I'll be good

Don't They Know It's The End Of The World

Time was moving by too quickly. Precious minutes slipping away before there was time to grasp them. The bleeding had slowed but it wouldn't stop, and had entirely soaked through the yellow and black cape Jason held against the open wound. He felt for a pulse, hands shaking frantically and covered in the crimson blood. It was there, but faint and irregular. His skin was pale, almost devoid of colour, but still warm to the touch. Damian was alive but they were losing him too quickly.

Jason's own heart was pounding, feeling the blood rush through his head, that he barely heard the thundering sound of footsteps as they approached from behind.

Bruce collapsed next to him, pulling the boy into his lap, replacing Jason's hand with his own. He was at a complete loss at what to do; he couldn't control his panicked breaths or the onslaught of warm tears for a single moment in order to think clearly.

There was no way that they could make it back home to Alfred in time, and there were too many miles between them and Gotham General. Damian was slipping away and there was virtually nothing Bruce or anyone could do about it.

The few assassins that remained-- those that could stand, anyway-- began to form an encirclement surrounding the vigilantes, preventing them from going anywhere. They drew their weapons but made no advancement on the small group. Not that Bruce had the time or desire to fight his way through when his new-found son was bleeding out in his arms. He was going to lose Damian either way, and Bruce wanted his son's final moments to be in whatever comfort he could provide.

Slowly, Jason withdrew something from the pocket of his jacket; he wasn't quite sure why he took it from the cave or what use it could be, but he knew what it was and what it was capable of, and deep down he hoped it would be enough.

"Jay..." Dick began as he saw what Jason had in hand, "why do you have that?"

All eyes turned to Jason, settling on the Mother Box in his grip. "You know me, always got sticky fingers," he said lightly as he knelt beside Bruce, Dick and Tim following suit, "it could help."

It would help, Bruce thought as he took the bronze-coloured cube from Jason's offered hand. But it would have to possess the host in order to help, a thought that caused uncertainty to enter Bruce's mind. But what other choice did he have? Then he remembered the last time this Mother Box was inside a host. Neither Gotham nor the planet would survive another attack like that.

But Bruce saw no other option.

Talia held her gaze upon Bruce as she approached, stepping in-between the assassins that were positioned around the group. He didn't acknowledge her as he laid the body of their son on the ground next to him, and carefully placed the Mother Box upon his still chest.

"What are you doing?" Talia demanded. But her words fell on deaf ears as the box situated on Damian's chest began to tremble, releasing a brilliant, white glow as it came to life.

Bruce held his breath, watching as the box released some form of energy that seeped into Damian's skin, bringing a tinge of colour to the grey surface of it. He kept his eyes trained on Damian's still form, willing him to breathe, willing him to stay alive. Bruce could feel it, feel the heat flooding from the small box that was working quickly to heal his son. He could hear the hum of energy that currently surrounded Damian-- that surrounded all of them-- as it closed his wounds. The sound was loud but comforting, providing a feeling of warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time.

But then the warmth was gone and was instantly replaced by bitter and harsh cold.

It wasn't immediate-- it took him a moment to comprehend the reality of the situation-- but Bruce could feel the blood in his veins run cold as the breath caught in his throat. The once-white glow that emitted from the box had shut off, slowly like the power had been drained. The life that had once been there was now gone.