August 16, 0042h

	Tim thought he saw motion at the edge of the rooftop as he 
approached, then decided he was seeing things.  Surely Nightwing, having 
just found his son, would not abandon Spud on the roof?  A flutter of 
doubt struck him, though, as Spud came into view.  The boy stood as if 
transfixed, his light grey T-shirt making him easily visible in the 
moonlight, but no one stood with him.  Unless Nightwing was in the 
shadows?
	Robin landed with deliberate noise to warn of his approach, giving 
Dick a chance to wave him off if he were mid-lecture.  He figured he'd 
given him enough time, but Spud could be stubborn.
	A frown crossed Tim's face when Spud failed to turn for what would 
surely be a welcome distraction.  In fact, Spud's gaze remained anchored 
in the shadow, at a still form...
	"NIGHTWING!" Tim cried, racing toward the shadow.  He gasped as 
his feet flew out from under him and he skidded the final distance to 
his fallen friend.  The concrete was wet, slick.  He looked down as he 
righted himself.
	Oh god.
	Blood.
	Lots of it.
	Pouring from his friend's left side.
He opened his emergency comlink as he reached for Dick, calling again, 
"Nightwing!"
	There was no response from Dick, but Babs' voice was in his ear.  
"Talk to me, Robin."
	"Nightwing's down, bleeding bad.  I didn't - Spud!"
	Tim spun, suddenly panicked.  The boy hadn't moved.  His face was 
ghostly pale, his mouth open in a silent scream as his eyes stared 
fixedly at the gaping hole in Nightwing's gut.
	"Damn!" Tim cursed, putting his hands on the worst injury to try 
to stem the bleeding.  He needed a pressure bandage or something.  The 
first aid supplies in his costume seemed suddenly and woefully 
inadequate.
	"Talk to me, Tim!" Barbara's voice barked.
	"Someone cut him open - blades.  Left arm, abdomen cut open real 
bad.  Can't get vitals right - hold on."  Tim's eyes had fallen on Spud 
again.  He dared lift his hands from the gushing wound for only a 
second, only long enough to strip Spud of his T-shirt.  He wadded the 
soft cotton, stuffing it against Dick's injury.  "Spud's not hurt," he 
reported to Barbara as he tried to staunch the flow of Nightwing's 
blood, "but he's freaked."
	"I'm calling Gotham."
	"Hurry.  Make sure they bring the doctor."
	The T-shirt under Tim's hands was already soaked.  He couldn't let 
go, but he needed to check Dick's vitals, give a better assessment of 
the situation.  He turned again to Spud, still frozen in place.  "Spud!"
	No response.  The kid did not need this, Tim thought, but right 
now, *he* needed the kid.
	Need.
	That was it!
	Tim gentled his tone.  "Spud, I need your help.  *Dick* needs your 
help."
	Something flickered across the boy's face, and then he was at 
Robin's side, clearly awaiting instruction.
	Robin raised one hand to Spud's wrist, wincing at the smear of 
blood his gauntlet left on the youngster's pale skin.  No time to get 
squeamish, Boy Wonder, he reminded himself.  He drew Spud's hand down, 
sliding over so Spud could get on his knees.  "I need you to put all 
your weight against this.  We need to stop the bleeding.  *Don't* 
release the pressure for anything, okay?"
	Spud said nothing, but he put both his hands down by Tim's, 
nudging the superhero away.  The boy leaned down, using first his hands 
and forearms, then settling the weight of his chest against the still 
streaming cut.  
	Robin swiftly rigged a tourniquet for Dick's left arm, trying not 
to see the glimpse of white visible through the sliced flesh.  Then, 
peeling off one bloody gauntlet, he moved to Dick's right side to check 
his pulse.