Chapter Text
Rain pattered against the top of his cracked red helmet, seeping into the fissure and dripping into his eyes, down his cheeks, and pooling where his mask tucked under his chin. The rough concrete bit into his legs and palms, ribs rattling and creaking with every breath. It burned and ached, sharp stabs of pain lancing through his sides and chest. He could get back, get to his safe house and wrap his ribs.
He needed to get out of the rain, get up. Tightening his jaw, he grit his teeth and tried to sit up without jostling his broken bones too much. A muffled scream filled the alley, bones shifting under the skin, bumping into each other awkwardly. His vision faded to black, ears ringing like he'd just been boxed. Measuring his breath, he saw that much to both his fortune and misfortune he'd landed next to the mottled green dumpster. With one arm, he gripped the lip of the bin with one gloved hand, digging his fingers in and trying to rise.
It was a mistake. It felt like someone had driven a pin through his knee cap, the muscle refusing to take any weight. The world tilted sideways, the dumpster doing a one eighty on its axis as he went boneless, rough cement slamming into his back. The already battered ribs screamed, muscles in his chest going tight and failing to let him drag in another breath. He gasped like a fish, rasping and wheezing as the black ebbed into his vision. He needed help. He hated it, but there was no way he was gonna make it the twenty block jog to his nearest safehouse.
No. He wasn't gonna call the bats. He didn't freaking need their help. He'd be just fine on his own. Biting his lip, he tried again, forcing a ragged breath into his lungs. This time he made it up, took a few wobbly steps, and the pain made his stomach rebel. He heard it churn, knees giving out and cement biting into his gloved palms as he collapsed, gagging. The ribs ground together as his stomach evicted his last meal- ramen noodles- into his helmet. He gagged, tearing it off and letting the rain pelt his sweaty head. He gagged again, pain lancing through his chest, stomach churning, throat burning like the pit all over again.
Once the spell was over, his stomach settled slightly, replaced by a sharp cramping along both sides of his chest, an unrelenting stab of agony. His temple pressed against the cement as he stared at the blurry dumpster he'd only managed to escape by three lousy feet. He could pass out now, leave fate to whatever it had planned, or he could swallow his pride and accept that even the mighty Red Hood needed help.
Darn it all.
He hadn't talked to the bats in weeks, Bruce in nearly two months.
He coughed, eyes burning with sweat and blood and rain water. Two shaky fingers jerked to his brow, feeling the jagged cut in his skin. It was only a few inches, only one swift movement, and he was guaranteeing himself a few months of insistent pestering, three of Alfred's amazing home cooked meals a day, and a warm bed. But those were amenities the old Jason was entitled to... not this freak of nature that happened to wake up in a dead kid's body.
So his hand hit the cement, eyes blurring even worse. He could make it. He'd have to.
Garnering up the willpower of the kid that dragged himself through a warehouse after being battered by a relentless metal crowbar, he shoved his hand under him, keeping his ribs as still as possible as he rose to wobbly hands and knees. His elbows nearly gave out. He couldn't move his right leg.
With a frustrated cry, he forced himself to take a wobbly move forward. Everything hurt.
"Hood Come in."
Jason went pale, eyes blurring. He was just going to ignore it, ignore the bat. It wouldn't be the first time. He focused, trying to take a breath and push himself a little more towards the exit to the alley way. Was he seriously going to drag himself twenty block on hands and knees?
"Hood."
Bruce had that growl. It was a growl everyone knew meant that any and all patience had long taken a rain check. Why? Jason whined within the confines of his own mind. Why not Red Robin? Why not the Demon Spawn? Why ME?
His breath stuttered weakly, and he realized much to his horror that he'd zoned out. He'd let himself go cross-eyed, glaring at the rough pavement.
"Red Hood, come in. I need some backup." Silence. "If you're out drinking again-"
The threat went unfinished. I'll stick Alfred on you. It didn't need to be said. Alfred was the watchdog of the family. No smoking Master Jason. I shan't see you killing yourself once more. Or. You should see about attending group therapy about your substance Abuse. Alcohol damages your liver, young Master Jason.
Of course Jason had disregarded both suggestions. Certainly, he didn't smoke on the Manor ground much these days -because he wasn't there-; but he didn't have any plans on living long enough to die of lung cancer. None of the bats truly expected to die in their sleep, or of an old age heart attack.
