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Neither Nightwing nor the Red Hood were expecting trouble. In fact, they'd come as nondescriptly as two Gotham vigilantes could.
The dry cleaning shop wasn't the head of operations for drug trafficking. It wasn't the secret underground bunker for rising members of the weapons trade. It was an underground administrative building. Or, at least, that's what their informant had told them. Spare scraps of laundering counts, tacked up in dry-cleaning tickets coded to shipments and the organizations they served.
They'd found the lion's share of the evidence with the first bust. All the vigilantes needed now was the code log for definitive proof in the courts that certain tags meant which illicit business.
"Not a bad way to launder money," Red Hood grunted, quiet on comms as they walked through the abandoned lot. "Of course, it hinges on idiots that work for you not writing any of this shit down."
Nightwing frowned. "If one code log is enough to keep Jameson out of prison, I'm going to call it good enough."
"If it was good enough," Hood pointed out, "we'd never have known about it."
They'd scouted the place out earlier in the evening before they'd crept from the nearest rooftop and moved in. Nothing much had happened except a few men that went in at half past ten. Three of them, nondescript goons no doubt working for Jameson, were in and out, their arms as empty as they were when they went in.
Another mechanized grunt. No helmet today, just the faceplate and hood for Jason. They'd done recon on the place earlier in the night, and hadn't picked up anything on neighboring security cameras except for a few shadowy shapes moving in and out a couple of nights ago. Their informant, well, Dick's informant, insisted the code log would still be there.
The past few nights, there had been no illicit activity. Not since Jameson and his men shut it down to head off the police. They just hadn't counted on the Bats.
Nightwing entered first, ducking inside through the warped side door, lingering for a moment in the shadows. In the stillness that followed, he tilted his head, signaling that Hood could follow. Hood at his heels, Nightwing walked deeper into the structure, an old, square concrete building on the outer edges of Gotham city. Across the bridges and far enough away that they probably hadn't gotten a lot of business from civilians passing by.
Twin beams of light tracked across the walls, the grey-painted cement bricks peeling with age and years of moisture. Beams tracked over dust-coated countertops with an old check-out drawer that had seen better days. A bin of multicolored, unused dry cleaning tags in a little plastic bin to the side. Stray papers and label tags littered the floor, the edges of some with noticeable chew marks, and floors coated in a fine layer of dust.
"Cheery." Nightwing muttered with false cheer, eyes lingering on the flash of something small and furry squeaking as it scrambled out of his path.
They didn't have to look long.
"Here." Hood said, and Nightwing's light spun around to find Hood standing halfway in the back room. His light joined Hoods as they found that the writing was, literally, on the wall. Color-coded and barely subtle on a gray-slab, painted brick wall, faded and rubbed away so some of the letters were patchy and incomplete.
Oh. "You've got to be joking."
"Huh." Jason frowned, in agreement. "They really just posted a billboard of their criminal activity. Talk about hiding in plain sight."
"We almost didn't see it." Dick pointed out.
Jason kept the light on the wall, considering. "Why shut down the place to avoid suspicion if you're not going to cover your tracks?" He murmured.
Dick snapped a few pictures and moved past him, further away from the small squeaks fleeing in the shadows. "Maybe they forgot about it. I mean, most criminals are stupid." Dick tried, but wasn't convinced. If you cause enough trouble to alert the Bats, you're not a run-of-the-mill criminal. Even if they seemed like it. His eyes caught on the table perched near the center of the structure, noticing the dust had been disturbed.
But Hood was staring at the painted wall, head tilted. "Then, why come back? If you're going to come back to clean up evidence, they could have painted the wall, or-"
His eyes darted down, catching on a string of wires.
Dick scoffed. "It's a little hard to hide a whole wall- "
"Nightwing-" He hissed, jerking his head to where Dick was approaching the table, the beam from his flashlight revealing a bundle of something tightly wrapped resting on top, the wires trailing down the floor. One of which had a wire leading directly under the wall of evidence. The wall that also served as a structural support.
