Many thanks to user Hagarb who sent the following prompt idea:
How about a scenario where Batgirl in her early years of fighting crime is chasing some ordinary thugs to a back alley or warehouse but things went terrible wrong for her? She fights them good at the start but they managed to fight back surprisingly well, and now Batgirl is not the hunter but the prey, fighting for her survival.
This one-shot is for you! I hope it is along the lines of what you were thinking!
If Batman could do it, so could she.
Those words had made so much more sense when Barbara Gordon had been sitting staring at her reflection as she combed through her auburn curls in front of the dressing room mirror. The mantra had continued to make sense all the way to the fabric store and back and especially during the long night hours spent sewing lavender Lycra, golden yellow satin, and purple ripstop into a disguise that she felt she and Gotham City both could be proud of. Even as she gathered her gear, then meticulously labeled everything for easy recognition in hand to hand combat, and stitched the bold yellow bat symbol on her chest, the idea that she could be every bit as good as Batman still rang true in every version of events that she played out in her head.
A long patrol later and it didn't make sense anymore.
What had she been thinking?
The pattering of rain drummed against the concrete sidewalks of Gotham City and gurgled down the long gutters to the street drains. She leaned her back against the crumbling door that led to the old, rusty fire escape still clinging to the side of the Gotham paper mill, having spent the last tortuous moments climbing up the many stairs in the winding steel staircase to hide on the top floor.
Everything hurt and crimson blood still ran in slow trails down the visible skin of her cheekbone.
The dark shadow below was climbing too. Time was running out.
It had all started several hours ago, on what had felt like a normal dark and windy night. Black clouds raced across an angry sky illuminated only by narrow glimpses of the moon between their ragged curtains. It hadn't been a productive night in the crime-fighting world. Perhaps bad guys retreated wisely to their hideouts when storms were in the forecast. Perched atop the gabled roof of the Gotham City bank, Batgirl stood in near-perfect stillness surveying the streets far below. "Six hours of patrol and not one criminal to show for it," she muttered to herself. Batman had probably caught the Riddler or the Penguin or something magnificent and was already back in the safety of his anonymous home congratulating himself for a job well done with a glass of sherry and a book.
Batgirl sighed, sinking to perch atop the slippery roof tiles and survey the city. This superhero business was pretty boring, at least tonight. Sure, she had been able to have that first big fight with the Penguin when Batman and Robin had managed to get themselves all tied up, and even managed to save the day, although no one knew that except Alfred, the Wayne family butler who had gotten himself involved in the whole situation. She had been magnificent, but in her opinion, Batman had been a bit cavalier in his reaction to a new crime fighter on his turf. As a girl and a newbie to the scene, she was sure that there would be some proving to do to the current superhero that ruled the town. And, she reminded herself, as a result of having been treated as an oddity, it had resulted in the whole intention of this nighttime scene, after all. Commissioner Gordon was having a regular town meeting, and many of the important townsfolk such as Bruce Wayne would be there. Perfect time for crime to happen while the town was preoccupied with discussing the new road being built on the east of town.
Batgirl sighed again, wrapping her cape tightly around her shoulders, shaking her head slightly to throw off the rain dripping down her mask into her eyes. It was a miserable cold night and she was beginning to not care a bit if there were any bad guys to catch. Dawn was hours away and she needed sleep and some hot tea, and not in that order. And dry clothes.
Untangling herself from the precarious perch, Batgirl crept along the roof of the bank, toward the backside of the building where she could leap down unseen and maneuver the back alleys toward her hidden Batcycle on the other side of the city. Carefully, she dropped to all fours and peered over the edge, watching for passersby that she didn't want to encounter tonight while looking like a wet rat. Seeing nothing and no one, she flipped her cape over her shoulder to keep her legs free of entanglement and dropped to the concrete below, knees bent to take the impact of the drop.
Instantly she knew she had made a severe misstep.
Standing before her was a tall man, a typical black ski mask pulled over his face. His immediate reaction was to drop the bag he was carrying, kick the door of the bank closed behind him, and dive toward his opposition in the space of time it took Batgirl to realize that there was someone right below where she had perched blatantly robbing the bank. There was enough of her analytical mind still working to ask the question: why wasn't the alarm going off?
