So I know this is the second chapter this weekend, but I don't want anyone to get their hopes up about how quickly I can get this written okay? I can't promise it'll ever happen again :P Sorry.
Bruce almost fell off the motorcycle in a way that was incredibly unBatman like but he didn't care. That explosion ripped through the apartment tower and until the smoke cleared he didn't breathe or see. He charged at the building blindly and after about fifteen strides he realized how stupid that was. Dick could be in that smoke and he'd run right past him. But if the boy was still in the building now he probably wouldn't be able to get himself out.
Although the firefighters were probably cursing the wind that was blowing in from the water, Bruce had never been more grateful for a weather pattern in his whole life. The smoke cleared in a few minutes. By the time he found the front door he could see the top of the building over his head, or what was left of it. The blast had been about halfway up. If Dick was in the lower half, he was alive. If he was in the top half, his chances were much worse.
And knowing his son, he was in the top half.
The blast, or some blast had ripped the doors off, the front one and the door to the stair well as well.
The lower levels were relatively undamaged. Some of the beams had collapsed but lots of the apartments were still recognizable as homes, as places where people lived with their family, where people had been happy, where they'd tucked their children in at night but the higher up he got, the less that stayed true. He was kicking rubble out of the way and coughing by the time he got to the tenth floor. A door had collapsed across the exit but Bruce smashed his way through it without thinking.
Most of that floor was just a mess of boards and beams and stone, there was nothing standing but a few door frames, the outside walls and a bit of the ceiling. Bruce wasn't sure that the next floor up would support him. If it couldn't and Dick was up there then they were both as good as dead. If not, Bruce as no closer to find the boy than he had been an hour ago. He took a step towards the stairs when he heard someone muttering something.
He knew it was Dick.
"...been enough..."
It took him forty five seconds to get through the smoke and the rubble to Dick's side. "What son?" he asked quietly, kneeling down next to the boy's head. Dick didn't answer. He didn't move at all and for a moment Bruce's heart almost stopped. He couldn't find Dick's pulse with his gloves on and for a moment, he thought Dick had died. Frantically he tore his glove off and pressed it against Dick's throat. He was still breathing, his heart was still beating, although very weakly.
"Oh thank god," he exhaled. "Nightwing?" he asked softly, slowly brushing Dick's face with his bare hand. "Dick? Can you hear me?" but the boy didn't open his eyes or move. He sighed. "Never mind."
Where was Superman when he actually needed him?
"Stay unconscious Dick," he said gently. "This isn't going to be comfortable for you."
Dick was half buried in what looked like a door and part of a door frame. He must have been going through one when the explosion happened. It was practically a miracle that Dick hadn't been killed immediately. Bruce cleared it away quickly and carefully looked the boy over for injuries. He was burned seriously all along his face and chest and there was blood on his mouth, in his hair and from a few minor shrapnel wounds in his chest and legs. But it didn't look like he had any internal injuries or spinal damage.
Bruce slipped his arms under the boy's shoulders and knees, shifting Dick closer to him. The boy hung limply in his arms. When he stood up Dick moaned a little, whimpered but didn't wake up. It was amazing how much Dick had grown but still felt like child in his arms. Every step was slow, careful, he didn't want to stumble because every movement was hurting the boy who was almost panting in his arms.
They were half way down when the eleventh floor finally gave out. Bruce flung himself into the closest door frame and curled his shoulders around Dick as the building shuttered and a cloud of smoke and dust rose around them. Dick's cough was pathetic, pitiful, like he was too weak to clear this lungs out properly. Bruce grit his teeth. His poor, poor boy. His arms tightened around Dick's shoulders without him meaning for them to.
The building rocked a little. Bruce snarled at it, and started to walk faster. Dick sobbed but being slow and careful wasn't an option any more either, so Bruce did his best to ignore that. It was remarkable difficult, not to hear his son in pain.
"How am I going to get you home Dick?" he muttered when as he strode towards the bike. "You're a little big to ride on this motorcycle with me these days."
Dick was shuttering, Bruce wasn't sure if it was from a fever or not, but it was unbearable. He was whimpering, almost crying as he shivered. Bruce was aware of the affects of radiation, but he couldn't think of them at that moment. All he could think of was his son, in his arms, clearly in pain.
"All right Dick," he said. "Here."
He pulled off his cape and wrapped the younger man in it. "We'll be home soon Dick," he muttered as he awkwardly positioned Dick on the front of the motorcycle. "It's a good thing you're not as tall as I am," he muttered. Dick's head dropped to his chest as Bruce climbed on behind him and managed to wedge Dick between his arms. They wouldn't be travelling half as fast as Bruce wanted to, but until they got back to the Batmodile, he didn't see any other choice.
They moved faster leaving the city than Bruce had been able to coming in. The streets were completely empty now. For almost thirty blocks Bruce didn't see another living soul, just burned out bodies as he wove through abandoned cars and chunks of buildings. It was eery, disconcerting to think of a place that had been alive and vibrant just a day ago. That his son had been like that too, a day ago.
But maybe Bruce was wrong. Dick hadn't been right for a long time. This had just made it worse.
Eventually Bruce found the emergency workers, the firefighters, the police. He should have stopped to help them,but Dick might not have that much time, so he slowed down but crossed through their lines. They had Superman anyway. They would be all right.
The refugees were being rounded up and herded to camps around the edge of the city and lined up for buses to Gotham and other nearby cities. The army was just arriving as Bruce left the city. Helicopters roared overhead as the world finally came to Bludhaven's aid.
Bruce pulled the motorcycle up next to the Batmodile and gently lifted Dick off of it, still wrapped in his cape and settled him in the passenger seat. "It's going to be all right Dick," Bruce muttered to him as he pulled the Kevlar, probably the least comforting fabric in history, higher around Dick's neck. Dick mumbled something sleepily at him, but Bruce didn't understand what he'd said. "I'll be right back."
Bruce rammed the bike into the wall as hard as he could, flipping off of it at the last possible second in a way that would seriously have impressed Dick, if he'd been awake to see it. At this point, he owed Dick one base and one bike but he'd replace them if the boy would just recover.
"We're going home now," Bruce informed Dick.
The Batmobile was so much faster, and Dick looked much safer there in the front seat than he had teetering on the front of the bike. Bruce relaxed a little for the first time in hours.
Next to him Dick convulsed a little. Bruce's hand shot out to turn the boy over onto his side. Vomit dripped out of his mouth. "Dick I'm so sorry," Bruce muttered to him as he held Dick's whole head in his hand. Dick heaved a few more times and then went still again but Bruce didn't let go until he was sure Dick wasn't choking on anything. "You'll be home soon," he promised.
He knew that Dick couldn't hear him but he had to say it anyway. He had to hope that Dick knew he was safe, that he was with people who loved him. His son would be safe. His son would get better.
"Alfred?" he asked, as the city and it's smoke disappeared behind him.
"Master Bruce? Are you all right? Is Master Richard?"
"He's alive," Bruce said shortly. "But not doing well. Be ready for us."
"I will be," Alfred promised. "Well done. Both of you."
Bruce knew the Batcave was only an hour or so away at the speed he was going, it felt like the longest sixty miles he'd ever driven.