Disclaimer: Batman, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Alfred Pennyworth, Robin, and Nightwing are the property of DC Comics. I am receiving no financial remuneration for this work of fanfiction. However, a donation was made to disaster relief efforts in the Philippines in exchange for my writing it.

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta! Thanks to Lilacsigil and Enviropony at the little_details community on Livejournal for help with additional injuries incurred in transit!

Timeline: Shortly after Batman Volume 1, #416.

Too Close to Call

Jason Todd put his hand up to the green domino mask for the fifteenth time to reassure himself that the spirit gum was holding. When he'd tried brushing the glue on, the mask had been stiff on his face and the gum had clumped and left rubbery droplets under his eyes that had looked appallingly like tears. It had taken nearly an hour of painful tugging and scrubbing to get the gunk off his face afterwards, too. Alfred had used a much lighter application, so much so that Jason had feared that the mask would blow off in a stiff breeze. However, he had to admit that the mask sat far more comfortably on his face. In fact, he found himself reaching up to touch it far too often, just to make sure that it was still attached. The last thing he needed tonight was for it to fall off.

He snagged a chimney pot with his grapnel and leaped to the next rooftop, wondering if Alfred had missed him yet. He'd told the elderly butler that he was going to be staying late at the library, researching a paper that was due the day after tomorrow. And Alfred had sighed, but allowed that it was a step in the right direction, since Jason had begun researching and writing his last one the night before it needed to be in, working through the night and finishing a scant two hours before the class in question. If he'd had any suspicions about where Jason was really going, he'd kept them to himself. Of course, the library closed at… what time? Eight? Nine? Jason turned his head toward the Clocktower Building. It was ten to eight now. Jason thought he knew the drill. If he didn't come home when expected, Alfred would call his cell. And if he didn't answer, Alfred would probably drive out to look for him.

Jason sighed. He wasn't used to people caring about where he was and he was still trying to make up his mind if he liked it. He pulled out his phone and started to call the manor. If he told Alfred he'd met some friends and was going out for pizza, maybe it would buy him some time. An airplane passed overhead, the noise of its engines startling him. Or maybe he's talked to Bruce enough to know what kind of background noises you hear at twenty-two stories up. Jason sighed. The only way a plane would sound that loud from the ground would be if he was right by the airport—another place Alfred would know he had no business being. He put the phone back. If Alfred even suspected that he'd gone out in costume tonight, he'd call Bruce. And if Bruce cut his business trip short and came back from Metropolis early, then Jason knew he'd be dead meat.

"Sorry, Alfred," he whispered, surprised to find that he actually was a little bit sorry. "But by the time Bruce gets back, Two-Face might have already taken over, and…" And even though Bruce had told him not to go out as Robin alone, Bruce had also told him that, sometimes, if it was a real emergency, some rules could be ignored. This was a real emergency. He flattened his back against the rough brick wall and inched sideways along the ledge.

Dick snagged a horizontal flagpole with his grapnel and swung across the street. He didn't get back to Gotham much these days. Even though he and Bruce were talking again, his work with the Teen Titans kept him out of town most of the time. He'd finally managed to clear his schedule for a few days, only to find out that Bruce was going to be out of town.

He tried to suppress the sneaking suspicion that Bruce had known when he was planning to come in and deliberately arranged his business trip to coincide with a time when Nightwing would be able to patrol in Batman's stead. It was probably nothing more than bad timing. Dick knew it. But the doubt still niggled at him. He sighed. He'd planned to be in Gotham for a week. Bruce was due back from Metropolis in four days time. There'd be plenty of time to catch up. Meanwhile, Bruce was trusting him to keep an eye on Gotham and Dick wasn't about to let him down.

He caught a flicker of yellow out of the corner of his eye and pivoted on one heel with a startled frown. Bruce had specifically told him that the kid wasn't ready to patrol solo yet. Which begged the question: What was Robin doing more than twenty stories high, without backup?

