Wally frantically searched the first floor, then the second, the third, fourth, fifth. On the tenth floor his heart stopped, then restarted, speeding up until it was a buzz in his own ears. He'd found his best friend, and the screaming panic in the back of his mind told him it was too late. In the center of a whirl of destruction, lay Nightwing, limp. His head was lolled to the side, and he'd been tossed across an office desk like a forgotten doll. Wally didn't know how long it took from the moment he understood what he was seeing until the moment he skidded to his friend's side. He might have broken the sound barrier he might not. He didn't care. All he knew was that there was a stain of red down the side of Dick's head and he wasn't breathing.
His hands were shaking almost vibrating, he had to concentrate, force himself to hold them steady as he focused on what he needed to do. Injuries in the line of duty happened, he'd been in the hero business long enough that taking care of a downed teammate wasn't new. Dick was going to be fine, and when this was over he was going to buy Wally lunch to make up for worrying him. He had to be okay. Wally just needed to find out what was wrong, bandage him up, and everything would be alright.
First, what did he need to do first. Establish vitals. Right. Make sure he was breathing and his heart was beating. Necessities of life before wounds. Dick wasn't breathing though, or maybe he was, maybe it was just really shallow and he couldn't see it. He certainly couldn't feel it, but his gloves weren't exactly thin enough to feel something as light as a shallow breath. It might not mean anything. What else? Pulse. If Dick's heart was beating everything else could be fixed. He reached for Dick's neck, placing two fingers on his carotid artery and waited. Then waited some more. Oh god. There was no pulse. No, no, no, no. This was wrong. Dick had to be fine. He was a Bat. Bats were prepared for everything. Nothing could touch them.
Except when something could. The second Robin had died after all, a semi-hysterical thought reminded him. No, that wasn't going to happen today. He grabbed Nightwing, gathered his body up into a bridal carry. He'd take him to a hospital. The doctor's would know what to do. They'd restart his heart and get him breathing again. Whirling around, Wally started to run for the door. Then he stopped.
Suspended in the air, not three inches from his eye, was a blackish brown teardrop. No, it couldn't be. Could it? Looking up to the ceiling there was a stain of the same color with what looked like a drop halfway formed frozen in the middle. Frozen because he was moving too fast. There was coffee on the ceiling from the fight. How had that even happened? And it wasn't moving because he was moving too fast to perceive it as moving. Just like his best friend wasn't moving. Oh.
Wally stopped, took a deep breath, and let the world speed back up.
The drop fell, and Dick spasmed back to life flailing in his arms. "What the hell!" Dick squawked,"Wally, where did you come from?"
Dick was just dazed.
This was inspired by My-Friends-Call-Me-Satan on Tumblr. She said, "When he was really worried Wally has probably tried finding the pulse of one of the other Titans, nearly breaking down and then realized he hadn't even tried for a second." I loved the idea so much I had to write it.
By the way, I'm trying to increase my writing skills, so I'll be trying to put something up like this every day. If you have anything you'd like to see, make a comment. I might write it.