Eyes squeezed tightly shut, scream already formed in his throat, Nicholas was only partially aware of the rush of cold air that whooshed past his face as everything around him exploded into a billion pieces.
"Look out!"
Something fast and heavy collided into his torso and he cried out, having no time to brace himself. The force of the expelling wave shook the entire block, picking him up and tossing him all the way to an intersecting street where he hit the asphalt, catching himself momentarily before he rolled, arms curled up over his head to protect his face and eyes. Bolts of pain shot through his nerves like lightning and he gasped, realizing that, amid his frantic wheezing and the blood raging through his brain, he was still alive.
The object that had struck him hit the ground not far behind, having been thrown clear of him upon impact. Ears ringing, Nicholas rolled onto his stomach, fighting for the strength to stand, even as he blinked through teary eyes to see just what it was that had hit him.
Or, more accurately, who.
It wasn't a piece of debris like Nicholas had anticipated it to be. Instead of a beam or a desk or some other kind of sharp, dangerous piece of equipment, he found himself staring at a living, breathing, heap of red and black, buried beneath what Nicholas could only describe as a cape. A gigantic cape.
A pained moan rose from the mass, followed closely by a rain of fire and ruin plummeting to the pavement behind him. "Owww," came a weak gravelly voice as his rescuer pushed himself weakly onto his hands and knees, coughing. His words came out sharp, perhaps a little unintentional, foreign even. "That really smarts."
Nicholas, still wheezing, stared as the man rolled unsteadily to his feet, brushing the charred ash from his shoulders and--armor? "What-" he began to question but was rudely interrupted by another post-rupture of something on a higher floor. More screaming followed and the figure whipped around, his cloak billowing out behind him and whacking Nicholas in the face.
"Oh good grief!" the man exclaimed, watching the action as if it were something out of a movie. "As if one explosion wasn't already extremely over the top! They just had to go and put a pipeline there, didn't they?"
If he was expecting some kind of response from Nicholas, then he was going to be sorely disappointed at the teen lay there on the pavement, propped up on his elbows, mouth open in silent wonder but no words forming to express the sensation of shock coursing through his brain.
There was a superhero standing right in front of him!
A superhero! In Paris! Right in front of him! The odds of that happening, that there would actually be a superhero in the city, were so astronomical that he didn't know where to begin.
"Who-" he tried again, only to be cut off by a furious growl from the dragon-themed hero.
"No time for questions!" the man snapped, drawing something from his belt and fingering it thoughtfully as he eyed the rapidly decaying situation before him. "You should run while you still have the chance!"
Senses still coming back to him, he barely comprehended the order. "I can't!" Nicholas yelled over the sound of blaring sirens, his heart racing at a million miles per hour as he stood up to the masked male. "My parents are in there!" He pointed toward the burning hospital. "I can't leave without them!"
"I'll get them!" the dragon bellowed, twirling back toward him, fury blazing in his light eyes. "You need to take your little skateboard and ride away as fast as you can! Go! Whatever you do, don't look back!"
Nicholas flinched back at the harsh tone in those words and he stumbled for some kind of argument he could present to talk the hero out of his decision. I can't go without my mom and dad! I won't run away and save myself! I'm not a coward! He balled his hands into fists and planted his feet, glaring up firmly at the man.
"Oh for-why aren't you running?" the hero exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing his gloved hands into the air, revealing the golden whip unfurling from his grip. "What part of 'none of this is safe' are you having trouble grasping?"
Something else exploded, but the man didn't even wince, his attention fully fixed on the teenager standing his ground rebelliously. Neither moved and the first of the smoke drifted past them, flooding the air with ash and cinders. The man scowled at the smaller boy and suddenly took a step back, bringing a hand up to his head with a cry of, "Do, what?"
Immediately, Nicholas wondered if that was an earpiece and, if so, who else might be assisting this new arrival. Because of course there was someone else! There was alwayssomeone else! He'd watched enough spy movies to confirm that.
"No, Trekk!" the man exclaimed. "I am not putting an innocent kid in harm's way!"
Trek? What kind of code name is that?
Okay, he wasn't going to lie. It was pretty cool. Very James Bond.
"No, no, I don't care who he is! This is not a battle for a civilian!" the hero exclaimed, speaking rapidly to someone that could not be seen.
Knowing he was about to be forcibly removed from the scene to somewhere where he would be no help to anyone, Nicholas gaped at the hero and braced himself to resist.
