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Jason saw it happen before it did.
It was one of the many, many reasons he hated working with the bats. They had no idea how to deal with his style of combat.
But that’s what happens when the Bat refuses to let any of his precious little soldiers train with guns. They have no idea how to fight with them.
Now, perhaps that was a bit unfair. The demon should know how to work alongside firearms. Should know better than to jump in front of any gun, especially that of his ally. Especially when it’s being fired. Especially without warning. But the demon could be pretty thick sometimes.
Him and his stupid tunnel vision.
That’s what caused this situation.
Jason hadn’t even been aware Damian was there.
Why was Damian in the warehouse with him, and why the fuck was he getting himself involved in Jason’s case?
This was solidly a Red Hood case. No need for any of the bats to get involved. And definitely no reason for Robin to get involved.
Yet here he was.
Dropping down from the rafters just as Jason was pulling the trigger. Aimed at the guy’s leg, thank you very much. Even if every last thug in this warehouse deserved death.
This was a child trafficking ring, after all.
And Jason saw it all happen before it did. Damian dropped down too suddenly, his yellow cape barely a flash in Jason’s vision before his body was fully in front of Jason’s outstretched arm. In front of the barrel of his gun. His finger was already squeezing, his aim set. No movement could have saved him.
There was nothing Jason could do but watch in slow-motion horror as the bullet exploded out of his glock and ripped into Damian’s back. Right into his side, probably hitting a rib and nicking his lung.
“Holy fuck, kid,” Jason shouted, leaping over Damian’s crumpling form to shoot the last few men left standing, including the idiot Damian just shielded, “What the shit?”
Had he been shielding this moron? Jason sure hoped not, because they would need to have a serious discussion about who is worth Damian’s life. Human traffickers with a penchant for 6-year-olds definitely were not it.
Panting now, Jason spun back to face Damian, taking in the way he was hunched over, barely keeping himself up on his knees with one hand, the other doing absolutely nothing as it clutched at the front exit wound. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to jump in front of a gun?”
Damian cut his eyes up at Jason and let out a bitter, scathing, “Didn’t she teach you not to shoot at allies?”
“This is not my fucking fault!” he shouted, running over and sliding to a stop right in front of the brat, on his knees to assess the wound, “You jumped in front of me. You didn’t even warn me there you stupid fucking brat.”
“Tt.”
It was bad.
The usual fire engine red of Robin’s tunic was quickly morphing into a deep crimson as Damian’s breathing became labored.
“Shit.” Jason started rifling around his supplies, trying his best to staunch the bleeding. But there was so much. It was happening so fast. “Shit shit shit.”
Robin was going to die. Right here in front of Jason.
Bruce was going to be so pissed.
Fuck.
“How stupid are you?” he mumbled, pressing more gauze on Damian’s back. He was basically cradling the brat in his arms now as he attempted to quell the bleeding on both sides at once.
“I’m not the one,” Damian wheezed, then paused to take in a breath, his right hand clumsily attempting to help Jason apply pressure to the front wound, “who shot his ally.”
“I was pulling the trigger before I saw you!” Jason pulled out the last of his gauze and added it to the back set, which had already bled through. The front was bleeding through, too. “Fuck, where do you keep your supplies?”
With his left hand, Damian tapped at a pocket, so Jason raided it for more. “Did you call for backup?”
Damian grimaced.
Of course he fucking didn’t.
“You stupid brat if you die I am going to kill you.”
“Well you are…. The one who… shot me.”
“Shut up!” Jason reached up and felt around the comm in Damian’s ear for the button, then started babbling once he thought it was on.
“Fuck I need backup here. This stupid little bird went and got himself shot and he needs medical attention. Probably five minutes ago. Shit. Robin is it working are they hearing me?”
“Yes,” Damian bit out, “I’m fine… Red Hood… shot me.”
“He jumped in front of my gun,” Jason shouted, already having flashbacks of Bruce beating the shit out of him. Or flash-forwards. Visions. Something.
Bruce was going to kill him.
“Affirmative,” Damian wheezed, his head lulling a little forward, “Friendly… fire.”
“Dammit, Dames. I swear to God. Stop leaking all your blood out, it’s supposed to stay inside.”
“Do you ever… shut up… You malodorous oaf.”
Jason scowled at the brat, resisting the urge to pause in his tight wrapping of Damian’s torso. “Did you just call me a malodorous oaf? What are you? Eight?”
Well, actually. He’s eleven. So close enough.
“Tt.” A good ten seconds passed before Damian added, his speech slurring, “That is what you are.”
“Is your comeback really ‘I know you are but what am I?’ Oh my God, who even are you?”
“Todd,” Damian said, his head slumping fully forward, landing on Jason’s chest.
And Jason heard a lot in that one word. In his name. It was almost like a plea for help. For comfort. For reassurance, maybe?
Stop panicking, Todd. You need to keep it together for the little guy.
