A/N: I wasn't sure if I wanted to post this in YJ or in the Batman Comics page. It alludes to a scene from Robin Year One, but I really like the relationship between Batman and Robin in YJ. So, I'm gonna post it for the DaddyBats. Very short, but hopefully sweet. Rated T, just in case, because what kind of monster hurts a kid?

Side note: statistics are freaking scary.

16%

Statistics.

That was all that ran through the Batman's mind as he finally breached the surface of the water of the frigid Gotham River. Seven to sixteen percent. That was it. Sixteen percent. Only sixteen. His cape nearly forced him back under the water, but he fought with all of his strength, the small bundle in his arms causing all other ideas to flee. The boy was still bound, wrists behind his back, ankles together, cape and belt gone.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

Sixteen percent.

Batman made it to the dock, finally, and lifted the small body onto the planking. There were no thoughts of Dent's escape. His eyes only saw the bright red tunic that did not rise and fall as it should. Robin had proved himself capable over the years. He was a partner, not a sidekick! The boy could handle himself better than half of the Justice League.

Dent.

It had to be Two-Face.

It wasn't enough that Harvey had nearly beaten the boy to death with a baseball bat only a few years ago. Batman should have know better. They never should have split up!

Sixteen percent!

Of course it had been a sound plan. A plan the Dynamic Duo had used on many occasions. They covered more ground, more quickly, apart. But had time really been of the essence?

Sixteen percent...

Yes, but it hadn't been worth the boy's life.

Robin shouldn't have found them first.

The boy had done everything correct. Followed orders to the letter. He had been waiting for Batman, radio channel open when he'd been captured. Batman had listened to every word of Dent's tirade. Had listened to Robin's taunts of what would happen when The Batman arrived. Heard the stifled cries as Robin had been bound. He'd yelled reassurances that he'd be there in time. Less than three minutes away, he'd heard the boy start to panic. More taunts and laughs from Dent, then three desperate words: "Batman, please hurry." Then the com link went dead.

Sixteen percent.

Dent and his henchmen were standing at the edge of the dock, looking down into the water when Batman had dropped down behind them. Dent opened his mouth to say something, but Batman was already running to dive off of the dock. He didn't need to be the World's Greatest Detective to figure out what Dent had done. The frigid water was almost paralyzing, but he couldn't stop. Robin had been under for more than two minutes. They'd been practicing, but the longest the boy had been able to hold his breath was eighty nine point six seconds. Straining lungs forced the Dark Knight to surface twice before finding his boy.

And now, kneeling over the still form, gasping for breath, he just kept thinking about that damn sixteen percent.

It always worked in movies and television, it was supposed to save lives. Yet, at best, only sixteen percent of those given CPR outside of a hospital made a full recovery.

Why didn't he have an AED in the Batmobile?! The simple, small machine could have easily fit with the rest of the equipment and it increased survival to nearly eighty percent!

He always prepared for everything! Why wasn't he prepared for this?!

Batman cut through the ropes quickly, made sure Robin was laying flat, and placed his hands on Robin's small chest. Almost a third of people who received CPR wound up with broken ribs.

Breathing with broken ribs was better than the alternative. He started compressions.

Nothing.

Research said chest compressions alone were as effective as they were with rescue breaths...an eighty four percent chance the boy was dead either way. Why risk it? Batman opened the boy's mouth, pinched his nose, and sealed his lips over Robin's, counting breaths.

Nothing.

He repeated the sets once, twice...still nothing.

Sixteen percent was a dismally small fraction.

Tears began to blur his vision as he started the third set of compressions. Robin wasn't supposed to die! He was supposed to be helping the boy not become him.

He'd fired the boy before, after the first run-in with Dent. But Dick had run away and donned the mask alone. It was safer for the boy at Batman's side. Wasn't it?

He tried to again breath for the boy, but his own sobs made it difficult. He tried again and felt a rush of water. He pulled back quickly, his distraught mind not understanding. Then his mind caught up to his senses.

Coughing! Dick was coughing up water. Batman quickly rolled the boy on his side, and patted his back gently.

Robin gasped for breath; loops of rope were still wrapped around his wrists as he clutched at what was most likely a badly bruised sternum.

Batman gently pushed wet hair away from the boy's brow, "Deep breaths. You're okay." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

Robin smiled between coughs, "Knew you'd get here...in time." He tried to pull himself into a sitting position, but batman scooped him into his arms. Robin laid his head against Batman's chest weakly, "Let him...get away?"

Batman was already striding toward the Batmobile, toward home. "You're more important."

The boy gave a weak nod that was already half-unconscious.

But he was breathing.

Sixteen percent was such a small number, but sixteen percent survived.