A/N: Sorry for any out-of-character moments. This is only my second time including other heroes in the story. For purposes of this story, Bruce and Dick did not have a big fight. Also, I don't swear so neither does Jason. Thanks for reading! :)


That sound was never a good sign. The familiar beeping that usually led to an explosion. And they were all in the building – most likely none of them were even close to an exit – and they only had who-knew-how-long to escape.

Nightwing sheathed his escrima sticks and tapped his ear. The annoying 'buzz' informed him that his communicator was out. He had no way to quickly tell anyone about the probable bomb, so he was going to have to run. He was on the top floor, it would be easy to yell 'get out' or 'bomb' after throwing open the door to each floor while racing down each set of steps.

There was a member of his family on every single floor. Robin, as the youngest, was right in the middle – floor three. Red Hood was on the ground floor, Red Robin on the second, and Batman on the fourth. Nightwing, the quickest and most nimble, had been sent up to the fifth floor, a decision that he now completely agreed with, since that's where the bomb was located.

Without wasting another second, Nightwing sprinted to the door leading to the stairs. He raced down a floor, yelled at Batman whom he knew would grab Robin, flew down two more sets of stairs and shouted at Red Robin. There was a difference between the two, though. Batman had responded and literally told Nightwing that he would get Robin. Red Robin, however, remained silent.

Instead of continuing to the ground floor, the black-and-blue clad hero left the stairwell to search for his brother. It didn't take long to find him – he was sitting at a desk in one of the three offices, his eyes glued to a computer screen and his fingers impatiently drumming rapidly on the black edge of the keyboard.

"Come on," he murmured, "faster."

"Red, we gotta go!" Nightwing yelled as he ran toward the office. "Bomb up top, we have to go now."

"Just one more minute, Nightwing, I almost have all the information downloaded."

"I don't know what the timer was set at, we have to go. NOW!"

"Just ten seconds, that's all I need, give me ten seconds."

"I don't know if we even have ten seconds!" Nightwing exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

That startled Red Robin – Nightwing rarely sounded frustrated with any of his brothers. The teenager grabbed his flash drive, yanked it out of the computer tower, and raced his older brother to the stairs. But they were too late.


The top floor exploded, and the rest of the building followed suit. In less than a minute, five floors became one giant pile of rubble. Robin stared at the scene, a small ball of concern rolling around in his chest. Red Hood pulled off his helmet and shook off the dirt and debris clinging to his clothes. Batman visually checked the two for injuries and, finding none, turned his attention back to the building. Nightwing and Red Robin had probably gone out the back and would be joining them soon.


Nightwing felt the rumble before the explosion. He grabbed Red Robin and shoved him to the floor then draped himself over the top, effectively shielding him from whatever was going to come flying at them. The bomb exploded and the two heroes fell with the building. Nightwing felt the sharp sting of metal debris in random places around his body, and then the fiery pain of something being shoved into his side. Then everything went dark.


Red Robin felt the weight of Nightwing's body slam onto his chest when they landed. It knocked the wind out of him, and he was positive that he had just taken his last breath. But then it was over, and he could breathe again. Not easily, though, since Nightwing was still on top of him.

"Nightwing, it's over, you can get off me now," the teen muttered.

The older hero didn't move.

"Nightwing? Are you awake?"

No response, and Red Robin was very concerned. It was his fault that they had been in the building when it exploded, and it was his fault that Nightwing had made himself a human shield, so it was obviously his fault that Nightwing was now lying across Red Robin's own chest, completely unconscious.

"Come on, Nightwing, I can't breathe."

He hoped that would cause his brother to move, because Nightwing would never do anything to harm his family, except maybe hug them to death. His hope faded when there was no movement from the limp body on top of him.

"Nightwing! Red Robin!"

That was Batman's voice, and the teenager blew out a breath of relief. His torso hurt, he was pretty sure he had at least one broken rib, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind in order to answer the man.

"Over here."

It came out as more of a whisper, but it was loud enough to send the rest of the Bat-family in the right direction. Red Robin blinked the dust away as three shadows arrived. The shadows turned into Batman, Robin, and Red Hood when they knelt down.

