Work Text:
The warehouse is quiet with Joker gone. Jason lays there on the cold ground, pain sparking through him with every breath. A tear slips out the corner of his eye and down into his ear. He wants to wipe it away, but he can’t. His arms hurt so much. He’s pretty sure at least one of them is broken.
He can’t just stay laying here though. He needs to get out. If he gets out then Bruce can find him easier. He was mad at Bruce before. Mad and heartbroken. Now he just wants his dad to come get him and bring him home. He wants to talk to Leslie while she bandages him up and tells him how long he’ll need to stay in bed. He wants to curl up in the living room while Bruce reads and the fire keeps them warm.
Jason lets those thoughts give him some fuel and he begins the very slow process of turning over. Every part of his body screams at him for doing so, but he grits his teeth and after a few excruciating minutes, he’s on his stomach. He pants, his forehead resting on the floor. Tears are streaming down his face now, but he ignores them.
He gathers himself together and tries to get on his knees. He knows he can’t walk, but maybe crawling will work. The second he puts a tiny bit of weight on his left arm, pain so severe shoots from his wrist that his vision goes out for a second. He crashes back down the tiny bit he’d raised himself up and jostles his probably shattered shoulder. His whole world is a feedback loop of pain, pain, pain.
One short cry later and Jason decides to drag himself towards the exit. The process is slow and Jason has to use every mindfulness technique Bruce taught him not to pass out from the pain. He wants to rest when he reaches the door, but he grabs the handle with his right hand and pulls.
Nothing happens. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it’s not this. The door is locked from the outside. Okay. Alright. That’s fine, he can figure something out. But he doesn’t figure anything out. He just stares at the locked door. He’s broken from his stupor by a steady beeping. He turns his head in the direction of the sound and sees a bomb a few feet away, ticking down to its last few seconds.
Oh.
He’s dying here.
Somehow, the thought doesn't hurt as much as he thought it would. He lets go of the door and just lays on the floor. The stone is cool against his face and besides the beeping everything is quiet. He hopes he doesn't get blown to bits too bad and that Bruce will have something to bury. He's already falling apart though, so maybe the bomb will just finish the job. He looks at the clock. Five seconds. Four. Gosh he really doesn't want to die. Two. One.
The world goes white.