"Listen, I don't care if he is the President of the United States! He can't stay here!" The dragon-man growled. He moved quickly, grabbing Nicholas under his arms and pulling him to his feet. Nicholas yelped, the sudden swirl of pain sharper than a dagger through his spine, unbalanced by the blood rushing from his head and the drum thundering through his skull. "You should be running! Are you all right?" the man demanded sharply, causing Nicholas to jump slightly as he glanced up at the older male and realized the conversation had returned to him once again. "Are you hurt?"
Nicholas opened his mouth but not so sound came out.
"Well? Speak!" Firm hands grasped his shoulders and shook him gently, just enough to elicit a response from the teen.
"I...I'm fine!" Nicholas exclaimed. Pain sparked through his side, protesting his every word. He fought back a wince and gritted his teeth. "My parents!" he repeated forcibly, trying to force off the hero's strong grip and peer over his head toward the crumbling building.
The dragon craned his neck, twisting back to follow the teen's panicked gaze. More screamed flooded the block, coming from a nearby complex compromised by the plummeting debris. He growled. "All right!" he yelled, pulling abruptly away and steeling his jaw. "Here's what we're going to do; you're going to run. As fast as you can. I'll save your parents and everyone else!"
"But-" Nicholas began for the third time.
"Look, kid!" the man yelled. "I can't go after everyone else if I have to be worrying about whether or not some insane teenager wants to play hero! Do you understand me?"
Nicholas stilled, the seriousness of the vigilante's words falling hard on his heart. And he was right. Nicholas wouldn't survive for a moment in a disaster like that. He wasn't the one with the mad glowing Wonder Woman lasso. Trying to rescue his parents on his own would only get him injured-or worse.
The man snorted. "We understand each other then?"
Nicholas nodded reluctantly. "Naeam."
Dragon-man smirked grimly. "I don't speak that language-whatever it was. But I'll just assume you agreed with me." He rose to his full height, towering over Nicholas, cape billowing out around dark army-themed boots with a number of pointy spikes jutting from the heels.
Nicholas blinked up at him. "I did," he tried again, transitioning back to French. "I understand. I won't get in your way."
The hero pondered him thoughtfully. "Good."
They stood for a moment, neither moving, Pain rippled through Nicholas's body and he grimaced, immediately reaching for something to steady himself, his hands crashing into a brick wall. He lowered his gaze for a split second as the world spun dangerously and nausea bubbled in the back of his throat.
There was a flurry of movement and a whoosh of cold air struck his face.
When he composed himself long enough to look up again, he found the street deserted, the mysterious man disappearing in seconds.
What...where did he...HUH?
Swallowing back more bile and scanning the clearing for anything to answer his hundreds of questions or locate his parents, Nicholas tried to assess the damage, both on himself and his surroundings. His arms and legs ached and something definitely felt wrong in his right wrist. He guessed that would have been caused by landing the entirety of his body mass upon it. It would be sprained if he was lucky.
He wasn't.
He really, really wasn't.
Footsteps flooded him from every side and he flinched as a shoe came down hard near his head, belonging to a fleeing civilian who probably hadn't even seen him leaning there in their haste to escape. Someone shoved roughly past and Nicholas cried out, fighting to right himself amid the bustling stampede.
Hey!
Watch it!
Don't you see the poor guy you're about to turn into a pancake?!
They didn't. It was just common sense. Fight or flight. Every man for himself. In their fits of self-preservation, they did not stop to think, "Oh, hey! There's a kid here! Maybe we should stop and see if he needs help because he looks so scared and confused!" They were only out to protect themselves. No one else.
And Nicholas couldn't say he blamed them. He'd probably be doing the same thing if he hadn't been extremely concerned for his parents' safety. He wasn't a heroic person. In fact, he was about as far from heroic as one could possibly be. All he wanted to do was hole up somewhere and wait for this entire nightmare to be over. He didn't want to be caught in some weird explosion that didn't make sense, surrounded by people who weren't making sense, having seen a superhero who made even less sense.
Was he a superhero? With the fancy colors and the sweeping cape, Nicholas wasn't sure what else he could have been. But, yet, at the same time, something didn't feel...quite right. There had been no charm to the man's words, no compassion either. Weren't those both important characteristics for a hero? Or was that just fiction from all of his movies? Perhaps real-life heroes weren't so gracious with their words or their time. Maybe they were far too busy saving lives to slow down and be considerate to unimportant nobodies who just so happened to stumble into their path.
Yes, that was it. Nicholas had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was all.
It seemed like that was becoming a habit.
Another group of people shoved past him and he pressed his back up firmly against the bricks, trying to get out of their way. He reached for his phone, surprised to find it in one piece, and once again dialed his father's number. Come on! You have to be okay! You have to be! Please, pick up!
