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Damian growled to himself as he parkoured across the rooftop. He made it several blocks away from his Father; away from Batman. It was late enough to be early and he was dimly aware that the night sky had started to lighten as Saturday morning rapidly approached.
The night had gone well, he'd thought. Just an uneventful night of patrol; mostly intel gathering, nothing physical. It had gone well, until Batman had secluded him off to his favorite spot on the clock tower and as they watched over the city, had uttered the words,
“So tell me about this boy in your class with a broken nose.”
And Damian was quiet at first, his ears roaring and feeling a wave of anxiety wash over him as he remembered their last big fight, the one that had almost grounded him permanently from Robin.
“No more physical altercations at school. One more and there will be no more Robin.”
It was months, almost a year since that. Damian had done well, he'd thought.
“It wasn't at school,” was all he could think to say.
“A very public gaming store,” his Father said, blandly. “Tell me what happened.”
How Damian wished he could explain, his chest tight, the words dying in his throat. How could he explain the subtlety of the harassment he'd heard for the past school year from the new kid who had transferred from another state. It hadn't bothered him, really, the whispers and accusations that he was a terrorist, that he was a ‘raghead,’ and other slurs and words he hadn’t initially understood but picked up the context quickly and with some quick research on his phone, swallowed his pride and tolerated. The boy had been charismatic, making friends quickly from novelty alone, and soon his whispers spread, unheard by the teachers, but always getting back to Damian.
Words mean nothing, he'd told himself. It was laughable that those imbeciles at his school thought they could rile him up.
And so it had been, words rolling off his back, until he was in the Gotham Gaming Hub, trying to select a birthday present for Jon, and his acute hearing picked up the words from a familiar voice:
“Hey, guess who's here? The sand-” his ears reddened at the slur and he clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath and moving away, trying to count to ten, to swallow the familiar anger that swept through him. Entitled brats.
He'd been doing so well, ignoring the other boys on his way to the check out, until he caught another piece of their conversation,
“-of course, his dad's a billionaire; he's a Jew. Don't know why but he wastes all his money on gold digging gypsies and street urchins and that little-”
Damian had already started across the aisle, and he'd caught a triumphant glint in the eyes of that sneering face that turned quickly to uncertainty as the other boy caught that something went *wrong* in his plan.
He'd only known Damian as a pacifist, an easy target.
There was a satisfying crunch under Damian's palm as he delivered an upwards strike to the boy's nose, fingers curled slightly, cartilage giving way under the meat of his palm.
And without saying a further word, he'd walked up to the counter, paid the bewildered cashier for his purchase, and left.
He hadn't really considered the repercussions of his actions, satisfaction quieting the discontent in the back of his mind. He'd said nothing to anyone else about the incident and had gone home to wrap his gift and get ready for that night's activities with his Father.
And then he found himself on a cool rooftop, dew heavy in the air, and he couldn't bring himself to face his Father at that moment.
So he turned around and fired his grappling hook, ignoring the frustrated words coming from his Father, and left.
He'd known the part of town they were in like the back of his hand. He also knew he could get a head start on Batman if he doubled back and headed towards Crime Alley.
Todd had a safe house somewhere nearby that no one was supposed to know about. Tim, however, had issued a challenge to Damian of following the rest of the Batfamily during slow nights of patrol, and together they had mapped out several across the city and in nearby outskirts. Some of them -Cass- were harder to locate than others, but they had compiled a list of places to keep an eye on in case of an emergency.
Damian took a gamble and figured he could wait in the safe house until morning. He knew there were trackers on his suit and in his comm, but his father would give him space if he went to Todd's. Father and Todd's relationship had moved past its previously hair-trigger volatile nature and was only explosive on the worst days.
It wasn't the best part of town, even for Gotham, but nowhere near as bad as Crime Alley, which was several more blocks over; the area was attempting to gentrify after a rogue attack had damaged several buildings. Recognizing the landmarks, he repelled down the side of the building, accidentally knocking in a window with his foot as he kicked off and lept to the beam of a neighboring partially-finished apartment complex that was mostly a skeleton of metal beams and thick corded steel wires.
He was making his way down the beams and cords of steel carefully, trying to best determine the way to break into Todd's apartment. Ground floor would be best, he thought, Todd had explicitly warned him against going through the window as he was “past his era bird hunting and didn't pack birdshot.”
He was only forty feet up when he heard a loud CRACK in the air at the same time he felt something like a sledgehammer hit his chest. He cried out as he crumpled, grasping at his grapple hook, his body thumping as he hit beam after beam on the way down.
He tucked his chin to his chest and tried to brace his landing. Despite the blood bubbling up his throat, despite being unable to breathe. He mistimed the landing, couldn't catch himself in time, and he felt a sickening crack in his thigh as he landed and pain shot up his right leg, overpowering that in his chest.
He lay sprawled out on the concrete, gasping, mind unable to process what happened, what was happening, and his vision began to dim.
Moments later, seconds, minutes, hours, he wasn’t sure, he heard another loud CRACK and felt someone kneel next to him, grasping his shoulder.
