A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to get up. I was sick a couple of days last week and away for the weekend, so I didn't get the chance to edit it until yesterday. I wanted to make sure I was happy with it as this chapter is pretty much the emotional climax for Jason.

oOo

It took Jason several minutes before he was able to pull himself together enough to be able to enter the clinic. By the time he arrived in the examination room, Dick was propped on an elevated gurney with an oxygen mask to aid his breathing. Leslie was taking his blood pressure and assessing his injuries while Alfred cut open the front of his Robin uniform.

Batman was standing, rigid, in the corner, watching with unblinking eyes. Jason could see blood smeared all down the front of his chest and sucked in a breath. So much blood between here and the warehouse, did Dick even have any blood left?

He looked away, unable to bear the sight in front of him any longer, and his gaze fell on Wally. The teenager was sitting in a chair; his scrapes cleaned and bandaged. Jason was shocked to see him eating a candy bar as though everything was normal, until he remembered that Dick had told him something weird about Wally's metabolism. But his panicked brain couldn't remember exactly what at that moment.

He returned his attention to Dick just as Alfred parted the front of his uniform, revealing a mass of dark bruises littering the boy's chest. Ribbons of red were crawling slowly from the gaping wound in his shoulder, but it was the right side of his chest that held Jason's attention; something didn't look right, a slight indentation along the ribs.

The room was deathly silent. All eyes were on Leslie who was listening to his chest with her brows knotted. After a moment she removed the stethoscope from her ears and turned to Batman. "Bruce, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to move him."

"What! Why?"

"I need an x-ray to confirm it, but I think he has a collapsed lung. And I can hear fluid. He's going to need surgery and I just don't have the equipment or supplies for something like this."

Batman placed a hand to his head. "Leslie, every hospital in the city will be packed to capacity with emergencies after the explosion at Gotham General tonight; they may not see to him on time!"

"I know, but he has several broken ribs and I can't take the chance that one of them has perforated the lung. He needs x-rays, Bruce, and a blood transfusion."

"What about Mount Justice?" Wally spoke up suddenly. "The medical bay is fully equipped."

Leslie looked doubtful. "Isn't that kind of far?"

"There's a Zeta-Tube just a few blocks away." Wally looked at Batman whose eyes were locked on Robin. "It gives him a better chance than staying in Gotham."

Jason had no idea what they were talking about. What the hell was a Zeta-Tube? Then he decided he didn't care; Wally was suggesting something that might save Dick's life. It was a no brainer as far as he was concerned. "How do we move him?"

Everyone looked at him, then back at Batman. Seeing no objection from the Dark Knight, Alfred spoke up. "I came in the van; it's the most discreet vehicle you possess, Sir. We can fit the gurney in the back to transport him to the Zeta-Tube."

"And I can run on ahead to let Red Tornado and Black Canary know you're coming!" said Wally, jumping to his feet.

"Then move," Batman's gravelly voice sounded. "We don't have much time."

oOo

"Recognize, Robin B 01. Recognize, Red Hood C 03." The automated voice was the first thing Jason heard as the light dimmed and the pins and needles wore off. He began to consider the possibility that he might just be losing it.

The broken old phone box that Batman had driven them to didn't look like anything special, and Jason had come close to asking if they had all lost their minds when Batman informed them that he would go through first to configure…whatever the hell he was going to configure. Then just when Jason had thought his life couldn't get anymore twilight-zone, Batman had disappeared in a flash of blinding white light.

It had been with much trepidation that he had followed with Dick on the gurney. He didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't the prickly pins and needles sensation that had rippled across him as his entire body disintegrated. And now, here he was, standing in what appeared to be the inside of a mountain while what looked like a large red robot hurried towards him. Scratch the losing it; Jason was seriously beginning to think they'd all died in the explosion and this was some kind of weird afterlife.

The automated voice was now announcing Leslie. "Red Tornado, do you have everything ready?" she asked the android, moving over to the gurney and checking on Dick.

"Black Canary is preparing everything as we speak," he responded, surprising Jason.

The robot can talk?

"Then let's go," she said grimly, her eyes on Dick.

