comforted by the reckless detective.

She closed her eyes, giving herself a break from the gruesome scene before her, and took a deep breath. "Beginning chest compressions," she declared.

"Does your father keep an AED in the house?" Bullock asked.

"No. And I don't have anyone here to go look for one." She placed her thumb at the base of her father's sternum, finding the last bone in his ribs, then twisted her thumb the other direction, so that she was one hand's length above her starting point. Lacing her fingers together so that her right palm was flat against her father's chest, she placed her left hand on top to give her leverage. "One… two… three… four-" She counted off the number of times she forced her father's heart to beat.

"Keep it up, Barbara," Bullock ordered. "Dispatch is on its way. Just hang in there."

"- twenty nine… thirty." She let go of her father, placing a breathing mask over his mouth, tilting his head back as far as it would go, pinching shut his nose, then breathing two deep breaths into the plastic protector.

"Two rescue breaths," she declared into the phone. "Continuing chest compressions. One…two…three…four…" After five minutes of rescue breathing and chest compressions, she took his pulse again, checked his breathing again, and continued. By this time, she was soaked to her elbows in her father's blood.

"Bullock!" she gasped after twenty minutes. "When are the paramedics going to get here? I can't keep going much longer."

"Don't endanger yourself, kid. Don't keep going beyond what you can do. A five minute call takes about twenty to thirty minutes to answer. The EMTs are on their way- they're doing the best they can. Just hang in there as long as you can."

Just when she thought she was about to collapse with exhaustion, a voice came from overhead.

"Ok Barbara, you're doing great. We're going to get your father on a gurney, and then I want you to let go, ok?" Barbara whipped around her head in shock, but continued compressions. When did the paramedics get into her house? Why didn't she notice them coming in?

Man, her Bat-senses weren't tingling today.

"Are you ready Barbara?"

"Yes sir." Barbara nodded. One of the paramedics slid a backboard under her father, and his partner grabbed the other end. "We're going to lift him up now. I need you to straddle your father on the backboard so we'll take you with him. Don't stop giving him compressions. That's right."

Barbara winced slightly as she straddled her father, sitting in the pool of blood on his abdomen. At this point almost her entire body was covered in his blood. The paramedics lifted the two of them up, placing them on top of the wheeled gurney.

"You're doing so good, Barbara. Now on the count of three, I want you to stop giving compressions, and I'm going to take over. Are you ready? One, two, three." Barbara scooted back, allowing the paramedic to continue compressions as she got off the gurney. As soon as she was down, the two began wheeling her father towards the ambulance, Barbara following. Now that she wasn't the one thing keeping her father's heart beating, she wandered about somewhat aimlessly. Detective Montoya came to her side as Barbara stared, blood dripping from her fingertips. The GCPD swarmed her house quickly.

"Will he be alright, Detective Montoya?" Barbara asked, leaning slightly on the older woman. Montoya wrapped her arms around the young girl.

"I don't know Barbara. It's just too early to tell. C'mon, I'll give you a ride to the hospital." She pulled Barbara towards her cruiser, with a backwards glance at the house. "Don't worry, kid. It's all gonna be ok."