We're billionaires, Richard. [ A counter, and an appropriately snide one at that. They're almost sliding into their usual bickering back and forth, and they might, save for the circumstances. He glances up when he sees an incoming call from Gordon (he can imagine the man's yelling now - "Dent?!"), and dismisses it in favor of picking Dick's hand back up and running his thumb back up and down his palm. A soothing gesture, and one meant to relax, to distract him from the pain and the numbness. Robin's hand is dwarfed by his own; Damian can hardly believe he'd been that small (smaller) once. ]

You did. [ The eldest boy's never been one to lie to his brothers, or hedge the truth. Always blunt, always direct. Dick had made a near-fatal error tonight, one that could have (might still) cost him a whole lot more than a beating. There's no accusation in Damian's tone, however; just acknowledgment. ] -Tt.- And I'll forgive you once I have a chance to properly yell at you. Right now it'd be like chewing out a basket of drugged kittens.

[ An entirely unsatisfactory, wholly useless endeavor.

His earpiece beeps with an incoming transmission from Alfred, and Damian pauses to listen, tilting his head back as he does. His hand squeezes Dick's when he finally looks back down. ]

Alfred has given me the go-ahead to put you under.

[ Surgery. He'll have to perform surgery, he thinks, is worried by the boy's struggle with breathing and possible internal bleeding. The concussion is secondary to that. ]

You may sleep, and when you wake, I'll be here.