Jason was alarmed to see a small bubble of red at the corner of his mouth beneath the oxygen mask. He pushed the gurney after Red Tornado and Leslie, just as Batman and Alfred joined them. It didn't take long to reach the medical bay; a high-tech facility where a blond woman was setting up an x-ray machine. Her face blanched as she caught sight of Robin.

Before Jason knew what was happening, the gurney was taken from his hands. He could only watch as the impromptu medical team swung into action; cutting away the last of Dick's Robin uniform, taking x-rays and starting a blood transfusion. Jason had to look away when they began to intubate him.

Batman stood beside him, disturbingly motionless and silent. The silence wasn't the problem, – that was something both Bruce Wayne and Batman excelled at – what disturbed Jason was the passive, almost helpless, nature of his actions, something he would never associate with Batman. It unnerved Jason to see him like this.

He jumped as the shrill whine of a cardiac monitor pierced his ears. The blond woman wheeled a crash cart over while Leslie quickly reclined the gurney so that Dick was in a horizontal position.

Beside him, an anguished "no" escaped Batman's lips.

He watched as they applied the paddles and Dick's body snapped under the electrical charge. No response. Jason's mind went blank. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be.

Dick's body arched on the bed a second time as they shocked him again, but the shrill whine continued ringing in Jason's ears, deafening him.

A third charge of the paddles and Dick's body was lifted clear off the bed, his head rolling lifelessly to one side. Jason closed his eyes and held his breath…and then he heard it.

Beeping.

His eyes opened. The paddles were gone and Jason released the breath he was holding. Dick was alive, his heart back in the fight to survive.

Leslie was in front of them now, pushing them backwards towards the door. Batman resisted, his gaze never leaving the boy on the gurney. "Leslie, no, please…"

Her face was etched with pity. "Bruce, you don't need to see this."

"I can't leave him."

"You have to. Bruce, he needs surgery." When the man still didn't budge, she put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Bruce, I promise we'll take care of him." A last gentle but firm push found them back in the long corridor, the doors in front of them swinging shut.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood there, listening to the activity in the room beyond. Then Batman turned away, his right fist clenched over his chest as though in pain – which, if the agonizing sensation in his own chest was anything to go by, he probably was.

Jason stared, unseeing, at the door. He had never felt so useless before. Someone he cared about was fighting for his life and there was nothing he could do. He covered his eyes with a hand and for the second time that night, he found himself praying. Let him live, please. I'll do anything, just please, please, let Dick be alright.

All he wanted was for Dick to be okay. He didn't care about anything else. He didn't even care if the Joker got away so long as Dick survived.

It was the most frightening epiphany of his life.

He had spent so many years angry at Bruce for not destroying the Joker, hurt that he had seemed to care so little. But now Jason understood that the Joker's death would have been meaningless to Bruce; it wouldn't take away the god-awful pain of a lost loved one, it wouldn't even appease the terrible guilt for not getting there in time. The only thing that killing Joker would achieve would be to turn Bruce into the man he hated and despised more than any single thing on the planet – meaning Joker would have won.

Oh Jason still wanted to rip the clown apart, throttle him with his bare hands until he died a pleading, gasping and broken shell in front of him. That instinct would never go away. But now, at last, Jason understood that it would also never fix things. It would never undo all the pain that Joker had caused, nor would it right the wrongs of the past. As for the future…there would always be psychopaths and sadists and crazies to take his place, did Jason plan on killing them all? Become one of them to defeat them? It would never work. And in the end, the only thing he would destroy was himself.

The weight of this realization bore down on him and his breathing hitched. He wished he could tell his Bruce he was sorry, that he understood now.

"What'sgoingon?What'shappening?"

The panicked voice shattered his thoughts and Jason turned to see a wild-eyed Wally standing beside them.

"They're working on him."

"What does that mean? Is he going to be alright?" He made to move around Jason and enter the medical bay.

"Whoa, kid!" Jason put a hand on his chest, realizing as he did so that Wally had changed clothes; he was now in a shirt and jeans. "Let them work, that's why we're out here."

Wally glared mulishly up at him, ready to argue. Jason softened his tone. "They know what they're doing, Wally."

