[Damian's brain completely refused to accept, the moment he saw the red-yellow-and-black, that something could be wrong. He skid the bike to a stop.]

Robin! Over here!

[It caught the jingshi's attention, all right. But, within three steps, Damian realized his mistake. The way he moved was not right, disjointed, stiff, determined. Not a flash of recognition appeared in any of his motions.]

[And then there was the question of the wound that had done him in, clearly visible to Damian thanks to the mask's lenses.]

Fuck.

[Damian kicked the stand of the bike down again, then settled the still mostly-unconscious magician against the seat - and bounced off. He had to-- he couldn't-- he--]

[Dick...]

[He couldn't let the zombie get to Zatanna. It wouldn't do to have saved her life from the water to have her killed by... by somebody who wouldn't kill at all. (But even that thought was slow and sluggish. The world... the stupid turtle, everything was wrong, heavy, suffocating. His eyes were burning and he was short on air and something was feeling like a huge stone was on his chest.)]

[He couldn't think of that figure as it, however hard he tried.]

[Damian Wayne charged anyway.]

[He fought in much closer quarters than he knew was advisable with these things. And he was... he couldn't slash and stab at this person. Not even like this. So he ended up just holding him back, away from the bike, using sticks that the man that this boy would (or wouldn't?) grow up to be instead if other weapons.]

[He didn't even realize his shaky voice was mumbling, over and over again, too quietly to be heard even at the bike.]

Grayson. Please. It's me, it's Damian. Please come back... please...