PRESENT DAY
Dick made his way towards the study where he knew he'd find Bruce. He entered the large wooden doors, sunlight filtering in from the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Off to the corner sat Bruce hunched over a laptop with a thousand different papers tossed around the sizable wooden desk.
"Hey, B," he greeted. The man barely spared him as much as a nod.
Dick walked closer to the desk, hands in his jacket pockets. "Alf told me you haven't slept in a few days."
The billionaire made an incoherent noise of recognition.
"Have you eaten anything today?" It wasn't unusual for Bruce to skip meals, even with his rigorous training schedule. Dick didn't understand how the man was sitting here relatively conscious, but he'd learned to ignore it as he'd gotten older.
There was no response.
"How's the work coming along?"
Bruce finally sighed in irritation, sitting back in the maroon armchair. He stared at Dick with tired eyes.
"Yikes," Dick commented as he crossed his arms. "I'll take that as not good."
Dick walked around the desk, lightly shoving Bruce's shoulder. "How about dinner? Alf's making meatballs."
"I have work to do." Bruce's voice was dry and scratchy.
"I can see that. The work will still be here in half an hour after you eat. The meatballs, however, will be cold. So choose your fighter."
Bruce stared at him for a moment, before sighing in defeat. Dick offered a small smile as the man stood up to his full height, an inch or two taller than him.
"We have a thing called an oven," Bruce said as he stepped around the desk. "It's for heating food."
Dick snickered as he followed his father out of the study. "C'mon, you know it's not the same."
Bruce didn't reply as they walked into the kitchen, but Dick could see the man visibly relax at the smell of the food and the steam wafting from the stovetop.
"I know it's the last thing you want to talk about," Dick finally brought up as he walked to one of the many cabinets to grab a glass of water. "But I think Tim should be coming back from his tour with Meredith soon."
Bruce didn't have any reaction as he took a seat at the counter.
Dick placed the glass of ice water in front of his father. "If it's any consolation, there's a good chance he'll hate it. Right, Alf?"
The butler tilted his head towards the two of them from his place at the opposing counter. "If that is what's going to make Master Bruce feel better, then, yes. Absolutely."
Dick frowned. Freakin' British sarcasm.
Okay, so, there was a very slim chance that Tim was going to hate it. Probably even slimmer considering it's now something that Bruce is actively against, and all of Bruce's kids' favorite thing to do was disobey him. But there was still a chance, technically speaking.
Dick's ears picked up on one of the doors leading to the garage opening. A few moments later, Tim walked into the kitchen in a navy suit, beaming from ear to ear.
So much for a slim chance.
Dick still gave his brother a smile regardless. "Heya, Timmy. How was it?"
Tim dropped the briefcase near the doorway with a thunk. "It was so incredible!"
Dick raised his brows in interest, purposefully making sure to turn his back away from Bruce. "No kidding— let's hear about it, then."
"Well," Tim walked over and stole a piece of garlic bread from the counter, earning a smack from Alfred with a towel. Tim seemed in too great of a mood to care. "I showed up and met her secretary Janette, who was a little off, but Meredith later told me she didn't like her either. And then she walked me around her floor— have you seen her office?" Tim's sentences started to become muffled by his mouthful of bread. "Because it's awesome. I met most of her board, or at least the ones who were in today, and then she showed me the rest of the building, including her tech department downstairs, and oh— get this— I saw Victor working with some of the scientists! Weird, right?"
"Victor who?" Dick asked. "Victor Stone?"
"Yeah! He's heading the latest tech project, which is the coolest thing ever. Except he had to explain it to me in 'child terms,' because, obviously no one can know that we know each other. But it was still cool nonetheless— I can't wait to actually get some real details from him privately. And then after, she took me through the other important floors—" Tim paused to swallow. "Oh my God, Meredith is so awesome. You should hear some of the stories she told me— they're incredible. Did you know she's actually a certified lawyer? Like, how the hell did she even have time for a whole law degree? She does literally a million things, it's crazy. I'm shocked she even had time to see me today."
"That sounds great!" Dick chirped, careful not to show too much enthusiasm, considering he could practically feel Bruce radiating angry waves from behind him.
