Red Hood didn't know why he stopped. His body had been pumping with adrenaline the entire fight as the clock slowly ticked down. Yet now, it had left him suddenly and whilst it didn't leave him exhausted, it forced him to freeze right where he was just staring at the clock. He could hear the small beep as the seconds got closer to zero despite how impossible that must be with everyone still fighting. Why were they even fighting when it was getting so close? They should be retreating and hoping they could get far enough from the blast zone that their only worry would be the force of the bomb knocking them over and sending some shrapnel their way. He should be running not staring but he couldn't take his eyes away. 

Five.

Someone was yelling behind him. Maybe it was the call to retreat that he was ignoring. It's not like he could follow the order anyway with his feet planted to the floor. 

Four.

He vaguely acknowledged that Nightwing was closer to the bomb than he was. He'd been trying to shut it off whilst the others fought. Why didn't Red Robin do it? Red Robin was better at tech things. Not that Nightwing was totally inept but he'd outgrown his role as tech-savvy. Like Red Hood had outgrown his role as the happy Robin and now the only two things people could remember were his few outbursts and his death. Nightwing was considered the happy Robin somehow like he wasn't given the title so he wouldn't kill someone. 

Three.

Whatever Nightwing had been trying to do, it obviously wasn't working. He slammed his hand down knowing he'd left it until the last few seconds and now he had to run with three seconds on the clock. It would be pretty hard but he was always fast. Fast talker, fast walker, fast recovery. Didn't follow the -er ending there. Red Hood felt a little disappointed in himself given he was such a literature snob. 

Two.

Nightwing's eyes had locked onto him. His mouth was moving, probably to ask what the fuck he was doing just staring at the clock if he wanted to die with the way he was acting or to get moving now whilst they still had some time. There was clear panic on his face. That was interesting. Nightwing's poker face wasn't like the others. He didn't go for neutral. He went for confidence. He looked everything but that now.

One.

Red Hood was knocked from his feet and onto the ground. It took his mind awfully long to recognise that the thing that pushed him down and now covered him was Nightwing. His bright blue V decorated his suit at eye level with Red Hood. He had to admit that he liked the way Nightwing branched out into a different colour. Most stuck with the red and green of the Robin suit but here he was wearing bright blue. Like a little fuck you to Batman for ruining the colours he'd come up with. Superman gave him the Nightwing name, maybe that's why he made it blue.

Zero.

The explosion rumbled the ground and practically blew out Red Hood's eardrums along with destroying anything unfortunate enough to be near it. Nightwing was still on top of him, protecting him from the worst of it. He could feel the heat of the fire but the cold ground helped soothe it somewhat. The only part Nightwing couldn't really protect through no fault of his own but rather because he was just too short were Red Hood's legs. He could feel the material of his pants heating rapidly and sharp pains followed likely from shrapnel waiting to dig into anything solid after being thrown through the air but being stopped by his pants. Most of him was safe though thanks to Nightwing. Nightwing who was on top of him keeping everything vital safe. Nightwing was taking the brunt of the blow. 

It was then that Red Hood's mind seemed to finally get back to working normally and the first thing he felt without some weird barrier around it was complete and utter concern. Nightwing's suit was Kevlar, a demand he had to follow if he didn't want Alfred to yell at him for being so stupid. It was tough but it wasn't tough like Red Hood's uniform. Whilst his brown leather jacket didn't really do much other than make him look cooler, the rest of his suit was armoured in some way. His head was protected by a sturdy helmet, everything that could make him bleed out in seconds was covered by something bulletproof and even his boots were fortified to protect him from the soggy weather of Gotham. It should be him on top of Nightwing protecting him from the blast because even though he'd get a few burns on the bits of skin that peaked through, the shrapnel wouldn't cause anything life-threatening. It would just be a bit annoying to hear it ping off him and collide with no intention of piercing his skin. 

Nightwing's body slumped against him as the chaos died out. Wrong choice of words, he chastised. You don't think about death when someone collapses on top of you after taking the brunt of an explosion. He looked up to see the acrobat's face but he was facing away. Still. Nightwing should never be still. He moved constantly, fidgeting and slightly swaying on his feet. He was an active sleeper, hell he sleepwalked occasionally. This guy never stayed still. He was still now though.

Red Hood's hearing suddenly came into focus and he could hear the sound of boots slamming against the floor. He manoeuvred himself to look in their direction and saw their family rushing to their side. He caught himself thinking of family. That's what they were, he had to admit that. Nightwing just took an explosion for him despite him being much better prepared for it. That's what family did. They protected you.

Someone moved Nightwing off of him whilst another sat him up.

"What the fuck was that?" Red Robin asked, his voice slightly hysterical. "Why didn't you get out of there?"

"I couldn't move," he answered. It sounded stupid but that's what happened. He couldn't say he was thinking of how to save them or that he didn't hear them say to get out. He just couldn't move. Red Robin looked at him with a mix of anger and worry. Who the anger was for and who the concern was for, he didn't know. He turned to look at Nightwing who was now in Batman's arms with Robin close by his side. Batman's gloves were slick and not from the rain. It was drier than it had ever been in Gotham. Blood, Red Hood concluded. It was blood. 

