Baba and Chikno [Batman Fanfiction]

I. Baba and Chikno

Takes place late January, the eighth month of Dick and Damian’s time as the Dynamic Duo.

Disclaimer:  I do not own anything.

I. Baba and Chikno

It was his fault.  That was the only thing Damian could comprehend, through the forming bruises, the splatters of sanguine blood, the littering of bodies that may or may not have been alive (Damian found he didn’t really care either way).  He vaguely realized that his hands were shaking, and, when he risked a glance down, all he could see was the sticky red that covered the green of his gloves.  Taking a hesitant step forward, he nearly stumbled on his own two feet, cursing himself for his clumsiness and squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of nausea that crashed down on him.  His knees locked painfully, before melting to a jelly-like consistency and sending him careening onto the cracked, stained concrete.

He forced himself to his feet once more, swaying for several harrowing seconds until he righted himself.  The world spun and pitched in front of him, but he took as deep a breath he could with his cracked ribs and continued to painstakingly shuffle towards the bloodied, bruised lump on the other side of the room.  Several bodies, scattered across the warehouse, got in his way, and the ten-year-old picked his way over and around them.  He’s pretty sure some of them were still breathing shallowly, and he felt the overwhelming urge to kill them right then and there.

Forcing the impulse down, he finally reached the limp body he had been trudging towards, almost immediately collapsing onto his knees at the figure’s side.  Dark red blood covered most of the figure, staining the blue-tinged black and the gray until it was almost unfamiliar.  Even through the blood and the thick layers of Kevlar, Damian could pick out the gashes and various wounds that marred Batman’s body, having sliced right through even the thickest of the Dark Knight’s armor.  A horrible, sickening thought made his ears ring and his head spin.  The heavy beating his mentor had taken, the amount of gore that coated the area around them.  It was too much.  There was too much blood on the floor, and not enough in his mentor’s veins, and-

He was breathing.  Barely.  But Batman was breathing, his chest rising in a nearly imperceptible, uneven pattern.  A faint whistling, gurgling noise broke the dead silence in the abandoned warehouse, and Damian clenched his fists to stop their ceaseless shaking.  He wouldn’t be able to get Batman back alive if he allowed such useless bodily functions to hinder him.  Pressing his hands against the wounds, he hoped to stem the bleeding, while at the same time reaching across the unconscious man to trigger the button that would bring the Batmobile to them.

“Batman,” Robin coughed, spitting out around the iron-tasting foulness in his mouth.  “Batman,” he hissed, jerking the man a bit to get him to wake.  The Batmobile would be there soon.  They would meet it in the alley right next to the warehouse, and then the autopilot would return them to the Bat-bunker.  “Grayson, get up,” the boy spat, ignoring the tremor that plagued his voice.

“Rrr-” Dick slurred, his consciousness too fragile and his throat too damaged to get the word out.

“Dammit,” Damian muttered, although the venom in his tone was tempered by exhaustion, pain, and the seeds of worry that burrowed deep in his gut.

They needed to get out.  Who knew how far off the police were, or if any of the many thugs were going to get back up, or if He would return soon to finish them off?  (You’re not my Batsy!  Where is he?  Where’s the real Batman?)  No, Damian had to get them out of there before anything else happened.  They could not afford more trouble, not with his vision threatening to darken and Grayson quickly bleeding out on the ground.  He was Robin, and Batman was in trouble, and damn it all, Damian Wayne was not a failure.