Screaming.

So much screaming.

On and on they went. So loud, so close. It wasn't until she saw the blinding red and blue flashes fly past her did she realize they weren't screams at all. They were sirens.

But why? What had happened?

Slowly raising her head off the ground, Barbara blinked the dust crusting her eyes and turned to the side. She barely moved an inch when an agonizing pain, unlike anything she'd ever felt before, shot through her. Her mouth opened and let out an involuntary scream, morphing into a strangled gasp halfway through as she inhaled a thick cloud of ash.

Tears leaked from her eyes as whatever was on top of her pressed down on her back, crushing her. Bits of glass clung to her hair and dress, falling to the pavement like stardust with each ragged breath she took.

Unable to breathe thanks to the ash and dust lining her lungs, blind panic took over Barbara, causing her to squirm beneath the rubble like a wriggling insect about to be squashed. Shit, this was not good. Not good at all.

A cool trickle of liquid ran down the back of her neck, and for a moment, Barbara feared it might be blood. Now was not the time to be bleeding out, not when she was only seconds away from sinking back into unconsciousness. Moaning, she brushed her fingers against her nape and to her immense relief, found only slick clear moisture on the tips of them. Sweat. It was nothing but sweat.

Though the heat from the fire bristled against her skin, it was not enough to keep her from shivering. She was wrong; she had felt this pain before. Back in the summer. Back in the car crash.

A painful whimper left her lips as soon as the thought crossed her mind. So that's where she was. She was back in Chicago. Back in that car.

It had come out of nowhere, a bright flash of headlights out of the corner of her eye followed by the sound of crunching metal. Before she knew it, the car was spinning across the slick pavement, out of her control.

The squeak of something nearby and in dire need of some oil made Barbara glance up. Just a few feet ahead on the pavement laid an overturned wheelchair, its wheel still continuing to spin. She stared at it, trying to figure out who it belonged to. No one she knew owned a wheelchair. Maybe it came from the other car that slammed into them?

A raindrop landed on her cheek, gently kissing her skin. As if on instinct, Barbara wiped the side of her face, her gaze shifting to the concrete coated in ice.

No, this was wrong. She wasn't back in the mangled car. It had been the middle of the summer then, and there hadn't been a raindrop in sight.

That meant she was in Gotham. Her dad had been injured by Pamela, flung across the room, then possibly crushed to death.

Her dad was dead.

A swell of tears came to her eyes at the thought. Her dad was dead.

And she would be too if she didn't get out from under what was left of the courthouse.

Screw that. She was not going to be killed by this city, not today.

She might not be able to move her body, but she could move her mouth. Though her tongue might feel like a wad of sandpaper stuck to the roof of her mouth, her throat drier than bone, Barbara refused to just lie here waiting to be found. She tried shouting for help at first, but her words were nothing more than a faint wheeze lost to the wind.

And yet, it was enough to draw someone's attention.

Just as she thought she was about to black out again, a rush of cool air slapped her awake. The immense weight had been lifted off of her.

Through wet lashes, she peered up at her savior, ready to thank them. Instead of the human face she had been expecting, a looming figure greeted her with eyes the color of blood.

Like a demon in the night, its red gaze burned through the dense swirl of ash and dust. It opened its mouth to speak, but Barbara didn't need to hear to know exactly who it was. She knew the second their eyes met through the darkness.

"Barbara! Are you okay? Don't worry, I got you." Richard wrapped his arms around her, barely even touching her as he scooped her up. As much as she wanted to protest, she saw no other way of getting into her chair without his help.

Damn it! If only she had the use of her legs back, she could get up and run. She could get up and fight.

But most of all, she could get up and not depend on him to get her to safety.

A sudden wave of nausea crashed over her, nearly to the point of making her vomit all over her gown. The world was spinning, fading in and out around her. The smell of gasoline clinging to Richard certainly didn't help the feeling.

She must've been about to slump over since Richard immediately reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her against the back of the chair.

"Barbara." Even his voice sounded distant, as if he were calling to her from a tunnel. "Where is Jason?"

"Jason? Jason Bard?" Damned if she knew. She'd been trying to figure that out for the past month.

Richard's body tensed, a shadow falling over his face. "No... Jason Todd. He should've been here with you."

His voice cut out again as another rush of nausea overcame her. A deep groan escaped her throat, and she was forced to grip onto the armrests until the feeling subsided.

"Come on, I'm taking you to the car with Alfred. You'll be safer there." Richard started pushing her down the empty sidewalk, probably realizing she was in worse shape than she looked.

From above, a soft drizzle poured from the sky. It wouldn't be long before the fire was washed out by the rain, its fuel reduced to nothing but a smoldering heap of wood and blackened debris.