His silence must have deterred the bat; because Batman didn't press any more. Great. Jason clutched his chest and let out a shuddering breath. He was so tired, limbs shaky, black waves trying to overtake his already tunneled vision.
Maybe he should call Bruce. No. Bruce was busy. Batman needed the Red Hood, not a screwed up kid who couldn't see straight. His arms finally gave out. He faceplanted, chin slamming into the ground and adding yet another injury to the ever growing list. He was too tired to move, in too much pain to breathe. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and never wake up.
"Hood, Red Robin made it... In case you were actually on your way here. I don't know what I did to tick you off; but-" Bruce trailed off, clearly listening to chatter on another line.
Jason would have attempted a half lidded eye roll. Instead he just took another breath and got plunged into a mind numbingly painful coughing fit. By the end, every gasp was punctuated by a whimper. In the dim light, he could see tacky crimson staring back at him. Well crap. That much blood did not come from a split lip.
The rain was all but drowning him, the pain threatening to plunge him into a dark abyss, where'd he'd either be picked off by some wannabe gang boss or die of pneumothorax. He had to get over it. He wanted to squeeze a few more years out of this second chance before he kicked the bucket again. He swallowed thickly, fingers probing the comm device still lodge in his ear.
He hadn't considered the actual action of talking. He didn't have the air for it. He was fully aware that it came out as a strangled wheeze. "He--lp."
"Jason!?" Bruce was instantly on alert, the usual emotionless monotone replaced by a slightly worried grumble. "Jason where are you?" The Batman, Mr. 'No ID's in the field' had just foregone his number one rule, called Jason by name in a panic. Could he actually be worried about the screw up in the family?"
"I-" Jason bit back a groan. "C'nt." He could only handle one syllable words, barely. His lungs were about to crap out and give up. One of them was definitely sponging up blood, a strange pressure in his chest and the blood on the ground all the confirmation he needed.
"I'm tracking you now. Don't move. Try and stay awake."
Jason scoffed, instantly regretting it. Try and stay awake huh? The next time Batman broke every rib in his old battle worn body, Jason would throw the same words back at him with a passionate fury. For now, he simply tried to comply. He had to consciously inhale and exhale, barely managing full breaths. He knew full well that it was a perfectly logical request, but he'd already tried to drag himself out of the alley.
His eyes slipped closed.
"Hood. Stay awake."
How'd he know? Jason snapped his eyes open, breath sharpening slightly. Ah. That's how.
Bruce listened carefully to Jason's breathing, occasionally reminding him to stay awake, uttering continual assurances that he was getting close, that Jason would be fine. Somewhere, Jason wished he could fully believe him, barely clinging to the naive hope with the faith of a child, the faith of a mostly dead little robin. At some point, a nasty coughing fit lit his chest on fire once more, waking him up like a bucket of cold water and leaving him a whimpering moaning mess.
He swallowed, coppery blood coating the back of his throat. A hand cupped the side of his face, another grabbing his shoulder.
"Jason."
He fought to drag his eyelids open. The hand on the side of his cheek tapped lightly, jarring his teeth.
"Come on; wake up."
Jason wheezed, fingers digging into his palms as he sucked in a breath and managed to open his peepers. A soaked cowl was staring down at him, Batman's lips pressed into a worried frown.
"That's it."
"Bru-" He couldn't finish, clutching his stomach, color leeching from from his already pale face. "ah..."
"Don't try to talk." Bruce muttered, gently running his thumb along Jason's cheek bone. Jason hated it. Loved the gesture, but hated the thought that it belonged to a dead boy. Bruce kept talking. "I need to know what hurts. Blink once for yes, twice for no. Okay?"
Jason blinked once.
Bruce placed two hands on his head. Jason blinked twice. Bruce still felt for bumps, content when he didn't find one. They slid down his neck, checking for damage. None. He didn't have to see the blinking. He gently set his hands on Jason's shoulders. Two blinks. His hands slid down his arms. Once again, two. As soon as his fingers came lightly to rest on Jason's ribs, the boy flinched, blinking once and then screwing his shut tightly. His breathing hitched and stuttered momentarily before returning as ragged, borderline whimpers.
