Batman - Apocalypse

Chapter 2: Dark Knight and the Princess

It was both terrifying and pleasantly familiar, stealthily making her way through the pitch darkness. Her tattered, black cape covered her nose and mouth in a futile attempt to block out the scent of the sewer: dirt, waste, and decay. It was the tainted blood of Gotham City's remains, and they were navigating the arteries. Habitually, she had tried to switch to detective vision, immediately recalling that it was linked to the Batcomputer, which had been down since the manor was destroyed. Most of the Batcave had been damaged, as well. They grabbed what they could: their suits and utility belts, nothing more, and (to which she had thanked God) nothing less. It was all an open wound, still fresh, still bleeding- as if a dagger had been jammed between her ribs.

She kept a black-gloved hand on the wall, her fingertips gently scaling the mold-glazed granite as she paced behind Batman. She had stumbled on the memory cloth that trailed behind him, promptly taking it by the corner in her left hand. Despite the rips and tears, it still had its length. Keeping within inches of him, she eventually locked her arm with his; the Dark Knight and the princess, clad in her ball gown made of body armor. That, too, was pleasantly familiar. Mysteria could recall the times that she had attended charity balls and events with Bruce as a girl, having hugged his right arm and followed his lead when they made their entrance or departure. Years ago, when the world- their world -hadn't been swallowed whole by everything they waged warehouse against. He was conscious that the grip had tightened, in fury and morose trepidation. Misty was too shaken to speak. Bruce knew, and knew well, for even at her lowest points, she typically spoke without hesitation. With conviction, even. For now, however, they mourned in silence, continuing on through the Gotham sewer.

Mysteria's voice broke the silence as a rough, single-word question that had too many answers for a definite response: "Why?" Bruce stopped, contemplating it for a moment.

There wasn't a sentence he could string together that could do her any justice. There just wasn't. "I don't know, Misty." He kept her as close to his side as the space allowed, adding, "I don't-" She silenced her father with a brief little "Shh." He didn't need to answer. He didn't want to speak any more than she did, and she was more than aware. With a shaky sigh, Misty rested her forehead against Bruce's upper arm, shutting her eyes behind her mask. Everything had simply crumbled from underneath their feet, opening a pit of hell in which they were just two bats flying through. They could beat their wings and gnash their fangs, but it was up for debate as to whether or not they would make it anywhere.

All of the tears that Misty had fought back since this nightmare was unleashed had finally cracked her open, like an eggshell against a mixing bowl. Bruce, in turn, made sure that there was room on the narrow walkway- enough to permit a protective embrace, so he might at least muffle her cries, if quiet them at all. He didn't murmur a single word; language served no purpose for the time being. With a careful palm, he smoothed down her damp, tangled hair, keeping his hand on the back of her head.

"I-I'm sorry, I t-tried to s-save-" Misty attempted to choke out. She shook violently, her breaths ragged and unsteady.

"Don't talk," Bruce directed gently. Hell, they had both tried to do what they could, but none of it had been nearly enough. In a matter of weeks, they had lost every person they had ever considered family. In the past ninety minutes, Mysteria watched her stepmother essentially crushed, her older brother die, and her home destroyed. She held it together as long as he shattered spirit would allow.

"Mysteria, run. Now!" Dick met her panicked blue gaze, his own eyes wide with alarm as he shouted the order. She nearly dared to object, stopping abruptly as he grabbed her shoulders and held her in a rib-cracking highway lasted a short two seconds.

"Please, just come with me-"

"No. I'm going to try and find Alfred. I'll meet you if I can." He doubted that he would find the butler among the flames, but he had to look. He knew that it was curtains' call for himself. It was okay. But Misty had to make it. She was the only one left. If Bruce could get her and get off the grounds, there was a chance. That much, he was certain of. Hurriedly, he kissed the top of her head, and said with as much composure as he could, "I'll see you when it's over, Sis. Go. NOW!" Richard pushed her in the opposite direction, dashing down the hall.

She took off in a sprint, not sticking around to witness the young man be engulfed by smoky flames, not daring to think of what he had meant. She wouldn't forget, though- it was stashed in her mind for a later time.

Mysteria had complied with herself; she hadn't forgotten. She replayed the event in her mind, and that two second defensively like an eternity. "I'll see you when it's over," he had said. When it was all over, and her heart had ceased to beat, she'd see her brother again. The way things stood presently, she wasn't convinced that her wait time would be that long.