Instinctively, the survival side of her brain kicked in and she ducked the flying fists, headbutting the man's stomach, driving him backward into the door he had just kicked closed. He grunted on impact, harshly bringing up a knee into her stomach, and an elbow down on her back at the same time. This knocked the wind out of her at the same moment that she felt something crack in her chest, and she roll-dived away, landing in the wet street, arms shielding her face. He was moving quickly, and she could only scramble to her feet and leap backward, ignoring the pain at every breath, to avoid his attempts to kick the air out of her again. Her thoughts were that if she could set off an alarm of some kind, or get what he was trying to steal, she could get it back to safety, and present it to the Commissioner as a trophy of the criminal's defeat. Stupid thing to do when running was probably the wiser, but six hours of trying to prove that she had skills had done the most dangerous thing that a superhero can do.
Forget that you are not invincible.
That daring, stupid plan would only be possible if she didn't get kicked in the chest again. Watching for an opening, she feigned that she had all attention on the criminal, arms held up as if she was going to charge him. That was unthinkable in reality, as he towered a good foot or more above her, and his shoulders were broad, the strength clearly visible beneath the black leather jacket he wore. Carefully, they circled each other, both still gasping for air and taking a quick rest. She gathered her courage and started toward him, while he leaped toward her, then she turned at the last possible second and let him grab the air, while she sprinted for the bank door. Quickly, she ducked to grab the bag he had dropped and hit the fire alarm button on the door, at the same time that he realized his mistake, and headed in her direction. Turning tail, she ran down the alley toward the police station. No one would be there right now, but she knew the codes to get in, and if luck smiled upon her, she could get in and get the door shut before the robber caught up to her.
Wishful thinking. The one thing she forgot to do was be sure of the strength of the opponent.
All the weapons she knew he had were his fists. But that wasn't all, and that oversight was to be her downfall.
Fighting against the intensifying chest pain as her fractured ribs complained of the stress upon them, she tried to run for it. A familiar explosion roared behind her, and a burning pain slammed into her right leg. This brought her tumbling to the concrete street, the bag of loot flying several yards away in the impact. Everything exploded in pain. Her leg hurt, her ribs hurt, and her skin hurt from contacting the rough asphalt. Lycra was flexible and good for quick change disguises, but not for protection from blunt force self-crashing. She tried to shake away the stars that filled her vision, trying to decipher if the blackness around her was from loss of said vision or if the night around them was still that dark. The pain lessened somewhat as adrenaline numbed her nerves, and she carefully sat up. A burning began to settle along the right side of her face, and by the slow trickling, she knew that the street had won that battle.
Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. The tall masked figure leered over her, one broad hand pulling his mask off, the other cradling the gun she had not known that he had.
"Well, well. We have a little Batman imposter, do we? Got his colors and all. A nice look doesn't leave much for the imagination, does it? What a waste of a good time. Listen kiddie, you really shouldn't look up to freaks like that. Look at the mess it's got you in. SO much bleeding so quickly in the fight." He reached a hand to touch her chin, tilting her head so he could look at whatever had happened to her face.
"He's not a freak and I am not a kiddie," she managed to retort, and he smirked, letting go of her chin.
Planting one booted foot on her bleeding ankle, while easing back the hammer of his gun, he looked her straight in the eye. He seemed to enjoy the way she tried to hold back the surge of agony his foot left her in, trying not to pathetically gasp for air, and the skin around his dark eyes wrinkled in mirth. "He is a freak, my dear, or he would be here just like a true hero and be dramatically saving you. Swooping out of the sky, all cape and muscles. But he isn't is he? Probably off somewhere with a dame on one arm and champagne in hand, just living the dream. So, what shall I call you? Bat Woman? Nah, you ain't but a fragile little sprout. Easily bent and crushed underfoot. Batgirl. There, that'll do. And what do you think little girls should be doing, hmm, Batgirl, on a night like this one?"
She curled her lips in a snarl, not daring to speak as a barely concealed scream lay behind her clenched teeth.
He removed his torturing foot, kneeling on one knee beside her. She threw her arms back for support to try to shove herself to her feet, but the gun was instantly inches away, held in a steady, unmerciful hand.
"They should be sleeping," he answered his own question, reaching his gun to lift her chin so he could meet her eyes. At any moment, the hot bullet of death would leave the steel grey barrel, and this foray into the world of crime-fighting would be over. All she felt in that moment of realization was disappointment. Disappointment for herself, and the abilities that she knew she had, and disappointment that such a rookie mistake could end the ability that she had here and now in a rainy, muddy street behind the bank.
