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Jason really, really hates the kind of buildings that are so old that they can crumble in on him with barely any effort. Not that he was putting in any effort, mind you; the guy he had been chasing had run around while throwing bombs, and Jason was too late to escape when something gave way.
The walls had caved in around him, the ceiling falling, and a chunk of rubble hit him on the head and knocked him out cold. He eventually woke up, and that brings him here now, lying in the corner of the room that he had ducked into, where the ceiling above him had yet to fall apart completely.
Jason squints at his right leg, which is sandwiched between various sizes of rocks. By some miracle, it isn't crushed, though the largest piece of rubble trapping his leg is putting some uncomfortable pressure on it. Jason wagers the thing hit the ground next to his leg and rolled onto it, negating most of the damage it could have dealt. That’s nice.
He wiggles his leg experimentally, trying to tug it out from its prison. Nothing. All it does is make the rough edges of the rubble rub irritatingly at his leg through the meager protection of his pants, and Jason decides to try and shift his leg to be more comfortable. He can feel all of his toes, so small mercies, he supposes.
There's dried blood on the top of his head, clotted and likely a wound caused by the rubble that knocked him out. From the uncomfortable taste in his mouth, Jason decides that it's been a few hours since that. The space around him is just big enough for him; if he shuffles he can sit without touching anything but the floor, save for his trapped leg.
He can make out a few holes in the barricade of rubble around him, a small gap where debris meets the part of the ceiling (thankfully) still intact, and the only reason why he didn't suffocate to death a long time ago.
Jason pats himself down; he's got his guns, a knife, a ration bar he had shoved into one of his many pockets, another smaller knife, and...a dead phone. Great. The ache at the back of his head seems to evolve into a headache, an annoying pulse of pain that has him gripping his temples.
Jason knows this building is at the outskirts of Gotham, far beyond any police patrol routes he knows of, and thus in the part of the city where people barely come here to live. No one's going to report the building anytime soon, and by the time anyone comes by he'll probably be a decaying corpse. Wonderful.
Jason does a thorough check again, and finds the panic switch for the Bats tucked into a back pocket on his jacket. Jason stares at the switch for a moment and scowls, setting it down and running a hand through blood-matted hair.
Does he really want to do this? Wait here all helpless and useless until a Bird or a Bat comes along? Half of them would laugh at his current situation, he's sure. Insult him, make fun of him, be generally amused. If Batman came, well.
Jason thinks maybe he should just stay here for a little bit. He leans back against the wall, glaring at the debris that stood between him and freedom, the sky, the wind, the...
Jason swallows, folding his arms as he inhales noisily. Fuck, this place is cramped. Air's coming in slowly but surely, so he's not going to suffocate or starve anytime soon thanks to his ration bar. He'll give it another hour before he decides to shoot at the hole in the ceiling in an attempt to draw attention.
Jason tries to settle himself, fiddling with his combat knife for lack of anything else to do and ignoring the panic switch. He's not stupid enough to destroy it, but he feels like it's taunting him. The headache still pounds in his skull, and Jason lightly touches his head wound, wincing even at the small touch. God, his hair feels so gross.
He shifts, restless, and a low groan comes from the rubble, effectively freezing him. Is it his imagination, or is the rubble pressing down more firmly against his trapped leg? He swears he could wiggle it a bit ago, but now-
Does he even dare try?
Jason grips the handle of his knife tight, eyes flicking to the panic switch again as he exhales slowly. Are the walls closing in? Jason's pretty sure he doesn't have claustrophobia, not normally, but he's never been in this kind of situations involuntarily for long, either.
(Barring the coffin.)
Jason weighs his options for a moment: maybe die in this cave, or internally die under the gaze of either Bruce or any of his kids. Hm. Jason stares at the rubble until it blurs and swirls, feels the circulation in his leg start dying and has to shift it again, thought the building doesn't grumble at the small movement this time.
He dithers a second longer, considers whether he really wants to ask for help, before the hanging threat of his death forces him to cave in (hah!) and press the switch. Its little red light flashes once to show that it's working, before going out. Jason sets it down carefully and gingerly makes himself as not uncomfortable as he can, and closes his eyes in wait.
Jason wakes up to a voice that he pins down as Batman, low and rumbly and saying his name.
"Whatcha want, B?" Jason slurs, blinking through blurry vision to tilt his head up towards the sound. Batman stares back at him, and Jason takes a moment to register that
1) Some of the rubble has been cleared enough that half of Batman's visage is visible
2) Holy shit, Bruce came for him. He actually did.
"Are you stuck?" Bruce says instead, voice with a softer edge, tinged with concern.
"Nope, leg's stuck, not crushed." Jason replies, waving two fingers at the man. "Didn't think you would show up, of all people."
"You've never pressed your panic switch before, Jay." Bruce starts, opens and closes his mouth as he tries to continue. Jason moves his head and grimaces when the movement brings back pain. "I rushed over as soon as possible."
"Huh. I would say thanks but I'm still stuck, soooo-" Jason gestures at his trapped leg. "Less talking, more action."
He expects Bruce to get annoyed, but the man just nods and starts removing the rubble, one piece at a time. The work is done in silence beyond Bruce's grunts as he heaves rocks bigger than his head away, and Jason lets his head rest back as delicately as possible to stare at the chunk of night sky he's got.
Soon enough, Bruce is rolling the rubble trapping his leg up and out, and Jason scrambles to his feet, heedless of the jolt of pain. He's free.
"You're lucky the floor you were on didn't collapse and this is a small building, or else.." Bruce trails off, and Jason shrugs as he limps out of the wreckage of a building.
"Lucky me." Jason drawls, examining his leg, which was a little torn up, aching, but not broken and that was what mattered. "..Thanks for digging me out, B."
"It was something anyone should have done." Bruce replies, almost automatic. "Let me look over your leg, it needs treatment."
Jason rears back from the offer like Bruce no doubt expects him to, and narrows his eyes at the man, thoughtful. Bastard or not, Bruce had done him a solid favour.
"Just this once." Jason growls in warning, caving in to indulging in his want for a little moment of peace. "And you're buying us burgers after. I want milkshakes and fries."
Bruce can't really blink in surprise while wearing the cowl, but he does smile fondly, and Jason the sight doesn't make him feel a little happy. Nope.
"Of course, Jaybird." Bruce says kindly, the words threaded with hope and said in a way that makes Jason bite back his retort on the nickname. "Whatever you want."