"Gimme a sit-rep, Nurse!" The Doc said as he wheeled an unconscious girl on a bed down the hallway from the entrance of the Jump City Hospital. She looked pale under the bright lights, and her breathing was weak. She was covered in thin cuts, and blood was starting to drip from her nose.
Long story short: it didn't look good.
But that's why Nightwing dialed him. Because Doctor Bruce was good at his job. And, well, when shit really hit the fan he was on speed dial. Why? Because Nightwing saved Peter Bruce and his family from a home invasion orchestrated by the Nequeria Gang, who were quite livid with Bruce's denial of the gang's request to purposely sabotage a rival gang bosses recovery while they were in a coma.
Afterwards they kept in touch; Bruce helping Nightwing when someone was too injured.
Dr. Bruce served in the army as a field-medic (Father was a doctor and trained him), saving both comrades and enemies alike. He would later join Doctors-Without-Borders, and after went to settle down with his childhood sweetheart in Jump City. But he couldn't stay away from the action, and now the aging fifty year-old was one of the most prestigious doctors in the city.
Well, him along with his best friend and colleague, Dr. Carl, who was also part of the Teen Titan's backup failsafe if shit hit the fan.
"Petey, we might need to use a ventilator." William Carl came up to assist in wheeling the pale girl to the emergency room. Peter shook his head. "I've seen something like this in my days in the Persian Gulf and later in Afghanistan. We definitely need to pump oxygen into the bloodstream, too." Carl nodded towards a nurse. "Nurse Betsy, we'll be in room 204. Get a ventilator and an ECMO, stat!" The old grandmother of a lady nodded and went on her way.
A young man's voice from behind was heard. "Where are they taking her?! Raven!" The two doctors heard footsteps running towards them. Peter wasted no time in alerting nearby nurses to stop the young man. "Keep the poor lad back, and give him a checkup!"
The two doctors should've known better.
The young man jumped over the two nurses trying to stop him, and ran to the girl's - who is called Raven - side. "Is she going to be okay?" His voice was stern but relatively cold for someone his age and stature. Dr. Bruce was about to shoo him away when Dr. Carl tugged his coat sleeve. "Wait a minute, Pete, I think she's breathing better!"
Not going to question it. The grizzled Doctor thought. And sure enough, she was. "Young man, I normally wouldn't allow people without credentials to—"
"I know how to save a life. I'm not some young ma—" the young man interrupted.
"Be that as it may, I will allow you to accompany us." Peter firmly finished.
"For now, explain to me what happened. Why is she covered in cuts? What was the cause?"
The two doctors arrived at ER room 204, and a nurse assisted the group in moving Raven to the operating table.
* * *
She was going to be okay.
The procedure took a while. The poison in her bloodstream was known by Dr. Bruce. He called it "Fox's Kiss" — a type of toxin that pauses the body from functioning and attacks vital organs. It was named "Fox's Kiss" because of its nature.
Harmless, but once sitting in the victim longer than five hours without proper medical treatment, the victim would surely suffer immensely and die.
Sly, overlooked and quiet. Like a fox.
The "kiss" was added by Mr. Duvan Antoine, a French author in the early 1900's who was quite the romantic. Damian grimaced. Of course the French had to outdo their own wit when naming something so viciously deadly.
After stabilizing her, Raven began to heal herself. Surprisingly to Damian, the two doctors were unfazed. "We're still going to keep tabs on her, lad." The more grizzled of the two said. "We'll keep her overnight. You should go home."
Damian didn't.
He couldn't. How could he, after what he had done?
If it wasn't for his ineptitude and naivety she wouldn't be in this position. She still had a ventilator to help her breath — the sound of the metallic breathing filled the semi-quiet room with gusts of inhaling and exhaling. He sat in the recliner next to her; a book on his lap, and guilt ridden on his face.
The two men they had faced earlier blew up the factory. That factory was a ruse so that the metas could be out of the way. But how could the two thieves know that they would run into Damian and Raven? The fight between Damian and the big thief was still fresh in his mind. It was obvious now to him that the man anticipated Damian's katana. Why else did he wield a tancho?
Damian clenched his fists. Stupid, stupid, stupid! If it wasn't for Jon and Wally to show up at the right moment Raven would've been too late to be saved.
It all clicked.
Raven was the target. She's the strongest out of the Titans. If Damian was a robber, in the thieves' shoes and planned an offense against his own team, the most obvious variable to take out was Raven.
No. Too obvious. His sleep deprived mind was getting to him. He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and looked to Raven.
There was only one thing for certain. He failed. Not only himself, the team, and the city.
Most and above all he failed her.
Damian threw his book at the wall opposite of him out of sheer frustration.
He underestimated them. And Raven has now paid the price with almost her life. Now she laid at his side, pale and immobilized in a disgustingly bright-painted hospital room.
Something wet trailed down his cheek. He felt his face, and recoiled at the sight of his fingers.
The realization of what it was hit him like a punch to the stomach. He was crying. These were tears.
He really has lost it, huh?
He tried to stop it. Will the tears to cease. But they only fell faster and harder. His own throat betrayed him, and he choked out sobs. Why? Why did he care so much for her? Why did she even bother with him? He was a terrible person. Has done terrible things.
And now? He's caused his best friend to be bedridden after an operation gone wrong. So much for the fighting chemistry Grayson claimed they had.
His head fell into his hands, and the tears continued to fall without his permission. His shoulders shook with every quiet choked-out sob.
What has gotten into him?
No matter. He no longer cared.
After several moments, the sobs became less frequent, and the tears stopped trailing down his stained cheeks. His eyes felt puffy, but that was better than how his heart felt. He drew a deep breath and grunted, fixing himself in the chair to seem less vulnerable.
The least he could do was be there for her now.
* * *
YOU ARE READING
DamiRae Oneshots
Fanfiction*NOT MY FIRST FANFIC PROJECT* Title says it all. Here's the run down, reader. Third person. Last time I checked, I'm not Rick Riordan. I write long chapters to help you and your OTP fever. You're welcome. Oh, and I don't own any of the characters...