"Little bats sleep while the big bats do the work," the man continued in a slow, cold drawl. The cold metal of the still cocked weapon touched her cheek, as he used it to shove strands of hair from her face. "Do you know what happens to little bats that leave the cave too early?" He asked, slowly trailing the gun down her neck.
She leaned away from the touch and set her face into the most disapproving silent snarl that she could muster, and he smirked at the absurdity of it all. He trailed the weapon further and further and leaned closer toward her face. She studied his eyes, his jawline, his five-o-clock shadow intently, trying to sear every inch of his face into her mind. She would remember him if she ever saw him again. If the steel bullet didn't end the war first.
He was hovering merely inches away from her face now, breath tickling the skin that was not covered by her disguise, and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Again, absurd. Time seemed to stand still. Finally, he seemed to consider for a moment, then his face relaxed. "The predators get them. And thats the end of the baby bats."
He uncocked the gun, tucking it into his inner jacket pocket, then grasped her arm, pulling them both to their feet. The sudden movement left her unable to stand for a second, as the rib pain took her breath and the still bleeding ankle took her balance. He swept her off her feet instead, laughing as she tried to shove him away.
"Baby bats aren't strong enough to be on their own, little one. You just relax. I can give you another bullet and leave you here where no one will find you until tomorrow, or you can come with me and get out of this rain and get that ankle looked at and we can save the bullet part for later. I'm kind of looking for a good time and this money and finding you has made my evening so much better. It's gonna be a good night for me. Can't say the same for you."
His evil laugh echoed in the dark alley and she nearly threw up. Why, oh why, had she picked tonight to try crime-fighting?
"Hey, you there! Stop thief!"
The sudden shout behind them startled the perpetrator and her both. But luck was not in her favor as the criminal whirled around to face the approaching threat, dropping Batgirl's legs, leaving her hanging in the air in the grasp of one arm, desperately trying not to get dropped to the street. Her ribs screamed in protest and she bit her lip in an attempt to keep the scream inside and not add to the unraveling of the one who right now was holding the key to her life or death.
"Come one step closer and I shoot her where she stands," he shouted evenly to the police officers who had finally arrived to check out the alarm at the bank. In the distance, the sound of fire trucks arriving could be heard over the din.
Reaching up to where his arm encircled her neck, she fumbled for the clasp that held her cape on, and unsnapped it, allowing her to drop to the ground, leaving the man with an armful of only the cape. He kicked instinctively her direction. Instinctively, she dodged the flying foot and scrambled to her feet. She immediately began to run as best she could, her only plan to get away from the chaos behind her. There were gunshots, shouting, running footsteps, and then only silence. But she dared not look back.
The adrenaline wore off a few blocks away, and she ducked into the old closed-down paper mill. At least it was dry. Carefully looking around to see if there was anyone else, she felt satisfied that she was alone. Sinking to the floor, she tried to breathe slowly, desperately trying to keep the panicked thoughts and feelings at bay. The pain was finally sinking in and she knew she had to get her ankle sorted and quickly.
The next few moments were spent examining the bleeding leg injury. It was only a flesh wound as best as she could tell, so hopefully, no bones were broken. Bat Wrap from her utility belt and a few scraps of wood later, and her splinted ankle didn't feel better but it was much better than bleeding everywhere. She would have to get it checked out professionally once she got home. She'd have to think of a reasonable excuse between now and then because her father was going to have a lot of questions.
She was unrolling more Bat Wrap to try to wrap her ribs so she could get home without puncturing a lung, if she hadn't already, when she heard a sound like someone was coming down the street. She had to go somewhere. Maybe the criminal had escaped.
Her eyes darted around the dark room and fell on the spiral staircase leading to the top floor of the mill where the offices had once been. Stuffing the Wrap back into her belt, she moved as quickly as possible toward its potential safety.
Every step was a stab of pain, as she had to alternate her weight-bearing leg to ascend one cold step at a time.
Down below, there was a sudden commotion as two men rushed into the factory. One was someone she had never seen before, and the other was the man whom she had interrupted at the bank. He was clutching his left arm with his right hand and the other man was supporting his hunched-over figure.
"Easy, Clive, take it easy, you're still bleeding there, dude." The new man spoke in concern, helping the man to sit down almost exactly where she had sat moments before. "Here, let me take a look at that."
"Thanks, Dex. Glad you happened by when you did. Thought you skipped out on me back there."
