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Jason kneels next to his boyfriend’s unconscious body, reluctant to let go of his hand. Dick’s not in good shape, which isn't a surprise considering he'd jumped out of a speeding Batmobile seconds before it exploded. Jason had seen the explosion, but not Dick bailing. That period of time between seeing the explosion and realizing the car had been empty, and then the frantic search for Dick - Jason never wants to go through that again. He gives Dick’s hand a squeeze, feeling the fingers flutter in response.
As much as he wants to keep holding Dick’s hand, Jason needs the use of both of his own to get Dick stable for transport. Alfred is on his way, and Jason can't waste anymore valuable time. He pops his flashlight into his mouth to hold it, and gets to work. Dick’s pulse is fast as his heart works to compensate for the blood loss, and the little amount of visible skin is pale. Jason knows better than to remove the piece of shrapnel, though he packs the area with gauze and bandages as much as he can. He immobilizes the dislocated shoulder but leaves the broken leg alone until he has help and a splint. Those kinds of first aid supplies are kept in the Batmobile, currently a steaming wreck. Jason finds more shrapnel injuries, but none of them nearly as severe as the first one he saw. It looks like many of them didn’t fully penetrate the suit’s armor.
Jason feels like the rat that has been inside of him since seeing the empty car seat is scuttling between his stomach and his mouth, undecided between terror that Dick is still very much in danger and exhilaration that he’s alive. Breathing.
The plane arrives in minutes. Jason startles to see that Red Robin swings down along with the stretcher. Superboy must have given him a lift from the Tower. Jason appreciates the help, though, as they work together to splint Dick’s leg and move him onto the stretcher. Dick shows no sign of regaining full consciousness, but when Jason gives a final squeeze to Dick’s hand before sending the stretcher back up, Dick squeezes back once again.
Jason willingly jumps into the pilot’s chair so that Alfred and Tim can work on Dick. He hears them talking to each other, about IVs and blood loss, broken bones and abdominal trauma, but blocks it from his mind to concentrate on flying. He doesn’t like the word “decompensating.”
He lands as smoothly as he can, Connor waiting near the landing pad. Kon helps Tim and Alfred get the stretcher out of the plane and rush Dick to the infirmary. Jason follows, stripping his gloves off as he runs, and throws them in the rough direction of the locker room, but before he can scrub in, Alfred steps between him and the sink.
“Not you, Master Jason. Go shower and let Tim and me handle this.” His tone is level but implacable.
“I can help! Let me help.” Jason has basic field medic training and then some. He can at least hold a clamp or something, or watch the monitors.
“You’re too close to this,” Alfred says. “Shower and rest. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”
And amidst all of the noise in his head, Jason has one clear thought. Alfred knows.
He sees a mushroom cloud.
*********************
Jason showers, because when Alfie says to do something, you do it, unless you have a really good reason not to. As the hot water rushes away the grime, Jason tries to think about who had the skills to plant a bomb on the Batmobile. Did they know that the original Batman wasn’t driving it? Or had it just been chance that Dick and not Bruce was in the car?
He pulls on some sweatpants and a sweatshirt - bless Alfred for keeping his locker stocked, even though he hasn’t officially worked out of here for years - and heads out to the central area of the cave. A quick glance towards the infirmary is enough to tell him that not only are Tim and Alfred still working, but Dr. Mid-nite has joined them. Which. Not a good sign.
Connor is leaning against one of the desks, and stands straighter when he sees Jason.
“Alfred asked me to contact Batman and Robin. Their mission is almost done anyway, so they’ll be back in a day or so.”
The only thing that Jason can think is that if Alfred decided to recall Bruce and Damian, Dick must really be in bad shape. He realizes that he is glowering at Superboy, so he mutters, “That makes me feel so much better.”
He itches to put his uniform back on so that he can go back to Gotham and examine the remains of the Batmobile. Maybe there are traces of chemical residue that he can analyse, or he can examine the wreckage to get a clearer idea of the size of the bomb. He’s got to get out of here, because Dick could be on the table for hours, and he can't just sit, doing nothing, but he needs to do some research first.
Jason’s done this before. They all have. He tells himself that tonight isn’t different in any real way. Back when Jason was Robin, and Bruce had actually been a good dad, there had been times when it was Bruce on the table, and Jason had just been a kid. He’d been terrified then, especially the first time, but he’d gotten through it every time. So why does right now feel so immense and incomprehensible, so that he’s feeling like an animal is trying to claw its way out of his body?
Jason stalks over the main computer terminal, drops down into Bruce’s chair. The thing that he most wants to do right now is put a bullet or ten in whoever did this to Dick, and that’s going to require some investigation. He pulls up surveillance footage from cameras on the west side of the street, so they would show what Jason missed when the Batmobile was out of his view. The large building that blocked his view last night is the Gotham Opera House, so the street has even more cameras than usual, which makes Jason’s job of finding the right angle easier. He wants the widest angle view he can find.
