August – The Compiled Text Version. by Smitty (smittywing@yahoo.com) and Chicago (Chicago_haven@yahoo.com) *** August 15, 1500h "Hard t'believe that school's gonna be startin' in a coupla weeks," Filb remarked as his eyes idly followed a knot of teenagers heading toward the beach. His partner, caught mid-yawn, offered an apologetic smile. "Man, I need more coffee. And I know what you mean. Me an' Babs got a meeting with Spud's new teacher tomorrow." "You're sendin' him to Somerset this year, right?" Dick nodded. "Hopefully this will work out better than Hilltop. *I* was hating that place *for* Spud by the time we finally took him out of there. I tell you, that's the last time I listen to social workers telling me things like keeping him there was the best thing for him. He was so miserable." "He said anything 'bout goin' back to school?" "No. But he knows it's coming. Keeps getting attacks of crankiness closer we get to the end of August." Filb nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. I never said nothin' to ya, but I had my right fielder in tears after the game day b'fore yesterday 'cuz he's 'fraid 'bout startin' high school." Dick glanced at Filb. "The Rajah's afraid of high school? That kid's top of the pile in everything." "Exactly," Filb agreed. "And now he's startin' over from ground zero in a new school." Dick shook his head. "Makes me glad I'm grown and past that stuff." "Yeah," Filb agreed. The two cops fell into companionable silence as they settled into their stake out - or more accurately, their highly visible police presence on Bludhaven's ocean front park. "This place is gonna be hoppin' after 5, hot as it is," Filb commented finally, breaking the silence. When there was no reply, he glanced over at his partner. A fond yet vaguely concerned smile crossed his features when he realized the younger man was sound asleep. "Yer not 25 anymore, there, Grayson. Startin' to catch up with you," he said softly, deciding not to wake him. He turned his eyes back to the beach and watched for both of them. *** August 15, 2000h "I can't believe you let me fall asleep on a stakeout," Dick grumbled, shaking his head. "Highly visible police presence," Filb corrected. He dug his keys from the depths of his locker and swung the door shut. "Just don't kill yourself getting home, y'hear? You gonna sleep and play with your kid tomorrow?" "Yeah," Dick answered around a yawn, nodding. "Man, do I need the day off. Saturday's game got canceled?" "Yeah. Tricorner's coach has a sister in Rabe. I told him to go see her, we'd reschedule." "Good call. Spud needs a down day, I think," Dick told him. "Babs too." "Tell him anytime he wants some extra batting practice, lemme know." "I will. Gotta get going." "No shower? You stink Grayson." "Thanks. I'll catch one at home." "See ya Friday." "Later." Dick left the station locker room and stepped into the oppressive August heat. He started his motorcycle and pulled into traffic. Under the cover of the motor's growl, he activated the communicator on the bike. "Alfred? It's Dick. Bruce around?" "Master Dick. I'm afraid Master Bruce and Miss Dinah had a social obligation this evening. They are not expected home for at least another hour." "Great. I don't suppose you know if he got around to looking into the Freesoap Corporation holdings I asked about?" There was a pause. A long one. "I am fairly certain that Master Bruce's workload of recent has not included-" "Figures." Alfred stopped talking. "If you wish, Master Dick-" "Sorry Alfred, don't worry about it. I'll just drop into the Exchequer on my rounds tonight. Talk to you later." Just north of Gotham City, Alfred Pennyworth sighed as the connection was broken. *** August 15, 2030h Babs glanced in Spud's direction. "Trying to refrigerate the whole house?" she asked in mild tones. "I'm looking for dill," he answered from behind the open refrigerator door. "Dill?" He tiptoed to peek out at her over the door. "Alfred always puts dill in this kind of salad." "Oh. Will dried dill do? I used the last of the fresh in the soup the other night, and we let Dick do the grocery shopping this week." Spud closed the refrigerator door. "So much for that idea," he grumbled. "I'm sure the salad will be fine, Spud." "Yeah, it just won't be as good as Alfred's." "Trust me, Dick will never notice," she laughed. "I'll notice," Spud pouted. "Poor Spud," Babs teased. "A gourmet in a house full of philistines." Spud wrinkled his nose at her as he returned to shredding lettuce. "What's a phil - philsta-" "Philistine. Someone who doesn't appreciate the finer things in life." "Like fresh dill?" "Like fresh dill," Babs agreed, wheeling over to dump the tomatoes from her cutting board into the salad. "Hey!" Spud protested. "I wasn't ready - philoss -!" "Philistine. And be a gourmet later, Potato Boy," Babs said firmly. "Your father's h-" She trailed off as the door locks began clicking and Spud shot away toward the front door, her insult to his salad forgotten. She sighed and began tossing the vegetables together as she heard Spud cry, "Dick!" He let out a sudden holler as Dick made roaring noises, and when she turned to the door, Dick had Spud rolled up over his shoulder. Spud kicked and squealed, his face flushed red with laughter. "Babs, HELP!" he gasped. Babs chuckled. "You're on your own, Mr. Gourmet," she decreed, watching as Dick made a big show of lifting Spud over his head before resettling Spud on his feet. " Nothing like wrangling potatoes for building up an appetite," Dick announced, crossing to his wife. "What's for supper?" "Ick, Grayson," Babs complained as he leaned down to kiss her. "You stink." "Hey, you try running around in this heat in a bullet proof vest and polyester pants," he retorted. "Do I see sandwich makings?" "And salad - too hot to cook. How was your