"We need to get him back," Batman said gravely. 

"He needs a hospital," Robin argued. His voice broke.

"We can treat this," he insisted. "You two," he looked at Red Robin and Red Hood, "go. We'll be behind you. Hood, you can take his bike. Yours was damaged by the blast." Damn. He liked that motorcycle. It wasn't his in the first place though so it could be karma. 

"Father?" Robin asked. A lot of questions were held in that single word.

"We'll fix it," the older replied. 

When they got back, Alfred was already making preparations. He was moving fast and precisely but he was worried. He didn't greet Tim or Jason when they came in which Jason was slightly grateful for. Bruce was right about being close behind them as once they began removing their gear, the Batmobile pulled up and Bruce was carrying his injured son to the infirmary. Damian followed, almost stepping on the backs of his heels. Nobody said it but everyone knew how close Damian was to Dick. They were father and son without the DNA despite Bruce being alive right next to them. It was one of those obvious facts that didn't need stating, like how Jason considered Dick his sibling even before they died. 

"You need to wait outside," Bruce told his youngest. 

"But-"

"I will call for you when it's right, okay? I promise."

"You call for me first," Damian demanded. He nodded and entered the infirmary, closing the doors and flicking the switch that frosted the glass. It was a signal that he didn't want anyone to even think of coming in before he called for them. Damian stared at it for a few moments, watching the big black blob that was Bruce gently place Dick on his front. His back was badly damaged. His suit was shredded by the explosion and then his skin was shredded by the shrapnel that took advantage of the lack of coverage.

There was a minute of silence before Tim decided to break it.

"What do you mean, you couldn't move?" he asked. It wasn't asked through teeth gritted in anger or disbelief of the statement. It was a simple question. One that Jason didn't want to answer but now his younger brothers were watching him and waiting. They wanted a good answer. They wanted an answer that would validate him in their eyes. They wanted him to say something that would make the pain Dick was in now worth it. 

He couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up at that moment. He hated that he'd just frozen. He thought he worked through the trauma of that night and anything left behind was locked tightly away in a vault within his mind but apparently not. He wasn't supposed to freeze. He wasn't supposed to stand there like a sitting duck with a death wish. 

"It sounded so similar. It looked the same," he muttered. "I couldn't move last time. I was stuck. I guess I thought I was there again." 

Whatever they got from that answer, it seemed it was enough. The circumstances of his death were well known. It was probably the first thing people thought about when they heard his name before and after he came back to life. 

Damian, who had once looked like he was going to break his swords out of the confiscated weapons cupboard, let his shoulders drop. He'd died too. Tim almost died enough times too. If anyone could think his reasoning was valid, it would be them. Some part of him wanted them to be angry. He'd like if they called bullshit and poked the bear to give him a reason to let go of all the anger he was holding. He wanted them to yell, to scream, to demand he leave and never return. That would be so much better than the understanding they were showing him. 

"You will work on that," Damian stated. "This will not happen again." It will. They weren't stupid, they knew how dangerous their job was and how self-sacrificing Dick was. It would happen again but right now, they wanted to believe the lie.

"Why didn't you work on the bomb?" Jason questioned. He didn't mean to sound like he was accusing the young hero but when did he ever get the right tone when talking to his family? Tim flinched at the question. 

"I got held up. I was supposed to work on it but there were too many robots near me. Dick had a clear shot and said he had it. If I had known that there was no kill switch, I would've done something."

"There was no kill switch?" 

"No. I guess you didn't hear it but he said on the comms that there was no code to stop the bomb, only code for the explosion. There was a controlled mix of chemicals inside of the bomb. I guess when it was made, it was made with the intention that the creator could still get whoever was trying to stop it," he explained. "Dick wanted you to cover him. He knew that you would be better suited to taking the blast but when you didn't move, he protected you instead. He thought you'd been hurt or something." 

Dick expected Jason to save him. He planned for it and he didn't think twice about it. He trusted Jason to protect him yet the moment it was clear he couldn't, Dick changed his mind. There was no hesitance from him if Jason remembered right. He just ran and forced him to the ground then covered him. Why didn't he run past him? Why didn't he flip them over so Jason would take it even if he wasn't in the right frame of mind? He'd have to ask because there was a dot missing that skewed the entire picture. 

"He switched off the robots," Tim continued. "So that we could move and none of them could try to pry you two apart. That lost him time so he only had those last five seconds."

"What's the damage?" Jason asked, his voice thick with something he couldn't place or name. The silence was telling enough. 

"Did you get hurt?" Damian inquired. 

"No. My pants were thick enough that I'll probably just have some bruising. My legs were the only thing he couldn't cover. Short ass."

"He'll kill you for saying he's short," Tim joked. "Like we don't see the heel in his boots."

"He'd need at least four more inches to be average."

"He'd need stilettos for that." 

Hours later, Bruce finally left the infirmary. In that time, the boys had changed into more comfortable clothes and taken showers to hopefully wash off the memories of that night. Their heads snapped towards him awaiting the verdict.