"That's not even the craziest part!" Tim continued, taking another bite of the bread. "So she takes me back up to her office, right? She's telling me about the job and the position and what's required of me and whatnot— and then she mentions that her office is on the seventy-fifth floor, but the rest of her board has offices on the seventy-fourth. She says that there's no more office space on their floor, so she's giving me a whole office to myself on hers. Isn't that crazy?! I didn't even think I was going to get my own— name on the door and everything— much less on the same floor as Meredith Elias' office. Can you believe that?!"
Dick smiled at Tim's enthusiasm. "That's crazy."
"I know!" Tim brushed his hands together to get rid of any residual crumbs. "And do you know her roof has a hot tub? And a helicopter pad? And the floor below that is a cafe. With unlimited coffee for employees. Unlimited! It was the greatest tour of my entire life."
"Wow," Dick laughed. "So, are you actually gonna take the job?"
"Dude." Tim gave him a look. "I know we're the sons of a billionaire and all, but look at my paycheck. And this is just year one!" Tim pulled up a screen on his phone and handed it to Dick.
Dick widened his eyes as he stared at the rather large number. "That's... a lot of zeroes."
"I. Know." Tim collapsed back against the counter with a smile. "She wants me to start in two days so I can get familiar with the building, set up my office, get my scan-in codes for security, and all that. Her next board of directors meeting is in a week so she wants me to have time to prepare. She also says I can have my own specialty coffee at the cafe! Isn't Meredith awesome?"
"Yeah." Dick glanced at Bruce, who looked very invested in just about anything else. "Sounds like it. Opportunity of a lifetime, Timbo."
"I'm so pumped, you have no idea."
They fell into an awkward silence and Dick inwardly sighed. It was going to be up to him to break the ice, as always. He stretched his arms out, turning around. "So... what are everyone else's thoughts?"
"I think it is a wonderful opportunity, Master Tim," Alfred said, setting down the silver ladle he was carrying. "Miss Meredith is brilliant in her field. Personally, I believe it is in your best future interests to proceed to work with her if that is what you wish to do."
"Thanks for the support, Alf," Tim said pointedly, rolling his eyes in Bruce's direction.
There was no response from their father. Dick sighed audibly this time. Bruce was really going to force Dick to ask him?
"And Bruce?" Dick raised an eyebrow. "Penny for your thoughts?"
Bruce didn't pull his eyes away from his phone in his hands. "Tim can do whatever he wants."
"Okay..." Dick trailed off. "And... he can 'do whatever he wants while still living here, right?"
Whatever higher powers existed seemed to love letting Bruce off the hook, because the landline chose to ring at that moment. Alfred walked over to the wall to answer it.
Dick shook his head at Bruce. "Saved by the bell."
"Wayne Manor, this is Alfred Pennyworth speaking."
Dick could tell Bruce was now visibly uncomfortable, and also regretting his decision to keep the landline intact when they remodeled the kitchen. Not many people still had the number to that phone, and for the people who did, Dick was sure that Bruce didn't want anything to do with them.
Alfred nodded. "Yes, absolutely. Of course. I'll put him on the phone now."
The butler pressed the phone into his collar bone. "Master Bruce."
Bruce stood up, face blank. "Who is it?"
"Master Devin, sir."
Bruce paused. Then he sighed. He walked over, took the phone from Alfred's hand, and put it to his ear. "What, Devin."
He was silent for a minute. Bruce rolled his eyes. "No." More silence. "Because I'm busy." Silence. "I don't want one. No, I'm not. I'm not going. I— because I don't care, that's why."
Bruce ran a hand through his hair. "No, you won't—" A pause. "Fine. But I'm still not coming to that. Yes. I'm aware. I still don't care. Bye."
He pressed the phone back into the wall.
"Can I inquire what that was about, Master Bruce?"
Bruce glanced up. It appeared he was contemplating whether or not to disclose the conversation. "Devin's just being irritating."
"I see. Would it have anything to do with next Thursday?"
"Next Thursday?" Dick furrowed his brows as he looked at the butler. "What's happening next Thursday?"
"Master Devin is hosting a party for Master Bruce's birthday."
Dick was surprised. "Ohh yeah, I almost forgot— wait, holy shit, B, you're turning forty next week!"
