NB_Nightwing_xxx requested something very similar to what I was already working on so I added a bit of that in :) 

if you're waiting on a request, dw I'm still working on it - it just happened that this request was related to something i was working on

CW// BLOOD AND INJURY DESCRIPTION

Guns always made things tricky. People who had no business having guns would shoot wildly and so erratically that it was difficult to predict even for those who had been in the business for years. People who spent their entire lives behind the scope could shoot you down with such precision that one minute you were standing and the next minute you were waking up from a ten-hour surgery. You never truly knew who you were facing until the bullets started spraying. 

Nightwing was doing Batman a favour. A small-time gang had been causing trouble for themselves and were teetering terrifyingly close to getting themselves and their families killed for overstepping the already fragile boundaries set by Gotham's longstanding gangs. Batman wanted to intervene before they toed the line but he was already caught up with the big hitters. There hadn't been much going on in Bludhaven so Nightwing offered to take the case since he was in Gotham anyway to visit his brothers. He didn't mind the quick detour before meeting up for a group patrol. 

Although he was never the most punctual, he always took special care to arrive first when meeting with his brothers otherwise there would already be a long list of injuries from each of them poking the bear. It was for that reason they were confused that he was the last to return. 

"I thought it would be a quick in and out thing," Red Robin commented as the minutes ticked by and they still saw no sign of him. Not even a text to say he was caught up stopping some mugging along the way. 

"He's probably too caught up showing off for the CCTV," Red Hood teased although his concern was thinly veiled. The last time Nightwing was late somewhere, they found him passed out in a warehouse nearly overdosing on Ivy's latest chemistry project. Then again, the time before they found him having a conversation with an old lady that he clearly wanted to end but she continued to talk to him for the next half hour before suggesting he meet her granddaughter for a dinner date. 

"Do we have the location?" Robin asked. 

"Yeah, it's about twenty minutes north. Why?"

"Father may have been too late in sending someone to reason with the gang."

"So he could've walked into a bloodbath or he could currently be in the bloodbath," Red Hood concluded. "Knowing his luck, it could be both."

"Guess we're meeting him there then. He's probably caught up with some police officer trying to get his number. I was looking through police group chats, don't ask, and they have a pool on who can get it first."

"Any of them ginger? I'd go all in on them," Red Hood commented. 

"Way ahead of you. I used Gordon's account to bet on it and my odds are looking pretty good right now."

The gang had infiltrated a small laundromat to do their dealings. It had stood closed for about five years before they moved in and after opening, their customers were either themselves or people whose cars had broken down and they were looking for somewhere to wait whilst they called a mechanic. Their attempt at money laundering was blatant but police were far too focused on the big hitters to take them seriously. 

As the trio approached the building, they warily took note of the holes in the wide windows. Inside the flickering lights illuminated a few slumped-over figures who were handcuffed to whatever was closest so Nightwing had been here at some point but the police hadn't arrived. The door was open so they swiftly stepped inside, on guard for any stray criminal who hadn't been caught yet. An eery silence greeted them. 

There were two doors, one leading to the office and another labelled as a basement with a keypad lock on it. 

"Rock paper scissors for basement?" Red Robin suggested.

"As if there would be anything in the office," Robin huffed.

"Just for that, you get the office and we get the basement."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"Actually we can because it's two against one," Red Hood pointed out, taking a particular enjoyment in seeing the younger's face go red like he was a toddler having a tantrum. The younger huffed and stomped over to the office door. After trying the handle, he found it locked so he began to pick it.

"I will check it out now and prove to you that it is a waste of time," he muttered angrily. The Red Duo watched with amusement as he worked. Sure they were here to find Nightwing but they got a kick out of annoying the youngest of the family. 

"Aww, does someone have FOMO?" Red Robin teased. The ex-assassain rolled his eyes as he got the door open. 

"Maybe the little guy doesn't want to be left alone in the scary laundromat without big bird?"

"Big bird?"

"I'm testing out new nicknames. Goldie is losing its charm." The lights in the office flicked on as Robin stepped inside.

"I think it lost it-"

"Dick!"

Suddenly it became apparent that this wasn't a lighthearted case of Nightwing getting carried away with a conversation or stopping to pet an extremely cute cat. They crowded in the doorway as the grim picture before them sunk in.

Nightwing looked like a forgotten ragdoll, his body barely keeping him sat upright as he slipped down against the wall in an uncomfortable contorted position. It appeared that all his energy was focused on keeping a microfibre cloth pressed against his neck where it soaked red. 