The three goons. They'd come by tonight, but hadn't taken anything with them. Nothing big enough. But if they'd come in with it... waited until they were clear and far enough away, with no knowledge of local vigilantes inside... well, they might have considered it a bonus.
"Nightwing, get clear! Now!" And Nightwing jerked back around, eyes wide. He didn't doubt, didn't ask if he was sure, his gaze snapping towards the exit.
Despite the Bats' universal ribbing that even after all these years, criminals in Gotham hadn't learned to look up, well, it was because humans just didn't have the instinct that something dangerous might be above you. Years ago, it wasn't necessary for survival. Dick didn't look up.
But Jason did, saw the support beams that would come down first in an explosion if the criminals had done even a halfway decent job of making sure this place, and all its evidence, turned into nothing but rubble.
"N, look out!" Jason was running, tremors beneath his feet as the first rumble, from somewhere in another room, shook the building. Nightwing was moving, but too slow. He'd looked back for Jason instead of lunging for the exit. Jason slammed into his shoulder, bodily shoving him out of the way as the building rocked with the explosion, its foundations crumbling.
There was a low, earthly groan, and the structure crumbled down on top of them.
There was a flash of pain, of darkness and rising terror that Jason buried deep.
And the slam of something hard against his back, nearly breaking his armor, sturdy as it was. That give as he was thrown onto something hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, and then he gave a broken wheeze as something heavy landed on his shoulder, driving him down.
He heard Dick cry out, words lost in the destruction, and then the pain hit in a rising tide of crushing, immovable weight.
Jason's body screamed as pressure built, until it was too much and everything finally went blank.
-
—
-
The rubble shifted with a groaned wheeze as Nightwing straightened and came to.
At first, he thought his lenses were malfunctioning. Then his eyes adjusted and he felt the cool night breeze, mingling with concrete dust on the air as he breathed in sharp, pained breaths. He wheezed, groaning as he sat upright and clutched his ribs with a sharp wince. Ribs were definitely injured. Possibly broken.
His ankle twinged as he moved, smaller pieces of rubble shifting ominously as he did. But as he looked around, pulse picking up as shock set in, he realized that he was... outside. The building had indeed collapsed around him, but he'd been caught between the worst of it, cracked slabs that must have been the roof caved in on either side of him, rebar and concrete sticking out on either side.
He'd gotten incredibly lucky, he realized, looking at the damage around him. Broken bones or no. And a brief memory surfaced at the thought, punching into him with the weight of another collapsing building. A cry of warning, and then two hundred pounds of something heavy shoving him out of the way before the building truly came down.
Jason.
"Hood!" He rasped, only halfway to the shout he'd inhaled to scream. He coughed, ribs pounding with every debris-tainted breath. Wheezing as his lungs stopped trying to jump ship. Head spinning, he tried to stand, to turn and look for a flicker of red among the damage.
"Hood-" He hissed again, once he got his feet under him, barely. Leaning up against a half-upright slab of building as he scanned desperately among the rubble. His eyes caught as he heard a faint wheeze, and he stumbled towards it, trying not to brain himself on the exposed rebar and unsteady ground.
Another wheeze, which ended in a low, cut off groan.
"Little wing, is that you?" Dick panted, feet placed precariously as he made his way closer around the remains of the destroyed laundering site.
Here, on the edge of Gotham, just outside of the city, there was no guarantee that emergency services was on their way. Which was good for them, Dick thought distantly. Wasn't it? Bats didn't really do hospitals.
Well, they did, but they should probably change out of their uniforms as illegal vigilantes first.
But that grunt had cut off, and as Dick got closer, he finally caught that flash of red he'd been looking for. But Jason wasn't in sight. He had to be somewhere behind the half-supported slab that looked like a mock shelter. Nightwing doubted he'd have found it if it weren't for the dim, nearly deceiving drip of red pooling between the pale rocks, too dark and wet to be Hood's gear.