"Nightwing…not…awake."

He had trouble getting the words out, since there was an adult man lying on his chest making it very hard, and painful, to breathe.

"Crap!"

That came from Red Hood, who was on the other side of the two prone bodies. Batman was sliding his arms under Nightwing in order to lift him off of Red Robin, but the exclamation stopped him.

"Report," the oldest hero demanded.

"Uh, you can get Red out, but I don't think you should move 'Wing."

Red Hood's voice was trembling slightly, causing Batman to stand up and join him on the other side.

Batman was not a swearing person, but a slew of words almost spilled from his mouth when he saw the reason for Red Hood's exclamation. A steel pole, short and thin, had been shoved into Nightwing's left side. Blood was sliding out of the resulting hole, and there was already a puddle on the ground.

"It's…through."

Robin had tried to keep his voice strong, but the sight of his oldest brother pinned to the floor by a pole was almost too much for even him. Batman knelt down to look under Nightwing's body. Robin was right; the pole wasn't as short as Batman had thought. It had gone through Nightwing's torso and the end was wedged between two cement blocks.

"What?!" Red Robin asked, panic in his voice.

"B, we gotta lift him and get Red outta there."

Without acknowledging the comment, Batman commanded, "Robin, you help Red Robin roll out when Red Hood and I lift Nightwing's body."

"You can't move him!" Robin exclaimed.

"Red can't breathe, demon spawn!" Red Hood shouted.

"I…'kay," Red Robin tried to say, but that only caused Robin to ready himself to help the teenager get out from under their oldest brother.

"B, how're we gonna do this?"

Red Hood rarely asked for advice, and never asked for help. But this was Nightwing, the one member of his family that he would give his life for regardless of the circumstances. He could not afford to make any mistakes.

"You're going to support his weight while I lift his chest a few inches, just enough to get Red Robin out."

Batman's voice was gruff, but his three sons knew that anger was not the emotion behind the tone. Red Hood nodded and carefully eased his arms under Nightwing's waist. He instantly felt the slickness of fresh blood, and knew he was going to be throwing these clothes away later. Not even Alfred's capable washing abilities would be able to get the stain of this memory off of the clothes.

"Ready?" Batman asked, and Red Hood grunted in response.

"Robin?"

"Yes, I have him."

"One, two, three."

Batman, his arms under Nightwing's upper back, slowly lifted the limp body. After only a few inches, Robin was able to help Red Robin carefully roll out. Thinking quickly, Red Robin grabbed a cement block and shoved it into the empty space where his body had just been.

"My body was supporting him, so I replaced myself," he explained when Robin glanced at him with a questioning look.

"Replacing yourself, now, Replacement?" Red Hood grunted as he watched Batman slowly lower Nightwing's torso until it was resting on the block.

"Shut up," Red Robin replied, causing Batman to quietly growl.

"Not. Now."

The command was met with immediate obedience, something that had only happened once before.

"Now, how do we get him off and to a hospital?" Red Hood asked.

"Taken care of," Batman replied brusquely.

"How in the heck is it taken care of?" the younger man shouted. "He's still here, we're still here, there's nobody else here, and none of us…"

Red Hood trailed off when Superman appeared over their heads.

"Robin, Red Hood, wrap the entry and exit wounds with Bat-wrap, but pack them with Bat-gauze first," Batman commanded. "It needs to be strong enough to hold the pole in place while Superman is flying."

Without a word, the two heroes went to work. Robin went underneath, and they took turns passing the Bat-wrap over and under Nightwing's body, completely sealing off the wounds and effectively stopping the blood. When Robin backed out and stood up, his first thought was to ask Alfred for a new uniform. Nightwing's blood was all over his arms, sliding down his chest, and dripping out of his hair.

Batman nodded to Red Hood, and they both put their arms back under the fallen hero, supporting his weight while Superman shoved away the blocks that were holding the pole steady.

"Easy, careful," Batman murmured when the pole swayed unexpectedly.

"Yeah," Red Hood replied, struggling to maintain his grip on the slippery torso with his bloody hands.