Chills danced his spine as he received no answer from the phone; instead going straight to voicemail. Fearfully, he let his gaze drift once more to the shattering tower, alight and very much still on fire. They couldn't still be in there, could they? What were the chances they would have survived that explosion? He didn't need to be a mathematician to know how low they were. It had all happened too fast. There had been no warning, no time for anyone to evacuate.
Is that it then? Have I just lost my entire family?
A tremor ran through him at the thought-but not the kind of fear or agony. No, this felt more like-a warning. The earth shook but his eyes were drawn away from the disastrous scene before him to an open window two buildings over. He frowned, not understanding at first why his instincts had pulled him in a new direction.
And then he heard it.
From the initial explosion and debris that had followed, several had landed throughout the city, scattered a lot like a buck-shot rifle. One of these pieces of debris-a large supporting beam-had crashlanded into a nearby apartment complex, smashing entirely through the top two floors before coming to an abrupt stop-halfway through the third floor. A secondary fire had erupted around the destruction and crews were already on the scene.
So, everything should have been fine, right? The firemen would help the residents and make sure they were all accounted for and safe.
But something was egging him on, warning him that something wasn't right. That someone was in danger.
"Help!" rose a distant scream above the clanging and shrieking of sirens. "Someone help me, please!"
Darn his senses.
Just...out of everything that had already happened...
His gaze lifted briefly to the heavens. Are you serious right now?
Nicholas heaved himself upright, his eyes darting from the crumbling hospital on his right to the cries to his left. For a moment, he stood, petrified, torn between his common sense telling him to run for the hospital, and instinct commanding him to help whoever was in trouble. But even as he forced his feet forward and he inched his way closer and closer to the wreckage, he couldn't fight the little voice in the back of his mind telling him that it was the wrong decision.
"My daughter! Please! Someone!"
Go back, Lahiffe! his traitorous brain hissed. Go back and help her!
I can't! he shot back, picking up his pace. The smoke burned his lungs and nose and he coughed, blinking teary eyes. My family needs me!
What about her family? Come on, Nicholas! What if it were your daughter?
I'm not a hero! he thought desperately. I don't save people! I'm not like that! I can't do that!
But there is no one else! If you don't help her, that woman's daughter is going to die! What if it were Nino?
Nicholas came to a screeching halt. Another scream and now he could see the faint outline of the dragon-man grabbing someone out of the tenth-floor window. His conscience was right. The superpowered guy could handle the big problem, but there was no way of knowing if he could get back in time to save the girl. And he couldn't leave her! Because he was right! What if it had been Nino? Wouldn't he do everything in his power then?
"I hate you," he muttered to himself, already rotating on his heels
He was being stupid right now, running back into a danger he knew nothing about, but he pushed that concern away, biting his lip as he rounded the bend and came face to face with the problem.
Or, rather, problems.
Number one: the beam that had collapsed through the roof had splintered across a series of pipelines. Even from where he stood behind the gathering crowd, he could smell the gas. Just breathing wrong could set the entire thing up in flames.
Which led him to problem number two. There was no telling for sure whether or not a fire had already begun inside. Open one wrong door and kaboom, no more heroics, toast.
The third problem was more manageable: sneaking past the firefighters who would definitely not want him running into a gas-filled room. Ducking his head and pulling his hoodie over his hat, he quickly rushed in from the side, refusing to meet the eyes of the panicked mother clinging, fighting, against her husband who was struggling to hold her back but looking just as panicked as her.
No time to waste.
Ignoring the startled exclamations from one or two of the citizens who noticed his actions, Nicholas hid his face from their sights, reaching for and testing the door as he covered his mouth with his elbow. The knob was cold. No fire directly on the other side then. Not a terrible start.
There was another yell and someone grabbed him from behind. Strong hands clamped over his shoulders and yanked him back toward the light. Nicholas cried out, flailing and managing to break away from the grip. Then, without hesitation, he threw himself forward into the door, much like he did to his own back home, balking as it gave under his pressure and swung open.
The onlookers cried out in alarm and Nicholas braced himself for impact.
He wasn't immediately set on fire, so he took that as a good thing.
Now to be a hero.
"No! Wait! Stop! Kid, you can't go in there!"
He ignored the cries and barrelled on. The entranceway was a short one and he found himself standing in the main living quarters within a few steps. He blinked, the putrid odor of gas seeping through his sleeves into his eyes and nose. He coughed, already scanning the dusty room for signs of life.
Particularly for a little child.
A table, chairs, television, piano. All natural things one would expect to see in an upperclassman's house. However, there was no one in the living room. He heard a creak from the structure boards as he carefully passed into the kitchen. A shower of drywall and wood littered the tile, revealing a gigantic gap in the ceiling as well as a board that had fallen straight through the heart of the refrigerator. Cautiously, Nicholas pulled open the door to investigate, frowning as he found what was at the end of the beam.