There was a warning tone in the man's voice that sent shivers up Batgirl's spine. He was frustrated, angry, and injured. That was a bad combination. Why did they have to pick the same building that she did to stop and assess injuries?
"Aw gee, Clive, don't be like that. When that dame showed up I didn't want the cops to catch you so I went out front to be real obvious so they'd go for me."
While the two men talked, she carefully kept climbing, nearly in slow motion, barely breathing, to try to get up the stairs. Once up there, she could lock herself in one of the old offices if need be.
She heard the men talking about flesh wounds and 'it just grazed you' then the sound of ripping fabric. Between that and her slow journey up the stairs, she was so focused that she did not notice the container of Bat Wrap that she had haphazardly shoved back into her belt slowly slipping from its containment with each step she climbed.
Finally, she reached the top of the staircase, the men's voices a mere mumbling down below. Carefully pulling herself to her feet, she moved toward the long hallway that branched off to the various sales offices. At that same moment, the box of Bat Wrap fell free of her belt, and tumbled down the staircase, falling through steps and bouncing off others until it hit the ground far below. Holding her breath to see if they would notice, Batgirl pinched the bridge of her nose. Today couldn't go any worse. Another rookie mistake.
To her chagrin, they noticed. Clive picked it up in two fingers, his other hand curled against his chest, wrapped up in strips of what had once been his shirt. His tanned skin shone in the dim light from the drenching rain, and he raised dark, malicious eyes toward the staircase where he and Batgirl's gaze met for a second. His face turned from anger into the leering grin of a cat that knows its prey is trapped in its reach. It was an ugly wild grin and she knew his intentions were not going to be good. He hefted the box in his hand for a moment, eying her through the stair railings. Thinking quickly, she moved away toward the offices, looking for one that had a door that looked as if it would still close. Perhaps this had not been such a safe idea.
"Hey Dex," she heard the man say in a voice loud enough for her to hear. He was goading her, taunting intentions dripping from his words. "Go ahead and keep an eye out for us. If you see anything, yell. I am gonna go upstairs and look around and have some fun."
"Sure, Clive, what are you going to do up there? Just a bunch of old offices and file cabinets." Dex studied his friend while he wrapped his own arm in strips of Clive's shirt, having apparently been wounded in the battle with the police as well.
"Aw, not much," Clive replied, tossing the Bat Wrap toward his friend who caught it in one hand. "Here use that, it works great for gunshot wounds. I will yell if I need you. I'm gonna go tame me a bat."
Adrenaline was overtaking her thoughts as she realized she had effectively painted herself into a corner. There were no other openings to the outside of this building except for a fire escape in the very back. This was her first option. Running toward the old door, she tried opening it, only to find that the old metal had rusted and the door refused to budge.
"Going somewhere, Bat Baby?" Clive called behind her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Great. He had reached the top of the stairs already.
She whirled to face him, her back against the one door that would have led her to freedom. "Don't you dare come any closer."
He stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, a strange sight, his injured arm bound across his chest, his left leg also bandaged, and he stood on a tilt, favoring the injury. He smiled grimly.
"Don't let the bandages fool ya, Bat Baby. A bum leg and arm won't hinder me any. This Bat tamer is about out of patience with you and you know what happens then, right?"
What would Batman do, she asked herself desperately. What would he do? Well, he wouldn't have let himself be cornered, for starters, but that option was long past correcting. She had to create a barrier between herself and the very angry Clive. Quickly, she ducked into the nearest office, slamming the door shut and locking the knob. Looking around, she only saw a file cabinet and a desk. But she found her injured ribs would not allow her to budge either of them. She groaned in frustration, moving to the only other escape route, the old window. Shoving the disintegrating curtains aside, she looked down into dark nothingness. They were about three stories up, and there was nothing beyond the window to jump to, jump on or climb.
There was a crash behind her, as the old door gave way, and Clive stepped in, a hungry gleam in his dark eyes. Fear clutched her throat for a moment, as the realization that this was about to go really badly dawned through the courage that adrenaline had previously given her. But as the adrenaline waned, so did the courage.
"Now we can make this as hard or as easy as you want it to be," he drawled, hefting his gun in his good hand. His limping stride carried him quickly to where she stood, the old window the only thing between her and the world beyond. "But you and me, Bat Baby, we got a date here and now, just to kinda, you know, make it up to me that you completely ruined my heist tonight. Then, you and my bullet here, you two got a date after that to, you know, make sure I won't have to see you again."