Uncaring of his ankle, Dick shoved forward, banging his knee hard and sending his vision swimming as he half-knelt, half-stumbled around the corner. He landed beside the black-gloved hand covered in dust, peeking out from where Jason was pinned, the large block of concrete and rebar twisted ugly in the air, and Jason's leg disappeared under it.
Even in the dark, Dick could see that the stark red of the hood had been pushed back, Jason's black hair plastered to his brow, dusted with fine powder from the explosion. The faint tuft of white looking pale in the barest illumination of moonlight. Across his cheek closest to Dick, there was a cut, streaks of blood plastered with dust across his jaw from the wound.
Nightwing crouched down, pulling himself close enough to see his brother. "Jesus, Hood. Can you move?"
At first, he wasn't sure Jason was awake, his breaths coming in shaky pants, a low growl as he tried to force it even, eyes squeezed shut and his brow pinched. He grunted. "Leg's pinned."
Dick tried his comms, realizing belatedly that he should have called it in already. That Oracle would be online now. "O. Nightwing to Oracle. Hood and I were caught in an explosion on the outskirts. Need evac and help shifting some concrete ASAP. Hood's pinned."
No answer. But a steady tap, tap, tap in his comms indicated that the equipment trying to come around. A signal might have even gotten through, but if there was any response, Dick couldn't hear it.
He cursed, already reaching for a light to crack. "Shit. Okay. Let's see about getting you out of-"
But the more his eyes adjusted, the bright flare of light illuminating Hood's position, Dick's mouth went dry.
Under the faint, uneven light, mingled in shadows, Hood looked even paler than he'd first thought. His faceplate had fallen, and his lips were pressed in a fine line, brows pressed tightly together as Jason squinted against the light and tried a teasing grimace. "Guess they weren't-" he coughed, "-weren't total idiots, after all."
"Hood." Dick was already moving, hands working like they'd had to many times before. "Where are you hurt?" This was different. It was so much worse when it was family. The tightness in his chest was harder to ignore, that bitter thread of worry threatening to cause his hands to shake when they were meant to be steady.
Hood blinked. "'I think-" dark lashes trailing dust, grey smeared across his forehead, mingling with the blood on his cheek so that he'd definitely need a truckload of antibiotics, holy hell- "I'm-" Jason cut off in a strangled wheeze as Dick's hands pressed down over his hip.
Dick pursed his lips, lifting his hands. "How bad?"
"Jesus," He panted. "Feels like- a whole..." he huffed, irritated and voice streaked with pain, "I got hit with a whole-whole building."
Nightwing's lips pursed, but he gentled his hands as he moved upward. He couldn't reach the leg that was pinned, and the free leg was on the other side, away from Nightwing's reach. "I'm serious, Hood. Where else are you injured?"
Because that much pain could be explained by the mountain of rubble currently sitting on Jason's leg and by the cut on his face, but Hood was a Bat. One with a particularly traumatic past that Dick had seen walk around on a broken ankle and spit venom to anyone offering help. He'd seen the man patrol through bullet wounds and fear toxin. Next to that, there had to be another explanation for that tight, pinched expression currently etching deep, creased lines on Jason's face.
He huffed, breath shuddering in a way that sent alarm bells ringing distantly in Dick's head. "Dick." Jason met his gaze, something bone-weary and tired in those eyes. "It's okay. I'm fine."
But he couldn't hide the hitch in his breath when Dick's hand trailed over his chest and met protruding metal and something wet sticking through his chest.
Jason looked at Dick with wide eyes, struggling to breathe around the length of solid rebar scraping against his left lung, voice cracking on the last word. "I'm totally, completely fine."
Something in Dick's chest plummeted into an unbearable scream of panic and dread all at once. Jason's hitched breaths were too loud in his ears. He could feel the hot blood pooling way too fast from the wound in Jason's chest, even as he scrambled for pressure bandages and cursed the world for little brothers who kept getting hurt.
