Ethiopia, April 27th.

Jason blinks slowly with the one eye not swollen shut, his vision blurred as he stares ahead. His breathing comes out in weak rasps for air, struggling against the broken ribs the crowbar left him with.

Blood trickles from his lips, sliding down to the rubble beneath him. He can’t move his body, both from the damage from the crowbar and explosion, and from the lack of life left in him.

The events that led to this moment are blurry, filled with the joy of finding his birth mother, to the betrayal and horror when she betrays him for the Joker.

The sound of the crazed clown’s laughs echoes in his head, muffled by the ringing in his own ears. He can still feel the soft drag of the crowbar that rendered him useless. The beeping of the timer ticking down one by one. It’s a cacophony of sounds that leaves him disoriented and confused.

All he wanted was to see his real mother. To finally feel completed after searching for so long, but now he’s left crumpled in a heap, not knowing whether or not he’ll live.

Based on the way he feels, he thinks he’s dying.

Everything's gone numb now. He can’t feel the agonizing pain his body is in. He can’t feel the flames licking at his Robin suit. It all fades away in place of a cold, empty nothingness.

He’s scared. He wants his Dad. He wants Alfred. He wants his big brother.

But they’re not here right now. Dick left the manor because of his fights with Bruce. Alfred’s back in Gotham. Bruce is… Jason doesn’t know where Bruce went. Jason had disappeared before the older man could even try to stop him.

A sound rings out from in front of him, and his one good eye flickers up to look in the direction it came from. A shining, ethereal figure stands before him, kneeling down to his level. They don’t look like they’re going to hurt him, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything about that anyway.

They’re pretty, his mind supplies. Comforting, almost. They remind him of Bruce.

The boy blinks slowly again.

When the stranger's hand moves to cup his cheek, he finds himself leaning into it. The second their touch meets his skin, he feels as light as a feather. All the weight crushing down on him suddenly disappears, and he lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

But he knows that’s not normal.

“Am I dying?” He finds himself asking, his voice small as he lies there, “I think I’m dying.”