"Master Dick." Alfred turned a hard gaze to him. "Language, please."
Dick cringed. "Sorry. Uh, but anyway, that's a big deal! Bruce, you didn't tell me you were having a party."
"Because I'm not." Bruce took his seat back at the counter.
"Well, it sounds to me like it's happening," Dick said. "I don't know Devin very well, but I'm noticing a trend with the Elias family that they usually get what they want."
"Which reminds me," Alfred interjected as he placed a stack of papers on the granite counter in front of Bruce. "Master Devin took the liberty of sending copies of the guest list both on paper as well as via email. He informed me that he would appreciate your approval."
Bruce stared at Alfred, who gave the billionaire a challenging look back. Dick suppressed a giggle.
Bruce, realizing he was most definitely going to lose, sighed. He finally picked up the stack of papers and scanned them briefly. His eyebrows moved up suddenly, and he pressed the papers back down on the counter. "Johnathan Prescott? That's a joke."
With his inner detective's curiosity being piqued, Tim seemed to momentarily forget about his annoyance towards Bruce as he walked towards the group. "Who's Johnathan Prescott?"
Alfred even looked surprised, taking the list back and peering at the names. "I was unaware Mr. Prescott was—"
"—Alive?" Bruce interrupted, voice all dripping with sarcasm and irritation. Dick shared a look with Tim.
Alfred narrowed his eyes. "...still residing in Gotham. I'm sure he has changed over the years, Master Bruce. I doubt Master Devin would invite him if that were not so."
"Devin enjoys laughing at my expense, so I wouldn't put it past him."
"Who's this Johnathan guy, exactly?" Dick asked.
"No one important," Bruce answered abruptly. "I'm not going Thursday. It's pointless."
Dick stared at his father quizzically. "Then what were you agreeing to? You said fine."
Bruce glowered at the countertop. "I have to go to lunch with him tomorrow."
"How the hell did he rope you into lunch?" Dick asked.
"I..." Bruce sighed in frustration. "I owe him."
"Owe him?" Dick repeated. "For what?"
"Nothing important."
Dick scoffed, leaning into Tim and lowering his voice. "It's always nothing important with this guy."
Bruce glared at him out of the corner of his eye. Dick smirked.
"Tell me it isn't true, B. I dare you."
Bruce was silent.
* * *
Oliver Queen didn't have many friends.
Younger him would've been disappointed. He'd always thought that he was rather charming. Funny. Personable. At eighteen, he was the life of every party. But Oliver Queen wasn't the same man he was twenty-one years ago.
He'd lost a lot. Almost everything. His sanity. His parents. The few friends he did have. He almost lost his fortune but thank God he got that back from the corrupt directors that took over his company during his years on the island— ironically, his money was the only thing in his life that had never left him.
He didn't fit in with the founders of the League— a part of him, when he first started attending the meetings, hoped to maybe make a few friends there— maybe finally get to know people who knew the struggles of having a secret identity, maybe someone to grab a beer with after a long day of beating the crap out of criminals in alleyways.
But, like everything else these days, that proved to be futile, too. Barry and he hadn't particularly liked each other when they first met— it was better now, only thanks to Hal's ability to lighten the mood and bring opposing people together— but Oliver's relationship with the speedster was still only cordial at best, and that's all it was ever going to be.
Diana was polite to him, but it was no more than pleasantries. She was extremely busy and they didn't have much in common, anyway. Victor never truly got personal with any of them. Arthur was pretty cool— the Atlantean cracked a few jokes about himself and Oliver being the blonds of the team along with Barry— but the king of the sea usually had other responsibilities than to be seen with billionaire playboy Oliver Queen.
Clark, while always kind, had recently extended Oliver the offer to talk, but Oliver knew it was only because the journalist had an infatuation with being Bruce's friend, and just wanted more information about the Bat.
And Bruce was... Bruce, so that left Hal as Oliver's only good friend amongst the founders. They'd gotten together after a mission or two. Had a drink. Laughed over trivial shit. Hal was a good time and was also usually written off by the other members for being arrogant and irritating— Oliver knew what that was like. Perhaps that's why they got along.