He shook his head in irritation and pulled out his comm-link. "Alfred, I think your newest bird has flown the coop. I'll bring him in. Current location is Midtown and I just saw him up on a ledge at…" He groaned as the realization hit him. "2222 Second Street. Damn! I'll… keep you posted. Nightwing out."

Two-Face. The kid actually thought he could take on Two-Face. Nightwing took a deep breath and readied his grapnel for another cast.

Jason stopped next to one window and frowned. This was it. It had to be. According to the building blueprints (he still couldn't believe how much stuff Bruce had on the Bat-computers), this should be apartment 2222. He rolled his eyes. The guy sure wasn't being subtle. About the only thing missing was a procession of billboards advertising the address… kinda like those old shaving cream ads Dad had told him about once, on a rare drive through the countryside, right before things started to go downhill.

He let out a slow calming breath. Apartment 2222 was, unsurprisingly, a two-bedroom apartment. Maybe this was why Bruce had the blueprints on file. He'd probably figured out long ago which haunts were likely to attract Two-Face and planned ahead. Yeah, that sounded like Bruce. He smiled for a fleeting moment, then sobered once more. He had to do this right. If he were Two-Face, where in the apartment would he be? He exhaled, his breath shockingly loud to his own ears. He could be anywhere. The kitchen, the can, the… He smiled again. Maybe he didn't know where Two-Face was now, but he'd bet he knew where the guy was going to be. Two-Face had to sleep sometime, and when he did, Jason had a hunch that it wouldn't be in the master bedroom, but in the smaller second bedroom. Which meant—he glanced again at the blueprint schematic on his smart phone—that it was the next window over. He'd just slip in and wait for the creep…

He sidled forward another few yards. Then, making sure that his footing was firm, he eased his burglar tools out of his utility belt and set to work on the window frame. He found the obvious trap and smirked as he cut the wire to disable it.

He didn't hear the faint click as he raised the window sash past the two-inch mark.

Dick watched as the kid set to work on the window. His lips twitched. No hesitation on which tools to use there, the new Robin clearly had some talents that Bruce hadn't taught him. Well, that, or the pupil was already faster than the teacher, but he suspected it was the former.

He nodded to himself as he saw Jason reach up with a pair of wire cutters and clip something too fine for him to make out at this distance. Good, he'd spotted the booby trap. Then, as he watched him raise the window, Dick's eyes widened in horrified realization. This was Two-Face. Which meant that there had to be a second trap! He saw something spark as the window rose and he sprang into action.

"Hope Bruce has been working on your reflexes, kid!" he muttered as he swung toward the sill. If not, what Dick was about to do stood a good chance of killing the boy. He hated swooping in like this, but there was no time to explain, and if the Robin didn't get off the sill quickly, that trap would definitely kill him. He tried not to think about the other probable consequence of his actions. It didn't matter. Robin was in trouble. Nightwing had to save him. That was the only thing that mattered.

The couple of seconds it took him to reach the sill seemed to stretch to hours. He had to do this right. He yelled… something. Get down? Watch out? Brace yourself? Later, he never quite knew what his warning had been. He remembered seeing Robin spin on one knee to face him, his shocked expression shifting first to annoyance and then to horror, as they both heard the faint hiss of escaping gas.

And then there was no time to argue, no time to think, no time to do anything but grab Robin and jump, shielding the boy's body with his own, aiming for the flower beds across the street in the rooftop terrace garden of 2221, and hope that they'd be enough to soften the landing.

They were nearly across Second Street when the blast wave hit.

Jason landed heavily on loose mulch and skidded forward, his knees and elbows taking the brunt of it. There were several sharp… things sticking into his face. He'd closed his eyes on reflex when he'd hurtled forward and it seemed like the lenses in his mask were holding. Or, at least, his eyes were the one part of his face that didn't hurt right now. He tried to crawl backwards, but there was a weight on top of him holding him down. He struggled and it slid partway off, enough for him get away from the… He opened his eyes and saw red leaves and small thorns. Oh, for… He knew this plant. It was red-leafed barberry. There was a hedge of it about six feet high in back of the manor, under his bedroom window.