The teenager looked at Batman, turned his gaze to the door then back to Jason again. Finally, he nodded and Jason removed the hand from his chest.

"You changed," he commented, not knowing what else to say.

"I had to. I couldn't…" his voice trailed off and he glanced at Batman. Jason immediately understood. Wally had needed to get out of the clothes that were saturated with his best friend's blood.

He put a hand on Wally's shoulder. "It's okay. I get it."

"Batman!" An unfamiliar voice sounded behind him.

Jason turned to see two men walking towards them. He could feel his eyebrows rising into his hairline behind the mask; one of the men was wearing blue spandex and a flowing red cape, while the other was decked out in red with yellow boots. He guessed they were superheroes but as far as he was concerned, they looked all kinds of ridiculous.

"What's going on?" the man in red demanded as they drew level with them. "We got back to the Watchtower and there was an urgent message from you, but when we tried the Batcave we got no response. No one is responding on any of the communicators here either. Where are…"

The words died on his lips as Batman turned to face them and he got full view of the blood smeared down the front of his chest. Jason could see his eyes widen behind the mask.

"Batman," Blue Spandex was speaking now, "are you hurt?"

"No."

There was silence while they waited for him to elaborate. When he wasn't forthcoming with an explanation, the man in red turned to Wally.

"It's Robin's," Wally whispered miserably.

"Robin's!" he repeated, horror-struck.

"What happened?" demanded the other man.

"The Joker…from Jason's world…he…" Wally looked to Jason for help and his heart sank as he realized the teenager wanted him to explain.

But Jason didn't even want to think about the night's events, much less describe them. Right now, it was taking everything he had just to keep himself from going over the edge.

Blue Spandex was studying him. "You must be Jason."

He nodded.

"How did this happen?"

Jason exhaled. Wasn't he supposed to be the outsider? Why did people keep looking to him for explanations? He recounted what had happened with a minimum of detail; describing it conjured images that were like a knife in his brain.

When he was finished, Blue Spandex looked angry. "So the Joker is still loose in Gotham?"

"We lost him after the explosion; we had more important things to worry about!" Jason snapped.

The man's expression softened. "I know that, I didn't mean–" He shook his head and turned to Batman. "Flash and I will search Gotham. We'll find the Joker."

Batman nodded, his jaw tight.

The guy in red – Flash – had his arm around Wally's shoulder and was talking in a low voice to the teenager. Jason caught the end of what he was saying. "…fighter. Don't worry, he'll be fine."

Jason hoped he was right.

The two heroes said quick goodbyes and left, but not before Blue Spandex gave Batman's shoulder a comforting squeeze. The humanity of the gesture surprised Jason; it suggested that these men were more than a team, they were friends. He wasn't sure what to make of the fact that Batman had friends.

It was the longest night of his life. The three of them remained outside the medical bay, staring at a door that remained resolutely shut. Wally was slouched against a wall while Jason paced at intermittent intervals. Batman didn't move from where he stood, rigid and frozen. Jason didn't know how he could stay so still; every nerve in his body was jangling.

The sun was out before a strained and exhausted looking Leslie finally appeared. They surged towards her and she put her palms up. "He's in recovery. We'll move him to a room shortly and you can see him then."

"How is he?" Batman's voice was hoarse. They were the first words he had spoken in hours.

"Still critical. If he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, he's in with a fighting chance."

If. The words had a hollow ring to Jason's ears.

oOo

Three days. Three fucking days before Dick was no longer critical. If Jason had thought his nerves were frayed before, it was nothing compared to three days of waiting while Dick hovered somewhere between life and death.

He knew Joker was twisted, but even he had been stunned by the tortures the clown had inflicted on the boy. Among the worst were six broken ribs, one of which had perforated a lung resulting in its collapse. There had been blood in the chest cavity and Dick had needed a chest tube. He had been placed on a respirator until that afternoon; Leslie had finally removed it just a few hours ago, saying Dick was now strong enough to breathe on his own.

