Prompt: Smoke
Day one of the thirty day drabble challenge
Word Count: 1,652
I'm doing a thing. Taking a prompt and making a chapter around it until I hit thirty chapters. I'm usually obsessed with planning all my fics down to the details before I actually begin writing, and now I have no idea how this will end at all. So it'll be fun. Expect weird continuity stuff (taking out dumb things like Lian's death in Cry for Justice—actually all of cry for Justice—and I don't even know if I'll be including Red Hood and the Outlaws and New 52 stuff. I'll probably include Batman and Robin stuff) and I'm not even going to attempt to explain anyone's ages. I debated with myself for a while over whether Mar'i should call Bruce Grandpa and Tim Uncle Tim or just Tim. I decided to drop all of the family names, just because it's easier to fit into the ambiguously aged timeline I'm setting up.
That's enough of me talking. Roll fic.
Smoke curls under the door. The only thing between me and the fire is the piece-of-crap door that can't even block out the sound of my drunk dormmates coming home from parties at three in the morning when I have class at eight the next day. I shouldn't be in here, and in fact I wouldn't be able to explain how I got here to any sort of authoritative figure who would ask, but that's not a problem seeing as I don't plan on getting caught here.
It's a basic rule. I remember sitting in my Kindergarten class and having my teacher say, 'If there's ever a fire at your house, don't go back for any of your toys or clothes. You get out.' But I'm not coming back for any of that stuff. Yeah, I'll probably grab my laptop now that I'm here, or at least my external hard drive with the backup on it and cash in insurance money for a new laptop. But the rules don't apply to me, anyway.
The smoke is starting to billow out, and I can feel the heat of the fire as it licks its way over the walls in the hallway. I really have, like, no time. I wave the smoke away, but it won't hurt me. Not really.
I crouch in front of the dresser that holds basically all my crap except for the stuff I was able to fit in the tiny dorm closets they give us, and I pull the bottom drawer open. A black and white cat blinks at me, frightened by the noise of the fire and disoriented by the smells.
"Alfred," I coo, and he tilts his head at his name. We're not supposed to have cats in the dorms, but I found this little guy and I didn't know who to give him to. He was only supposed to live in my room for a while, especially since I feel really bad about leaving him in here while I'm at classes. It's too small, and it's dark, but Alfie has adjusted his sleep schedule to fit around my classes, which is sort of amazing except that he's up all night.
The room is really smoky now, and it's stinging my eyes a little but I know I won't suffocate. "Okay, Alfie, out you go." I'm on the first floor of my building, so all I do is open the window and he jumps out, and he runs into the shadows so fast I don't think I'll ever see him again. It's sad, but at least he lives.
I turn to my desk, just super quickly, and I rummage through the top drawer for my hard drive. It seems pretty risky, but like I said, I'm above the rules.
The ceiling above me falls open and I swear in Tamaranean, ducking but continuing to sift through my drawer.
The sound of muffled grunts and the unmistakable sound of punches being thrown halts me. This isn't good. I don't want to look, but there's no way I can stop myself from glancing over my shoulder.
Firefly, some crazy anarchist who isn't any more a villain than any other nut job with a match and a dorky suit, is fighting a vigilante. All I can tell is that it's not Nightwing, and I don't know if that's good or bad. Then I notice the cape and the hood that's attached to it. It's Robin, and that doesn't really mean much to me except that Nightwing will probably either be here or be on his way.
Firefly hits the wall back first, limbs sprawled, and I glance over my shoulder to see Robin glaring at me. Like that's anything new. He's wearing an oxygen mask and his hood is smoking.
"Why are you in the vicinity?" he shouts so I can hear him through the oxygen mask and over the sound of crackling wood. The fire's eating through the door and it's above us, now.
"I live here," I answer, and I spot my hard drive among the mess in this drawer and I grab it.
"Has no one told you the rules of fire safety? Surely the fact that rushing into a burning building for a mere object is the act of an imbecile is in even your limited realm of knowledge."
"Yeah, yeah," I say, and I pick the unconscious Firefly up by the scruff of his costume. "Try shorter insults. You dropped your garbage in my room."