"I only mention it, Master Jason," he remembered Alfred's words now, "In case you were planning a discreet exit from the premises at some point in future. Thorny plants are an excellent deterrent to would-be burglars, but they also serve to encourage more conventional means of egress from this home—such as doors."

At the time, he'd wondered about the first guy to wear the Robin costume and whether skipping out the window had been something he used to pull. Nah, to hear Bruce talk about him, there was no way that Dick Grayson would have ever done anything without permission… or mouthed off… or screwed up. No, Dick Grayson was just about perfect and Jason knew, deep down, that he'd never measure up. But taking down Two-Face single-handedly might have been a step in the right direction. Bruce had pretty much stated outright that Dick had never managed that.

There were wood chips digging into his bare legs and unprotected elbows. He knew some gardens had a layer of it over the soil, although he'd never cared to find out whether it was just for decoration or if it did anything for the plants. He tried to stand to brush himself off, and the weight on his back shifted again. He pulled himself up to a kneeling position and it dropped off with a groan. Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

A moment later, he wondered what kind of weight could possibly be groaning. Still on his knees, he scooted around to see, and wished he hadn't. Nightwing. His back was covered with dust and a black film he thought might be soot. His head was bleeding and Jason could see an angry red burn on the back of his neck. His Kevlar costume had protected most of him, but nothing from the neck up.

Jason swallowed hard. "N-Nightwing?"

There was no response.

Jason went cold. "Nightwing!" He slapped the older vigilante sharply on the cheek. "Wake up, damn you!" Was he even breathing? Jason watched anxiously until he saw Nightwing's chest rise and fall. He waited and it rose again, but the breathing was shallow. "Damn it, Nightwing! Don't die on me!" His voice cracked. "Don't die," he repeated in a whisper. "Please. Don't die."

Nightwing's eyelids cracked open for an instant and he gripped Jason's arm. Then he groaned again and his hand went slack.

Jason's own eyes were blurring. Nightwing was breathing, but he needed help and fast! He reached into his utility belt for his cell phone and his hand closed on empty air. How…? He made a frustrated sound. He probably hadn't sealed the compartment when he'd put the phone back earlier, after deciding not to check in with Alfred, which meant that the phone was likely in a million pieces in the middle of the street below. Probably run over by a couple of hundred cars and a bunch of eighteen-wheelers, too. He glanced at Nightwing again. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Kevlar was blade-resistant, not blade-proof. Jason was glad of the distinction as he removed his cape and sliced a wide ribbon off the bottom. He studied the fabric carefully, trying to decide which side was cleaner and made a face. They were both covered in dust and twigs. "Bet you wish I had some rubbing alcohol on me to sterilize this," he muttered. "Or a fifth of scotch."

In point of fact, he hated the taste of alcohol, but he hadn't been above raiding his folks' booze supply to bribe the bullies at his old public school. Alfred kept the liquor locked up at the manor, and Jason suspected that if he told the butler he wanted some for medicinal purposes, it would just result in a long-suffering sigh and a flat refusal. When Bruce got back, Jason was totally going to ask him about carrying a first aid kit. Maybe. What Bruce seemed to like most about him was that he wasn't afraid to go charging in, swinging. Maybe if Jason started asking about carrying bandages and medicines, Bruce would think that he was starting to get scared. But then, Bruce carried the stuff himself, so maybe… Maybe Bruce wanted to be the only one carrying it, so that Jason wouldn't try striking out on his own. Damn it. How the hell was he supposed to know the right play when Bruce was the only one with a copy of the rule book?

He shook his head and came back to the present, as he folded the strip of soft body Kevlar into a pad and pressed it to the wound on Dick's scalp. "Sorry, Nightwing," he whispered, "but I guess I need to stop you from bleeding to death before I worry about whether this is gonna get infected. You need a doctor, anyway," he said, not sure whether he was talking to Nightwing or talking out loud to himself, as he cut another strip from his cape and tied it around Nightwing's head to hold the pad in place. "I guess if there is an infection, she can fix that, too."

