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Red Hood ran.
His hand pressed harshly against his side as his blood seeped between his fingers. His eviscerated side showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.
Welp. At least he had stopped the trafficking, now he had an exit wound on his upper left abdomen though. And based on the amount of blood soaking his clothes he took an educated guess that the bullet had hit his spleen.
Great.
Well, on the bright side he wasn’t a faucet so the bullet likely hadn’t hit an artery. Jason removed his hand for a second to watch the flow of red leave his side. No pulse, just a constant flow. So either vein or splenic capsule.
If he was lucky he had about 6 hours before he bled to death. Unlucky, he had maybe an hour.
Jason Peter Todd had never once been lucky in his life.
It hurt like a bitch, each breath aggravating the wound further, preventing a clot from properly forming.
He had two realistic options;
1) Go to his nearest safehouse and try to pack the wound with whatever was in his small med kit. Likely passing out from the pain and then bleeding out as he laid passed out on the floor.
2) Bite the bullet and get medical help at a hospital. If he did that they would alert the authorities Red Hood was there and then he would have to run from the cops and no doubt they would call bat.
And he could really do with never talking to Bruce ever again.
The dude had replaced him within the year, with the fucking neighbors kid. Like he couldn’t even have been bothered to mourn or even give a shit that he was dead.
Bruce had let Joker live. Just thrown him in Arkham like Jason had never died. Like he was nothing.
Maybe he never was anything to Bruce, just a kid willing to fill someone else's shoes.
Even if that was an impossible feat.
Jason was leaning forward as he stalked towards where he had hidden his bike. He had 60 seconds to decide. Risk death part two or throw in the towel, risk being thrown into Arkham.
Next to his killer.
He swung a leg over his bike, the motion pulling at the wound making him lightheaded as he sat down.
There was a third option though…’my doors always open.’
The motor revved to life between his legs. He told himself it was a stupid, human gamble: thirty minutes of throttle and pain, a reckless stretch between life and the light. If the hole was small, he’d make it. If it wasn’t—then the road would take him before the world ever knew he’d come back.
Fuck it.
0o0o0
He was 15 minutes out. Halfway there.
He revved the engine, sending the needle to 160 MPH as he weaved through the light traffic.
He could make it.
0o0o0
5 minutes out.
He was sweating, fighting the exertion that was clinging to him. The vibrations of the motor lulling him towards the land of the unconscious as he tried to swerve the potholes in a city that wasn’t familiar to him.
His arms were shaking, trying to hold him upright as his grip weakened.
He had to stay focused, stay diligent. If he did hit a pothole he risked opening the wound further.
He was already cold, he didn’t want to risk accelerating to the process of bleeding to death.
0o0o0
He dumped the bike, forgetting to put up the kick stand as it almost dragged him down to the asphalt with it.
His head was spinning, kneeling on the ground on his hands and knees as he waited for the black spots to evict themselves from his vision. He knew it was getting bad, his pulse was erratic and he felt like he was dying of thirst as he panted for oxygen through his Red Hood helmet.
At least now he knew it wasn’t an artery, but he still had barely made it the 30 minutes ride.
Now he just had to climb the fire escape and break in.
He had been doing that since he was 8 years old.
0o0o0
He didn’t trust himself with using the grapple, as he ascended the last section of stairs he could feel his heart pounding away in his head. The shrill thumping syncing with the black spots growing in his vision.
His hearing left him after the third floor.
But, at last, he was at the window. ‘God’, he thought to himself. ‘I hadn’t even considered if he had moved in the last three years.’
It was too late now. He was out of time.
The lights were on inside, some pop song playing as he saw the outline of the figure through the curtains.
Now or nothing.
He didn’t bother with trying to open the lock, he was running out of time. Instead he took out his gun, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to break it. Instead, he put the barrel of the gun on the glass, pointing it away from the figure before firing.
The glass sprayed like fucked up confetti into the living room. He had just enough time to think about how the pieces that had been disintegrated into dust looked like glitter before his body finally gave up trying to keep him conscious.
0o0o0
He was actually cooking for once in his life. He knew that he should really eat a better diet but there never seemed to be the time.
