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A toddler—the toddler, the one that’s being used as a pawn in some gang war—is kneeling next to Dick’s head, crying hysterically and slapping his cheek. He feels like he can barely breathe, and the room is filled with smoke so dark and thick he can barely see the wall across from him. His head feels heavy and fuzzy, but through the haze it shouts run.
He coughs and sits up. “Shh, it’s okay,” he tells the girl. “We’re gonna get out of here.” He stumbles to his feet with watery eyes and unclips his cape, wrapping it around her.
“Out now!” she orders, fighting the cape a little. “Out!”
Dick scoops her up without another word, pulling the cape over her head completely before pulling her against his chest. There are no windows in the room they’re in, but there is a door. It’s locked, but it’s old and easy to break open. He steps out into a hallway where the fire is eating the walls and just starts running. The floor creaks, or maybe it’s the ceiling. Either way, something’s about to give. He tries not to think about it as he runs through the building, hunting for a door or a window—anything that’s out.
Something comes crashing down from above and he does his best to dodge and use himself as a human shield to protect the kid. Flames lick at his back, but not at the kid. He’ll take it.
He stumbles through the house like that—responses all instinct and eyes set on nothing except getting outside. It’s hard to breathe and it’s hard to stay upright, but the toddler is coughing and crying so he keeps going. He sees a door up ahead, and Dick dances around flames and a fallen bookshelf to get to it. It's not until he hears the loud voices that he freezes—another instinctive response. There's even more shouting just before the door breaks open, and Dick has a moment of panic before he recognizes them as firefighters and relaxes.
He goes for the doorway and hands the toddler over, cape and all. He opens his mouth to speak, but all he tastes is smoke and all he says are coughs. The other firefighter lifts him up and carries him out of the house, faster than Dick thinks all of that gear should allow.
“Is there anyone else inside?” He asks.
“Dunno,” Dick says. He reaches for his emergency beacon and presses it. Twice. (Should’ve done that first. Stupid.)
The firefighter sets him down on a gurney and then he’s running off again, back towards the burning building. An EMT looks down his throat, and after he determines that it’s not going to swell shut, he pushes an oxygen mask into Dick’s face. Dick takes it, pressing it closer with his hands as he nods and gulps and coughs.
“You inhaled a lot of smoke,” the EMT tells him, like Dick hadn’t noticed.
He doesn’t respond, though; he can’t focus on anything and he can already feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness now that the fight or flight response is easing down. But he needs to look for Batman, needs to get to him before anything else.
“Robin.” And just like that, Batman’s there.
Dick shoves at the EMT to let him slide off the gurney and pass.
“He’s hurt, Batman. Just let us check him out.” The EMT sounds desperate, reminding Dick why he doesn’t like dealing with them. Dealing with the way they sound and plead and honest to god think Robin will drop dead if Batman takes him home.
Dick leans into Bruce and his knees give out. Bruce picks him up and takes him away from the screeching sirens and flashing lights. All Dick can think is that he can’t breathe and he doesn’t feel right.
“Drugged,” Dick finally pieces together.
There’s a pause. “With what?”
“Kid,” Dick starts, realization and panic forcing him above the exhaustion again. “There was a kid—I had her, she—”
“Easy. She’s safe. You did good work tonight, Robin.”
Dick has a lot of questions about what tonight entailed, but all he can do is choke and gasp and fight against passing out. He just wants it to stop.
“Shh,” Bruce tells him gently. “I’ve got you.”
Dick passes out before they even get to the car.
oOo
Dick wakes to the feeling of something uncomfortably warm and sour crawling up his throat. His mouth opens on reflex before he’s even fully awake, and then he’s gagging and drowning in vomit and someone is shouting.
Something is ripped from his face and there’s a sickening splat against the ground as Dick can finally breathe again. He gasps before his stomach convulses again and Bruce pulls him upright, shoving something into his hands, which he gags into again and again and again. When there’s nothing left and his stomach is done forcing him to dry heave, he’s panting and shaking and covered in a cold sweat.
Bruce presses a kiss into his hair, rubs his arm and says, “You’re alright, chum. You’re alright.”
