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It all happened in a matter of seconds. A gun shot went off, Dick screamed, and Jason slumped forward. Bruce’s fist met the Joker’s nose with a sickening crunch. The clown fell to the ground and Bruce rushed forward to Jason.
Somewhere in the background, he could see Cass getting the cuffs on the Joker and pinning him down. He was laughing but all Bruce could hear was his own heartbeat.
Shot through the stomach at close range. Jason was limp but murmuring something, taking shaky little breathes. He rushed forward to kneel next to him. Bruce started to lift Jason's shirt to see the extent of the damage. Blood. Too much blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone kneel beside him.
“You need to carry him, I’m not strong enough,” Dick grabbed Bruce’s arm to get his attention. He just nodded in response.
Time seemed to blur as he picked him up. One moment, he was staring down at his son. The next, they were in the back of the Batmobile and he was pressing down on the wound, keeping him from bleeding out in front of them. The drive to the Cave felt like a few minutes instead of the half an hour it was. This was all too familiar. Bruce was so stuck in his own head that he could barely see anything but Jason. Every bit of focus was aimed at the stuttered rising and falling of his chest.
Bruce was working on autopilot, pulling him from the car and rushing him to the metal tables. Alfred stood there, a blood bag and IV station already set up and waiting. He was saying something as Bruce laid Jason down. He was too pale. As Alfred placed the IV in his arm, Jason started to whimper. He'd always hated needles.
Together, they cut off his shirt and checked the damage. Alfred was speaking but all Bruce heard was “Clean entry and exit.”
Good. That was good. Less chance of infections and no digging for the bullet.
Alfred was quick to roll Jason over, dealing with the wide exit wound first. Bruce worked automatically, handing him whatever he needed. He could see bits of pink coming back to Jason’s face as the blood transfusion continued. Bruce let the tiniest bit of tension leave his shoulders when Alfred spoke, "The shot completely missed his spine, Master Bruce."
When the wound on his back was no longer pouring out blood, Jason was moved so his front was accessible. The movement jostled him and he began whimpering again. His hands clenched and he tried to lift an arm.
Bruce’s hand came up instinctively, holding him from ripping out the IV while they were working. This had been common during his Robin days; he hated needles and he hated painkillers even more. He'd wake up and immediately yank out whatever they had in him. So Bruce knew how to recognize it and help them all avoid having to reinsert the IV. Jason’s arm tensed when he felt the grasp on his and he pushed further, trying to shake it off.
Alfred pulled away from where he was attempting to stitch Jason up and looked down. The scared whine that Jason let out broke Bruce's heart. He saw the same sadness reflected in Alfred's eyes when he glanced at the older man.
“Jay, it’s alright. It’s just some morphine to keep you still while we work,” Bruce spoke softly, trying to assure him. The voice didn’t seem to be getting through to him at all. Jason kept tensing and whimpering without hearing any of their comfort.
Before Bruce could slow him, Jason sat straight up. At the movement, blood began pouring from the wound on his stomach. Suddenly, any bits of dissociation were gone and Bruce was laser-focused on Jason. This wasn’t his normal discomfort from needles.
No, Jason’s eyes were open but unseeing and completely panicked. His gaze flicked between Bruce and Alfred without any recognition. Next, it landed on the medical equipment. He pulled out the IV in a way that should have been painful but he didn't react to it, just kept moving. When Bruce realized he was trying to swing his feet over the side of the bed, he panicked. Grabbing hold of his knee to stop him, he was nearly shouting, “Jason! You need to lay back down!”
He didn’t seem to hear him and it was terrifying Bruce. When Bruce pushed his legs back onto the bed, Jason whimpered.
“No, don’t,” It wasn’t a voice Bruce had heard before. It was full of horror and pain. Jason’s voice cracked, “Please.”
This was more like a response to Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin than the Joker. In an attempt to offer him a bit of comfort, Bruce took his hand away from where it was holding his leg and he spoke softly, “Jason, it’s alright. You’re in the Cave.”
Again, no recognition. Jason pulled his legs in front of him, blood seeping onto the cot below him. Some dripped off the edge and landed on Bruce’s boot. The sight sent made him nauseous. Jason had his hands curled around the back of his neck and put his head between his knees. He looked like he was trying to protect himself. Quite oxymoronically, seeing as his position was making him bleed so much it was soaking through his pants.