There was only one doctor Jason knew about whom he could be sure wouldn't demand money or proof of insurance up front. Besides, there had been that night almost two years ago when he'd ventured onto one of the side streets off of Crime Alley and run into a couple of members of the Loboys who had taken his appearance as an invasion of their turf. The gang members had let him off 'easy' as they put it, content to bring a baseball bat down on his collarbone once as a warning. Jason remembered well how he'd fought not to cry, even though it had hurt like hell, as he'd stumbled to Doc Thompkins' clinic. She'd tut-tutted something or other as she'd treated the injury and then left him alone in the examination room, promising to be right back.

After a few minutes, Jason had started to get antsy. His shoulder wasn't hurting as bad anymore and he figured he'd just leave, except he somehow got turned around and, instead of heading back toward the waiting room, he'd gone further into the clinic. He'd pushed open a door and there she'd been… patching up Batman! He'd been facing away from the door, his cowl off, so all Jason had seen was the back of the costume and a head of dark hair. The doc had been swabbing something on his ear. Intent on her work, she hadn't looked up and Jason had beat it back to 'his' examination room, grabbed his shirt from the chair with his good arm, and taken off down the hall in the opposite direction.

Yeah, if Nightwing needed a doctor, it definitely had to be her. Free clinic, and if Batman trusted her enough let her treat him, then it had to be okay to let her treat Nightwing.

Now, how the hell was he supposed to get Nightwing halfway across the city to Crime Alley?

He looked around wildly and spotted the laundry flapping on the lines at the other end of the roof. Maybe... Barely daring to hope, he raced over to the lines and shook his head. No. Nothing. He rested his elbows on the balustrade and looked down with a dejected sigh.

Then he saw it. On the balcony of the floor below was a wheeled laundry cart with canvas sides.

"Here's hoping nobody's looking out the window, down there," he muttered as he readied his grapnel.

The frame of the cart banged against the side of the building and Jason winced at the sound of metal against granite. He pulled harder. The line was holding, but the cart felt heavier than it looked. He pulled again and tried not to flinch when it hit the wall once more. It seemed to take forever until he could reach over the edge of the roof and grab the edge of the cart.

He set it carefully on the concrete tiles and pushed it over to Nightwing, grateful that it was on wheels. He saw with relief that Nightwing was still breathing. He looked at the cart again and his face fell. The base was only about two feet by two feet and it was about three-and-a-half feet high. He'd practically have to fold Nightwing in half to get him inside. He closed his eyes. Then what? Wheel him all the way to Crime Alley? In costume? Damn it, next time he patrolled alone, he was totally going to hotwire a Batmobile.

"Sorry about this," he muttered. He turned the cart on its side and did his best to gently stuff Nightwing inside seat-first, praying he wasn't making matters worse. It was either this or leave him behind while he went to look for a cop or a phone or tried to talk Doc Thompkins into swinging back to Midtown with him. Yeah. That would go over really well. And if Two-Face noticed that his bomb had gone off and started looking around, Nightwing could be gone by the time help arrived. Gone in both senses of the word. Jason swallowed hard. "Really, really sorry." He went back to the clothesline and took down some random pieces of hanging laundry. He did his best to pack them around Nightwing. He hesitated when he picked up one item. It was a hooded sweatshirt. That could come in handy. As could the sweatpants. Who cared if they were two sizes too big?

Ten minutes later, a youth, his hoodie raised against the chill night air, stepped cautiously out of the emergency stairwell and onto the twentieth floor, pushing a full laundry basket topped by a white tablecloth ahead of him. Keeping his face in shadow, he summoned an elevator nonchalantly, rode it down to the lobby, and stepped out of the building, still pushing the cart.