He patted his pockets, but his phone was a brick, totally useless. He'd already pressed the panic button the second his fingers had worked well enough to do so, but he pressed it again, watching for that telltale depression that proved the signal made it through. They were coming.
They had to be.
Hands moving in fast, practiced motions, Dick packed the wound as best he could, the pressure bandages having a hard time around the protruding piece of metal in Jason's chest. He checked Jason's pupils—nothing obvious going on in his head, besides the total, well-meaning idiocy to lie there like a pincushion and try to convince his brother he was fine.
Numb fingers fumbled with the bandages, pushing down. There was a soundless noise screaming in his head, growing louder the more he realized all he was unable to do for his brother. Unable to move Jason. Unable to call for help beyond what he'd done already. He didn't have the means, the knowledge, the equipment-
He choked on his own breath, rubbing a hand on his face and glaring down at his brother with what little anger he could muster. He'd done the best he could with the surface wound, but he couldn't do anything about the one underneath. Not without moving Hood, and right now that piece of rebar was the only reason his brother hadn't already bled out. Shit. He had to-
Nightwing lifted a shaky, blood-soaked hand and the comms squealed in his ear, fresh static cutting across any message that might have gotten through. "Repeat." He tried vainly." Hood and I need immediate medical attention. Comms are down on my end. I think my tracker's broken." His voice hitched, but didn't break. Hood's was out of reach, buried beneath the rubble. "No way to call for EMS." His eyes flicked down. "And I can't leave Hood."
Silence. Nothing but static and Jason's sharp gasps on the air.
He couldn't leave him. Couldn't let him die alone. Again. Couldn't save him by staying here. He couldn't-
Stones sank in Dick's chest, hard enough it felt like his ribs were caving in.
He stood. “I’ll go get help.”
Jason’s hand shot out, gripping with surprising strength.
“No,” he rasped. His one visible blue eye was wide and a little hazy. A little desperate. “Please, just-“ He sucked in a wet breath, chest stuttering on the exhale. His grip weakened. “Don’t leave me.”
Dick hesitated, every muscle in his body screaming for him to do something. Slowly, Dick kneeled back down.
He swallowed and wrapped a hand around Jason’s, clutching gloved fingers in his own. “Okay, little wing. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay.”
Jason half-nodded, eyes clenching with each rattling breath.
They stayed there, hunched under the rubble, the concrete pressing on one leg, too big for Dick to move. His heart screaming in his chest, watching with quiet, rapt attention as each shaky breath lingered in silence longer than the last. The irregular rise and fall of Jason’s chest. His armor was scraped and dented, but the red bat was still visible beneath the damage, flicking under uncertain shadows.
Dick found himself muttering reassurances. “It’s okay, Jason. Help is coming. Just stay with me, okay?”
He huffed, a tight, pained laugh. “Sure, Big Bird.” His chest constricted, and Dick lurched forward as Jason’s laugh subsided into a breathless coughing fit. Dick winced. But he didn’t let go of his hand. “N-not-“ Jason gasped out when it had subsided, breath shaky, but with a grim smile, “-not going anywhere.
Having exhausted his abilities to help without leaving, Dick's eyes fixed on Jason's face as heart-pounding seconds turned to minutes.
“Dick,” Jason rasped. His eyes were resigned, tight with pain, each breath more of an effort than the last. “You gotta-“
“No.” Dick growled, throat tight. His jaw clenched. “Not yet.” Don’t lose faith yet, Jay. “They’re coming.”
“S’ okay.” He grunted, sounding more like himself. Gruff. To the point. “Least I’m not alone,” he huffed a wry smirk, “this time.”
Something twisted in Dick’s chest. An echo of something long-remembered. “Asshole.” He muttered. “Are you seriously making death jokes right now?”
