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Carrie would like it to be known to all Gods walking this Earth that this was not her fault. She woke up early, ate a Damian-approved healthy meal, did her morning workout routine, and arrived 15 minutes before her midterm so that she could get her favorite seat right by the window. How would she plan for Killer Moth to decide today, of all days, was the perfect time to rob Gotham U?
The worst part wasn’t even him breaking in. No — he had to come crashing right through her window. She narrowly avoided getting cocooned in the middle of his grand entrance as he ranted about the school’s recent donation — moth collection? Grant money? — which would soon be his. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he demanded everyone hand over their cell phones so no one could call the cops.
Unfortunately, Carrie’s phone situation was... complicated. Her previous one was initially lost right before Christmas, and then found, and is now very much broken. The replacement Tim had dropped off? Still sitting at home in the box – transferring everything is annoying, okay? So when she pulled out the useless brick, Killer Moth did not take it well — not one bit.
"Oh, come on! What is that, a museum piece?" he scoffed, raising his net launcher. "No phone? That’s insulting! What am I robbing — a college or a retirement home?"
She barely had time to roll her eyes before he fired — whether to make a point or just because he was a petty jerk didn’t really matter. Carrie dove behind the seats, muttering curses as silk splattered the wall behind her, just barely missing her hair.
And that was how she ended up sprinting through the Thomas Wayne Science Building, dodging cocoon nets and swearing under her breath. She refuses, — absolutely refuses — to spend another hour picking silk out of her hair. She’d had more than enough of that back when she was Robin thank you very much.
She dodges to her left as another cocoon net shoots past her, sealing yet another stairway and potentially the last exit on this floor. “Seriously?” Carrie hissed, glancing around wildly for anything useful. Her heart hammered in her chest, mind racing through every trick she knew. There were no vents, no service doors. Just webs — thick, gleaming, and layered like silk-draped deathtraps.
Then she caught it.
A glimmer. Light bounced strangely off the nearest webbing, a faint shimmer that jogged her memory - Killer Moth’s webbing. It wasn’t organic, it was synthetic.
Carrie’s eyes lit up with sudden, desperate hope. Synthetic fibers meant, in theory, that heat and friction could degrade them. Maybe even burn through, if she could create enough of either. With a plan in motion Carrie ducked into the nearest lab.
She didn't have time to calculate. Carrie threw her shoulder against the glass supply cabinet, grabbed a half-empty container of rubbing alcohol, and splashed it towards Killer Moth’s latest cocoon blast. Before she could overthink it, she snatched a lighter from the emergency kit nearby, thumbed the wheel, and tossed it into the soaked silk.
The flame whooshed to life instantly.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," she muttered, very loudly and very much like a panicked student who definitely did not think this through.
Killer Moth shrieked and staggered back, wings flaring wildly to avoid catching fire.
Carrie used the moment to bolt past the flames, down the hall, and out of sight, already making a beeline back towards her classroom. She tugged up her hoodie and hunched low as she ran. No one needed to see her face.
She slammed through the classroom door as screams echoed down the hall. Half the class was huddled under desks, and the rest were frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the smoke curling under the door.
Carrie didn’t hesitate. She let herself collapse right against the wall, panting and shaking like someone who had just sprinted for their life — which, to be fair, wasn’t a complete lie.
"He’s coming this way," she gasped, voice pitched just enough to sound scared and breathless. "Block the door, block the door!"
Immediately, panic took over. A few students rushed to barricade the door with chairs and desks, while others clung to each other, whispering prayers and curses.
Carrie stayed low, pulling her hood tighter. She kept her head down and her breathing uneven, doing her best impression of someone who is terrified out of their mind. But her mind? Her mind was already racing. If Killer Moth got through that fire and made it to this room… That is when she heard it. Footsteps.
Heavy footsteps, fast and sharp. Not Killer Moth — way too smooth for that idiot. A flash of yellow and black dropped cleanly through the shattered window, landing in a low crouch amid the smoke and chaos.
Carrie felt relief ripple through her. Good — Duke could handle the mess she’d made of the hallway and lab. She sagged back against the wall, relaxing for the first time since this whole thing started.
The rest of the class was silent, staring at the vigilante who had just entered. Duke didn’t waste time. He looked to the professor first, “What happened?” It only took a few rushed words – Killer Moth, chasing a student, and now fire – before he nodded sharply and addressed everyone, “Fire trucks are on their way, stay quiet. I’ll handle this.”
He was gone the next second, slipping right back through the broken window without another word. It was silent for the next few minutes, then shouting. Moth definitely – Good for him. Then nothing.
It was already over when the fire department showed up and started helping students out through the window.
"Wait — was that Signal?" someone whispered as they climbed out.
Carrie kept her head down and said nothing, regretting once more that she had decided to stay in Gotham for university.
~~~
Carrie wasn’t expecting company when she stumbled through her apartment door, reeking of smoke and clutching her hard-earned burrito. After three rounds with campus police, she just wanted to eat peacefully.
She definitely wasn’t expecting them.
Damian was already sitting at her kitchen counter, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Duke leaned casually against the wall nearby, scrolling through something on his phone like he was just there for moral support.
Carrie froze.
"...Why are you—"
"You still don’t have a working phone," Damian cut in sharply, voice low and cold. Carrie groaned and let her bag slide to the floor, "Does this have to be right now? I am a bit tired.”
"Yes," Damian snapped, sliding off the stool and advancing until they were eye-to-eye. "You were in a dangerous situation. You didn’t call for backup. You couldn’t have even if you wanted to."
Carrie scowled. "I handled it."
"Barely!" Damian shot back immediately, voice sharp and rising like he couldn’t believe she said that. "You ran around dodging nets like an idiot!"
Carrie raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me—"
"You didn’t even have a phone!" Damian pressed on, steamrolling right over her. "What were you going to do if it got worse? Throw another lighter? Hope for the best?"
"I’m out of the field, Damian," Carrie shot back, tired and defensive. "I’m not Robin anymore. I’m not supposed to need backup for college."
"This is Gotham!" he snapped, flinging his arms out in frustration. "You can’t just— just wander around without anything and expect things to go your way!"
Carrie sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Damian—"
"No," he cut her off, pacing like an angry cat. "No. You don’t get to brush this off. What if Duke wasn’t around? What if you got stuck? What if you got—"
He stopped himself, scowling deeply.
Carrie blinked. The silence was louder than the yelling.
What if you got hurt hung heavy in the air, unsaid but impossible to miss. And that was the real reason, wasn’t it? Not the phone. Not the backup. Damian — who spent hours hanging out at her place, complaining about Gotham and pretending he didn’t like being there — was scared.
Scared, she didn’t think about the people she'd leave behind. Just like Christmas, when she disappeared and didn’t tell him.
Carrie sighed and slumped back onto the couch.
"...Fine. I’ll set up the stupid phone."
"Good," Damian huffed, still glaring despite the fire leaving his voice.
"You’re such a brat," Carrie muttered as she grabbed the box off the counter.
"I’m right," he shot back, crossing his arms and refusing to look at her.
Duke snorted loudly from his spot in the doorway. "Man, you two are hilarious."
"Shut up," Carrie and Damian said in unison.
Still grinning, Duke shoved Carrie’s burrito into the fridge and pulled out the Mediterranean he’d brought — small miracles.