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Dick noticed the red dot a split-second too late.
He managed to dodge enough that the shot grazed his shoulder instead of his heart, but the force was enough to send him off-balance. The wet concrete didn’t help his feet find purchase, and before he knew it, he was tumbling over the ledge of the roof.
The world spun, and his stomach dropped out. It was instinct that saved his life. Somewhere in the tumult, he spotted a second ledge and snagged it.
He yelped when his full weight fell into his hands, yanking them back so it was only his fingers clinging to the edge of the building. His freshly-injured shoulder felt like it was on fire.
A strong gust of wind, the kind you only feel from the tallest of buildings, sent his legs swinging wildly.
He didn’t need to look down. He was too high up; he wouldn’t survive the fall.
Instead he focused up, and on getting back to the roof. He had fallen further than he had thought; he was hanging off the bottom ledge of the observation deck two floors down. If he could get high enough, he could break through one of the windows.
“Nightwing!”
His attention snapped back to the roof, where a small masked face peered down at him. Damian looked panicked, under his domino.
Dick tried for a smile; he probably grimaced. “Get down! Sniper!” But even as he said it, his bad hand spasmed and he lost a centimeter of purchase. Shit.
Damian seemed to listen to him, because his head disappeared over the ledge again. Dick hoped that he was finding shelter.
He knew better.
A second gust of wind blew through, and he tucked his knees up to lessen the drag against his feet. The sniper didn’t seem to be able to get a clear shot to him here, or maybe he was just waiting until Dick fell.
That wasn’t going to happen.
He adjusted his grip on the ledge and tentatively reached to his hip for his grapnel. Except it wasn’t there, because he had given it to Robin when Robin’s grapnel was damaged earlier in a fight.
“You need it more than me,” he had said. “Because capes catch the wind.”
Bullets will throw you off roofs, too.
He grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the ledge, straining every muscle in his body to pull himself up far enough to reach the bottom ledge of the metal window frame above him. His bad arm protested, the strain in his shoulder getting a little louder with every passing second. Just as his finger brushed the beam above him, a bullet whizzed by, ricocheting off the metal beam and narrowly missing tearing a second hole in his bad arm.
Dick hissed, dropping his hand back to the ledge to support himself. His fingers began to tingle under the pressure of his bodyweight.
That was when one of the glass windows above him shattered.
Dick ducked under the spray of safety glass. He assumed it was another shot from the sniper until a black hood poked out of it.
“Nightwing! Grab my hand!”
“Robin!” Dick said, relieved. But even as he said it, a cold weight fell into his gut. “You need to go. You’re in range.”
Damian, as expected, totally ignored him. He leaned out of the window far enough to make Dick’s stomach flip, reaching down with both hands. He must have anchored himself to something inside. Dick could see the black line from the grapnel around Damian’s waist.
He wouldn’t have the leverage to duck.
“Grab my hand!” Damian demanded.
Dick shook his head. “Get down!”
He could hear the wind before he could feel it, a low moan down the wind turbine of the closed city streets followed by an icy, wet pressure swinging him backward.
He lost his grip.
Two hands closed around his wrist.
Dick’s heart raced. “Damian.”
It was a testament to his concentration that Damian didn’t remind him of the ‘no names’ rule. His entire body strained backward, his arms shaking with effort. “Hang on,” he gasped.
He wouldn’t be able to lift Dick; he was strong, but he was small.
Dick saw the moment Damian realized it, and the moment a second later when his face pinched in determination.
And the moment after that, when a red dot hovered over Damian’s right shoulder.
Dick’s stomach plummeted. “Get inside,” he ordered. “Now.”
“I’m not leaving you!”
“I’ll be okay,” Dick lied. His eyes trained on that dot, where it drifted over to Damian’s head. He imagined the shot being fired. He couldn’t imagine it. “Let go.”
“No.”
More wind pulled Dick down, and dragged Damian’s Robin cape every which way. Dick slipped until Damian was holding onto him only by his hand.
A surge of panic sent Dick’s heart racing. “Damian.” The red dot was center over his forehead. The threat was clear enough. “Let go of me right now.”
“No!” Damian’s voice was thick. “Never!”
Dick watched that red dot like it was a ticking time bomb. Slowly, like sinking into an ice bath, a cool wave of calm washed over him. He knew what he had to do.
He studied Damian’s face. The kid had grown a lot in the last few months, in more ways than one. “This isn’t your fault.”
Damian’s face twisted up in confusion.
Dick used the last of his adrenaline to swing his free arm up into a nerve strike, numbing Damian’s fingers.
Just long enough, and Damian’s grip loosened.
Dick watched his face recede, wind roaring in his ears.
The red dot was gone.
Dick closed his eyes.