“-okay? Talk to me.”
Oh, a voice. He wasn't sure he recognized that voice. He tried to open his eyes but his vision was blurring. He couldn't breathe right; Allah, why couldn't he breathe?
—-------------
Jason startled awake at the sound of the gunshot. It wasn't unusual to hear them in this neighbourhood, but it *was* unusual to hear it right outside of his goddamn window.
He drew his weapon from the holster wedged between his mattress and the bedside table and made his way to the window, staying out of line of sight, back to the wall as he peeked around the window.
“I did it!” He heard a voice shouting across the street. “The brat kicked in my window and I got ‘im! Boss is gonna be-” The was a man leaning out the window of the building across the street, leering down at the street below, a hunting rifle in his hands.
Jason looked down and his heart sunk. He couldn't process at first what he saw; a brightly colored figure sprawled out on the concrete below.
His gaze shot back up as the man in the window turned, still crowing about his accomplishment. Green washed over his vision as Jason raised his own weapon and fired before he leapt out the window and down the fire escape, mind racing. He dropped down, still a dozen feet off the ground, and raced over to where Robin lay.
He felt himself bristling. There was a figure leaning over, kneeling next to Damian.
“Get away from him!” He growled, “Who the fuck are you?”
The figure turned and Jason could barely make out the features of a teenaged boy in the dim city light.
“Hey man,” the boy held up his hands placatingly. “I'm just trying to help. He almost landed on me.” He swept one arm over, carefully, and Jason saw a sleeping bag and pile of blankets against the wall behind them.
“Move over.” Jason snarled.
The boy moved, angling himself around to kneel by Robin's head. Jason could hear him speaking but couldn't make out the words as his mind raced.
Head to toe assessment. Airway, Breathing, Circulation. DCAP-BTLS. Jason thanked whatever deities were out there that he had actually *listened* to Bruce and took that mandatory-for-the-family EMT training last summer. He tried to keep his mind objective and run through familiar algorithms.
Airway; Robin's airway was open, not clear because there was a sickening amount of blood bubbling up, but he was Breathing, and that was good. Circulation… He ran his hands down across the boy quickly in a sweeping motion. No blood across his chest, which surprised Jason, but he found a large indentation in the armor across his chest. Ah, that could be the cause of the blood in his mouth. Broken ribs, punctured lung? It would have had to have been a high powered rifle; the body armor saved Robin’s life from the penetration of the bullet but even the best armor couldn't protect from the concussive force, could only distribute the energy so much. And then the fall….
Jason’s eyes fell on D-, no, Robin, he forced himself to think. If he started thinking about the boy behind the mask, he was going to lose it. His eyes fell on Robin’s right leg and the wave of sickness washed over him again. Two jagged ends of shiny white bone poked through the suit midway through his thigh. A femur fracture.
Femur fractures can lead to the loss of up to two litres of blood. Someone Da-Robin's size might have a total of four litres in their entire body, Jason's mind supplied.
His arm shot out and he reached for Robin's right ear, where he knew the comm was, and placed it in his own ear.
“Robin down,” he said, “I repeat, Robin down. B, I need you here NOW.” He rattled off the address, not bothering to respond to the absolute *uproar* his words brought as panicked voices began to flood the comm line. He wouldn’t be able to focus on answering questions, couldn't split his attention between that and saving Damian's life.
He turned his focus to the teenaged boy, he hadn’t moved.
“Help is on the way. We need to do something about this leg. I'm going to try to pull some traction on it and get the bones to line back up. Try to hold him in place.” The boy nodded, and Jason moved to gently grasp Robin’s ankle and the back of his lower leg. “I’m sorry Robin, this is going to hurt.”
As he pulled, a bubbling scream erupted from Robin and Jason felt bile rise in his throat as he saw the bone ends realign. And suddenly-
“FUCK!”
Bright red blood started spurting from the wound, an arterial bleed that had been previously hidden, or that had opened up as Jason had moved the leg; he wasn't sure.
He didn't have a tourniquet. He'd left everything in his apartment in his panic. Stupid, stupid, stu-
“I got this.” a voice broke through his panic, and he saw the teenager next to him do something? with his wrist and something bright white shot out of an odd looking strap and landed across the wound.
“What the fuck was that?” Jaso asked, incredulous. The other boy made a face, but answered quickly.
“It's an adhesive. It will hold off the bleeding.”
Jason tapped the communicator in his ear.
“B, where are you?” He paused, listening, before all but shouting, “Why were you on the other side of town?! We don't *HAVE* fifteen minutes!” An idea flitted through his mind, and he opened his mouth to call out before he remembered that it wouldn't work. The Supers were all off world for some godforsaken reason.
“Where does he need to go?” The stranger next to him asked, interrupting Jason'sspiraling thoughts.
“The closest hospital is thirty minutes away on foot. Leslie's clinic is fifteen and she could stabilize him, but I don't think-” Jason struggled to catch himself. “I don't know if we have the time.”
“Hm.” A frown. “Is that the clinic by the homeless shelter?”