Though Oliver gained a little credit back when he first became Green Arrow. He got a kid. He got recognition from Star City and other neighboring cities. He got a pretty consistent woman-slash-more-than-a-friend in the form of badass blond bombshell Dinah Lance.
But Roy eventually left. They didn't talk anymore. (Oliver partly blames Bruce's second son for that part. Ever the bad influence, Jason Todd was.) The recognition quickly went away, too, as media outlets realized he didn't have any superpowers and just dubbed him a "Batman ripoff."
At least Dinah was still around.
Outside of the League, there was Meredith, who was probably busier than all the heroes combined, so Oliver was lucky if the headstrong CEO even spared him a smile when they passed each other at charity events.
And then, he had Devin— who wasn't around often after his move to Miami, but the elder Elias child was the only person to make Oliver feel welcome these days. He knew Oliver. They had a history. He didn't judge Oliver for being stubborn or careless or whatever else people described Green Arrow as, because until recently, Devin didn't know Oliver was him.
He'd brought Oliver along to a few Elias family dinners. Asked him to be the best man at his wedding. Would come over to Oliver's empty mansion and brighten the entire place up— he'd talk to Oliver, not the playboy, or the hero; just Oliver. Just for the sake of wanting to talk. No ulterior motives. No drama. No hushed whispers behind his back.
Devin Elias was his only real, consistent friend.
Which is why Oliver made sure to triple-check that he looked his absolute best today— expensive aftershave, a smoky cologne, and a white collared shirt tailored to the nines, courtesy of Giovanni— Devin had invited Oliver to lunch.
Oliver knew Devin was in town because he was planning Bruce's fortieth birthday... could he even call it a party? It was more like a gala, from the sounds of it. Devin reached out to Oliver and offered an invite. He immediately declined. He'd be damned if he went to that bastard's fortieth-party-gala-whatever.
Devin then brought up the prospect of lunch, and of course, Oliver was thrilled. Any time spent with Devin was going to be a good time.
Oliver closed the door to his brand new Porsche. Latest model. Deep green. He stared up at the tall building he was going to enter— twenty-six stories and glimmering among the city skyline— the Gotham Correspondent Building. A bit of a bizarre place for lunch, but there was allegedly a restaurant that Devin was in love with on the top floor.
Oliver wasn't going to complain— Devin could invite him to a fucking Burger King, for all he cared.
"Hey!"
Oliver turned to his left, to see Devin Elias with his sandy brown hair and big smile walking down the sidewalk.
Oliver beamed, waving a hand. "Hey to you too, asshole."
Devin greeted him with a clap on the back when they met. "How are you, Queenie? It's been a few weeks."
"It has! How's your family?"
Devin gestured for Oliver to follow him through the large glass doors. The lobby of the GCB was modern and spacious, with Gotham's wealthy milling around— Oliver recognized a few.
"Good— my parents are out of the country again. Croatia this time, you know my mom likes that one Roman palace... what's its name?"
"Diocletian's?" Oliver filled in. He'd been there before.
Devin snapped his fingers. "Yes. But besides that, Mare's always busy. I'm trying to convince her to come to Bruce's thing on Thursday but she's against it, as you can imagine. I'm at the point where I'm about to hand her over some of my company shares to bribe her to come."
"Why do you want her to go so bad?" Oliver questioned as they stopped in the middle of the lobby. He turned to the older man and tilted his head.
"Uh, because Bruce likes her?" Devin explained as if it was obvious. "And I'm trying to invite as many people that Bruce hates— it'll be funny."
"Like who?"
Devin smirked. "Well, you've gotta come to find out. No spoilers."
Oliver curved his lips in irritation. "No fair."
"Life usually isn't."
Oliver chuckled. "Do you think Bruce'll even come? You know he hates his birthday."
"Well, he'd better. I'm pouring a lotta cash into this— I'm trying to decide between silver or gold placemats— fuck, dude. Party planning is no joke! How am I supposed to know how many tiers I want the chocolate fountain to be? Because there's apparently two to ten! Ten! Ten fucking tiers of liquid chocolate. Who even needs that? I just panic and choose the most possible— that's why I'm blowing so much money, but I can't help it! Do you think he wants dark or milk?"
"Uh, I would've said milk when he was younger, but I have a feeling he transitioned to dark. Ya know, if he eats chocolate at all."