An entire carton of raspberry dark chocolate chip ice cream.
The audacity.
Another groan from the structure. Wary of his time, Nicholas quickly shut the refrigerator door and moved on toward the master bedroom. The gas was getting stronger here and Nicholas wiped watery tears from his eyes, pushing open the sliding barn-like doors and searching the room.
No one.
Not a soul.
Where is she? Nicholas spun to retrace his steps to the stairs, pausing at the base and grabbing the railing to catch his breath as his spasms got worse. His head throbbed but he pushed past it, jogging up the flight two at a time. At the top, the pathway split. Left or right.
He chose left.
"Hello?" he wheezed, momentarily falling against the wall before catching himself and stumbling on. "Is...is anybody...here?" Please answer! I need to know where you are!
The floor swayed underneath him. He blinked again, clearing the swarming lights from his vision.
And there! He heard it! The quietest whimper, almost inaudible against the commotion outside. Coming from the very last door in the hall. It was so far...and yet, he knew where she was! He could get to her! He could save her!
"Hold on!" he called, sprinting the rest of the way through the corridor and slamming the entirety of his weight into the door frame, gasping and simultaneously reaching for the handle. Again, not hot. No fire inside door number two either. "I'm coming!"
He heard the whimper again and that fulled him on. "Stand back!" he yelled, already moving to take out the dor with a single kick. "If you're near the door, get away!" He waited a moment, just to be sure, and then let loose with everything he had. The door went flying off its hinges, slamming into the back wall and revealing a child's playroom to Nicholas.
The boy didn't hesitate, rushing in.
At first glance, the room appeared deserted. Toys lay scattered and forgotten across the floor, a half-finished drawing clung to the back of a chair, dangling by a single piece of tape. Nicholas didn't see anyone.
But he could hear someone.
A soft sniffle. Coming from the direction of the closet.
He moved quickly, hurrying over and carefully unfolding the closet door, finding the child-possibly no older than four-huddling inside. She whimpered, gazing up at him with terror-filled pools of blue, and he swallowed hard, trying to picture what he might say if this were Nino and something his brother was afraid of.
"Hey," he said slowly, getting down on one knee and spreading his hands-palms up-placidly. "Hi there. It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you. My name's Nicholas. Your mommy sent me to get you. Do you want to get out of the closet now?"
The little girl shook her head, coiling in on herself and her teddy bear more tightly.
Nicholas thought fast. "You're scared. I understand. This is a scary situation. I know...what if I told you a story? Would you come out with me if I told you a story?"
The blond nodded cautiously, slowly uncurling herself and holding out her arms for Nicholas to pick her up. He did so immediately, taking her tightly in his arms and hurrying back for the exit. His face fully exposed to the gases now, he kept her head against his shoulder. She would get to smell his dog on his shirt all the way out, but at least it was better than inhaling poisonous fumes.
Darkness was creeping into his vision now, as he tore down the stairs, half-wishing he could ride the banister all the way down. The door was still open and with fading strength, he sprinted around the last few remaining pieces of furniture and emerged back into the sunlight.
The burst of cold air hit him and he cried out, feeling his knees buckle underneath him. Someone caught him just before he hit the ground and he felt the girl being gently pried from his grasp. By her mother, he assumed, even as whoever had caught his head let him lay gently on the pavement, heaving for fresh oxygen as the gas continued to swirl through his brain.
There was a second flurry of moment, followed closely by a series of shouts of panicked Arabic. "That's my son! Out of the way! Move! GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
Warm hands grasped his and he felt their presence surrounding him before they were even there. "Mom?" he whispered, cracking his eyelids just enough to make out the blurry image of his mother kneeling beside him, bruised and bloody, but smiling anxiously nevertheless. He flicked his gaze to his other side. "Dad?"
They were both there. They were okay.
"Nikolas! Are you all right? What happened?"
He wanted to answer them, he really did, but he could not find the words. His tongue could not form the syllables. It hurt to even think. All he could do was lie there and repeatedly whisper mental expressions of gratitude for his parents' safety.
"Nicholas?" his father repeated. "Son? Can you hear us?"
Nicholas tried to turn and look at him, to show he understood, but his gaze fell on something further on beyond his father's worried face. A cloaked figure in red. Hovering near the back of the commotion.
For the briefest moment, their eyes met; hazel on blue, and then, with the smallest shake of his head, the hero rose from his crouched position and disappeared into the crowd.
Nicholas let his head fall back and the world vanished into a swirl of black.
