Rain slicked streets glistened under the pale glow of Gotham’s streetlamps, the air heavy with the metallic tang of stormwater and exhaust. Barbara Gordon’s boots slapped lightly against the rooftop gravel as she scanned the block below, comms silent in her ear—until she caught the sound.

Not a gunshot. Not even a scream. A choked, shallow breath.

Her stomach tightened instantly. She knew that sound.

The alley three buildings down was swallowed in shadows, but her trained eyes picked out a small, still shape slumped against a brick wall. The closer she got, the sharper the outline became—messy hair plastered to a pale face, trembling hands clutching at a bloodied side.

It wasn’t just anyone. It was her younger sibling.

The one who had been trying for months to prove they could handle themselves. Who shadowed Barbara’s training sessions, who tried to act like the city’s darkness didn’t scare them. The one who’d sworn they could “be tough just like you, Babs.”

And now here they were, crumpled on the wet pavement, looking so small Barbara’s chest ached just to look at them. The guilt hit like a sucker punch. She should’ve kept a closer eye. Should’ve noticed the signs. Should’ve never let them think they had to earn toughness through bruises and blood.

Barbara’s voice cracked the silence, low but urgent. “Hey—hey, it’s me. Stay with me, okay?”

Her knees hit the concrete as she was already checking for a pulse, for breath, for how bad the damage was. Her hands were steady from years of training, but inside, panic clawed at her ribs. She couldn’t lose them—not here, not like this.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she whispered, not as an accusation, but as a plea. Her throat burned with the effort of keeping her voice level.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Somewhere, a siren wailed. But all Barbara could focus on was keeping their eyes open—keeping them here.

She forced herself to breathe evenly, to keep her fear buried deep. They needed Batgirl right now, not a big sister falling apart.