"Is no one else in the building?" Robin asks, ignoring me, and I shake my head.
"I didn't see anyone. You think he set the fires with a detonator?" Firefly isn't heavy, but I have to be careful anyway because the tank on his gas has gasoline in it. I could smell it even if I didn't have heightened smell, sight, and hearing compared to regular people. I drop him outside my window as a favor for Robin. "Please don't tell my dad I came back here. He'd kill me."
"It was idiotic," he says.
I roll my eyes at him. "It was not. I'm basically fireproof. And it's not like I was only coming back for the hard drive."
"Ah," he interrupts me. "You came to remove your uniform from the area. Wise, as it probably will not burn."
"Oh crap," I mutter, and I turn to my closet. Which is mostly on fire.
"You did remove your uniform, correct?" Robin demands, and he's getting annoyed.
"Um, I will in a sec."
"Wait, that is not—"
"Relax," I tell him, and I approach the flaming closet. The hallway's on the other side of this wall, I can feel the heat. Firefly really went to town on this place.
Being half-Tamaranean is kind of tricky. My starbolts are hot. I can boil an egg in a mug just by holding it. It's great for parties. And I can hold my hand over a candle and even a Bunsen burner or the flame at the stove, but actually catching isn't comfortable and it sort of hurts. It just hurts me a hell of a lot less than it would hurt Robin or my dad.
My uniform's at the back of my closet. I should have thought of this before—there's no way that the stupid thing would burn in a fire. It's fireproof and waterproof and shockproof and everything-proof. Except for wicked sharp knives and bullets once in a while, nothing gets past it.
It's usually really helpful, but I'm sticking my arm through flames feeling around blindly for it and I wish it would have just disintegrated.
"Grayson—"
"Shut up, Robin," I snap, gritting my teeth against the hot flames. My body temperature regulates and adjusts based on my environment, but it usually does it slowly. I'm pushing it now and I need to concentrate. My sleeve is burning, which'll look suspicious but I'll have to think of something. I close my fingers around the material finally and I drag it out of the closet. "Gotcha," I address the uniform triumphantly.
"Grayson!"
I look up at Robin as the ceiling above me starts falling, raining down burning drywall and support beams. This has gone a lot worse than I thought it would.
Tamaraneans, we're pretty durable. But a knock on the head from burning chunks of wood still hurts, and my hair even catches on fire. I lift into the air as I pat away the flames and dodge through a lot of debris as it falls, heading toward the window. I have to grab Robin by the cape, because he's turned back, looking for me. If it seems like he thinks I can't handle myself, it's because he doesn't. An annoying trait he picked up from my dad.
I drop him next to Firefly, who's still unconscious, and I put my hands on my hips so he knows I'm mad at him. "Why'd you go back for me? I told you I'd be fine."
He takes off his oxygen mask and he's glaring at me again. "If something were to happen to you, your father would never forgive me."
"Speaking of dad—"
"Yes, yes, he does not know that you were here." Robin crouches next to Firefly and checks for his pulse before slinging him over one shoulder.
"Right."
We just stand looking at each other. I don't talk to Damian much. He looks up to my dad a lot, And sometimes I see him at the cave when I'm there with my dad, but we don't talk much other than just saying hi. I don't like practicing him because he usually kicks my ass at whatever it is we're studying, whether it's physical attacks or sword training or target practice. He's nice enough I guess, if you get past the arrogant, rude, evil part.
"Um, so, bye."
With a curt nod, he says, "Indeed."
What kind of thing is that to say? I wave awkwardly and lift into the air, careful to keep in the shadows.
Okay. The place where I live burned down. That hadn't really occurred to me until now. I could go to the Manor. Get my bike from the bunker and stay there. Bruce probably wouldn't mind. But that doesn't change the fact that I still have half a semester of school left. They might cancel classes for a few days, but I want to keep close to campus.
The whole reason I was living on campus was because I was having trouble balancing Bruce's strict vigilante schedule with my own life. Being away from all that, I could patrol when I liked and for as long as I liked.
I knew where I could go. There was one place I could always go.
I hope Steph and Tim don't mind me taking up their spare bedroom for a few days.