Lost Stars

Chapter Forty Four

-Athena's POV-

I hurried away, practically running on the streets. I didn't want to risk being followed in the air using a grapple, so I dashed through the streets. To avoid suspicion, I slowed to a walk anytime a group of civilians approached. Unknown to Dick and Bruce, the fight had ended rather close to my safe house. I prayed that Jason had chose to go there.

I crawled through my smashed window -- which I still hadn't had the chance to repair -- and surveyed the room. The lights were dimmed, almost completely turned off. Jason leaned against one of my chairs, his hair falling onto his forehead.

"Jay," I said, announcing my presence. He didn't look up. Instead, he wheezed, as if in response. Taking that as a cue, I slowly moved towards him. Not that I could keep myself away for very long. He was like a magnet.

I sighed and settled on the floor next to him. He weakly gripped one of the chair legs. "Jay," I repeated, this time more to snag his attention. My voice was softer and quieter. Quickly, I scanned over him to inspect his injuries. When my suspicions were confirmed, I moved to stand.

His fingers grazed my wrist, trying to wrap around me. The movement didn't have much power or intent behind it, but I still stayed still like an anchor was tied around me. He still hadn't lifted his head, but at least I knew he was alive.

I sat beside him. Jason's shoulder pressed into my armpit as he sagged against me. His chest slowly rose, almost painfully. It was agony for me to see him so injured, but he wouldn't let me help. I inched my hand across his leg to grasp his fingers. I could feel the many dislocations of his joints and knuckles in hand, but I intertwined our hands together anyway.

After what seemed like an eon, I spoke again, "Jay," I was asserting myself now. My voice was still kind, but sharp. I needed to act.

He slid down from his leaning position. I gently grabbed him and lifted him up onto the chair. His head still slumped onto his chest. My heart was racing and my anxiety was out of the world. I smoothed his hair away from his head and lifted his chin up. His eyelids appeared to be heavy, rolling open for a second before slowly closing again. He was passing in and out.

I tugged my com from my ear and transferred it into its robot form. "Run analysis of injuries," I ordered. My robot dashed from spot to spot along Jason's body. Every once in awhile, he'd swat at it like a lazy dog, before falling asleep again.

Once I received a full diagnosis, I slid across the room and pulled out every single medical instrument I could. Medical and first aid kits were popped open with loud, desperate clicks.

Looking over at Jason -- who was still slumped over at an uncomfortable angle -- I decided I needed to move him. With minimal effort, I hefted his body onto my small dinner table. I secured his head underneath a pillow, but his feet dangled off the edge.

I tended to open wounds first. Applying antibiotics and alcohol, I stitched up cuts with fast, stable hands. Now that I was in a groove, I was able to stop all external bleeding within half an hour. I put band-aids over scrapes and wrapped gauze around the bigger stitches.

Moving on, I inspected internal bleeding. Three toes, six fingers, a collarbone, a shoulder, a kneecap, and a hip were all dislocated. It was a wonder Jason was able to get to my warehouse on his own. I popped the fingers and toes back into place without a fuss. The collarbone caused Jason to growl softly. The shoulder and kneecap caused him to wake up and shriek. The hip made him scream and actually flinch and pull away from me.

As soon as I finished with his hip, however, the pain clocked him out again. I knew my time was limited. I gently touched ribs. Five were broken, but none seemed to be puncturing any organs. His tailbone was broken. Several muscles were pulled and twisted, but not badly enough for me to care. I iced his ribs and wrapped them tightly with gauze. I placed an ice pack underneath him for his tailbone and moved onto his face.