A/N: Hi, everybody! So this idea has been bouncing around since I watched the movie, and I finally got around to it. I decided to write about what Jason may have thought during his final moments. It's probably not very original or anything, but hey. It helped me reflect on Robin's death without getting insanely angry. Sort of. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own.

Standard Disclaimer. We all know how these things work. If I owned Batman, he'd catch a break once in a while. Just sayin.

Any and all reviews are welcome! Loved it? Hated it? Didn't feel anything particular towards it? Let me know; I'm all about improving my writing! Hope everyone has a great day! :)

Namaste.

Even if the sky does fall

Even if they take it all

There's no pain that I won't go through

Even if I die for you

-Die for You by Starset

Jason was cold. He could see his rattling breath spiral out of his bloodied mouth and into the air before dissipating. A bolt of white-hot pain shot through his jaw when clenched his teeth against the pain. Definitely cracked. Blood still leaked out of his wounds and he could feel bones grinding against each other sickeningly when he tried to move. Still, he wasn't overly worried. Bruce would come for him.

He tried to pull himself off the floor, only resulting in an agonized cry. The only reason it wasn't a scream of pain was because of the lack of air from a collapsed lung. The Joker had been right; he was nothing if not thorough. He gasped fruitlessly for air through his battered torso, needing to breathe but hurting so badly he almost didn't want to.

Finally, the black spots in his vision slowly began disappearing, although they didn't leave altogether. That was enough for him. Batman's training passed smoothly through his mind. He fancied he could almost hear Bruce's voice.

Try to control the situation. Locate the exits and try all possible routes before abandoning the idea. Most places won't have a door you can just walk out of, but almost every space will leave room for improvisation.

He moved onto his back, then forced himself to roll backward. His face was pressed against the icy, blood-streaked floor. Slowly, he moved his arms. They screamed in protest as he rotated them in damaged sockets, and he grunted in sync with them. Finally, after straining past his reach, he managed to slip his feet into the circle his arms made and brought his bound hands in front of him.

Being a thief had some advantages, but being Robin? It didn't seem like he could do anything but improve. On a good day, he almost believed he could be as strong as Batman someday. Almost.

He had gotten kidnapped before. It wasn't like this was the first time he had been left somewhere for Bruce to find him. And he always had before. There was no reason to lose faith now. Batman was the most dependable person he had ever known in his life. When he had joined him as Robin, the hero-worship had faded a little over time as he gained familiarity with the man. It all came rushing back now, and Jason felt a little better. All he had to do was sit tight. Bruce would come for him.

The Dark Knight wouldn't be hindered by a couple of bruises and scratches, he tried to tell himself. He felt a few broken ribs move inside his chest, and blood spattered the ground in a flowing, viscous tide from the numerous gashes on his body. He managed to get to his feet, hunched over and staggered.

He swayed where he stood, head hanging low and trying to breathe. Bruce was coming for him.

Jason tried to take a step, and his leg collapsed under him. He landed on his face painfully, and all the air his compromised lung could give him was knocked out of his body from the impact.

For a long, terrifying moment his vision grayed and he couldn't take in a breath. Suffocating and freezing to death on the floor of a filthy warehouse suddenly seemed like a legitimate concern. Finally, the horrible pressure eased somewhat and he sucked in the freezing air.

Pulling his right leg up in tandem with his right arm, he managed to slowly push himself up to an elbow. His eyes narrowed in determination. He wasn't going to die here, not in this stupid warehouse, not because of Joker. Bruce was going to find him.

He dragged himself across the floor, leaving a gory streak of blood in his wake. Every muscle and joint cried out in agony at the unwanted movement, but Jason made himself move. Bruce was coming for him.

The doorknob rattled against the padlock Joker had put on it. Jason felt the cold metal sliding under his blood-smeared fingertips, and pulled harder. It still didn't budge. He collapsed back to a slumped position, panting with exertion.

Before he could think about how much it would hurt, he made his body pull itself upright so his back was pressed against the cold door.

He wrestled with the handcuffs with all his strength, feeling the cruel grip bite into his damaged wrists.

Finally, he had to stop and put a protective hand over his damaged torso. His breaths were coming in ragged gasps now, and dark dots thumped before his eyes in racing unison with his heart.

Through his haze, he became aware of a sound. Pulling his eyes open and attempting to slow his breathing, he heard a continuous beep.

Looking over, he faintly saw the red LED display. It took a long moment to focus on the numbers flashing by.

0:09

0:08

0:07

0:06

He stared, transfixed with panic. What should he do? Could he do anything? Where was Bruce?

He watched as the seconds ticked his life away. When the clock face read 0:03 a cold feeling pervaded his mind, taking away any emotion. His face hardened and he watched the timer impassively.

0:02

Bruce wasn't here. Couldn't possibly get here to save him. Not this time.

0:01

Dimly he thought he heard a motorcycle engine from far away, outside the building. He closed his eyes for a final time.

When the bomb went off, he was aware of heat, but not pain. The blast warmed his frozen limbs, threw him into the air. He was moving, falling into a black pit of unconsciousness; light had never scratched the surface of that darkness. His breathing slowed, and his heartbeat along with it.

He didn't come, he thought. The thought reverberated with a feeling of deep dismay and betrayal. Then it swirled away, along with time and all sensation. He embraced the engulfing darkness and went into the gaping emptiness alone.