After what seemed like ten hours, Superman replaced their four arms with his much stronger two. As he rose into the air, the other four heroes gasped in dismay. Nightwing looked like a fish on a hook, a dying fish on a hook.

"Is he…" Robin began but couldn't finish.

"No," Batman responded. "He's breathing, he has a pulse, but he lost a lot of blood. We need to get back to the Batcave and find out why the building exploded. Leslie and Alfred are ready for him, he'll be fine."

The three boys nodded, but Batman could see the doubt in their eyes and fear on their faces. Nightwing was the glue that held their dysfunctional family together. Batman didn't want to know what would happen to his family if the glue was suddenly gone.


Six hours later – the Batcave:

Dick was…surviving. That was the only word Bruce could use. He was not awake – he was, in fact, in a coma – and he was not breathing on his own. But his heart hadn't given up, and Bruce took the small win.

Jason, Tim, and Damian had been in the Batcave for the entire time. Bruce had forced them all to immediately take showers so that they would be out of the way. Leslie and Alfred – and Superman for a while – had needed the space to work, and three worried brothers breathing down their necks and asking for updates every ten seconds would not have been helpful.

Superman had been the one to pull out the pole, but he had to wait for an hour before Leslie and Alfred had deemed Dick stable enough to get through it. The rush of blood that had spilled from his body was more than they had expected, and it had been touch and go for over an hour. They had immediately assumed internal damage, but had, luckily, been wrong. Bruce took that slightly bigger win, also. Now Dick was stitched up, hooked up to fluids and blood and monitors, and fresh from a sponge bath given by Alfred.

Bruce stared at his oldest son's pale face, wishing it had been him on the top floor. Tim had, of course, placed all the blame on himself. Deep down, Bruce understood that the only thing Tim could control was getting out faster, but acknowledging that fact when his son was in this state was nearly impossible. He had given a short nod after Tim had explained, then gone to the Batcomputer to look at the video camera feeds Tim had hacked into.

Jason hadn't left Dick's side ever since he had been allowed to see his brother, and Damian was currently pacing around the bed. Bruce was standing by the bed – Jason had taken the only chair when Bruce had gone to the Batcomputer – and Tim was leaning against the wall, huddled into himself and wishing he had grabbed the stupid flash drive when he had heard Dick call to him.

"It is not your fault, Master Timothy," Alfred suddenly stated.

Everyone looked at the wise butler, who could practically read minds, and waited for him to continue.

"You can only control yourself, young sir. There was no way you could have predicted how much time there was on the bomb, no way you could have forced Nightwing to get off of you when the explosion happened, and nothing you could have done would have stopped the steel pole. Do not blame yourself, Master Timothy. You know that Master Dick would not…"

"Dick's not alive enough to say what he would or would not want!" Jason interrupted before Alfred could finish. "You couldn't prevent the explosion or aftermath, but you could have left right away instead of making him wait for you!"

"Jason," Bruce said reprovingly, although he agreed with his second eldest.

"I got the information," Tim stated quietly.

"At the expense of Richard's life!" Damian yelled.

"He is not dead, young sir," Alfred reprimanded gently.

"Close enough," Jason mumbled.

A sudden beeping noise interrupted the argument, and Alfred turned to the bed with a smile.

"Welcome back, Master Dick," he said softly.

Dick's light-blue eyes were blinking wearily, and he looked extremely confused. Alfred gently began removing the ventilator while everyone gathered around the bed. Then he stopped.

"Shoo," Alfred commanded. "You do not need to see this."

Nobody ever disobeyed a 'shoo' from Alfred, not even Bruce. Dick stared at the butler, gratitude filling his eyes. He really didn't want anyone to see him gagging on the thing, it was one of the worst feelings he had ever had. Thankfully, this was only his fourth time having it done.

Alfred expertly removed the ventilator in less than a minute, and Dick took his first full breath on his own. He gave the butler a small, lopsided grin, gratitude still in his eyes.

"Red…" the hero began, but his voice came out scratchy and hoarse.

"Now is not the time to talk, Master Dick."

