Jason blinked rapidly, taking in the slightly lulling sound of the engine reverberating around him, battling the dizziness brought on by the Replacement's manic driving. Due to the awkward position across the backseat, his previously numb legs were now giving off a dull throb of pain in time with each thready heartbeat.
An uncomfortable tingling sensation of nausea steadily grew behind his tight jaw. He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the taste of blood on his tongue. He was at least aware enough to know that giving in to the urge to vomit would be very not good for his wrecked body.
He also did not want this be any more humiliating than it had to be.
Of course dying was never a dignified act; Jason knew that better than most people. But in this moment he really wished that his second life didn't have to end with him bleeding and throwing up all over himself in Richard Grayson's arms.
Dick held him close, sharply shaking him every so often to force unfocussed eyes back open to face the spinning world.
His black gloved hand, now slick with warm blood, held firm against Jason's neck. The pressure, while easing the flow better than Jason's shaking fingers had been, made breathing even more uncomfortable.
How did they find me?
In her vigil over his bleeding body, the girl with the dark eyes had mentioned one of them had run off for help. Somehow, Jason found it extremely hard to believe that a Gotham street kid had a direct line to Nightwing and Red Robin.
Was I being monitored? Tracked?
Jason lifted a heavy arm, biting out a few incoherent sputters as he felt for Dick's hand, trying to get his attention.
"What is it Jay?" Dick tilted his face upwards to meet his anxious gaze.
"How-?" Jason choked out, unable to finish as another wave of nausea swallowed his words.
Neither Dick or the Replacement had time to work out the meaning behind his question before Jason abruptly lost his valiant battle with the nausea, intense pain lighting his body aflame as he violently jerked, body heaving as dark blood spattered out of his mouth.
His eyes rolled back, white replacing the bloodshot green. He continued to convulse as he inhaled the offending liquid his body was trying so hard to expel, feeling nothing but the sensation of burning from the inside out.
can't breathe can't breathe can't
His head was roughly shoved to the side, allowing the suffocating blood and bile to escape out of the side of his mouth.
He felt, more than heard, the Replacement and Dick shouting above him, their grating voices pounding mercilessly into his throbbing head, background to his own gasping and wheezing as he continued to thrash and heave.
Jason lost time, focusing solely on the arduous task of not suffocating on his own blood.
Absurdly, he felt himself suddenly wishing for the presence of a certain dark knight.
Jason's mind flashed to the many times in his Robin tenure that Bruce had been a pillar of unyielding strength on which he could lean, his comforting presence effectively distracting Jason from fear and panic. Something that had been so completely foreign to him before his fateful confrontation with the Bat in Crime Alley all those years ago.
But that was a lifetime ago. When Jason was still a worthy partner. A son. Before he was nothing more than a disappointment to the people he had cared about most.
The next stab of pain in his chest had nothing to do with his physical state.
I'm so sorry Bruce.
In his next moment of awareness, the leather interior of the batmobile had been replaced by an open, black expanse. Humid, musty air permeated through his senses.
The bat cave. Instantly familiar to Jason even in his daze.
"- no time, B!"
Listless limbs no longer responded to his command, uncontrollable spasms running through his body only intensifying in the chilled cavern.
"- uniform off now!"
Multiple hands worked over his supine form, yanking at his boots, fumbling at his belt and the buckles of his many holsters.
Without warning, a blade appeared in his line of site, passed off to a pair of hands in white gloves, lowering toward his chest. Pure instinct fueled a feeble, yet futile, attempt to put distance between himself and the glinting weapon, a cry of alarm erupting from his throat as he squirmed.
Heedless of his efforts, the blade swiftly sawed through the last remaining pieces of reinforced armor and bloodied clothing on his body, pulling at his skin as it was stripped away.
He felt himself laid out on a new, colder surface, the dull throbbing in his calves now ramped up to intense stabbing as sharp pressure was brought down on the area.
More voices filtered into Jason's awareness, distorted and muffled.
"-hopefully a clean break-"
"- he's been shot too –"
Jason could distantly comprehend that the horrific state of his naked body was on display to the shifting bodies around him. Clad in nothing but simple, bloodstained boxers, all his scars and wounds, old and new, were exposed to the harsh light above him.
With a reassuring squeeze to his forearm, a mask was placed over his nose and mouth and he felt the telltale sting of a needle at the top of his hand. There was a moment of quiet calm as he lay on the cold slab before he was suddenly being ripped apart, the steady burn in his abdomen now white hot and scorching.
Unimaginably heavy limbs left him unable to do much more than shudder in agony. The light above his head expanded outward, the glaring brightness only growing brighter in time with the torture.
Let it end I can't take it I can't
He let out one last wild scream before the light mercifully submerged him completely and he gave in to the sweet pull of unconsciousness.
Jason was boneless and cold. Watery eyes flitted open for a moment, not yet able to form a clear picture of his surroundings. There was an uncomfortable pinch in the crook of his arm and a stinging pressure pulsing beneath his right knee and calf.
His left leg, however, was more than throbbing, the pain nearing excruciating as hands stilled over the area.