“What was that?” Dick says between breaths. Alfred offers him a washcloth for his face and a cup of water, both of which he accepts eagerly.
“A street drug with sedative properties. I hadn’t seen it before tonight,” Bruce tells him. Dick swishes the water around in his mouth and then spits it into the basin, which Alfred takes from him before Dick’s shaking hands can spill it.
“Is it supposed to do this?” Dick asks, lying back down and clutching his chest and stomach.
“I don’t have enough information yet.”
Dick groans and Bruce rests his hand on his head. “Kid okay?” he asks before Alfred slips a clean oxygen mask over his face.
“Yes. She’s being kept overnight, but there are no burns and her airways are looking as good as can be expected.” Bruce rubs his thumb into Dick’s temple. “You’re suit prevented any serious burns, but there are some minor burns along the back of your neck and part of your hair was singed.”
“Guessing my airways are alright, though?” Dick asks. His chest hurts, sure, and he’s on oxygen, but it can’t be that bad; it’s not like he’s intubated.
“We’ll keep monitoring.”
“Are you in any pain, Master Dick?” Alfred asks.
“It’s fine.” It’s not. “How long were we in there?”
“We don’t know. At least ten minutes.”
“Did they do it on purpose, or were they just stupid?” And who were they? Dick knows there was a “they”—there’s always a “they”—but then again, he doesn’t even remember being grabbed. His head is still fuzzy; he can see the information, but he can’t grab it and translate it into sense.
Bruce shakes his head. “The kidnappers are claiming that they were hired for the job but the gang leaders double-crossed them, tied them up, and lit the place on fire. The kidnappers escaped and fled the scene, but I found them before they could get far. They’re currently in custody.”
“Did they know that we were in the building too? The gang leaders, I mean.”
“Yes,” Bruce says, and then stops like that’s all he’s going to say. Dick looks at him eagerly, and Bruce releases a long breath before he gives in. “From what I’ve gathered, the leaders were likely planning on killing the girl the whole time; it was never a hostage situation like the hired kidnappers are claiming. You also weren’t part of the plan, and maybe taking you is what made the gang leaders angry. But it’s also possible that the gang leaders were planning on killing the kidnappers the whole time to prevent any loose ends and they saw taking you down as a bonus. It’s still unclear how the drugs fit in, however, but I’ll know more after I read the report in the morning.”
Bruce not knowing so many things is one thing, but not actively seeking answers the first chance he gets is another. It’s weird. Wrong.
“What’s wrong? Did something else happen tonight?” Dick asks, sitting up a little as panic grips him. “Is Babs okay? Where is she?”
“She’s fine. Home,” Bruce assures, easing Dick back down and looking at him like he’s a teetering antique vase.
“Then what?” Dick demands.
Bruce sets his jaw, and Alfred rests his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I think we are all a little on edge due to this evening’s events. You were missing for over two hours, and we were unable to track you.”
Dick’s eyebrows furrow. He saw the building; it wouldn’t have blocked the signal to the tracker in his suit. “But—”
“They took it out,” Bruce explains. Not broken, not blocked, but intentionally removed and deactivated. “Somehow they knew where we kept it. They also deactivated your emergency beacon, though they left that on your belt for some reason.”
Oh.
Oh.
Dick pales and he feels sick again. “How?” And who else knows?
“We’ll change them, perhaps add more in multiple locations,” Bruce says, always with the plan.
For the first time that night, Dick realizes just how badly things could have gone. There’s a new drug out on the street, one that Dick might have been the guinea pig for. Bruce couldn’t find him, and worse yet, he probably only ended up at that abandoned building by scanning police radios. If that toddler hadn’t been there to wake Dick up, or if she’d passed out from smoke exposure a minute earlier, they’d both be dead. All because someone knew about the trackers. Knows.
Dick nods, clenches his jaw. No one says anything after that. Alfred takes a seat and watches the monitors and Bruce rests his hand back in Dick’s hair, rubbing his temple back and forth in a rhythmic motion. No one talks and Dick wracks his brain for any detail from his abduction that could be useful. But there’s nothing, and no matter what plans Bruce puts in place, everyone is all too aware that this could happen again, and the next time, he might not make it out.