A hoarse chuckle, air rasping in his chest. “No better time.”
Dick’s grip on his hand tightened. “Asshole.” He muttered again, but it sounded wrong around the knot in his throat. “You’ll be fine. You’re barely even bleeding.”
“Yeah,” Jason snorted. “Only ‘cause there’s not much left.”
“It’s not that bad, Hood.” But Dick’s voice sounded wrong.
“Sure, sure.” Hood grumbled, hand waving weakly.
"I mean it, Hood." Dick said, through gritted teeth. "You're going to be fine."
Another minute rolled by as Hood fell into silence, and Dick couldn't find it in himself to speak around the tightness in his throat.
"You know, this would be-" Jason rasped, sounding almost annoyed, with a hint of exasperation, "-the dumbest," his breath hitched, "way to die."
Dick's grip on Jason's hand tensed. His voice harsher than he'd mean it to be. "Then it's a good thing you're not dying."
"Yeah." Jason's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at something on Dick's face. "Good thing."
What could he do, what could he do, what could he do? "B will be here." He tried for levity. For reassurance. "He's in town tonight, remember?"
"Ugh." Jason huffed, sounding, for a moment, more like himself. "Don't remind me."
Dick's lips twitched. "He's secretly a mother hen. As soon as our trackers went down, he probably panic-called Oracle and she's probably pissed at us right now for breaking her tech, again."
"Again?" Jason gave a weak snort. "Mad at you, you mean. I take great care of my tech."
"Sure." Dick hummed. "Is that why you keep sneaking into the cave for the latest models? Because your own equipment is in such great shape?"
Jason huffed an affronted noise, shifting slightly. "I don't sneak. I just wait until Bats aren't around because I know you'll want to talk to me or rope me into game night with the brats or some shit."
Something in Dick's chest tightened. "Would that be so bad, little wing?"
Another snort, that turned into a wet wheeze, and Jason fell silent.
All he could do was watch. Count Jason's every breath. Eyes lingering on his little brother's paling face. The too-sharp wheeze that revealed the effort every inhale took as he slowly bled out. If he looked carefully, Dick would see the seep of red beneath his brother spreading onto the rock he crouched on. He could feel it pooling around his boots. Which is why he was absolutely not looking down.
“They’re coming.” Dick promised. “Someone’s coming.”
“They’d better,” he huffed. “Not dying under… this- pile of rock.”
He gripped his hand tighter, his voice edged with something sharper, angry, almost desperate. “Not dying at all, okay?”
“Sure, Wing. I’d at least… like to-“ he seized a sharp breath “- like to see the sky one more time.”
Dick didn’t mention that it was dark, that even here, on the far outskirts of Gotham, the sky was a grim black expanse of grey rolling clouds, not a star in sight.
He glanced up, able to see a glimpse between the fallen roof, bits and pieces, out of Jason’s view. Watching for him. Jason followed his view. “S-see any stars?”
Dick swallowed, staring up at the heavy clouds and unending black and grey sky.
Then Jason grunted, shifting, followed by a full-body shudder. “Probably still… too close to the city.”
Dick swallowed. “Yeah, Jay. I see them. Not a lot, but they’re there.”
“You can see them?” he asked, the words clear with disbelief. “Not—lying to me?”
Dick made a show of rolling his eyes, throat constricting. “I wouldn’t do that. Really. Not a lot, but they’re there.”
"Huh." He closed his eyes, and his features eased, far-too-pale to be anything good. His fingers cold in Dick's own. "Dickhead?" He asked, eyes closed.
"Hm?"
For a moment, they sat in silence, and Dick's eyes lifted to the black, blank sky, wishing for a speck of light.
"No," Jason rasped finally. His voice was weaker now, breathing in short, shallow pants. At Dick's confused noise, he opened his eyes and made an effort, blue gleaming in the fading breaklight, a faint smile on too-pale lips. "No, it wouldn't be so bad."