Alfred brought a cup of water to the younger man's lips and gently poured a small portion into his mouth.

"That's all for now, Master Dick. Please do not strain your voice; you've had a rough go of it this time."

Dick nodded, then whispered, "Red Robin."

The butler almost rolled his eyes. He had known that his instructions would be for naught. Technically, Dick had found a loophole. Whispering was not considered 'straining' his voice.

"He is fine, Master Dick, and they are all chomping at the bit to see you. Only for a few minutes, you need to rest."

Dick nodded again, so Alfred left his side. Two minutes later, four people entered his eyesight. Dick eyed them all critically, then relaxed when he saw no visible injuries. Not even Tim was hurt, except for a small bruise on his cheek.

"Ribs," Dick commanded softly, looking straight at Tim.

"I'm fine," the teen replied, but changed his answer when Dick frowned at him. "One broken, but Alfred took care of it. I'm…sorry."

Dick shook his head. Tim had nothing to apologize for, in his eyes anyway.

"Information?" Dick whispered.

"I got it all…"

"And nearly killed you in the process," Damian finished with a snarl.

"Dami," Dick softly, and gently, reprimanded. "I'm alive."

"Barely," Jason muttered.

Dick was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, but only Bruce noticed it. The three younger boys were scowling at each other, and Bruce could sense a storm coming.

"Boys, not now," he commanded sharply, much as he had back at the warehouse. "Dick needs to rest."

"Happen?" Dick asked, his voice both weary and curious.

"Later, chum," the older man responded. "Get some sleep, we'll all be here when you wake up."

Alfred, without anybody noticing, had added both painkillers and a sedative to Dick's IV line. The young man couldn't resist any longer, and he fell into a healing sleep.

"Drake, you…"

"I didn't…"

"You're lucky…"

"Not. Now!" Bruce shouted for the third time in seven hours, effectively stopping the loud beginnings of another argument.

Dick stirred, and Alfred shooed them away again. One by one, they whispered a farewell to their healing brother, finally leaving Bruce alone with his son.

"I'm sorry, chum," the man stated softly. "I should have known something was wrong. You told me something didn't feel right, I should have trusted you."

"Master Bruce, go get some rest," Alfred advised with a sigh. "None of you had any control over the situation, none of you had any way of knowing there would be a bomb."

"But I…"

"Sir, go get some rest," Alfred repeated, his tone lightly commanding, "I will let you know when he is beginning to wake up. This is not your fault, just as it is not Master Timothy's fault. Do you blame him, sir?"

Bruce paused, considering the question. An hour ago, he would have answered yes without hesitation. But Tim had fulfilled his part of the mission, and had no idea that those extra seventeen seconds of waiting for the information to download would cause them to be in the building when it exploded. Most bombs were set for much longer than the two minutes he had seen on the video that Tim had hacked into.

"No," he finally replied. "But he does, and will for a long time."

"Be patient, Master Bruce, he will eventually understand. I'm sure Master Dick will also be able to help with that. He is alive, and healing, and all will be well."

Bruce nodded, glanced down at Dick, brushed that stubborn lock of hair away from the boy's eyes, then turned to leave.

"If I may, sir, one last thing."

Bruce looked back at his butler and nodded.

"With my apologies for this observation, sir, at least one of you would have died if you had been on the top floor. Nightwing is much faster than any of you, please do not take offense, Master Bruce, and he reached the second floor before you would have been at the third. Again, my apologies, but I do not want you to blame yourself for sending him to the fifth floor. Sir."

With a slight scowl – he knew Alfred was right – Bruce nodded brusquely, then turned and left the area.

"Did he just agree with you?"

The mumbled words came from the mouth of the young hero on the bed. Alfred chuckled and tucked the blankets firmly around Dick.

"I just verbalized what he already knew, Master Dick. Sometimes, people need to hear something in order to understand it. Go back to sleep, young sir."

The old butler listened to the soft sound of the young man breathing on his own for several seconds, then he, too, left the area. All of his boys were going to be fine. It might take longer for Tim, and would definitely take longer for Dick, but eventually it would all work out. Just as it always did and, hopefully, always would.

THE END