"Good idea! That's what I was thinking, too. Plus, it's supposed to be healthier for you, apparently. All the stingy rich people will like that."
Oliver laughed. "I agree."
Devin grinned and started walking towards the elevator doors once again. "So, uh, I've got something to tell you about what to expect when we get up there, and you probably aren't gonna like it—"
The blond furrowed his brows, about to open his mouth and ask what that meant, but he was cut off as the ground rattled.
Oliver glanced around, thinking that maybe only he had felt it.
The building started shaking.
His eyes widened. Screams echoed around the large room. He turned to Devin, who immediately crouched down to get a more stable stance. Devin mirrored his face.
Everything came to a halt.
"The hell was that?!" Devin sounded panicked.
"I..." Oliver looked around as people started running past him and out the doors. "I have no—"
The building shook again. Glass shattered. More people screamed. Fear shot through Oliver.
"We need to get out." He grabbed Devin's arm and roughly pulled the other man back through the large glass doors in a crowd of more terrified civilians. Oliver dragged him across the street to get a better look at what was happening. They paused. Oliver's heart crept into his throat at the sight.
Debris started coating the street. Sirens were heard in the distance. The sound of steel cracking and concrete crumbling echoed through the street.
Oliver tilted his head up to see the top of the GCB collapsing against the pale sky.
"Holy shit—!"
Oliver didn't let Devin finish, running to his Porsche parked on the street and popping the back open. He pulled the panel disguised as the bottom of the trunk out, where a backup Arrow suit laid, complete with a full quiver and bow.
Devin appeared next to him with wide eyes. "Jesus! You bring all this with you in every car?"
Oliver didn't respond, heart racing, looking around for an appropriate place to change.
Devin suddenly took in such a large gasp, face turning stark white. He turned to Oliver frantically. He pushed Oliver's shoulder sharply, who stared at Devin like he was delusional.
"What are you—"
"Bruce is upstairs!"
The dark green quiver that Oliver was beginning to pick up clattered back into the trunk.
"Wha— How do you know?"
"Because I..." Devin's hands were shaking, eyes darting around to the scene in front of them. "I—"
"Devin!" Oliver shouted.
Devin's met his eyes again.
"How do you know?"
"Because— that's what I was trying to tell you! I invited Bruce to lunch and told him to come ten minutes earlier so you wouldn't see him! I— I didn't know that—"
If Oliver's heart was holed up in his throat before, it was now about to fall out of his mouth. "What?! Why the fuck would you do that?!"
"I was trying to see if I could get you two to talk!" Devin's voice was shrill, face white as a ghost, pupils dilated and eyes pale.
Oliver let out a long string of expletives under his breath as he tilted his gaze back up to the GCB, which was crumbling to the ground. It didn't look like a matter of architecture— the GCB was newly redone in recent years— it gave all indication that some sort of explosion had occurred.
"Shit," Oliver muttered, turning back to the car and digging underneath his suit to find a grapple gun. "Shit, shit, shit. This is the wrong one!"
There was another boom that made the whole block tremble.
"What do you mean it's the wrong one?!" Devin shouted over the scene. "What even is it?"
"Fuck, it's a grapple gun but— damnit! It has a weight limit of three hundred— that's not enough for both of us—"
"Both of who? Wait, you're not planning on going in there, are you?!"
Oliver closed the trunk. He steeled his jaw. He'd just have to make do with this one. "I'll be fine."
"Oh my G— Oliver!" Devin had a vice grip around Oliver's free wrist. "You can't go in there!"
Oliver ripped his hand away. "Well, what do you want me to do, Dev?! The restaurant is on the top floor, and Bruce can't make a fucking twenty-six story jump without a line!"
"Jump?!" Devin looked absolutely appalled and desperately confused. "What do you mean—?!"
Oliver was sprinting across the street.
Devin was shouting after him. Oliver narrowed his eyes to keep out some of the dust.
No time to think, no time to be scared, no time no time just Bruce— shit, what if he didn't get out? Oliver jumped around smaller piles of debris with a skill that playboy billionaires shouldn't have. People were still running out of the entrance, coated in dust and panicked and crying.
