My second fiction! Yay! I hope this is just as enjoyable as my first fiction! Please let me know what you think!
If there was one thing Bruce could say about tonight, it was this:
He was never attending one of Anna Goldman's parties ever again. It was boring, full of rich snobs, and had only succeeded in putting him behind. It was already 9:45 and he hadn't even made it back to the hotel. If Batman didn't get out soon, he would have no chance of gaining new information. And he needed new information. Pronto.
Which is why he was now speeding down 2nd street in one of his flashy, as well as incredibly fast, sports cars. No one even tried to stop him. For one, this street, among many, was almost completely abandoned by this time at night. Such was life in Gotham. For another, no one ever tried to stop him. He was Bruce Wayne.
The rain that begun to pour slowed him down, but not by much. The street lights refelected off the water, turning his windshield into a motley sea of oranges, yellows, and blue-whites. Occasionally, everything would become a brilliant white for a second as lightening streaked across the sky. It returned to normal just as quickly. Any odd car that passed him dimmed their headlights, as did he, so they would not blind each other. It was common courtesy after all.
He was caught off guard when his vision was suddenly nothing but an unceasing glare. Managing to focus, he realized the glare was the brights of an oncoming car. He set his lights to low, but they did not react. As the car approached, Bruce realized two things:
The car was going just as fast as he was, if not faster. And it was on the wrong side of the road. His side.
He slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid a crash, but it was too late.
As he attempted to get out of the way, he felt the sudden impact of the other car on the rear end of his, followed immediately by a horrific metallic crunch. The moment he turned in the direction of the collision, the back glass busted inward, shards flying. He put his leather-clad arms up to shield his face, but a few pieces still lodged into his skin. It stung, but it was the worst injury he appeared to have suffered. His car was a different story. And the other driver...
He threw open the door and lept out onto the pavement. He was instantly soaked and he knew that his coat would be ruined, but in that moment, he didn't have time to care. He ran to the other side of the car, where he was faced with the smashed front-end of a little, black PT Cruiser. Thick, white puffs of vapor were being emanated from it: whether they were smoke or steam, Bruce couldn't tell. And he didn't really want to find out.
The driver's side door was bent and he concurred that he would not be able to get it open without further injuring the person inside the car. But with the high probability that a fire was sparking, he didn't want to leave their removal to a rescue team. So he went to the other side.
The passenger door was undamaged, but locked. With little time to spare, Bruce took off his shoe and struck the window with all of force he could muster. It shattered, and he reached in to unlock the door. This 'Cruiser was the cheaper version, without automatic locks. And thank God for that.
He opened the door and saw that the driver- a young-ish, oddly familiar man with shaggy, dark hair and a small build- was slumpt over the wheel, his head touching the dashboard. His face was bleeding in a few places, most worryingly on his forehead. He appeared to be unconscious, likely having been slammed back, then forward again. He probably had damage to his chest, no taller than he was, and Bruce didn't even want to think about his legs.
Bruce brushed the glass off of the seat and crawled over it. He unhooked the seatbelt buckle (for the man was wearing his seatbelt) and carefully began to extract the driver. Once he had maneuvered a hold, moving him out of the car was really no issue: he weighed next to nothing. Standing up, he readjusted his hold and quickly sprinted to the other side of the street and half a block down, stepping up onto the sidewalk.
Setting the man down gently, he checked his pulse. Finding a rather erratic one, he pulled out his phone and called 911.
"Yes, there's been a car crash on 2nd street. One man is injured, we need an ambulance. Bruce Wayne. Yes, sir. I don't know, he's... He's unconscious. I found his pulse, but it's rather fast. There's doesn't seem to be any major bleeding, but it might be internal. Yes, please hurry."
Hanging up the phone, Bruce looked down at a pair of bright blue eyes gazing up at him. He wondered if the man had been listening to that phone call. A peculiar expression rested on fill lips as rain beat down on freckled skin.
Stareing into them- for how long, he couldn't say- he knew that particular shade was rare in an eye. Infact, he'd only ever seen...
Suddenly, the man's body jerked upward as as his eyes shut tightly and his lips pulled back from clenched teeth. After a moment, he gave a soft cry- a pathetic sound in Bruce's ears, as though he couldn't get any louder. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, pressing so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
Bruce put a hand on the man's bicep, leaning over him. "Sir, what's wrong? Where is your pain?"
The man took a deep breath, just as Bruce begun to hear the fast approaching emergency vehicles, and spoke lowly, "Everywhere. It's...everywhere!"
Did you enjoy? Any suggestions?*Funfact: Attraction drives an old PT Cruiser. I felt almost as if I were writing my own future. It got kinda scary for a minute there... I get a chill every time think about it. O_O