Chapter Text
Everyone stilled as the strong, coppery smell of blood quickly came to mingle with the filth of the cramped alleyway. No one dared to move, surely not the thug with the already too-jittery and trigger happy attitude, his eyes wide enough that if Red Robin squinted enough, he could probably count the veins that were inflamed and shot from lack of sleep or whatever he was hopped on, if he hadn't been so focused on the spreading pool of dark red staining vibrant red on Robin's stomach.
Robin, for one of the rare few times in his life, looked just as surprised at the incredibly lucky and incredibly fucked thug. It was supposed to be easy -- which was his first mistake, treating any case, no matter how small, as simple or easy. A junkie stealing cash from a corner store. Cliché, Robin had written it off, only tagging along with Red Robin because all of the others were busy with other cases all about the tri-island that was Gotham. Sometimes junkies were easy, just drop down from the rooftops into the dark alleyway they were running down, and the glowing white caps over their eyes would be sign enough that they should ditch whatever they stole and run the other way before losing all of their teeth on the ground. Then there were the ones who had nothing left to lose besides what shred of freedom they had within the crime riddled city, and maybe some street cred. This thug seemed to be the latter but with the addition of a gun, made the entire thing all the more dangerous. The fear of getting caught by not just one Robin, but two of them, the adrenaline of stealing cash, almost getting away with it, and now being cornered made people unpredictable, and unpredictability was never a good thing. Red Robin had been grappling with him when the gun had gone off, leaving Robin in a classic 'wrong place, wrong time' scenario.
He put a hand over his stomach and reached behind him to feel for an exit wound just as Red Robin lifted onto his bo staff with graceful ease behind the thug, landing a solid connection to his head with his boot. Down the thug went just as he felt the second bullet hole, gritting his teeth with a choked off growl of pain.
With the thug down and restraints firmly tied around both his wrists and ankles, Red Robin turned to catch Robin just as he sank to a knee. "I've got you. Just do me a favor and don't go into shock." He said, plucking things from various pouches on his belt, even grabbing some from Robin's, who gave him a downright venomous look that he avoided. "I'll patch this up just enough to get us back to the cave then I'll call this guy into the GCPD. Did it go through?" He asked as he maneuvered Robin into a sitting position and shoved his tunic up enough to see the gunshot.
"It went through," Robin answered, "I'm mostly offended that you think I'll go into shock over a little bullet wound, Red. I've had much worse." He said as if it was going to reassure Red Robin in the least. It did not.
"I half expected an "I've had bigger" joke, but I forget that not everyone is as childish as Hood." Red Robin smiled slightly to himself at the mention of him, Robin rolling his eyes but the exhale through his nose was evidence enough of his own amusement at the statement. He made quick work of finding the exit wound and opening a thick patch of gauze with his teeth and free hand, letting Robin reprimand him of his lack of hygiene, even getting in some ribs about halitosis or whatever other mouth disease he possibly had, only slightly enjoying the hiss of pain he let out when he placed the bandage atop the gauze. Okay, more than half enjoyed, actually. Sure, he was worried about him underneath all of the annoyance he harbored for Robin, but it had gotten oh-so-slightly better over the years, especially after Robin grew out of those rotten puberty years. Okay, Red Robin did his own growing up over time, too, but he wasn't about to drag himself and Robin in the same breath; it had to be one or the other.
Robin's nose was crinkled beneath his domino, focusing mostly on Red Robin's hands now moving to pay attention to his torso rather than the throbbing pain throughout his body. Yes, he had been through worse, but that didn't mean everything was painless. A gunshot was a gunshot, and it hurt like hell. He watched black gloved fingers touch around the entry wound, accessing quickly before repeating the gauze and bandage technique he had done on his back, doing what he could for a field procedure to keep blood out of the wound until they got back to the Batcave.
"Can you grapple yourself back with me or do you need me to get my bike?" Red Robin asked.
"I'll be fine, Red Robin -- shit!" Robin cursed when a needle plunged into his back close to the exit wound, reaching behind him to try and snatch Red Robin's wrist but he was already pulling away.