When he reached the stairwell, larger chunks of debris were clattering down and Oliver pushed a few people out the door before they could get hurt. Luckily, everyone was in too much of a rush to notice that Oliver Queen was escorting them out of a collapsing building.
"Fuck," Oliver hissed.
He started running up the stairs.
* * *
Sirens wailed down the block. Distant screams echoed in Oliver's ears— there were other people trapped in the building— shit. He couldn't save everyone. He clenched his jaw.
Oliver was good at compartmentalizing feelings when it came to Bruce, at least at League meetings when both of them were surrounded by the hundreds of security protocols Bruce had installed, and a roster of the world's most powerful people. In those moments, the dark-haired man was simply Batman, a teammate that Green Arrow barely spared a glance towards and only really conversed with for funding purposes.
But right now, Batman was Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne was Oliver Queen's old friend, and there were no security protocols and powerful people in between them, just the bones of a collapsed building teetering in the wind and bent steel.
Oliver's heart thundered and blood rushed through his ears and his throat was constricted because even for the little they talked these days, Bruce still had the same mischievous, steel blue eyes of the dumbass kid who used to be Oliver's best friend, and Oliver wasn't letting that idiot die.
The way he worked around teetering, sharp edges probably looked almost inhumane. But knowing what he was capable of, he was lucky that this was all now almost second instinct because mentally, Oliver wasn't truly there, and he wasn't thinking about how stepping in a certain spot would cause an avalanche of steel building or how if he misplaced a hand he would plummet hundreds of feet to the ground or how he had to avoid any wires no matter how dull they seemed because he could die from electrocution—
"Bruce?" He called, praying that he'd get a response, and Oliver so deeply regretted at that moment all the times he'd ever wished Bruce would shut his mouth because right now he'd kill to hear the Bat's voice.
He jumped up onto the next floor. Holes were strewn throughout the room, wide and gaping and making the building sway with the violent winds that nearly pulled Oliver's slightly torn white-collared shirt open.
"Bruce?" As he made his way through each floor, his voice became a little more desperate— not the Oliver Queen who was suave and polished and well-spoken— but an Oliver Queen who was scared and terrified so so desperate because why didn't he talk to Bruce more? Why weren't they still friends— why was Oliver so stubborn and difficult and why did he push everything in his life away—
Next floor. The wind picked up. His face was being ripped at harshly and the building felt like some sort of amusement park ride, swaying and rocking and creaking and— shit. Shit. Shit. There was no way anyone was making this out alive, and even if Oliver did manage to find Bruce— if Bruce was in here at all— how were they going to get out? He carelessly threw the wrong grapple gun into his car— he should've gotten the bigger one why didn't he—
Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter.
"Bruce?" His voice was now constricted, gripped with fear.
No response.
Fuck. Fuck.
Why wasn't there a response?
Next floor.
Electricity crackled from broken wires, wind ripping through his skin, steel rods and concrete falling like snow.
He made it to the restaurant. There was a distinct portion of the room that Oliver recognized as a detonation spot— he had been right, this wasn't an architectural accident, this had been planned.
Tables were flipped over and glass was shattered across the floor. Ceiling panels were missing and walls were blown out and one side of the building was just empty sky. There was a little sunlight from behind the dark clouds that caught the shine of the silverware strewn everywhere. It would've been somewhat... pretty if Oliver didn't know that there were most likely plenty of people trapped beneath the rubble on lower floors.
From the looks of it, it seemed that everyone more or less evacuated the restaurant.
Oliver stepped delicately over what he knew were unstable portions of the bokeh tile floor.
Maybe Bruce had already gotten out...?
"Bruce?" He called. His voice was still against the breeze and didn't echo.
No response.
Oliver's heart started to drop when suddenly he heard a grunt.
Was he imagining that?
"Bruce?" He tried again.
Another grunt. "Here."
Oliver took off in the direction of the voice, noticing that a substantial amount of concrete from the building support beams had fallen over one side of the room. The blond frantically made his way around it to find a figure on the floor, lower leg caught under a steel bar that was wedged beneath the concrete.
"Bruce," Oliver breathed in relief, putting one hand on the chunk of debris and sighing. "Holy shit, man."