He starts the video several minutes before the explosion, so he can spot anything suspicious or out of place. There isn't any sound, so Jason watches impatiently in the eery stillness of the Cave. Nothing unusual happens until seconds before the Batmobile goes boom. He sees Dick change lanes deliberately, with no obvious reason to do so, accelerate, then the driver’s side door opens and Dick launches himself out. The car continues at the same speed - Dick must have set the autopilot - then the bomb goes off. Jason rewinds. This time, Jason notices a small black shape move across the road, and it looks as if Dick changed course to deliberately hit it, then it explodes upon collision.
Jason searches through different feeds until he finds a good view of the moving bomb, and zooms in. Clearly visible now is a gray block of C-4, attached to a large black radio controlled car. In fact, the toy car looks like a miniature version of the Batmobile, from a few years ago. Now sold in every toy store for the low low price of $59.99.
One of the advantages of C-4 is that it's very stable, and only explodes under specific circumstances. It doesn't explode when shot with a bullet, or microwaved, or dropped, or even set on fire. Only a shockwave will detonate it. Dick must have set the Batmobile to generate a pulse at just the right moment, so that the bomb exploded in the street instead of inside the theatre. The mass and armor of the Batmobile itself would also absorb a large part of the explosion. Dick had been smart, in an insane, self-sacrificing kind of way.
Jason switches feeds again and again, searching for an image of whoever had been controlling the RC car. Those kind of signals generally weren’t powerful, so he or she had to be close, probably within line of sight, and most likely without glass obscuring the signal. He looks down alleys and on top of roofs, then starts scanning the buildings for open windows. It doesn’t take long for Jason to find someone standing in a third floor window holding a controller, in a building opposite the Opera House. The figure seems to be feminine, wearing simple dark clothes, gloves, and a beanie. The only distinguishing feature Jason really can discern in a long, pale braid.
Jason freezes a video on one of the best views of the bomber and uploads it into the facial recognition database. He prints out a few of the best shots, and while those finish printing he heads to the locker room to change back into Red Hood. He can take the photos to a few friendly and not so friendly contacts he has; see if anyone has sold C-4 to a blonde chick with long hair.
He’s sure he doesn’t recognize the bomber, so it’s possible she’s either a new villain on the scene or just a hench person for an established criminal. But cracking a few heads together or threatening to shoot various body parts off usually works to get a lead or two. He’ll track down the Elsa-wannabe, find out if she was working alone or for someone else, and make them regret ever deciding to blow up the Batmobile.
By the time Jason has changed back into his uniform, the facial recognition program has finished running, but Jason isn’t surprised that it hasn’t turned up any hits. He shoves the photos into a jacket pocket and heads to the garage area to borrow a bike.
Connor steps in front of Jason and glowers as he tries to leave, arms folded. “You should stay. Wait here.”
“They’re repairing penetrating abdominal trauma, kid. It’ll be hours before they’re done,” Jason growls.
“If something happens, you’ll want to be here.”
“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to say stuff like that, asshole. I’m hunting down whoever did this, and the leads will grow colder the longer I stay here talking to you.”
Jason deliberately steps around Superboy, aware that Kon could stop him if he really wanted, but Kon doesn't move. Jason starts the motorcycle with unneeded force and peels out, making sure to be as loud as possible. Take that, Mr. Super-hearing. He has people to terrify.
**********
When Jason gets back, Dick is still in surgery.
Jason had tracked down blonde braid chick, got her confession and the info that she’d been hired by Penguin, and then dumped her off at police headquarters. And God he was a love-sick fool, because he let her live. His fingers had itched for the trigger, and the rat in his chest thrashed. The thought of the look Dick would give him, disappointed but so caring, stayed his hand. Jason knew he didn’t want to see that face and have to explain to Dick that he'd killed a previously unknown mercenary out of vengeance. Jason would still kill her, if Dick didn’t . . . But for now, she was alive. Might be on a liquid diet for a while, but alive.
Then Jason had trashed half of the Iceberg Lounge. Some tiny part of Jason that still thought sensibly had restrained him from killing the Penguin - the gang war that would kick off could destroy Gotham, especially with so many of the bats off planet or out of commission. So Jason had scared the shit out of old Oswald. Literally.
Back in the cave, Jason sits at the computer and replays Dick jumping out of the car and then the car exploding, flipping three times, skidding with a tail of sparks. He plays it over from every possible angle and camera view. He watches it twenty-three times before Connor stops him by simply walking over and unplugging the monitor.
Jason glares at Kon. The clone stares back.
“B is going to get the Kryptonite out if he knows you touched his shit,” Jason states flatly.
“Worth it if it gets you to stop torturing yourself.”
“Have you ever wondered why things blow up?” Jason asks.
Conner’s frown deepens.
“If you put gunpowder on a table and light it, you get a flash. Poof. Like a cheap Atlantic City magician and his rabbit. Smoke and little flare, that’s it. But put it in a pipe, or a metal ball, and suddenly it’s a bomb. You light it and you have an explosion, because all the gunpowder goes at once, and there isn’t enough space. Kaboom.”