Jason paused, thinking. “Yeah.”
The boy’s features were grim in the darkness, but he nodded. “I can get him there in five.”
“What the fuck do you mean-”
“-Todd?” a croaking voice interrupted Jason.
He turned his attention to Damian. God, Jason thought, he looked so young. His skin was ashen and he was diaphoretic, his breathing rapid. He was going into shock.
“Todd, what does dying feel like?” Damian asked quietly, a line of blood trailing from too pale lips.
Before Jason could answer, the boy next to him bent down, brushing hair off of Damian's forehead and he quietly answered.
“It's heavy. You’ll feel numb, and warm. Floaty. But it's okay, it's like… like when you fall asleep on the couch, and your mom or dad carry you back to bed for the night. It's not scary.” The boy paused, swallowing, collecting his thoughts. “You've done a good job, holding on this far. I just need you to fight it just a little while longer, okay?”
Jason sucked in an audible breath, choking out. “Don't-”
“-'s nice.” Diamian whispered, his voice raspy. He coughed and his breath rattled again.
“We need to move him, now.” The strange boy said, looking at Jason. “Meet me at the clinic.”
And before Jason could do anything, the scrawny teenager in front of him picked up Damian in a one armed modified fireman's carry, aimed his wrist at the closest rooftop, and was just *gone* in the next instant.
Jason stood in the empty alleyway, surrounded by blood and blankets, and was that a backpack? His heart was pounding and he could feel himself shaking as his body processed the adrenaline as he took stock of what happened. Jason took a deep breath and tried to ground himself. Damian hadn't even cried out as he'd been lifted. Did he pass out? Had he-
Jason tapped the ear piece again.
“B, meet us at Leslie's clinic.”
—-----------------
Jason hadn't been in the clinic long when Batman burst through the doors. He'd been sitting in the lobby, eyes dully staring at the locked door that he knew Damian was behind. A haggard nurse had greeted him on arrival, and with a curt “They're doing everything they can,” had forced him to take a seat.
He still had Damian's blood on his hands. He tried not to acknowledge it.
A buzzer rang at the entry, and Jason’s eyes slid over to the imposing figure that looked so out of place illuminated by harsh fluorescent lighting.
“What happened?” growled the Batman.
“Some goon shot him for kicking in his window.” Jason said dully, his eyes sliding back to the locked doors.
“Who-?”
“Don't worry about it. It's taken care of.”
A pause. “Jason-”
“No. Don't you DARE take that tone with me.” Jason snarled, rising to his feet and feeling a familiar green wash over his vision and anger simmering in his chest. “Don't you-”
He was cut off when in two strides Batman crossed the room. Jason tensed, preparing himself for a fight,, but he was suddenly enveloped in dark kevlar as arms reached out to embrace him.
“Thank you.” The words were quiet, barely a whisper.
Jason stilled, shocked, and felt himself slowly raise his arms to return the embrace. He could feel Bruce's heart pounding under the body armor of the suit, the only indication that everything was *not alright* with the other man.
They separated as the locked doors opened and a nurse stepped out. She looked at them impassively. “Dr. Thompkins is stabilizing him right now. He's getting a blood transfusion and has a chest tube in place, but he's going to need to go to a trauma center for surgery. He has a hemothorax from a punctured lung, several broken ribs, and a severe open femur fracture.” She looked at them. “I don't know what that adhesive is that you used to stop the bleed in his leg, but it saved his life. It was also incredibly difficult to remove.” There was an unspoken question as she looked at him.
Jason felt Batman’s questioning eyes on him and shrugged. “I have no idea what it is. Where's the guy who brought him in?”
Batman tensed next to him. Jason had left his phone at home and hadn't updated him over the ear comms or otherwise divulged *how* Robin was brought to the clinic.
The nurse nodded. “Getting cleaned up. Mr. ah- Batman, Dr. Thompkins needs to speak with you, if you'll follow me, to discuss transportation and uh, your cover story for the boy.”
Jason wondered not for the first time how tied up in NDAs Bruce had this place as he watched the imposing figure follow the nurse to the treatment area. He started to follow them, but thought better of it. He didn't want to get in the way, and someone had to keep watch on the front entrance, besides.
Minutes passed and the doors to the treatment area opened again. A figure stepped out dressed in pale blue scrubs, rubbing his damp hair with a white towel in one hand and carrying what looked like a trashbag full of dirty clothes in another. As the boy lowered the towel in the stark lighting of the clinic, Jason got his first look at the teenager that saved Damian's life… and froze.
Startled green eyes met equally startled green eyes as they stared at each other. The boy was pale and almost scrawny thin with shaggy brown hair and a very conspicuous white patch in the bangs. Just like-
“Who the fuck are you?” Jason heard himself say for the second time that night, approaching the boy rapidly.
“Oh!” Startled, the boy looked at him incredulously, no doubt taking in Jason's own appearance as he approached. “Oh, uh, I'm Peter.”
He tucked the towel under his arm and stuck out his hand when Jason stopped in front of him.
“My name is Peter Parker.”