Bruce looked up, forehead glazed with sweat and coated in sawdust that was stark against his dark hair and navy suit jacket. His eyebrows twisted into confusion. "Oliver?"
"Yeah," he breathed, inhaling a large gulp of dust and coughing violently. "Hey."
"What are you doing—?"
Oliver cut him off, dropping down next to him and inspecting Bruce's leg trapped under the steel rod. "Is it broken?"
"Fractured. The concrete took most of the weight. What are you doing h—?"
"How did you get stuck?" Oliver interrupted.
"Getting people down the stairs when the ceiling caved." He tried to push the bar up again with a grunt. "Wasn't fast enough."
Under any other circumstance, Oliver would've been stunned at the statement. Bruce never said he wasn't enough of anything. "Okay, shit, stop, stop— don't hurt yourself— Jesus, Bruce. Let me help."
Bruce seemed like he was contemplating whether to actually let Oliver help him or not. He finally sighed in frustration. That was probably as good of an agreement as Oliver was going to get.
"On three," Oliver said.
After muttering out the numbers, Oliver clamped his hands around the steel bar and pushed it upward. He clamped his teeth together, eyes squeezing shut as his muscles strained and the bar moved up just an inch with the two of them pushing, just enough for Bruce to pull his leg out. They let the bar slam down back onto the floor with a thud, sending dust spiraling up into the air once again.
Oliver briefly fanned the air in front of his face before offering his hand down to Bruce.
Bruce stared at the extended arm, his chest was rising and falling raggedly, Oliver noted. The archer almost rolled his eyes. Of course Bruce wasn't going to accept—
Bruce clasped his hand in Oliver's, who was thoroughly startled as he pulled the Bat to his feet.
"Thanks," Bruce grumbled under his breath so quietly that Oliver almost missed it. "Now what the hell are you doing here?"
He sounded almost angry. Oliver rolled his eyes. Batman was back.
"Devin was apparently staging an intervention and invited us both to lunch. We were coming in when I heard something and then the building was collapsing. Can you walk?"
Bruce gave a nod and began following Oliver like he didn't just have a ton and a half of building on top of his leg. "But why are you here."
Oliver's eyes darted around to find the stairwell, which was completely blocked by rubble. Damn. "Because Devin told me you were here."
"So?"
Oliver paused. "So what?"
"There are dozens of people probably trapped on lower levels. I can handle myself— why didn't you help them?" Bruce's voice was audibly angry, which only caused irritation to bubble under Oliver's skin.
"Yeah, it definitely looked like you could handle yourself," Oliver spat sarcastically. Couldn't Bruce just be appreciative for once in his fucking life?
"Queen, I would've survived—"
"How was I supposed to know that, Bruce?!" Oliver shouted as he spun around. "How the hell was I supposed to know it was just your leg? What if that had been your head? I'm sorry we're not all as great and spectacular as Batman, who can save every single goddamn person all the time— I'm just a dumbass— I get it. No need to fucking rub it in."
Bruce was silent as Oliver turned back around, trying to breathe through his rage while looking for somewhere to exit.
"If it makes you feel any better," Oliver spoke after a few beats of quiet. "Devin was panicking because you were up here. So I'm here for him, not you. Now help me find a way out."
Bruce, for probably the first time ever, had no response. Or he didn't deem Oliver important enough to respond. Probably the second one.
The way Oliver had come in wasn't stable enough anymore to leave through. Oliver turned in a circle. "There's signs of an explosion— did you see what caused it?"
Bruce walked over near one of the shattered windows and crouched down. He inspected the debris on the floor. "No. It was behind me. Fortunately wasn't big enough to be military-grade— more likely a pipe bomb of sorts. There was another following explosion on the floor below us."
Oliver hummed in agreement.
There were more moments of silence coupled with the occasional sparking of electricity as they both examined the room.
Oliver heard a loud crack behind him and whipped his head around, and suddenly the world fell into slow motion as the side of the building under Bruce gave out with no signs of warning. Oliver watched the man's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before Bruce was immediately lunging out, but it was too late.
Bruce disappeared into the sky.