Kon sighs and his expression twists into worry. “Go to bed, or I’ll make you.”
“Did you know it was C-4? It’s faster than you, probably. Almost instantaneous. Everything is fine, and then the next millisecond, it’s destroyed.”
“That’s it. Bed. I’m walking you there.”
Jason stands. He’s suddenly too tired to argue.
An explosion occurs when the reaction exceeds the capacity of the container to hold it in. Sometimes the reaction is just too big and too fast to be controlled. Sometimes things move at 26,400 feet per second, and everything changes.
***********
A groan of pain wakes Jason up from his light doze. He scrubs his face with his hands, head muddled with sleep. His first thought isn’t that Dick is truly awake - Dick has been restless before, uncomfortable, but barely coherent during his brief awakenings - so Jason doesn’t get his hopes up. He’ll adjust Dick’s meds, call Alfred if he needs too.
Jason’s back creaks as he stands. He sees two bright blue eyes open and alert, and something fills Jason’s chest, like oxygen and he hasn’t breathed in hours. No, that isn’t right. It’s fizzy and celebratory and happy, like the carbon dioxide in champagne bubbles.
“Hey,” Jason says. “You with me?”
Dick tries to talk but only a croak comes out. He gives a small nod instead.
Jason drags his chair to the side of the bed. Dick smiles at the sight of him, and Jason smiles back. His smile feels effervescent. Dick clears his throat and Jason grabs a cup and places the straw in Dick’s mouth without being asked. Dick takes a few grateful sips. Jason picks up a small remote with a single large button on it and places it in Dick’s hand.
“You can push that for more pain meds if you need it.”
Dick doesn’t hesitate to push the button. “Nice,” he says hoarsely. “Alfred is letting me have the good stuff.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got blown up.” His voice is still raspy but getting better.
“You did get blown up. Don’t do it again.”
“No promises.”
“I figured out who did this. Penguin.”
Dick grimaces. “Yeah, I know.”
“You do?”
“I was on the case all night. Finally worked out what he was going to do, but too late to defuse the bomb. So I did the only thing I could think of - detonate it myself.”
Jason glares at him. “That was your plan?” Dick isn't telling him anything he hadn't already surmised, but hearing it out loud still makes some of that happy relief fade.
Dick shrugs one shoulder sheepishly. “Last night was the opening of La Boheme. The theater was sold out. I couldn’t let the bomb get into the lobby.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that. And it was two nights ago.” Two nights and a day of sitting here, waiting for Dick to really wake up. Talk, just so Jason could know that he was alive.
“Two?”
“You were in surgery for hours. You did wake up a couple of times yesterday, but I guess you were too out of it to remember.”
Champagne bubbles were kind of like their own tiny explosions. The carbon-dioxide is trapped in the wine, and when the bubbles reach the surface, they pop. The “pop” is actually a tiny shockwave of sound, and the fizzing is the sound of thousands of tiny bubbles bursting. It’s the sound of celebration, though earlier winemakers thought that the bubbles were a mistake - a sign of badly made wine. Now champagne connotes joy and victory. New beginnings.
“So what’s the damage?” Dick asks, his hand creeping towards his abdomen.
Jason snags Dick’s hand and holds it still. “No touching,” he snaps.
Dick stares at Jason with wide eyes then their joined hands. “We’re in the Batcave.”
“Alfred already knew, Tim has probably figured it out by now, and B and Damian are still off-world.”
“So I almost get blown up, and that means we hold hands in public now?” A small smile twitches Dick’s lips, and Jason knows he’s being teased, but he doesn’t think it’s funny at all.
“Christ, Dick. I saw the Batmobile explode, but I didn’t know that you’d jumped out. I thought . . .”
Dick squeezes Jason’s hand tightly, a stricken look on his face. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”
Jason bites his lip and looks away; meeting Dick’s earnest eyes is just too painful. He clears his throat and changes the subject. “I haven’t answered your question. Penetrating abdominal trauma that required surgery, liver laceration, broken leg, dislocated shoulder. Some more minor scrapes and shrapnel wounds, but the suit took some of the damage. Severe blood loss. You’re damn lucky to be alive.”
Dick winces. “That explains why everything hurts. How long am I looking at being benched?”
“Oh, you’re not going to like this. At least six weeks, golden boy.”
Dick drops his head back against the pillow and sighs. “Damn.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty busted up.” Jason shifts a bit, thinking about champagne. “With a bum leg, bum arm and a surgical incision, you’re going to need help for a while.”
Dick nods slowly, eyes searching Jason’s face.
“You can stay with me, if . . . if you want to. As long as you want.”
Sometimes the reaction exceeds the size of the container, and you get a shockwave. Everything changes in a millisecond.
Dick grins and it's incandescent. “Yes. I want to.”
Sometimes that’s not a bad thing.