The first to move was surprisingly not the first to find him. Red Hood barged past Robin and knelt down by his side before taking over and applying pressure to the cloth as well as the hand already there. He didn't dare remove it. They already knew what lay beneath. He tore off his own jacket and added it to the blood-soaked cloth. He knew if he took either away, blood would spurt at least three feet across the room. He tapped Nightwing's face, which was growing paler every second, to check if he was still there. The acrobat's eyes sluggishly travelled to meet the white lenses of his helmet and an off-kilter smile joined them. He'd die smiling, Red Hood thought grimly. 

Red Robin was second to jump into action and called for an ambulance, listing off what he could about the injury and the address. He spoke clearly and fought to keep his voice even despite how much his hands were shaking. His brain rattled off statistics but he made himself focus on the fact Nightwing was still alive. The smoking gun told him that they'd only just missed the person who did this so there was still time for the ambulance to get here. 

Robin stood dumbfounded. There were very few times in his life where he'd been frozen with fear. He was brave, anyone could admit that when they spoke of him but right now, he never felt more like a frightened child completely overwhelmed with the responsibility now placed upon him. Neck wounds had high mortality rates no matter how soon or late they were attended to. It depended on where the wound was, and the proximity to the spine, oesophagus and major arteries all playing a part in the percentages. He didn't know the extent but he could see the blood dripping from the fabric that desperately tried to soak it up. There was very little comfort found in the fact blood wasn't erupting from between Nightwing's lips but he still took note of it. 

Tears pricked at his eyes and although he willed them not to fall, he knew he wouldn't last for very long. Nightwing was like a cockroach and seemed to survive everything he shouldn't yet all those instances had been flung out of his mind.

It felt like both only a few seconds and entire days had gone by before EMTs flooded the room. Their voices were muffled for Robin as he continued to stand there staring at the first man to show him true patience and kindness dying in front of him. Although his hands never once touched the gruesome scene, he could feel blood caking on his gloves and seeping through to his fingers. It wasn't fair, he decided. It wasn't fair that Nightwing was going to die in some laundromat taking out a threat that Batman hadn't considered worth his time and had gladly passed off as a little chore for his eldest. He deserved to die in some brutal battle, the last line of defence for the world. That was a death that he could look upon and think that, whilst losing his brother would never feel right, he died doing something he'd dedicated his life to. This just felt senseless.

Robin broke out of his self-imposed staring competition when Red Hood placed a hand on his shoulder. He wordlessly flung himself into a hug that was thankfully returned.

"He'll be alright," Red Hood told him. "He would've been dead before we got here if it was serious." He held onto that fact for dear life as they followed the ambulance crew out of the building. Before the doors closed, he saw each member glance at each other with an expression he was very familiar with. They were working with borrowed time.

"We should call the others. Tell them to meet at Gotham General," Red Robin said. 

"They better have a big room available," Red Hood replied. "And a second room for whatever lowlife did this."

"They won't need to. The morgue will have a body to assess," Robin stated. They knew he wouldn't spill blood tonight. He only would when he knew his brother would survive long enough to dissuade him. 

The family were no strangers to hospital rooms. Bruce had funded a specific wing of the hospital, especially for them. A team were curated for only them, paid by Wayne Enterprises and under strict NDAs. One word and they would be stripped of their medical licenses and a thorough media circuit would quickly discredit them. Not that any of them dared to so much as hint at their secret identities. 

Damian sat hugging his knees, wishing he had Ace or Alfred there to provide some comfort. He knew it would be rather hard to get an animal into the hospital without getting a few odd glances and he could admit that the risk of exposing someone to infection wasn't worth the comfort he sought from them. 

Jason sat beside him and fiddled with his gun. He played it off as checking the bullets and making sure it was in working order but the show was purely for himself. Everyone knew that he cared more than he liked to admit.

Tim was busy looking through the CCTV of the laundromat, trying to piece together how it all went so wrong. He wouldn't find much solace in knowing but he couldn't stand waiting until Dick was out of surgery and waking from anesthesia to get the story. It also gave him something to do. 

Eventually, they were joined by the rest of the family who took the remaining seats around the room. Steph and Cass tried their best to console Damian but they were all well aware that the best person to support him was currently in surgery fighting for his life. They still tried though. It was better than leaving him to wallow and grieve prematurely for someone who still had some fight left. 

Duke looked and felt awkward. He wanted to ask what the hell happened yet knew he shouldn't. It wasn't the right time and he would be told eventually. Still, his mind wandered as to what had Dick caught so off guard that he'd be shot by someone who'd likely only just figured out their way around a gun.

Alfred and Bruce were tracking down as much information they could on the surgery. All they got in return was "it's still happening" or "he's stable for now" which was about as helpful as no answer at all. They knew silence was better. They also knew that they couldn't sit in the silence.

"Any luck?" Steph asked Tim. 

