The jet, at top speed, has made the journey to Tibet in a little under three hours. Three hours, at well over a thousand kilometers an hour. The tracking signal gives Nightwing a beacon to home in on
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He frowns, unsure what Bruce is trying to say, and shakes his head.
Later. Not now. Later.
Red hands him the small oxygen tank and mask, and he passes them to Robin.
Here. Get this on him. I can't do anything about that lung until we're on the jet and I can see what the hell I'm doing.
He presses his fingers to Bruce's carotid artery once more, monitoring his status on the scanner. It's touch and go. They'll have to get him out of here soon.
Tim gingerly places the mask over Bruce's head, maneuvering the strap past the ears of the cowl. Settling it in place, he seaches his mentor's face earnestly.
Hang in there Bruce, we'll get you out of here in just a minute.
Making sure the backboard is well in place, Red judges distance and fires off a couple of lines for an even lift. The straps to keep him in place will be tight enough as well. He pushes any thought of the man that's been more of a father to him then anything he's had out of his mind. He just places the most of importance to each task he completes and preps. Though for a minute he does look over to the Batman while his hands move by training and without thought. Words almost come out but each time they fail. He just continues the prepping to get Batman out of here and to the jet as fast as possible.
Nightwing sends Tim ahead to scout out the best route for them to take out of the fortress. When he returns, even taking the easiest path takes some considerable time. Time they know is ticking away in the heartbeats of a man who has been a father to them all.
Breathing is so difficult, though the oxygen helps. Consciousness is a challenge with his mind dulled by blood loss and a constant barrage of pain. Still, he fights to remain awake and aware and expends energy trying to get Dick's attention. A single word emerges in a gasp: "Babs."
Another question follows, muffled by the mask, before he gives up and slumps back against the board. A moment later, he is motionless again; considering the amount he is jostled and jarred while being moved, such a thing is likely a blessing.
He wants to say something. Wants to say something comforting. Say something at all at this point. But none of it will come out. Almost as if he were just observing all that's going on now. Though from time to time his eyes come over to look down at the man he could think of calling a father. The only man that has ever been one to him.
Later. Not now. Later.
Red hands him the small oxygen tank and mask, and he passes them to Robin.
Here. Get this on him. I can't do anything about that lung until we're on the jet and I can see what the hell I'm doing.
He presses his fingers to Bruce's carotid artery once more, monitoring his status on the scanner. It's touch and go. They'll have to get him out of here soon.
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Hang in there Bruce, we'll get you out of here in just a minute.
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It's okay. She's okay. She's waiting.
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