Snow flurries into my face and I skid, desperately trying to round a dark corner. I'm freezing, the ends of the gray sweatpants I'm wearing fluttering around my ankles, threatening to trip me. If I had time and the means, I'd have tided them down. It's irrelevant, however, especially when I can still hear shouts behind me. An alarm siren begins to blare, echoing eerily off the buildings I dart past.
I shouldn't have run. It was stupid, but panic had seized me in its unrelenting grip and I'd just reacted. I didn't think my mad dash would've been enough to set off alarms, but this is Gotham, and I am woefully out of depth. It would have been perfectly reasonable to say that I just had to use the bathroom, and as for not using the public restrooms near the exit? Well, they were locked. And everyone was in the backroom so… Ok, maybe that was a bit too much detail and I should just stick to simple sentences. Still-
A shadow moves in the corner of my eye and I leapt to the side, something large and black swooping down from above, landing with an unflattering smack against the hard ground. My hip slams into a nearby dumpster and I slip, falling unceremoniously to the floor, a pained moan pulling from my mouth. The sirens still blare in the distance, the ringing of police cars a distorted echo off so many buildings. I shuffle forward on my hands and knees, the tips of my fingers burning in the cold. My arm bumps against something and I rear back, squinting into the darkness. What I see frightens me, despite recognizing it immediately: It's the Caped Crusader.
He isn't moving.
Inching closer, I shudder, awed and terrified in equal measure. I'd been running in this direction for at least ten minutes; for him to suddenly appear…the sheer speed the man would have had to possess… especially to escape wherever they were keeping him and to make it this far into the city in his condition…
Unbelievable.
The movement was thoughtless; a result of stress and anxiety. I would have never reached out otherwise. My helping hand is caught in an action too fast to follow, a sudden, sharp pain in my restrained wrist making me yelp. I look up to see The Batman looming over me, a dark and horrifying silhouette. I shrink away, suddenly wondering if this is what all thugs feel before they go down. A moment passes and I realize that I am moving, but not backwards, forwards. Batman is teetering and pulling me down with him. I yelp once again, stupidly trying to steady him. He doesn't let me, twisting my wrist back towards my arm so that I'm forced to kneel. Snow whirls up around our shuffling feet, kicking up into my downturned face.
"Stop!" I try to shout, the word a strangled beg in my throat.
He releases me and I scramble away, scooting through the snow until my back is pressed up against the freezing metal of dumpster from before. My eyes are wide, my mouth expelling pants into the cold night air. I'm still shaking and it doesn't occur to me to be surprised that he's let me go. I'm too busy staring at him slumped against the far wall.
For a moment, I'm struck with indecision. I know what I should do; the right thing to do. But I'm afraid. I shouldn't be here and he's already hurt me-
-but the alternative is facing Gotham alone.
So I try again, this time carefully. My hands move out in the universal sign of no harm- palms up, arms out- and I speak, words soft.
"You need help."
His masked head snaps up, armored chest moving in time with his haggard breathing. I know the exact moment his eyes lock on me. It's the same feeling of unease I felt when the officer looked at me, the same one as when Jim Gordon called out. Goose bumps along my skin, shivers down my spine and as cliché as it sounds, hair rising on the back of my neck. All the signs of an adrenaline-pumping heightened awareness, a sixth sense telling me I shouldn't be here.
This feeling settles uneasily in my gut, the strange wrongness at being noticed, being seen.
It makes my eyes narrow and my mouth go dry. I swallow and try again.
"You're hurt. Let me help you."
His breathing slows, features obscured in the shadows. My body fidgets, melted snow leaking into my shoes. My hands are still outreached, even though the muscles of my right arm have begun to twitch unpleasantly, wrist throbbing with a dull ache.
Then there is movement. His head angles in the tiniest of nods.
I try not to reach out quickly this time, but he teeters unexpectedly, bulky frame pushing awkwardly from the wall. There isn't much space in this alley, so it's easy to grab him, swinging a shoulder under one large arm for support. He's taller than me, of course he is, but I hadn't realized what that would mean for his weight. I grit my teeth as he sags, planting my feet. He smells like sweat and burnt plastic.
"Where?"
I don't expect him to answer, but he does, voice gritty as he gestures tiredly off to the side.
"Back alley, two streets over."
The journey is made with slowly dragging feet, his weight seeming to rest more and more on me as we continue. My heart is in my throat the whole time, eyes darting everywhere. I'd blame my paranoia for not seeing it, but it was pitch black at the alley's dead end and the light was sudden and bright.
I gasp as the Batmobile revs up in front of me, headlights flashing, door swishing upwards with a hiss. My fingers fist in his cloak when Batman abruptly slumps, large hand dropping away from my shoulder. My eyes widen when I glance up at his face to see that his own are closed.
"God damn it!" I snarl, tugging at him. "Wake up! Bat's, come on, don't do this to me."
He doesn't listen. Unconscious people tend to be like that.
The police sirens, which haven't abated this entire time- what had it been? Five minutes, ten? - seem louder, the sharp scrape of tires on wet asphalt echoing in the air.
Huffing, I struggle with renewed vigor, sweating under my flimsy clothing. I drag him to the door, straining backwards, feet slipping. And then-
-and then I tumble, two hundred some odd pounds of ass kicking Bat crushing me into the surprisingly plush leather of the driver's seat.
I just lay there for a moment, breathing harshly though my frozen nose. Laughter bubbles up at the absurdity of it all, but I stifle it, instead putting the energy into attempting to move. I don't get far and only succeed in pulling his propped feet into the vehicle.
There is a beep, followed by a swoosh.
My breath catches.
My heart sinks.
And I my head meets leather with a dull thud. I'm locked in the Batmobile with an unconscious Batman.
Lights flickers overhead, red and blue and yellow against the black of car's ceiling. I hear the slam of car doors, the deep calls of men's voices. They've found us, but I can't move, can barely breathe. My shallow breaths are catching in my throat, eyes rolling franticly over the lit dashboard.
"Autopilot, where's the autopilot?" I mutter, struggling to reach my free, if injured, hand through a gap between our bodies towards the humming knobs.
You'd think it'd be easy to find, because the Batmobile is just a car after all, but the whole thing looks like the inside of a spaceship; can't understand shit. My hand hovers over the keys, eyes staring at them with intense concentration. The feeling of something wet hitting me in the face throws me and I gasp, inadvertently getting some of the unknown liquid into my mouth. I sputter at the taste, jerking my head back up just in time to catch another splatter of it as the dark, coppery liquid leaks from between the armored plating of Batman's suit.
Alarms blare within my head, my wide eyes widen even more and I do what was bound to be stupidity at its finest.
I press random buttons.
No.
I mash them.
Things click, the car shutters, something explodes and suddenly there is a jarring motion as the Bats' car peels out, the lingering shouts of angry policemen and rippling gunfire pushing my heart rate to new, undiscovered heights.
I slide with the movement of the car, pushing up with my hands so I can both breathe and stem the blood flow of the now, very obvious, wound. I stifle another hysterical giggle.
The Batman is bleeding all over me.
Not good.
It takes what seems to be an eternity before the sickening feeling of rushing movement stops, before the door props open with a hiss and clinical white light flashes though the opening with enough suddenness to blind me.
I hear a hauntingly familiar voice-
"Welcome home Master-"
-before I pass out from cold, exhaustion and relief.