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, it's gonna be rough for a minute, but not as bad as it was getting you down the roof stairs. I just gotta push you down four steps this time and I'm gonna take it slow. Then I'm gonna give you a break. I'm gonna walk two subway stops to Bessolo and get on the train there, cuz that station's already got ramps and elevators, which is more than I can say for the two I'm passing." He took a breath. "Just enjoy it while it lasts, cuz when we get off at Park Row, it's gonna be more stairs—unless they fixed the escalator, or put in an elevator in the last coup'la months, and I don't think they did…"

It was seventeen stops from Bessolo Station to Park Row. It was maybe seventeen feet from Park Row to the clinic. By the time they got there, Jason felt as though his mind had turned off. It was like something else was pushing him forward, one step after another. He tried not to be concerned that the canvas laundry bag hadn't moved much. If it had, it would probably have caused some stares on the subway. As it was, nobody had given him a second look. He fought the urge to give the bag a poke or shift the tablecloth cover aside.

His face fell when he reached the clinic. More stairs. Just six of them, when he'd already gone up about fifty to get out of the subway, but up was harder than down and he knew that Dick could feel every jolt.

"A little late for a delivery, aren't you?" a brisk voice asked.

Jason hesitated only an instant before lowering his hood.

Doc Thompkins' eyes widened when she took in the mask. "Robin?"

At this point, Jason didn't know anymore. "Nightwing's hurt," he snapped. "Bad."

She came down the stairs to meet him. "You mean you've got him in…?" Whatever she'd been about to say, she thought better of it. "You push, I'll pull."

Jason nodded. "I didn't have a phone," he tried to explain as they hauled the cart up the steps. "I couldn't leave him and I can't drive. I had to get him here somehow. I knew this wasn't a good idea, but I didn't have anything better, so…"

The cart was on the doorstep now and the doc came around to put a hand on his shoulder. "What's done's done," she said gently. "Let's get him inside."

"It was a bomb," Jason tried to explain. "He pushed me out of the way."

"Shhh…" she replied. "You can tell me later."

"But…"

"Robin," the doc's voice took on a harsh note of command. "Later. Let me work. Where's Batman?"

"Not here."

"Is Alfred home?"

"Yeah…"

"Call him. Tell him what's happened and that I need his help now. Use the phone in my office." She shoved a key into his hand.

"But what if he asks how bad it is?"

"Just call him," the doc repeated. "Tell him I'm examining Nightwing and I don't know yet. I'll tell you when I do."

And then she pushed the laundry cart into another room and closed the door behind her. Jason tried to follow, but found it locked. He frowned. She hadn't locked the door that time he'd seen her working on Batman. Maybe his presence then hadn't gone as unnoticed as he'd thought.

His hand was sweating as he picked up the receiver. It was an old rotary phone, and he hung up twice before he finally forced himself to dial the last digit. His heart thudded in his chest so loudly that he barely heard Alfred's, "I shall be there directly," and he couldn't have said how long he held onto the receiver with the dial tone beeping in his ear after the butler hung up. In fact, he knew nothing, until he heard Doc Thompkins' voice calling his name gently.

"Robin?"

Jason let out a long breath and replaced the receiver hastily. Alfred wasn't here yet. How could the doc be finished working on him this quickly, unless… no. Oh, no. "How is he?" he forced himself to ask.

The doc gave him a weary smile. "Resting until Alfred gets here," she said. "He has a concussion, a few bad cuts and burns—"

"I couldn't sterilize the bandage!" Jason blurted. He hadn't had a chance to tell her before. "It's gonna get infected!"

"Robin," her voice sliced gently through his panic, "I changed the dressing and I cleaned the wound. It's okay. At least, that part of it."

Jason's sigh of relief died in mid-exhalation. "That… part?"

"There's quite a bit of internal bleeding," she said gently.

"What? But Kevlar's supposed ta protect against bombs!" He couldn't believe this.