A sudden impact threw them both across the room as the glass around them shattered into a million fragments. A tall, dark figure burst through the old window with a swoosh and landed lightly amid the fractured remnants. "No one is making anything up to anyone," the dry, harsh voice spoke.
"Batman," Batgirl whispered in relief, and he turned his head silently to gaze in her direction. Her relief immediately turned to unease as he did not speak. He turned back to the criminal who was fumbling for his gun.
"Nighty night." He withdrew a can from his utility belt and liberally sprayed the contents in the man's face. He slumped to the floor and Batman kicked the gun to the other side of the room. The disgust on the Caped Crusader's face was evident by the sneer below his mask.
Then he turned to Batgirl, still silent toward her, his expression indiscernible beneath the dark mask. He moved to kneel before her, the only sound the swish of his long cape. Reaching out a gloved hand, he touched her chin, turning her face slightly to see what had happened to her face. The disapproving silence was palpable in the moment, the only sounds the faint exclamations of Robin and Commissioner Gordon downstairs arresting Dex. His eyes bored into hers for a long moment. Finally, she swallowed hard and looked away, unable to decipher all of the emotions displayed in his eyes.
"You need to get checked out," he finally spoke after taking a deep breath, his tone one of a parent who really wants to scold their child but first wants to make sure they are not injured after they do something stupid like climb a tree and then fall out, after being told a hundred times not to. "That's an order."
"I - I can't go to the hospital," she replied nervously, looking away from the intense gaze, "You know, disguises and all."
"That doesn't matter right now," he replied flatly. "I have surveyed the camera footage from tonight and you need to get checked out. Is there anyone that does know your secret that you can trust?"
She fumbled to think for a moment, then brightened a little. "Alfred, Bruce Wayne's butler. He accidentally found out my identity, I swore him to secrecy. I - I do trust him, but I really don't want Mr. Wayne to know. He'll probably tell - anyhow, he probably won't like it and he will say it's too dangerous and all that."
"I can't say that I disagree with him," Batman replied in an odd tone. "Very well, we will go to the Batcave. I will bring Alfred there as well."
He moved toward her, spray can still in hand, and she looked confused, instinctively moving away from him. "What - what are you doing?"
This time, he gave her a small smile. "This is simply Bat Sleep. You will fall asleep for a little while, and I can wake you up instantly with the Bat Wake. I can not take you to the Batcave while you are awake. Batgirl or not, I must keep my own identity, I am sure you understand that?"
She considered and nodded tiredly. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it." She couldn't argue. He was working with her to retain her hidden identity, so the least she could do was to accommodate his wishes as well, although it was unconventional.
"Sit down," he directed, not unkindly, and she complied, trying to hide the winces of pain as her ribs complained about moving again.
"It won't hurt will it?" she asked nervously, trying to discern the intent in those intense dark eyes. Even close up she couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling.
"No," he replied simply. She nodded in acceptance and he moved closer. "Close your eyes. You won't feel anything, which I believe would be a mercy at this point."
She nodded once more, unable to argue with that logic, as her brain heard the Bat Sleep mist gently over her face and that was the last she knew until she woke up, not in the Bat Cave but her own room, in her own bed. Alfred was at her side, a kindly smile on his elderly but wise face.
"Ah, good to see you awake my dear. Batman brought you to the Manor, and lest Mr. Wayne discovers your - our - little secret - I brought you home. I have given your father instructions that you were injured when a bookcase at the library collapsed and he has not questioned the state of your injuries. There were no major damages, nothing some rest and proper British tea will not be able to correct straightway."
"Thank you, Alfred, I truly appreciate your kindness. I - I feel like a bit of a fool if I am honest. I could sense that Batman was angry with me. I almost wish he would have yelled, I might have felt better. I thought I could do this superhero thing, Alfred, I really did. Instead, I had to be rescued like some damsel in distress."
Alfred gave her a knowing smile and patted her knee through the covers. "If he was angry it is only because he knows what it's like to be out of options, and he was perhaps merely angry that someone would go to such lengths to hurt you or anyone in this town on his watch. Rest, for now, my dear, it will all make sense in the morning."
Perched outside the open window, in the misty rain, sat a dark figure keeping watch. All night, still as a statue, only his cape fluttering noiselessly in the wind, vanishing only when the dawn of morning brought light back into the shadowy world.