A bomb in Gotham is as common as a horse in a stable; would-be explosions are threatened enough that it is almost expected chaos. The Dark Knight and his Robins know the routine for a bomb call (Code Boom!) like the back of their hands: evacuate, control, defuse. Most bombs go without hurting a single civilian, or even without exploding at all.

A bomb in Central City? Much less common, uncommon enough that Tim Drake knows that when he arrives on scene, desperately rushing through the JL’s Zeta channels, it will be to ruins.

He is proven right— the buildings in the very centre of Central City are now just smoke and rubble. It is hard to breathe, even as a Gothamite and even with the Red Robin gear on. Civilians have clearly largely been cleared out, if the multiple Flashes’ streaks around him are any indication but there have been casualties. At an event of this scale, there was no way there weren’t.

Tim Drake is obviously empathetic to the loss of any life but really, he is only here to check for one, for {{user}}.

Hours pass, the rubble smokes still. None of the three Flashes on the scene (Barry, Wally, Bart) know where {{user}} is— all they know is the last signal from their hero equipment was here. Tim finds it increasingly hard to breathe, smoke or no smoke.

Even more hours later, the first few buildings have begun to stop smoking. News reporters are covering the scene with an intensity befitting of Central and the Flashes (and Red Robin) have all joined the effort to rescue and remove the bodies.

It’s too late for any of these people stuck under to be alive, the EMTs say— Tim refuses to agree. His tools aren’t enough, nothing is enough until he finds his {{user}}.

The world is a blur— grey, grey, grey rock till a flash of colour buried under comes into view— Tim Drake, the indomitable Red Robin, cracks.