"- the hell – he's waking up-"
It was hard to concentrate. He noted the burn in his abdomen had dissipated into a deep ache rather than a raging bonfire.
"But, the anesthesia- "
His head rolled to face the voice at his side.
He squinted at a blurry shape slowly forming into the stationary form of… the Replacement?
The wiry teen was leaned back in a chair, a thin blue shirt and black sweat pants taking place of the Red Robin getup. Cool grey eyes focused on Jason as a tube steadily pumped warm blood out of his pale arm.
Jason tried to focus, feeling heavy and weightless at the same time, unable to fully wrap his head around the scene before him. It doesn't make sense. Replacement wouldn't be giving him his blood. Replacement hates him.
"Jason, can you hear me?"
He tried to breathe through the pain and confusion. He brought a hand to his throat, feeling a thick bandage, the previously bleeding gash likely stitched up beneath it. He traveled up further, landing on the oxygen mask still in place over his nose and mouth.
A large hand wrapped around his, gently pulling it away from the mask. He blinked through the haze, the brightly lit room coming in and out of focus. His vision cleared on the civilian clothed figure of Bruce Wayne, currently holding Jason's hand in his.
Jason jerked away as though burned. Bafflement only building as his respiration increased rapidly.
Bruce's expression remained unreadable as he pulled his arm back, eyes never leaving Jason's face. He looked worn out, dark shirt rumpled and stained with what was likely Jason's blood. His hand moved forward again, as though to reestablish the touch, but the movement was aborted as Jason flinched.
Instead he turned away, addressing the foot of the operating table. "Why is he awake?"
"I don't know," Doctor Thompkins' terse voice answered. The hands on his left leg resuming their painful probing. "With the drugs I gave him, he shouldn't be. What I do know is that it's too dangerous to give him more right now without risking his life further."
Jason moaned, knowing exactly why he was conscious, yet wishing he didn't.
Drugs have very little effect on him anymore, a gift from his dip in the Lazarus Pit. It could be a good thing, especially in the case of poisons and tranquilizers, which had proven useful several times in the past, but in this moment Jason was not feeling very grateful.
He grit his teeth at the pain pulsating up from his ruined legs, wishing for the numbness to return in its place.
Bruce's subdued voice broke through the cloudy murkiness surrounding him, much closer than Jason remembered it being before. "We have to set the bone, do you understand?"
His eyes squinted closed, rapid breaths only increasing behind the oxygen mask. He managed a brief nod at the words without opening his eyes, tensing as he readied himself.
Crack
A sharp flood of pain rushed up his listless form as the audible sound resounded in the small room, he swore and squirmed even as Bruce's iron weight held him down, trying to still his movements. The ache in his abdomen twisted into a scorching stab, gnawing at his insides.
"Keep him still!"
There is a cool hand on his arm and a soft voice in his ear. "I know it hurts. I know it hurts Jason, but you have to calm down. Listen to my voice, you're ok," the Replacement attempted to distract him, murmuring soft reassurances that Jason couldn't understand through his struggles and cries.
"Goddammit he's pulling his stitches open-"
The raging pain was all encompassing, the arms holding him down only adding to the torment, building into a crescendo of agony until he finally faded out once more.
Jason awoke to a darkened room, the glaring lights now dimmed to a more subdued, orange glow.
He swallowed, throat dry and mouth tasting foul.
He was clad in a blue hospital gown, lying on a cushioned cot with his left leg protruding upward, elevated by what he assumed were several pillows. A thin white sheet covered him from the chest down and an IV hooked into the vein of his hand, connected to a steady drip of what was likely saline and a concoction of other useless drugs.
His lifted his left arm, bandaged at the crook where the Replacement's blood had been pumping in, mixing with his own. The thought made Jason want to scratch at his skin, knowing the blood running through his veins was not all his, that the Replacement of all people had voluntarily offered up his own.
It felt wrong.
He took a moment to gather his wits, willing himself to think past the ringing in his skull. There were no more crowding bodies around him. In fact, as he glanced about the room, eyes lingering in all the dark corners, he found himself completely alone for the first time since this nightmare started.
The nauseous fuzzy feeling had gone, and besides the ringing in his head and the slight tilt of the room, he felt more aware than he had since he had first awoken to the quiet whispers in the dingy alley.
He wondered how long he had been out for. The only reason he could think of as to why he was currently alone was that they must have expected the drugs in his IV to keep him under longer.
Your mistake.
Jason moved to push the sheet away from his body, feeling very sore as he did. Surprisingly, though the drugs had not kept him knocked out, they did seem to be somewhat doing their job. The pain was at a throbbing distance for now, though from experience he knew this likely would not be the case for long.
He was in the batcave's medical bay. That much he knew for certain. He'd been laid up here enough times to know the room intimately. Not much had changed about it in the years he had been away.
He feels a twist in his gut at this realization, but decided not to dwell on it too much.
He didn't understand how Dick found him. He didn't understand why Bruce and the Replacement had decided to help. He didn't understand why he was currently in the cave's medical bay rather than in an equally sufficient bay in Arkham or Blackgate.
He could try to work it out, but right now was not the time. Right now he needed to focus on getting the hell out of here.