"It's a mild sedative, something to help you relax while I get us out of here." He explained as he pressed a hidden button on the symbol on his chest, covering the needle before placing the now empty syringe in his belt. "As fun as it would be to carry you deadweight via grapple, I would rather do literally anything else." The roar of his bike's engine echoed down the alleyway, loud enough to wake the thug and send him into a panic in his restraints. Red Robin paid him no mind, only pulling Robin's tunic back down and lifting him to his feet before straddling the bike first, patting the seat behind him.
Robin huffed and followed suit, settling behind Red Robin while he revved the engine to make it come to life again. With a jolt, the bike shot out of the tight alleyway and into the ever busy street of Gotham City, Robin grabbing hold of his sides as he felt his body grow heavier with the sedative already starting to sink in. He would have to ask Batman where he got such fast-acting medicines, because he had his doubts that they were any sort of legally acquired. He rested his forehead to Red Robin's back when the blurring lights of the city made his head swim too much, the sleek material of his uniform barely creating a buffer from the thin layer of kevlar sewn into it. Maybe he, Robin, Nightwing, even the likes of Batgirl and Spoiler ought to have bulkier uniforms like Batman and Red Hood, it would certainly save some time in the infirmary for all of them.
"Why can't Pennyworth stitch my injuries?" Robin asked when Red Robin parked his bike in its designated spot within the Batcave, already starting to peel off his domino mask and gloves.
"He's out, remember? The world doesn't stop for Damian Wayne, you know." Tim reminded while pulling his own mask off of his head, unclipping his belt, and harness so he wouldn't have anything restricting his movements while he stitched Damian. "Get undressed and wait on the table," he instructed with a point to the infirmary, ignoring Damian's muttering about how he shouldn't be bossing him around but lugged his heavy body to the med bay anyway. Tim gathered the materials he needed to suture his wounds, even being so kind as to grab a set of plain clothes that was stored away so no one sat practically naked in the cold cave. He raised an eyebrow to Damian when he approached him, setting the stainless steel pan of instruments next to him along with the clothes. "Nice and sedated?"
Damian sniffed. "Like a feral beast. Hurry this along, Drake. The night's barely begun and I want to get back out there." Damian said and Tim had to roll his eyes. Like father like son, indeed.
"You don't have to talk like that, you know. All poetic." Tim injected a couple spots of anesthetic around the exit wound, making easy but neat work of suturing the skin back together. He felt looked at Damian's back as he tied off the last suture, the scars littering his body, from small to large, gnarled and twisted pink and white tissue marring his darker skin. All surrounded by perfectly toned muscle, muscle that Tim knew on a very personal level held a hell of a lot more power than they appeared. He was nowhere near as bulky as his father and Tim doubted that Damian ever would be, but his punches were nearly on par with Bruce's. He pulled his eyes away and moved to the front of the table when Damian had to break his focus by speaking.
"My apologies for not dumbing myself down to your primary school level of intellect." Tim just caught the tail end of an eye roll, giving Damian a brief squint before tapping his shoulder for him to lay down. "This must be how the Riddler sees himself over Father." He mused, hands resting at his sides as he once again looked to Tim's hands on his stomach, the dutiful way he injected the anesthetic around the injury and how he wiped away blood both old and new that kept getting in the way of his starting suture. He always liked the black material over Tim's arms and hands, making them look even more slender than they already did in person, not as strong and deft as Dick's, but even more graceful than the trained acrobat's. Graceful, if Damian had to pinpoint a word to it. He would be lying if he didn't imagine Tim's hands Had it not been for the dorky mask that made his head look like Lex Luthor in a swimming cap, he might have said that it was an appealing uniform.
Tim's hands stopped moving altogether, and Damian's eyebrow twitched. He looked up to Tim's face to find him also staring down at his own suture work, or so Damian thought. His eyes lifted to meet Damian's for a moment, neither saying a word until Tim turned away first, gathering the instruments he had used and swiftly walking to the cleaning solution pan to dump them into. "We aren't going out again. The others can pick up our sector while I stay with you and make sure you actually get bed rest until you start showing signs of healing. I'm not having Dick chew me out for letting you fly around with a bullet hole through your gut." He said and was immediately met with vehement arguing, which he had no issue meeting head on and matching Damian's energy, the unspoken stare already tossed to the side and forgotten for the sake of starting an argument.