Dick didn't want to imagine a world where Batman took lives. The very thought of it left a cold chill down his spine. "Where does it end Jason? Where's your line? Everybody has one, how far before you slip up and kill the wrong one." He tried desperately to get through to the former Robin, his own pain in the back of his mind. Dick would have to remember to thank Bruce for being a slave driver if he made it out alive. Chances were high he'd suffered a concussion with that last blow, everything was out of focus for a few minutes but he stayed standing.
Shielding himself as the pieces of Jason's mask went flying in his direction with his arms he found his back up against a wall in that moment of distraction. Gasping as the wind was knocked out of him, he coughed and struggled to regain his composure. All the while searching for a way out of that corner. It was like Jason had become a different person in an instant, and Dick's heart dropped into his stomach. The escrisma still in hand he tensed. He did the one thing that Batman had said never to do, he hesitated. Staring down the barrel of Jason's gun, he froze. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
The second that shot was fired Dick jumped straight up, but the bullet had pierced his side. Straight through the already torn kevlar and tore his skin. It felt like millions of tiny hot knives cutting through butter. Blood spilled from the wound and Dick crawled up the fire escape he'd caught onto above. Couldn't go around, go up. His mind on auto pilot as he disappeared into the shadows and fired another blue batterang at Red Hood's shoulder.
That was his last. He had his hand on the wound in the darkness and tried not to make a sound as he waited on Jason's reaction. How could he have let that happen? He looked at the blood on his gloved hand and once again his vision blurred. Instead of just the one hand he saw stars. Still he didn't fall, he didn't move. He waited in the shadow cover.