He knew he didn't have long before Bruce returned.
Since it seemed Jason was no longer actively dying, it would surely only be a matter of time before Bruce has him shipped off to a padded cell.
He pulled at the IV his hand, easing it out as droplets of blood ran down his fingers from the small puncture. He felt beneath the bed, finding the release for the frame and lowering it. Gingerly, he moved into a sitting position until his legs dangled off the edge. The cast on his left calf weighing down heavily, while his right leg sported bandages mid-calf and beneath the knee, both wrapped around thickly.
Gunshot wounds.
One of his many assailants must have gotten lucky; he hadn't even realized he'd been shot amid the more immediate issues of his slit throat and the pipe in his gut. He felt relieved that he had at least been passed out from the pain while the good doctor dug out the slugs.
He took a deep breath and held it, listening to the stillness for a moment before slowly lowering his right leg to the floor. He put slight pressure on his toes, then the ball of the foot, feeling a sharp twinge in his calf but not much more. He let out his breath as he experimentally put more weight down until his foot lay flat on the floor with his arms braced on either side of him.
Now the hard part
He pushed up until he felt steady enough with his full weight bearing down. He looked around, trying to identify anything in the room he could use as a crutch, heaving out a disappointed sigh when he realized there was nothing.
Shit.
He hobbled forward, one arm outstretched for balance while the other braced against the side of the bed. He hopped awkwardly, careful not to put any weight on his broken leg, making it to the far end of the cot. He halted in his efforts for a minute, face slick with sweat, adrenaline causing him to shake slightly. Slowly letting go of the cot completely, he hopped again with both arms hovering at his sides, balance precarious in the absence of anything to lean on.
He hopped once more, this time landing badly and abruptly pitching forward, abdomen cramping painfully as he reached out desperately, barely catching himself on the edge of the expansive counter beneath the row of clear cabinets filled with drugs and medical equipment.
Clinging to the metal surface by his fingers, his right knee struck the floor hard as he lost his footing, causing the twinge from the bullet wounds to amplify exponentially. His left leg remained outstretched behind him, incredibly not jostled much in his fall. Thanking the higher powers that be for small miracles, Jason pulled up on the counter, arms straining as he trying to force himself back into a standing position.
Unfortunately, it seemed the powers that be were not quite that generous after all as he felt a horrendous tear in his abdomen, the stitches ripping open for the second time, dark blood staining through his light blue gown as it dripped off his body, rapidly forming in a puddle on the tile below.
Godfuckingdammit
Jason let go of the counter, curling into himself as he wrapped an arm around his midsection, trying to control the flow of blood seeping out. He let out a low wail, striking his forehead against the ground in pure frustration.
Suddenly there were running footsteps and hands beneath his arms lifting him up, wrangling him none too gently back toward the narrow cot. The change in position, mixed with the new blood loss, gave him vertigo as he leaned on the new body supporting his weight, legs now protesting at even the slightest pressure.
"Please Master Jason, we must get you back to the bed."
Oh god. Alfred.
Jason felt a rush of harrowing emotions bombard him at the sound of panic in the butler's usually mild and collected tone. Shame burned in his chest as the aging man hauled Jason's upper half back onto the mattress, and then bent back down to bring his legs up too.
The silver frame of the cot was pushed back into place with a snap as the butler worked over Jason with experienced hands, soaking up as much of the excess blood as he could with a rag before he began threading through the now open wound, reapplying the stitches where they had ripped.
Jason found he could not speak, his words blocked up behind the lump in his throat as he watched the butler work. After a while he turned away, unable to face the man, hiding his heated cheeks behind a shaking arm.
Eventually, Alfred finished with the stitching and applied gauze to the wound. He stood, pulling the gown back over Jason's body and gently guiding the arm across his face back to his side, maneuvering the IV needle back into the vein.
Jason made no move in protest.
"I trust you will not try such a foolhardy stunt again," the butler spoke, running a hand across Jason's burning forehead. He let it linger for a moment, taking Jason's silence as a sign of agreement, not commenting on the tears now running down his face or the hitch in his breath as he quaked with silent sobs.
Alfred merely leaned down, kissing his forehead before pulling a chair to his side and getting comfortable.
He watched over Jason's sobbing form silently, not moving an inch until a fitful sleep ultimately claimed the distressed boy.
The next time Jason awoke, the chair to his side was empty and his wrists were securely tethered to the bars of the cot. He lay limply, too exhausted to bother testing the strength of the restraints, unsure of how many hours had passed.
Bruce was likely making arrangements with Commissioner Gordon this very moment, preparing Jason's transport from the cave.
He felt utterly drained as he pressed back into the sheets, all energy long since expended. He simply eyed the door and waited for the inevitable.
A/N I honestly don't know what to think about this chapter. I had fun writing it, though I stayed up all night to finish. I hope it flows well and makes sense to people other than my currently sleep deprived self! Please leave any critiques or thoughts in the comments. I don't know where this story is headed next and feedback really helps! And thank you to everyone who gave this story a favorite/follow and left a comment on the first chapter! Come yell at me on my tumblr cptainjameskirk