Tendrils of mist crept over the street, replacing the mix of smoke and ash hanging in the air. It was so thick that when Barbara glanced down, she couldn't even see the ends of her legs.

"Hey." Barbara's gaze locked on the ambulance to the side, brows furrowing as they didn't slow down. "Stop."

He didn't answer, continuing to push the wheelchair over the wet, frosty pavement. But she knew he had heard her. The way his eyes refused to meet hers told her so.

"Richard." It took every ounce of strength just to raise her voice another octave. "Stop."

"I'm sorry, Barbara. But I can't." His eyes finally shifted to her. They were no longer red like before, but blue like the color of the sea. Like the color of the whirring lights all around them.

No. No! That was her last chance of getting out of Richard's cold, dead hands and she was not about to let it slip by. Shifting in her seat, Barbara tried to get the attention of the paramedics, but all that came out of her mouth was a weak gasp.

As they passed the ambulance, Barbara realized the reason the paramedics didn't bother glancing up at her. They were too busy with a person on the stretcher, a person who looked as if he had lost a lot of blood.

From around them, more screams rang out through the night.

A million jumbled thoughts ran through her mind. However, she couldn't even form a syllable without her teeth chattering. After several seconds of silence, Barbara shattered it with a simple, shaky question. "Where?"

Richard must've caught on to what she was trying to ask since he answered, "Someplace safe."

Yeah, right. Barbara might have not been in the most coherent state of mind, but she knew that anyplace that included Richard was no safe haven at all.

But then why was he here? Could it really be he was trying to help her? To save her?

Did he actually care about her?

Barbara pushed the thought away immediately. No, these things couldn't care. Couldn't love. Couldn't even feel. All they knew was to kill.

As much as she wanted to get away from Richard's clutches, there was nothing she could do about it. Practically on the verge of slipping into permanent unconsciousness, Barbara could only sit and stare at the pallid orange glow of the surrounding streetlights.

God, she was so tired.

"Hey, Barbara!" Richard's voice was edged with panic as he whipped his head down to look at her. Whatever he saw was enough to make his eyes bulge out of their sockets. "Your heart is beating too slow!"

Was it? Well, that explained why she was so cold. The fog and rain were like ice on her skin, cutting through it and chilling her to the bone.

"Oh, man." Richard shimmied out of his dinner jacket. "Here, take my jacket. It'll keep you warm."

As he draped it around her body, Barbara noticed how careful he was with her, almost as if he was scared to hurt her. It made her wonder how someone so violent—so evil—could be so gentle at the same time.

Wait, a minute. She had seen this scene before, hadn't she? Right at the beginning, right before this nightmare had begun. It felt like another lifetime ago, but it had only been a few weeks. He had offered his jacket to her on their way home from the library, a gesture she tried so hard to deny as "cute."

That same masculine fragrance of his was laced in this jacket too. As soon as it tickled her nostrils, the fog clouding her mind lifted and everything became clear. Heat flowed through her bloodstream, warming her to where she could no longer feel the goosebumps prickling her skin.

She was tempted to close her eyes and let herself sink into its warmth, bury herself in its woodsy scent. It was sweet, sweeter than any of Pamela's flowers.

It reminded her of that night at the party, of something she had been missing. She could almost feel his lips back on hers, his hands trailing down the length of her neck.

And that's exactly what made it so dangerous.

Though her brain begged her to let her bask in the scent just a little longer, her heart screamed at her to escape its intoxicating trap. She knew the second she threw the jacket off her, the bitter cold would return. Her body would go into shock and her organs would shut down.

She would die.

Pathetic, wasn't it? To die like this, so helpless and weak, with not even a fair chance at fighting back. It was too bad she didn't have the stake with her. It must be buried under the rubble, if not burned to a crisp. Though it was no fault of her own, Barbara still couldn't help but berate herself for losing such a valuable item.

Death had a twisted sense of humor, didn't he? Here, she had survived a horrific car crash, only to be done in by a lack of blood flow to her body. How cruel.

Well, at least it was better than dying from a broken heart.

"Just hang in a little longer," Richard whispered, placing his hand on her shoulder. "We're almost there."

Sure enough, as they inched closer to the alleyway, the low hum of a running car could be heard.

Well, it was now or never. Whatever waited for her on the other side of the corner, she refused to meet. Wherever Richard was taking her, wherever their final destination was, Barbara wanted no part of it. If she was going to die, she would die by her own hand.

Guess it was true what they said then. You couldn't cheat Death. He always got his due in the end.

So as Barbara ripped the jacket off her chest, she closed her eyes and let gravity take a hold of her.