The doc put a hand on his shoulder and, for once, he didn't shake it off. "Kevlar protects against shrapnel. Blunt force trauma is another matter. And the way you brought him in didn't help. He's suffering from hypovolemic shock."

Jason didn't know what that was, but it sounded bad. "Huh?"

"Due to the internal bleeding, which got worse because of the way you transported him, his heart hasn't been able to pump enough blood through his body. I think I've treated him in time, but a few more minutes and…" She waited for her words to sink in before demanding, "Why on Earth didn't you call for help? Where was Batman in all this?"

Jason was too exhausted to make up excuses. "My phone broke. I couldn't leave him to go looking for another one. Batman's… away."

Doc Thompkins' mouth set in a taut, angry line. "I see. He trusted two… children to look after things in his stead. Let's just hope he'll still have two children after tonight. When I'm done with—"

Her face looked like a storm cloud and even though prudence told Jason that he probably didn't want to be on the receiving end of her anger, he knew that once Alfred showed up, she'd know who was really at fault. "He didn't know, okay? I went out on my own. Batman didn't know," he repeated wearily. "Alfred didn't know. Hell, I don't think Nightwing knew until he saw me trying ta break into Two-Face's apartment and the bomb went off."He let out a breath. "If you're gonna blame anyone, ya might as well blame me," he added, exhaustion wiping out Alfred's lessons in better diction. "For all of it. Just… can I see him?"

The doc's mouth was a hard line again, but her voice softened. "Yes, but he's unconscious. I've prepped him for surgery. Once Alfred arrives, we'll be going in. And Robin? You were right to bring him here. However, next time…" Her voice trailed off and she sighed. "I hope to Heaven that there won't be a next time, but if there is…" she shook her head. "If there is, I realize that you won't call an ambulance, but at the very least, hail a taxi. I'll pay the fare when it gets here."

"Deal," Jason sighed. Anything to get her off his case. "Now can I see him?"

"For a few minutes," she nodded. "Come with me."

It felt like barely thirty seconds before Alfred arrived and Leslie shooed him out again. Jason was too tired to protest. Besides, it didn't seem like there was anything he could do to help. To hear Leslie say it, he'd already done more than enough. At first, he'd been relieved that Alfred had barely spared him a glance before hurrying to Dick's side, but then Jason had realized that the reason the butler hadn't read him the riot act was because Dick was still in bad shape.

He didn't want to relax, much less fall asleep, but alone in Leslie's office, he finally crashed from his adrenaline high and the next thing he knew, someone was shaking him awake. He opened his eyes blearily and immediately wished he hadn't. "Hi, Bruce," he gulped. "When did you get back?"

Bruce sat down heavily on the couch next to him. "About a half hour ago." His voice sounded like Jason felt and the youth's heart lurched.

"How… how is he?"

Bruce let out a long sigh. "He's going to make it, but that was by no means certain for a while."

"A… while?" Jason blinked. There was sunlight coming into the office, filtering through the venetian blinds. "What time is it? What day is it? How long—?"

"Slow down." Bruce's voice was soft, but Jason didn't miss the commanding tone. "It's a little after eight. You brought Dick here a bit after nine last night. Leslie and Alfred were working on him until about an hour before I arrived."

Jason exhaled, but Bruce wasn't done talking.

"Hypovolemic shock, contusions, bruises, to say nothing of muscle strain from being folded like a pretzel for nearly an hour. Jason… what were you thinking?"

Jason sat up angrily. "I was thinking that my phone was smashed in the middle of Second Street and Two-Face could probably look out his bedroom window and see us and we needed to get the hell out of there fast. I was thinking that, if I somehow got my hands on a phone, then by the time Alfred met us in Midtown and drove back to the clinic, we'd hit the after-theater traffic and it would take longer than me getting Nightwing on the subway, and that it might take even longer if Alfred wasted time asking me questions about stuff I might have known to check if you'd taught me anything about first aid or let me carry something else besides painkillers and band-aids in my belt. I had to do something and I'm sorry I messed up, but I got him here and he's going to be okay!" He closed his eyes. "Isn't he?"