"Looks like a normal fight so far. He was already running late. I think he was waiting for a civilian to leave before he went in," he answered. He could speed through the footage nevertheless, he sat through it at a normal rate and kept an eye on the time. He wanted to know how long his brother had fought before things went south and then how long he'd sat there bleeding before they decided to look for him. 

He grimly thought back to their conversation outside the office and speculated on whether Dick heard them. Had he listened to them? Had he been silently calling for them to open the door and find him? Did his mind scream when they made Damian open the office door and the only reason they had stayed was to tease him? Did he beg for someone else to find him? A sigh left him when he concluded he would never know. Even if Dick survived, he would never tell them. He wouldn't want them to feel guilty for their delayed investigation

. 

"He's heading up to the office," Steph pointed out. He swiftly changed the camera to follow him. 

Inside the office, a man who was no older than himself was quickly pocketing as much cash from the safe as he could get his hands on. He turned as Dick entered the room and fumbled for his gun. There was a minute where nothing happened. Maybe they were talking. Perhaps Dick was talking him down or making some stupid quip they would all groan at. Then something changed and he suddenly shot widely. The gun recoil messed with his aim. Dick was suddenly stumbling back, blood spurting from his neck. The man threw his gun to the ground and grabbed a cloth, pressing it against his neck before sitting Dick down so his back was against the table. There was an inaudible conversation then the man stood up and ran out. The door closed. 

"He locked him inside," Tim stated. "He gave him a cloth and then just ran away?"

"He panicked," Jason said. "He's a kid. Must've realised that as soon as someone found Dick, he would be a wanted man."

"He still locked him inside," Damian argued, grief suddenly subsiding to rage. "Had he any care, he would've left the door open. He could've called for an ambulance before leaving him there to die."

"How long until you guys come in?"

It was painful to watch Dick sit there. He did attempt to get up at one point but he must've thought better of it. He probably decided not to waste the energy he could be using to staunch the blood flow. Interestingly, they saw him reach for his communicator only to stuff it back in his pocket. Minutes ticked by but thankfully, they saw Damian enter less than two minutes later.

"We got there fast," Tim said, hoping Damian would listen. "But why didn't he send out an emergency signal?"

"His communicator was faulty," Bruce admitted. They hadn't noticed him slink back into the room but that was nothing new. What confused them though is how he knew that. "He was going to use one of our spares. I left it out for him but I suppose he never took it."

"You know better than that," Damian scolded. "You hand him what he needs so he doesn't leave without it. You taught me that."

"I had to leave early. It was going to be an in-and-out job," he responded. He didn't rise to Damian's anger, likely because he too felt it towards himself. He did know better. He always knew better. Dick forgot the small things. He would joke it was because of the countless concussions he'd received over the years making his memory shoddy. Now he might be dead.

"Well it wasn't," his son snapped. 

"You were already en route by the time he reached for it," Duke offered. His attempt at defusing the bomb only made it go off.

"And then we chatted and squabbled over who got to do what whilst he lay dying in the next room!" he shouted. "I may never have opened that door if I didn't have a point to prove!"

"You opened it either way," Alfred said. "You gave him the necessary care."

"I did no such thing. I stood there like a dimwitted fool, staring as though that would do anything. Todd was the one to tend to him and Drake was the one to call the ambulance. I did nothing but open a door," he argued back. "Had they gone to the basement, Dick would've died." 

It was strange to hear him use Dick's name. Not his surname or his first name. To use a nickname whilst he couldn't get past formal titles for everyone else let on more than he knew. Most importantly, it let them know he was scared. Everyone forgot their age at some point when they were forced to mature much younger than they should. None of them acted their age yet Damian was all the scared child an outsider would expect. They were of course scared too. Dick was in surgery now but there was no confirmation he wouldn't die on the table. It was just weird to see someone who always made an effort to seem as emotionless as possible showing vulnerability in front of someone other than the acrobat. 

"Any of us could've frozen up," Steph assured him. "It happened to be you today but it could be me tomorrow."

"It was me today. That's all that matters."

"All that matters is Dick's health," Bruce said with finality. "What's done is done. We can't do anything to change it now."

"Did you get much out of the doctors?" Duke asked.

"Only that the surgery is going to last all night and he's stable."

Dick was out of surgery by four in the morning. They said he would survive but they would have to wait to see if there was any extensive damage. The bullet had only just missed a major artery and thankfully not hit his spine. Their main concern was infection as the fibre from the cloth had clung to his insides. Damian took a silent vigil by his bed and watched him closely. Others slept, and some were called out because villains didn't rest when one of them was injured.

In the early light, Dick stirred. He did two things. He looked at Damian as if he hung the stars themselves and then smiled before returning to a chemical-induced sleep. He wasn't out of the woods yet but he was alive. Damian forced himself to hope.