The removal of the respirator had negated the need to keep sedating him. Jason hoped that meant the vigil he and Bruce had been maintaining for the last three days was almost at an end. They had been the longest, most difficult days of his life. Sequestered in this silent room occupied only by himself, Bruce and occasionally Alfred, – who was dividing his time between here and Wayne Manor in case he needed to answer any questions about the absent Bruce Wayne – while watching the unconscious boy's battle to stay alive had brought him closer to his breaking point than anything he'd ever experienced before. It was incredible how much this limbo felt like hell.

Wally had been allowed to see Dick just once after the surgery. After that, Leslie had insisted that visitors be kept to the bare minimum to prevent infection. The League had swiftly ensured those directions were followed, much to the anger of the teenagers who had congregated down the corridor from the room once word of Robin's injuries reached them.

That had been an interesting encounter for Jason; facing down a group of crime-fighting teens who glared resentfully at him. The spunky blond girl had demanded to know why the 'Red Tornado Wannabe' was allowed to stay with Robin while they were forced to wait outside.

Jason had decided to let someone else explain to her that he would break the nose of the first person who tried to remove him from Dick's room.

He was surprised the league hadn't at least tried to make him move, but he supposed that after the incident on the first afternoon they had thought better of it. The incident had involved the guy in red spandex – Flash – forcibly removing his gun from him after he had discharged it into a wall when Dick's temperature had spiked after developing an infection. That hadn't gone down so well with the league and one of them had remained close by at all times after that.

Jason knew they considered him something of a loose canon but he didn't particularly care. The only thing he cared about right now was that Dick would be okay.

From his chair by the bed, Jason studied the pale face. Without the respirator, Dick looked like he was sleeping…until the eye travelled further down and met the swathe of bandages holding the shattered body in place.

Jason held a hand to his mouth – he had removed his helmet after the blond girl's Red Tornado crack – as he surveyed the boy's injuries once more. Aside from the broken ribs, Joker had shattered his collarbone, dislocated three fingers, broken his right arm and ruptured his spleen…and that was before one even considered the knife wounds.

He glanced at the boy's heavily bandaged arms; splints supporting the right one. They had been unable to cast the broken arm because of the wounds to Dick's shoulder and forearm. The sadistic images had been stitched and were being checked daily because, even though no one had said anything, Jason knew everyone was worried about the scars. Aside from the questions the presence of such scars on a thirteen-year-old Dick Grayson would raise, the psychological ramifications for the boy were immense. From some of the things Leslie and Black Canary had said, Jason had a feeling The League were working on a way to fade the scars as much as possible once the wounds healed.

The noise of Bruce shifting in his chair on the other side of the bed drew Jason's attention and he studied the other man. He had his cowl pulled back and, if possible, looked even worse than the boy in the bed.

During one of his forays to Wayne Manor, Alfred had returned with a clean uniform for Bruce, because he certainly wasn't leaving to change out of his blood-smeared one. It was the only improvement to the man's appearance since they had brought Dick here. To Jason, he looked as though he had aged five years in the last few days; his face was haggard and peppered with several days' worth of stubble while his eyes were blood-shot and ringed with dark circles. The only times he had left Dick's side was to use the bathroom. Otherwise, he had remained hunched forward in the chair, not speaking to anyone. He had eaten only because Alfred forced him to, and Jason knew he hadn't slept.

Thinking about it now, he wondered how the man was even functioning. Jason at least had managed to snatch a few hours sleep here and there in the next room; fitful, uneasy sleep punctuated by nightmares, but still sleep.

For the millionth time since this had all started, his thoughts went to his own Bruce. After the hell of the last few days, Jason had softened considerably towards the man. In the aftermath of his death, he had been so focused on his own pain that he had given no thought to the pain of his mentor. However, having spent the last few days watching Dick's struggle for life, Jason had gained a horrible insight into the pain his Bruce must have endured.

The image of Dick's bloodied form in the warehouse was seared into his brain, polluting his consciousness. Even if he scrubbed his brain with bleach, it would never fully wash away the horror of that image. It tormented Jason in waking and sleeping moments. He wondered if Dick had been scared, or if he had thought he would die there. When Joker had murdered him, Jason had been convinced that his Bruce would rescue him right up until the moment he saw the bomb. The thought that Batman was coming had sustained him through the whole thing; he had never really thought he was going to die until the final seconds. But Dick knew that Jason had died at the Joker's hands…had he spent the whole ordeal thinking he was going to die?