Bruce nodded. "Assuming no complications. He's not fully conscious yet, but he is asking for you." Bruce gave him a gentle push. "Go. We'll discuss this further later."

Jason ran without looking back. If he had, or if he'd run any more slowly, he would have seen Bruce close his eyes, draw his arms tightly to his sides and ball his hands into fists, and he would have heard him take several deep calming breaths.

"Hey." Jason swallowed hard when he saw the breathing tube in Dick's nose and the IV bag dripping some kind of clear liquid into his arm. Like Jason, he was still wearing his mask and his face was nearly as white as the fresh bandage wrapped around the top of his head, except for where numerous cuts and bruises stood out in startling red, purple, black and blue. "You look like hell."

Dick's eyes cracked open at that. "You're not exactly GQ material yourself," he whispered hoarsely.

Jason's lips twitched, but he sobered instantly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

Dick held up a weary hand. "Robin. Stop. You got me here. You… saved my life."

"After nearly getting you killed saving my neck!" Jason protested.

Dick closed his eyes. "I saved you?" he whispered.

"Yes!" Okay, he was starting to get a little freaked out now.

"Then… you saved me?"

Jason froze. "Well, after almost killing you in the process… I guess so."

"You saved me?" Dick's voice wasn't much more than a mumble.

Jason sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I did."

Dick gave a slight nod. "We're… even," he breathed.

"Uh… Nightwing?"

There was no answer.

"Nightwing!"

"He'll be in and out of consciousness for the next little while," a voice spoke from behind him. Jay started. He hadn't heard the doc come into the room. "I'm surprised he stayed alert as long as he did."

"But he'll be okay?"

The doc nodded. "He'll be back to risking his life again before you know it." She sighed. "I don't suppose you'd consider giving up that costume before it's you on one of these cots?"

Jason regarded her solemnly for a long moment. He'd messed up big time last night, but he was no quitter. He'd been careless and sloppy. He'd made mistakes. But he hadn't run away from them and he had saved Dick's life. And, if Bruce was willing to give him another chance, he was going to take it.

Something must have showed in his eyes, because the doc sighed again. "I didn't think so." She handed him a thin hardcover volume that probably had had a dust jacket once, but was now left with a green cloth binding. "Ask Alfred to go over this with you, if you have any questions," she said. "It's a guide to field medicine and emergency first aid. Some of the information is probably out of date by now, but most of it is still good." She shook her head. "You were lucky last night. You both were. But luck has a way of running out. Skill is another story." She let out a long breath. "Batman and I have our differences, but we agree on that point at least. Listen to what he's trying to teach you and you might last a bit longer."

Jason nodded. "Is it okay if I sit here for a while?"

"Call me if you notice any change."

Jason nodded again. He barely registered when Bruce came in and pulled a second chair next to him, though he did flinch when Bruce rested one hand on his shoulder and covered Dick's hand with the other. He glanced at Bruce and saw that the big man's gaze was fixed on the green hardcover that Leslie had handed him.

"You will study one chapter of that each week until you complete the book," Bruce said in a low tone. "This will be in addition to your other schoolwork and training. And you will know the material to Alfred's satisfaction before I clear you for patrol."

Jason nodded. He seemed to be doing a lot of that. It was better than trying to talk when he felt like crying and couldn't even say why. The worst was over, he was still going to be Robin, and Nightwing was going to be okay.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. "I suppose," he said tonelessly, "you've, at least, learned that what we do is not a game and that the consequences of going into a situation with insufficient planning can be extreme." His voice took on an urgent note. "You have to learn this, Robin, or I won't have to take you out of the costume; you'll take yourself out. Permanently."

Jason bit his lip and nodded once more. He'd been careless last night and Dick had almost paid the price, but he'd also nearly caught Two-Face. And, he brightened, when he did get his hands on that creep, the freak was so going to pay for that booby trap. A smile flitted on his lips. Maybe even permanently…