Jason hefted Damian up into his arms as he stood, ready to run out into the street and find a way to help Damian himself. “It’s okay, brat. You’re fine.”
His little body was too still in his arms. His breathing too shallow. His face too pale.
The red staining the bandages was too much for Jason to look at, so he wrapped the brat’s cape around. The black outer-layer would at least conceal the blood.
“Come on, Damian. Stay with me, okay?”
It was quiet. So quiet Jason almost missed it, but Damian let out a soft, “Tt,” that reignited Jason’s drive to save him. It wasn’t too late. He just needed attention within the next couple minutes, and he’d be fine.
Jason was about at the point of ripping the kid’s comm out of his ear and shoving it into his own, but the second he stepped outside the warehouse, he could hear the batmobile racing toward him. It was three blocks away, at most.
“I think the comm is still active,” Jason said, clutching Damian a little tighter to his chest, “We’re standing right outside the warehouse now. Hurry, he’s lost consciousness.”
“Hnnnn,” Damian groaned, making Jason roll his eyes.
“He’s almost lost consciousness,” he amended, just as the batmobile came to a screeching halt in front of him.
“Get in,” Batman growled, the passenger door sliding open in one smooth motion, “both of you.”
Nodding shakily, Jason hopped in, barely getting the door shut behind him before Batman was racing off again.
He slid the chair back so he could set Damian in it and kneel in the space between the dash and the seat. Batman pressed a button that reclined the chair back all the way, turning it into a makeshift cot.
“There is more gauze in the compartment under the seat, and a pint of Damian’s blood in the refrigerator behind mine,” Bruce grumbled.
The next fifteen minutes passed by in a blur. A blur of Jason performing emergency first aid while Bruce tensely sped them back to the cave.
Damian…
Damian required surgery. There was some internal bleeding as well as the obvious external. Leslie had to be called in. He needed several more transfusions and was in surgery for hours.
It wasn’t until about 10 in the morning did Jason get to change out of his uniform. Shower off all the dried sweat and blood from his body. Let out a long breath.
He was still in the cave and Bruce hadn’t said more than two words to him outside shouting commands regarding Damian’s treatment.
Jason had shot Damian.
Again.
And he’d almost died.
Again.
If he were Bruce, he’d ship him off to Arkham right now. Or get in touch with Superman and figure out a way to send him off to the Phantom Zone.
Or just kill him.
But knowing Bruce, he was probably just going to get screamed at and punched a few times. Just like all the other villains in Gotham.
He really should put his armor back on, he thought idly as he slipped on one of Bruce’s t-shirts and pair of sweats he had found in one of the lockers. But he didn’t really deserve the protection it offered.
Damian almost died.
Slowly, Jason made his way out of the showers and back into the cave proper. He didn’t even put shoes on. Just socks. He wasn’t really expecting being able to leave anytime soon, anyway.
“Jay,” Bruce greeted tiredly from where he was keeping vigil at Damian’s bedside. He’d also showered and changed, but probably upstairs or something. Since Jason hadn’t seen him in the cave’s facilities.
“Bruce,” he said back, sticking his hands in his pockets, refusing to step closer. If Bruce wanted to do this, he’d have to come to Jason. He prepared himself for the lecture. For the screaming. For the accusations of trying to kill Damian. Again.
It’s all his own brain was yelling at him.
“His vitals have stabilized,” Bruce said instead, turning his head back to the sleeping form on the cot, “he should be fine.”
“That’s good,” Jason rasped, nodding.
A good minute passed. Then two. Three. All in tense silence.
“I’m sorry,” Jason finally said, at the same time Bruce rushed out a pained, “Thank you.”
Which, actually got Jason’s attention. “Wait, what?”
“Thank you,” Bruce repeated, “for taking care of him.”
“But,” Jason stuttered, “but I shot him.”
“He jumped in front of your bullet,” Bruce said simply, “It’s different.”
“It-” Jason spluttered, blinking at Batman. At Bruce.
Who the fuck was this guy and what had he done to the normal broody asshole?
Jason flinched as Bruce walked closer, eliciting a frown from the man as he did. Regardless, Bruce placed a hand on the base of Jason’s neck, squeezing just slightly. Just enough to provide that modicum of comfort. That morsel of reassurance.
“This was not your fault,” Bruce asserted, shaking Jason every so slightly, as if to force his words to penetrate Jason’s walls. To go in deep and stick. “You did good. You saved him.”
“But, I-” Jason said, and he hated himself for how whiney his voice sounded. How broken and despairing.
“You did good,” Bruce repeated, dragging Jason in close to wrap his arms around, “He’s fine. You did good.”
“Okay,” Jason whispered, because he had nothing else to say. Nothing was coming to mind.
Because Bruce was hugging him and practically saying he was proud.
There was nothing to say to that.
Because that’s all he ever wanted.
It wasn’t his fault.
Damian was going to be fine.
“You did good.”