"He's got second-degree burns on 30% of his back and 20% of his legs. Our main concern was the lacerations. Most of his body apart from his front has sustained damage. Not all required stitches but he did require a blood transfusion. There was a wound on the back of his neck that we were concerned about but upon investigation, it wasn't deep enough to damage any nerves," he announced. He spoke clearly and without emotion like a doctor explaining the damage to a worried sick family. It was almost impressive how much he could disconnect to get his job done. "He'll be in a lot of pain. Medication can only do so much and he's got quite a tolerance for morphine."

"Anything permanent?" Tim asked, speaking for the group.

"Physio will help with the damage to his back and legs but the scarring will always cause tightness there. He's had enough burns to know that."

"Who's he living with now?" Jason quizzed. He wasn't up to date on where Dick was crashing nowadays. It wasn't entirely his fault since the acrobat bounced around a lot. Sometimes he lived with the Titans, sometimes he lived at home, sometimes he lived on his own and on occasion, he stayed with whoever he was seeing at the time. He couldn't remember any recent breakup but he couldn't remember any recent get-together.

"I don't see how that's a concern. Grayson will stay here for the recovery," Damian told him matter-of-factly. 

"He's an adult now and since he's been in a good frame of mind, he can choose where he stays. From what I've heard, he's living in a safe house in Bludhaven," Bruce countered.

"You can't expect him to go back with no one to look after him. He will need care."

"It's his decision." That was the end of that. "You can see him. He's still quite out of it."

The warning didn't deter Damian who immediately marched into the infirmary, hardly taking notice of Alfred who was leaving with the scraps of the Nightwing suit. He sent the young boy a weary look before heading to where he kept the sewing machine. Dick liked to make his own suit but with his injuries, it would be rather difficult for him to do so. 

Dick was laying on his front, his neck stiff from spending too long in the position. That was the least of his worries though. His face was scrunched up in pain and his limbs remained still likely due to any movement pulling his wounds the wrong way. A blanket covered him for the most part. It had been pushed down to where the burns on his scars stopped and then pushed up before it could hit the burns on the back of his calves. Blood had been cleaned up but there were still slight crimson stains from where it was too close to something raw to clean. When he noticed he was no longer alone, he sent a smile to Damian's way.

"Baba," Damian greeted with a watery voice. He snatched the seat closest to the bed with no intention of giving it up for anyone not even their father. 

"Habibi," he replied. "Hal 'ant bikhayr?" It wasn't the best Arabic in the world. His voice hit the wrong inflexions and hung too long on the wrong parts but it was him trying to comfort Damian in any way he could. Usually, he'd do so with a hug but he couldn't stand to move. Damian nodded, not trusting his voice. "Did I save him?" he asked, slightly panicked. The painkillers were probably dulling his emotions from showing properly. 

"Save who?"

"Jason. He's hurt."

"He's okay."

"No, not here. Can't be- I didn't," he babbled with no real intention of finding a followable thread. All Damian knew was he was upset and he wasn't going to calm down until he got confirmation. Although he wanted nothing more for it to be just them, father and son without the titles, he knew what was best. He sighed and stuck his head out from the doorway.

Jason was aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn't fled the scene yet which many of them expected once he got the footnotes of the damage. 

"Todd," he called. 

"What?"

"Grayson is requesting to see you. I would fulfil it if you know what's good for you." Jason quirked up an eyebrow before pocketing his phone and walking over. He stopped for a second when he was in the doorway. He didn't like seeing Dick hurt, especially when it was because of him. The last time he froze, Dick had to save him. He couldn't make him do that again so he forced himself to move forward and stand by his bedside.

"Hey Goldie, you wanted to see me?" Dick's eyes which were once closed now flew open and his glazed-over blue eyes snapped to his face. They studied him for a moment, showing some sort of recognition, then welled up with tears.

"You're okay."

"Thanks to you."

"I saved you this time." 

It was like a punch to the gut. Dick didn't talk about how he felt after Jason's death. He dropped hints sometimes and there were whispers that he'd lost it when he found out. There was never anything solid other than he felt bad about what happened and Bruce hadn't done much to help since he was trapped by his own grief. Not that Bruce did a great job of making people feel better. From what little he knew, Dick couldn't have done anything even if he tried. He was in fucking space. What was he supposed to do? Teleport to Jason's exact location without knowing he was in danger in the first place?

"B won't be mad this time."

"He wasn't mad last time." Dick stared at him for a beat too long. Jason wanted to storm out of the room and demand Bruce explain but that wasn't needed right now and maybe it was never needed. The medication was messing with Dick's head and this could be old trauma being brought to the surface despite it being resolved. "You saved me," he settled on saying. 

"Good, good. Everyone's okay." Apart from you, the younger thought. "Gotta take a nap. Where's baby bat?"

"I'm here," Damian spoke up from the chair. "Rest Baba." Dick let his eyes close and his breathing slowed as he fell into a medication-assisted sleep. "I'll kill you if you tell anyone about that."

"I assumed as such." He trudged over to one of the chairs further from the bed and pulled out his phone again. He didn't need to say he was going to wait until Dick woke up again in case he once again thought he failed to save him. For now, they waited.