Dick didn't realize there were tears on his cheeks until he tasted water and salt.
He'd placed one hand on Jason's chest, needing to feel the stuttering rise and fall with one hand, holding Jason's cold fingers tightly, too-tightly, in the other. So Nightwing felt when his respirations came faster, too shallow. Watched the pale tint creep over Jason's skin as he lay there, anger-etched features easing. Felt when his pulse quickened. His heart trying in vain to pump oxygen through blood volume that just wasn't there anymore.
Felt the moment that Jason's body fought too hard for his next breath, wheezed, and the remaining tension on his face went slack.
There was a roaring in Dick's head, and for one, brief moment, he thought it sounded like the roar of the Batmobile in the distance. His chest cracked with the desperate, terrible desire for it to be real.
"Hood." Something cold gripped hard in Dick's chest and squeezed, and he found himself leaning forward, palm braced on Jason's chest. "Hood." His voice cracked. "Jason. Wake up. They're here-"
Jason's heart still beat beneath his hand, but too high, too fast. Respirations shallow, pained breaths that continued even in unconsciousness. Something desperate dragged at Dick's chest, head swirling. Ground sinking beneath his feet. The increasing grip of that terrible, terrible dread clawing at his throat.
"Wake up! Jason, wake up-" He hissed, and felt the wave of something devastatingly familiar rise up and threaten to swallow him whole.
And was that-Dick's ears were ringing. Too loud, too loud, as he watched Jason's face pale even in unconsciousness. Time slowed down, seconds slipping too fast like sand between his fingers. Like Jason's blood between his fingers. He couldn't accept that he might have seen Jason awake for the last time. That those had been his last words, and Dick had been the one to hear them.
That this time, he wouldn't come back.
In his ears, he thought he heard the Batmobile screeching to a stop. He didn't dare look behind him, his eyes glued to Jason's face as he shook him by the shoulders. Gently at first, then harder, his head lolling to the side, pale face wan under the dimming breaklight and shadows.
"Hood," He growled. "Wake up. Wake up! Don't you dare, asshole. Not for me, okay? Not like this-"
That's how Batman and Red Robin found him, shaking a limp Jason, clutching his armor with trembling, too-tight fists.
Batman leapt from the Batmobile, Red Robin tight on his heels. "Nightwing! Is anyone-"
Nightwing's eyes snapped to Batman, nearly shuddering with relief. Anger. He wasn't himself when he snapped. "Get the medkit and transfusion kit. Jason needs blood, now." And Batman was off, not thinking. Not pausing, just right to action.
Red Robin ran over, eyes going wide at whatever he saw. "N, you're hurt-" And his expression went pale, eyes going wide as he saw Jason, lying pinned beneath the rubble. His next breath stuttered in his chest. "Shit."
He threw himself beside Nightwing, barking out questions. "How long has he been unconscious?"
"About a minute," Nightwing said hoarsely, hating that he couldn't give an exact answer. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't been counting. Hadn't thought it mattered, anymore. "Maybe longer."
Tim's eyes flicked shrewdly to Nightwing and he cursed again, pulling out fresh pressure bandages, already removing the ones soaked through and pressing down hard on Jason's chest. "Head injury?"
Dick was shaking his head. "I don't think so. He was talking up until-"
Tim was in motion, gloved hands moving, swift and sure. His words tighter than they'd been before. "Where else is he injured?"
Dick directed him to the rest of Jason's injuries. "-and that leg is pinned. I don't know what kind of damage is beneath the concrete."
Tim mumbled a muffled curse. "-the hell were you two thinking-" But the words rolled over Dick. He'd seen the look on Tim's face when he'd arrived to find Dick clutching Jason's limp body. Knew that the panicked anger and placing blame wasn't about Dick at all.
"We got it." Nightwing said, voice hoarse with more than dusty air. "What we came for."
Tim's lips thinned and he pressed down with both hands even harder.