"Okay, okay, easy, Jason, easy. I got you." Bruce assured, internally blanching as he felt the sorry state of the boys ribs. They were warped, misshapen, clearly in a bad way. Jason shuddered weakly, flinching as the torrential downpour soaked his face. Bruce moved on, quickly.
He probed Jason's legs, and the kid's right knee earned a jerk. One blink. Shouldn't a called. Jason's mind spat viciously. Hurts a whole lot more. Bruce sucked a nearly inaudible breath in when his hand came away bloodied. Compartmentalize. The bleeding was sluggish. He still grabbed a pressure bandage from his utility belt and pressed it tightly to Jason's knee, ignoring another jolt from the kid and an aborted cry that died purely from lack of sufficient air.
"Stay with me, Jay. Does your back hurt?"
Jason's eyes fought to open. One sluggish blink. Bruce bit his lip. Then another, followed by a definite headshake no. Bruce let out a sigh. "Red Robin, get the stretcher from the car. He's been shot in the knee, suffering from pneumothorax...and Broken ribs... I don't want to try and walk him to the car."
Jason frowned weakly, watching two blurry Bruces waft in and out of vision. He felt useless, like a broken puppet, used and cast aside. Someone else was pulling the strings bow, and he couldn't do a darn thing about it. Bruce's head blocked the rain, at least most of it. Droplets dripped from his cowl's nose, his pale chin. Jason shuddered, the chill finally getting to him. Maybe it had seeped into his suit a long time ago; but he'd had yet to notice.
The loyal replacement jogged into vision, rolling the front seat gurney across the pavement until it had come to rest alongside him.
"Woah, Hood. You look like crap."
"Focus." Bruce snapped, kneeling back down next to Jason. "We're gonna move you, Jay." That's a nickname the dead robin hadn't heard in a while. "It's going to hurt. I want you to focus on breathing through it. Just try and relax." He ran his fingers through Jason's damp hair, knowing it couldn't possibly soothe the unbearable agony, but hoping it would still provide comfort. Jason meanwhile felt like the Batman was walking him through giving birth. If he wasn't in so much pain, he might have busted his gut laughing about it.
Batman had no idea why Jason was smirking.
The old bat gingerly scooped his second up, heart twinging at the muffled scream, planted firmly in his Kevlar clad shoulder. "Easy. Easy. Breathe." Bruce commanded, taking a few easy strides to the stretcher. He was old, old enough to feel the effects of lifting your full grown son. He ignored it, setting Jason carefully on the gurney. The boy twitched and jerked, half lidded glassy eyes fighting a losing battle.
Jason came to in the Batmobile, Bruce sitting in the driver's seat. The car was on autopilot, and its driver stooping over Jason to staunch the bleeding in his knee. It was nearly impossible to breathe. Bruce watched as Jason gasped fruitlessly, eyes wide, neck taut. They needed to get that lung drained. The Car roared out of the tunnel, emerging into the immaculately cleaned cave where Alfred and Leslie had already patched together a medical welcome wagon.
Jason's vision remained particularly blurry, black edges now a seemingly permanent feature ingrained in his vision. People were talking, hallow mutters that never reached the comprehension area of his mind. It came back with sharpening clarity as he felt a jab in the crook of his elbow, barely noticeable past the agonizing stabs of pain as Leslie started assessing and planning. He let out a cry, suddenly aware of Bruce's hands on his shoulders, someone else's on his ankles.
"Easy Jason." Bruce whispered, pressing him down. Jason couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. It hurt. It hurt worse than before. "I know it hurts. Just keep your eyes on me. It'll be alright."
His mind couldn't handle it. The pain meds did their job.
Jason Peter Todd knew no more.
"How is he?"
"Leslie says he'll make a full recovery." Bruce replied hesitantly. "With time, and lots of rest."
Tim nodded. "Good. I went back to the scene of the crime... Found a crowbar in the dumpster. It had had faint traces of spray paint, purple, possibly the new Joker gang. Also had trace amounts of Jason's blood." He sounded just about the same way Bruce felt - sick.
But the brilliant Red Robin had more to say. "Bruce, according to the blood trail, he crawled nearly half a block. He could have called immediately, but he tried to get home. For some reason, he didn't want to call us. It's gonna get him killed one of these days. So I'd figure out why."
As Bruce fought back a wave of fury and stomach churning nausea, he nodded. Yes. He was going to get to the bottom of it.
For Jason.
TBC