And then, just as he was going to add the pasta to the alfredo sauce an explosion went off behind him.
He immediately dropped the pot with the cooked pasta as he jumped backwards for cover. The pot came down, hitting the edge of the pan before they both toppled to the floor. Across the room there was a wet THUNK as something hit his living room floor.
After 5 seconds, there was no movement. No sound out of place. He took a gamble, peeking around the island he saw none other than Red Hood collapsed under his window. Bleeding to death.
Fuck.
0o0o0
Jason came too slowly. The feeling of someone gently scrubbing away dried blood from his side with a scratchy wash cloth was the only indicator that he wasn’t alone.
They were quiet.
Then again, he had always been quiet.
He had removed Jason’s armour, exposing his chest. With minute ministrations of his leg muscles, he registered they had kept him in his cargo pants. Having only removed his boots and thrown a blanket over him.
Likely not wanting to stain his couch if he could get away with it.
The cloth left his side, the sound of him dipping it into a bowl of water evident before he rung the material out, beginning his clean up of the crime lord once again.
“Why did you come here?”
Right. No time for pleasantries. Well, he did just break into a random person's apartment. And ‘random person’ was a bat and already knew it wasn’t just a ‘random apartment.’
How was he supposed to respond to that though? Sure he could just lie his ass off but he also wasn’t in the best shape to keep up a lie. His head was still swimming, sure he could feel the IV line resting on his arm, but there was only so much fluid could do. He needed blood.
Fuck it, he had already risked it by coming here. His brain being too exhausted to fight, just wanting to comply so he could go back to sleep.
“You,” he began, his voice cracking but his voice modulator being able to hide it. “You told me your door was always open.”
He quickly glanced towards the crime lord's helmet, full batglare on display before he turned back to his work. “I never told you that. How did you find me?”
He was exhausted. His brain moving his arms before he could convince them this was the dumbest idea on the face of the planet.
He pulled himself free from the helmet, letting it fall to the ground as he slowly gazed up at Dick.
Dick froze, his jaw dropping as his eyes widened in surprise. His hand still holding the rag was suspended in the air, like if he moved Jason would fade from existence again.
“Hey Dickie,” he croaked out as he fought to keep his eyelids open once more.
“Jason?”
“Don’t tell Bruce,” he instructed as he tried to lick his lips to moisten them.
“Don’t te– Jason, How are you alive,” Dick asked as he moved forward. Finally allowed to move again like it wouldn’t shatter the fabric of reality. Leaning forward he dropped the cloth, choosing instead to run his fingers through Jason’s helmet hair with one hand and rest the other on Jason’s chest. No doubt feeling the vibration from each contraction of his heart. His alive and beating heart.
Jason’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact, his body melting into the touch. The last time he had had a kind touch, one that had no strings attached had been Bruce, 3 years ago. The simple act of Dick putting his warm hands on Jason was enough to put him into a trance like state.
“Do–Don’t know…but, Talia put me in…in….da….p…pit.”
“Hey, hey hey hey. Don’t go to sleep yet Jay,” Dick chastised as he lightly shook Jason.
“I’m tired,” he whined.
But Dick got up, removing his hands from Jason’s hair. It wasn’t enough to bring the consciousness back though, he was still drifting.
“Sit up a bit,” Dick instructed as he returned, snaking a hand behind Jason’s neck as he tilted Jason's head up.
Jason complied, forcing his eyes open enough to register Dick was giving him a pill. “It’s just ibuprofen, Jay,” he promised when Jason gave him a weary look. But he didn’t fight back.
He let Dick place the pill on his tongue, accepted the water before he was gently laid back on the pillow.
0o0o0
Dick pulled the blanket up to Jason’s neck after he had finished with the bandage. Jason had fallen asleep maybe 30 seconds after having taken the ibuprofen.
He was too pale. But he was alive.
His little wing was alive.
He smiled, huffing a laugh out of his nose as he thought ‘not so little anymore.’
Dick held him, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over his younger brother's cheek as he finally let the tears come.
Maybe this meant that the little lost Robin that liked to follow him around for the past 3 years would finally be able to rest.
Robin no longer needed help, Red Hood did.