A/N: I'm drawing Person/POV/Tense from a (imaginary) hat. Here's 2nd person/limited/past which is a major pain thank you very much.

The frantic sputtering of batarangs came to a dead stop. You only opened your eyes then to make sure it was safe. You brushed your good hand through your dirty, ginger locks and thumbed your way around the old scabs which had healed more or less until you found the newest abrasion on the back of your neck. The cut was long but wasn't too deep; it ran diagonally from below your shoulder blades to the tip of your right ear. You knew that this wound would be manageable as long as you could treat it soon.

You heard the masked figure approach before you saw him. His boots scuffed the pavement as he hobbled towards you. He crouched beside your limp body and evaluated your cut.

"This isn't too deep, but you may have a concussion." Robin began cleaning your wound with some sort a salve. "I need to get you out of here," Robin insisted.

"It's fine," you replied gruffly. The attempt to pull yourself to your feet was met by a strong arm pushing you back to the asphalt.

"Stay hidden," Robin hissed.

"Shit."

Until now, you had thought that the hero had finished the job. It's was hopeless to look for clues as to who was left with Robin still pinning you down. He eyed your condition wearily.

"Kid," Robin addressed you, "do you know how this all started?"

You did know the cause of the shootout, but you were reluctant to explain. Besides, your head was killing you and you were sure that thinking would make it throb even more.

"I can't remember," you rolled your head to the side and flashed the wound at the hero, "it's all so blurry."

Robin seemed to believe your excuse. He nodded and unattached his brightly colored cape. He bundled it up into a makeshift pillow and pushed it carefully underneath your head.

"Thanks," you mumbled even though you felt like that was the very least he could have done for you.

"No problem. I was—" Robin flinched suddenly. He motioned to the comm-link for your benefit. "R in," he declared over the line.

You couldn't make out the other man-The Batman-as he spoke so you invented his half of the conversation to amuse yourself.

"What's up, bird boy?" Batman chirped.

"I have a kid my age with a head injury and possible memory loss," Robin replied.

"We should invite him over to dinner; you never have enough friends."

"I don't think that is possible without treating some wounds first." Robin's eyes met yours as he explained this to Batman. He gave you a weary smile.

"Well," Batman may have said, "that's dandy and all but unless you're bringing him back to the cave then I don't care if he lives or dies."

You scowled at Batman's words. Robin kept smiling hopefully.

"I will bring him as soon as I can."

"Groovy. I'll make nachos."

You were glad that Batman was a nacho lover because the taste of cheese and more cheese was the only thing helping you fight past the pain.

"That's good news," Robin smiled brighter, "Now that everything's clear we'll get going.

"Stop by the 7-11 and get more cheese, old chum."

"I hear you loud and clear. R out," Robin signed off. The teen looked over your mass and your bloody head. He stopped smiling. "I have no idea how to carry you."

You suddenly realized why they call him the Boy Blunder. You huffed in frustration.

"Oh, calm down. It's fine." He pressed a button on his belt. You heard the bike roar into life before you saw it. "I just have to make this," he motioned towards you, "fit on here."

You huffed again, this time even more incensed.

"It's only until we meet the Batmobile, okay?" Robin tried to calm you down.

You perked up at this new development. A ride in the Batmobile would be worth all this trouble. In fact, you thought that you might get what you wanted in the first place if you just played your cards right.

Robin helped you to your feet and you propped against him. Together, you slowly made your way to the bike.

"I need my backpack," you told him as you rested on his seat. Your vision blurred as you watched him retrieve your bag.

The journey around the side of the building to the Batmobile was less than smooth. Robin rubbed his ribs while you pretended not to notice. In hindsight, you may have been holding on to him too tightly.

Batman appeared then from within the brilliant, black vehicle. The car door popped open and Robin pushed you inside. He hefted your bag in the hand not holding on to you.

You rode with your full length spread out across the back seat. Your bag jostled against the floor as the engine surged forwards.

"What is in the bag?" Batman demanded.

Your breath hitched at his words. You hoped that maybe he'd think you had fallen asleep if you kept quiet.

"You wouldn't dare fall asleep," Batman reminded you, "not with a head injury."

You blew out a puff of air from your nose.

"Equipment," you told him. Your words were purposely vague.

"What for?" he prodded. Somehow, you knew he already had everything all figured out.

"Stealing hubcaps," you admitted.

Batman grunted. "I would have been here sooner, Robin, but I had to make some minor repairs."

Robin didn't seem to believe that this conversation was for real. His eyes were round as he asked you for your name.

"Why should I tell you?" you asked.

Robin frowned momentarily before smirking. "Hey, Bats? Can we keep him?"

Batman grunted. It was your turn to go round in the eyes.

"Jason," you choked out before you collapsed into Robin's arms.

The next time you opened your eyes you didn't have to wait until you knew that it was safe. Suddenly, you had found the safest place in the world. You learned to call it home.

Nachos? htNOSPACEtp:/youtuDOTbe/Gg5QBrwKF94