This couldn’t continue working like this. But Jason was going to bleed out if they didn’t help him. Against his wishes, Bruce’s mind flashed with images of Jason’s body limp in his arms. Of the blood seeping into the cracks between his armour because he refused to let go of him. He couldn't do it again. Ever.
Bruce reached a hand out to Jason’s shoulder to push him onto the bed. The minute it made contact, Jason’s hand shot out to bat it away with a yell, “Don’t touch me!”
Below the anger, there was panic. His shoulders were shaking and his nails were dug into his palms. Jason wasn’t lucid enough to know it was him. He wasn’t hearing or seeing any of them. And whatever he was seeing terrified him. All while Bruce stood there watching him bleed.
“We need to sedate him,” Bruce looked up at Alfred who nodded, grabbing a syringe and small bottle.
“He’s burning through it quickly, I don’t know how long it’ll work.”
Bruce grunted in response, ready to do anything to keep his son alive. Alfred’s needle was prepared within moments and he had approached silently behind Bruce. Or maybe Bruce was too focused to hear. It wasn’t like him.
“He had- You need to hold him still,” It was rare to hear Alfred stutter on words. This situation must have been affecting him just as much.
Bruce forced himself to act; His hand closed around Jason’s arm and dragged it towards him, while using the other arm across his collarbone to keep him down on the table. Jason was screaming something barely intelligible immediately. His whole body was fighting him off. His other hand clawed at Bruce’s forearms and his hips twisted like he was trying to buck him off.
Bruce took a shaky inhale and was glad that Alfred’s hands were already reaching out to insert the needle. With Jason being held down, Alfred was able to inject the sedative. He stepped away in time to avoid Jason's kicks as he thrashed against Bruce’s hold.
At some point, a tear had snuck down Bruce’s cheek. He held firm as Jason continued to fight him. Jason’s nails were raking down his forearm, leaving cuts in their wake. He couldn’t even notice the pain, so focused on his son. He hadn't stopped screaming the whole time. Not words; just guttural, gasping screams.
“Get the restraints,” Bruce knew it was the right thing to do but he could barely force out the words. They needed him still so they could get the stitches done. Restraints would likely trigger him more but they couldn’t risk this happening again.
Bruce adjusted his hold so his other forearm was across Jason’s thighs, pressing most of his weight into him to keep him down.
Behind him, he heard a small gasp from where Dick had approached, likely drawn over by the sounds of struggle. He couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t bear to see his son’s expression as he watched Bruce hold his little brother down.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” His whisper was barely audible. Jason couldn’t hear him either way, but he couldn’t not say it.
Alfred had finally produced the metal cuffs. He forced Jason’s arm down onto the table and wrapped it around his wrist and secured it down. The fight was seeping out of him as the sedatives worked their way through his system. Even as his movements became sluggish and his limbs were secured one by one, he wouldn't stop moving. He fought until the very last moment.
After one final push against the cuffs, Jason’s body went limp, giving into the sedatives.
Surveying the damage, Bruce could see that the stitches on the back had likely come out, although their work to stop the bleeding was somewhat intact. His gaze landed on Jason’s stomach next. It was covered in blood. The table around them was slick with it and it was soaking into all of Jason's clothes. His skin around the wound was likely pale but right now all he could see was red. The trickle of blood out of his wound continued.
Bruce felt his gaze become far off again, unfocused and unattached to the patient. He couldn’t think about it being Jason. He needed to work quickly. After helping reinsert the IV, he went back to handing Alfred supplies while the older man stitched him up quickly.
Once the stitches were done, Bruce stepped away from the table, grabbing a washcloth to wipe away some of the blood on his son’s skin. When he turned back, he saw the blood on his shoes had been tracked through the Med-bay. That Jason’s blood was covering the floor of the Med-bay. He couldn’t hold back the horror anymore. He wanted to throw up. Bruce forced himself closer to the bed, using the soft cloth to brush away the blood marring Jason’s skin. He moved carefully around the fresh stitches. It was such a contrast to the way he’d been holding him earlier, like he was asking for forgiveness.
When he looked at Jason’s face, his eyes were screwed shut and his brow was furrowed. Still fighting demons even as he slept.
Bruce’s hand found Jason’s forehead and tried to smooth out the wrinkles, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face, “Oh, Jay. I’m so sorry.”
He could say it a million times and it would never feel like enough. Instead, he sat down on the chair beside his bed and stared at his face, hoping for the tension to drain away.