These thoughts gnawed on Jason's brain like a cancer, eating away at his sanity until he wanted to scream and rip his brain from his head. And this was how he felt despite the fact they had gotten there on time – how in the hell had his Bruce been able to stand the fact that he hadn't? The guilt was eating Jason alive.

A small moan from the bed sounded in the quiet of the room, interrupting his thoughts. Immediately, Jason and Bruce were on their feet and leaning over the boy.

There was definite movement beneath the eyelids. A small twitch of the unbroken fingers told Jason that Dick was coming back to consciousness.

"Dick," Bruce called softly. It was the first thing he had said in more than twenty-four hours.

A slight whimper escaped the lips. Jason could hear the heart monitor speeding up and the boy's nostrils flared in panic.

"Shhhhh, it's alright, you're safe now, relax," Bruce said soothingly, one hand on the boy's head, stroking his hair. "Its okay, Dick."

Jason watched as the movement beneath the lids became more rapid and finally, Dick's blue eyes opened. They were frantic as they darted back and forth, finally coming to rest on Bruce.

"It's alright, Dick," Bruce repeated softly, the hand still stroking his hair. "Take it easy, you're safe."

The parched lips moved, whispering something too low to hear.

They leaned forward and Jason's gut twisted as he realized what Dick was saying.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered, over and over.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Bruce whispered back fiercely.

The boy's lips quivered and he pulled them into a tight line, trying to prevent the inevitable.

But Jason could see where this was heading and he swallowed, his own throat uncomfortably tight. "Let it out, Kiddo," he said, his voice thick.

Dick's eyes were huge when they looked at him and the fear there made Jason's heart ache. Dick stared at him for several seconds...then his whole face crumpled.

Instantly, Bruce was on the bed beside him, gently raising him to a sitting position. Being careful not to disturb the various tubes and wires, he leaned Dick against him and wrapped his arms around the boy.

"Its okay, it's alright," he murmured into the boy's hair as Dick's whole frame shook with sobs. "I've got you."

He rested a cheek against Dick's hair and his eyes met Jason's. The desperate grief there tugged at something deep inside him and he could feel something cracking and splintering within; the dam was crumbling.

Jason couldn't breathe. He had to get out of this room.

He backed up and turned, blindly stumbling for the door. The lights in the corridor dazzled him and he leaned a hand against the wall. He could hear voices at one end and automatically moved in the opposite direction. He needed to get away from everyone, from that room.

Jason was shaking like a machine on overload about to come apart.

He turned a corner and came straight up against a wall of solid rock. For a split second he froze, then drove his fist at the wall, ignoring the pain that seared through it.

He put his two hands against the wall and bowed his head. Several gasping breaths shuddered through him and he tried desperately to get a handle on his emotions.

But there was no gaining control this time.

The wall he had constructed to contain all the pain was crumbling away, and a tidal wave of emotions were surging through it too fast and too powerful for him to control. Against his will, a great sob burst through clenched teeth, followed by another, and then another. That was all it took.

The damn burst and Jason found himself sliding to the ground as huge, gut wrenching sobs shook him. He hadn't cried since he was twelve years old and there was a world of pain waiting to be released. He cried for the broken child in the bed and the grief-stricken father who held him. He cried for the mentor he had come to understand too late to save their relationship, but most of all, he cried for himself. For the person he had been, the life he had lost and the things he had done. All the years of hurt and pain and loneliness poured out of him, and Jason was powerless to stop it. It occurred to him somewhere in the recesses of his unconscious that this was needed; it was time to let the poison go, but his conscious mind didn't comprehend. It was too consumed with the pain jackknifing across his chest and the grief sitting on his shoulders, keeping him on his knees with his head bowed.

There was a hand on his shoulder now. But he couldn't bring himself to look around or even care that he had been discovered in such a vulnerable position. It hurt too much. All of it. Being human hurt too damn much.