"He's going to need a field transfusion." Tim muttered, that waver barely hidden by his tacit return to the task under his hands. "This much blood loss, and we're limited on supplies."
"Nightwing-" Batman came up behind them, kneeling at his side and rolling up Jason's outstretched sleeve, moving purposefully enough that Dick didn't once have to let go of Jason's limp hand. His face paled as he took in his son, but Dick watched him set his jaw, set his grief and panic on a shelf and focus on triage. "Red Robin. Call Leslie. Get the saw from the trunk, and the lifter. As well as much to pack the rest of the wounds with as you can." He thought, glancing down. "And a splint. We don't know how bad the leg is, and if we get him free, we'll need to move fast."
And Tim was gone. Dick's lips had gone numb, fingers flexing with borrowed hope. "What can I do?"
Bruce's eyes met his through the cowl. Ad his voice was urgent, but it was softer than it had any right to be. "Lift your sleeve so I can get to your arm. You're the only one who can give him blood."
Dick handed over his arm, wincing as the needle went in, as Bruce measured Jason's pulse and pursed his lips. Dick felt woozy when the line of red filled the line, but he couldn't tear his gaze from Jason's face, leaning in almost without meaning to.
Dick's body met warmth, the trusted safety of the cape and the cowl. A hand briefly brushed his hair. "Where are you injured, Nightwing?"
But Dick shook his head. "Nothing emergent. Bruises and a twisted ankle." Batman stared at him shrewdly under the cowl. As if he could sense the ringing pain at the back of his head, and the fact that he'd definitely lost conciousness when the building went down. Dick couldn't help but grit his teeth under it. "I'll let Agent A or Leslie check me out once we get Hood out of the woods, I swear."
They triaged the best the could with the supplies in the Batmobile, Dick giving blood in the field, the only match after he promised Bruce that he'd let Leslie or Alfred look him over back at the cave.
He'd gone woozy at the sight of red filling the line from his arm to Jason's, unable to tear his gaze from Jason's face. But it was worth it, when a few minutes and a lot of hands performing carefully instructed triage later, blue eyes fluttered.
Jason came to with a low groan.
Dick nearly leapt down his throat, sinking back on his heels, ankle screaming at him, blinking tears back as they obscured his vision. "Thank God."
And Tim, eyes still panicked, shot him an irritated look. "Hey. I'm the one performing triage, here."
Jason's eyes scanned around, a little hazy and squinting more than he should be. Still disoriented. "B?"
And Bruce's hand was suddenly over Dick's on Jay's chest. "I'm here, lad."
And Dick couldn't resist a watery, "Told you he would be, didn't I?"
The half-hearted grumble Jason gave in return was the best sound Dick had ever heard.
Once he was stable enough, they cut him away from the rebar. It took all three of them and some help from the Batmobile to clear Jason from the weight on his leg, and then another minute or two to tamp down on the bleeding from the gashes on his clearly broken leg. Hastily splinted as Tim fired up the Batmobile and Dick and Bruce carefully supported Jason between them, gently hauling him from the rubble.
And finally, he was free.
Jason had blacked out again when they pulled him from the rubble, and Dick didn't think he'd be able to forget the high-pitched, guttural scream Jason let out when they sawed through and pulled him free of the rest of the rebar. But finally, they were moving, Leslie and Alfred waiting for them with a full set up back at the Cave.
Jason blinked blearily as they cleared the building, eyes opening to cool, unfettered air against his face, still streaked in dust and red. All two hundred pounds of the Red Hood slumped between Dick and Bruce, arms over each shoulder and head hanging down as his body mostly dragged between them.
As they crossed the threshold, Jason looked up, stared at the unblemished skies with a consternated expression, turned to Dick, and murmured, “Liar." Then dropped his head, staggering his weight almost entirely against Dick.
Dick placed a supporting hand on Jason’s chest, right over the red bat. “Yell at me about it later.”