There were really no words to describe what happened next because Oliver couldn't quite recall. He remembered feeling absolutely numb, being grateful that he had years of training that forced his body to react, or else he would've just stood there in shock for an eternity. He remembered Bruce's name tearing itself from his throat out of sheer terror as he sprinted forward, launching himself into an open sky full of falling debris as he got a lock on Bruce's location.
He remembered calculating the distance before they hit the ground, which wasn't a lot. He pulled his arms in, forcing his body to go faster to make up for the space between them. He remembered thinking two things very distinctly: one, throwing yourself out of a collapsing building was a hell of a lot scarier in regular clothes than in full hero gear, and two, there was a very plausible chance that one or both of them were not going to make it out alive.
He remembered being blinded by anger—anger at himself for not bringing his grapple gun which carried more weight so both of them would be fine, anger for not just grabbing his quiver because at this point, the world potentially finding out he was Green Arrow was better than their current outcome. And fear—not for his sake, but for Bruce's—fuck, if Bruce—damnit, why did it have to be Bruce— died right now because of him—
Why the hell did he bring the small one?
So stupid. So stupid. So flawed and moronic he was— damnit. Damnit damnit damnit.
He screamed Bruce's name over the wind, who flipped over, eyes wide, and realized Oliver was extending his hand. Bruce pushed his limbs out, slowing his fall just enough for Oliver to grab his hand, and suddenly there were probably fifty feet until the ground. Oliver spun himself around, shooting out the grapple gun at the adjacent building, hearing the clink! of it digging into the cement, and they were now soaring in an arc down towards the ground.
Oliver's mind was in overload thinking about a thousand things—dodging larger chunks of debris and trying to calculate how long until the ground and how long the grapple line would hold up and how the hell they would manage to land on the ground somewhat safely with Bruce and then the line snapped.
There were probably twenty feet. An easy height for Green Arrow and Batman, with full gear and gadgets and weaponry, but not for Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne in torn-up Giuseppe suits, with one of them having a questionable amount of injuries.
Oliver eyed the side alley they were headed for. A good spot for a clear landing. Chunks of debris were suddenly filling the space. His heart sunk. There weren't a whole lot of options in the few seconds they had left.
Oliver knew what the right decision was—there was Bruce, with kids and a family and a whole team of heroes who needed his guidance, a city that would fall into ruin without him and Meredith and Devin and their parents—Bruce was important. He was a leader and a friend and a father and a son and a brother.
Oliver was barely any of those things, and if he was, he wasn't very good at them. The League only needed him for his money. His parents were dead. He had Roy, but they barely talked anymore and Oliver doubted the young adult would truly care what the hell happened to him. He didn't have a lot of friends other than Meredith and for the few times, they saw each other, Devin. Star City would be fine without him. Any other hero could do his job.
Oliver wasn't important—he was just the guy who signs the checks, the vigilante with some useless skill who was always overshadowed by the Bat. Oliver remembers, at that moment, realizing just how very alone he was.
And on top of it all, as if he needed any more reasoning, Oliver still had some fucked up devotion to Bruce, the kid who was his best friend. The kid who bantered with him at four in the morning about random topics, who was funny and secretly kind and always gave good birthday gifts, who was probably the only real friend Oliver ever had— the only guy who had ever given a damn about him.
Bruce was a loss Oliver didn't think he could come back from.
Logically, the choice was obvious.
Bruce probably wouldn't agree, being the martyr he was.
Oliver didn't care.
He could tell Bruce was developing a plan—that's what he always did—but Oliver couldn't let him see it through. At the last second, the blond pushed himself in front of Bruce.
He remembers stunned wide blue eyes.
Everything went black.
* * *
Hello everyone! Where I am, I'm technically 17 minutes past midnight when I'm posting this, but today was my birthday! So I figured I'd post a chapter in honor of that haha. I've been on Wattpad for seven years now, and I started when I was fourteen. Now I'm nineteen and a sophomore in college ohmygoodness time goes by soooo fast !!! I'm so grateful for the platform I have now and all of my lovely readers. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter :) Thanks for over 21k!
xo Alexa
p.s. recently I've had a lot of people reaching out to me in my PMs asking me questions about writing/where to start as a beginning writer, and I figured I'd extend the offer here- if anyone has any questions about their writing/mine/writing in general, feel free to PM me! I'd love to help :)