day?" "Long. And you guys?" "Well, we had Spud's swimming lessons, and I managed to get some laps in, and -" "I made Babs drop her escrima stick!" Spud announced, his hand grabbing Dick's as if to get his father's attention. "Oh, did you now?" Dick answered, ruffling Spud's hair fondly. "Cass been teaching you tricks again?" "He's just getting good at it, right Spud?" Babs interjected, smiling at her son. "Yep! Maybe -" he hesitated. "Maybe you and me-" "You and I," Dick corrected. "You and *I* could - after supper -" Dick's smile didn't waver, but Babs could see something flare in his eyes as he shot a glance at her. "Sorry, Spud. I've got to head out early tonight. In fact, I better go shower now so I don't STINK so much-" Spud took a deep breath as if to protest, then caught Babs warning look. "Okay," he said instead. "I'm going to try to save my salad." Dick laughed. "Babs' been wrecking your creations again?" "Out, Grayson," Babs ordered sternly, turning to her son as Dick headed off toward the bathroom. "C'mon, Spud. Let's fix your salad. What else do you need me to -? Spud?" The boy sat perched by the salad bowl again, but his face wore a disappointed scowl. "Why does he DO that, Babs?" Not now, Babs thought to herself. "It's been a busy few weeks, Spud. Wait until things calm down a bit -" "I *have* been waiting! He always says no!" Babs sighed. This argument had come closer to the surface since the adoption had been finalized, and she suspected that Spud had believed that Dick would let him sidekick once he was "really" in the family. But Dick could not hear how much Spud sounded like a young Dick Grayson, anguished over being shut out of Batman's crusade. Nor would he listen to Babs' insistence that if any boy needed a direction for his still pent up rage, it was Spud. But tonight was not the night. Not with Dick so close to nailing Blockbuster and pushing himself too hard to close the case. She reached consolingly for Spud. He shook her off and began fiercely turning the lettuce and tomatoes in the bowl. "Spud," she said gently, hiding her hurt at his rejection. "I could do it, you know. Robin even showed me how to use the jump lines and everything." "Robin what?" "He rigged some in the cave so I could try it. It was cool." "Spud, maybe this weekend-" "This needs cucumbers and avocado," he announced, ending the conversation. Babs hesitated, then got the requested vegetables and began slicing them. "Should we grow the avocado pit?" she asked. Spud gave her a look, his earlier anger giving way to curiosity. "You can do that?" "Sure. Just need some toothpicks and a glass." The salad was once again abandoned as Spud watched Babs insert toothpicks into the pit and balance it on a glass of water. He hopped up onto the counter to set the glass in the window sill over the kitchen sink. "Are you sure this will grow?" he asked. "The ones she did for me always did," Dick answered from the doorway, smiling warmly at his family. Babs looked up at him, returning his smile and trying not to notice how much more tired he looked now that he was freshly scrubbed and lounging in shorts and a t-shirt. "And then Alfred got tired of watching those poor avocado saplings die in the Gotham winters," Babs remembered. "We ready to eat?" Dick asked, picking a piece of cucumber from the cutting board and nibbling on it. "That's for the salad!" Spud objected. "Spud, I think we'll just have to make it a plain old tossed salad tonight. Dick, has it cooled down enough to eat on the patio?" "Good question. Should we go check it out, Spud?" Spud bounced to Dick's side. "You got it, Dick." *** August 15, 2100h Babs watched her husband stretch out in his chair, turning slightly to prop his feet on another piece of deck furniture beside the table. "Now *this* is the life," he declared, patting his stomach contentedly. "You can't possibly be full," Babs objected, noting the half-eaten salad and the suspiciously full platters of sandwich makings she'd brought out. Dick shrugged, his eyes focused on watching Spud chase fireflies around the backyard. "Didn't do much today - just sat watch at the beach. And the heat just kills the appetite." Babs snorted. "Last I looked it never bothered your appetite." "Dick, I caught one!" The boy ran breathlessly up to his father, opening his hands slightly to display the insect inside. "So you did," Dick agreed, sitting up in his chair and leaning forward to solemnly inspect Spud's capture. "Now, you want to put him a jar and get some more, or maybe just let him go free?" Spud thought for a minute and studied Dick's face. Then he opened his hands, and the lightning bug flew up between them, shining a moment between the faces of father and son before returning to fly with its brethren. *** August 15, 2230h "Oracle to Nightwing." "Go ahead, Oracle." "Nightwing, Spud's missing." "What?" "I just went to check him and he's done the classic pillows masquerading as person set up in his bed. He's nowhere in the house." Babs heard a slow intake of breath on the other end of the comlink. "Any thoughts?" She hesitated. "Well -" "Babs." "He's been awfully interested in trying to figure out your patrol route lately." There was another silence. "You really think he'd push it that far?" "Yes," Babs answered. "I'm not on a regular patrol tonight." "I know." A heavy sigh sounded. "Okay, I guess I need to be on a regular patrol then. Call Robin. I'm going to need some help." "Will do. Oracle out." Babs leaned back for a second, biting her lip. How had he managed to sneak out? No, she thought, the better question was how she had not guessed that he would do it. Shaking off a growing sense of guilt and worry, she reached to open a new channel. *** August 15, 2233h "-to cover the side ent-" Robin held up a hand, pausing Batman's instructions, and raised a hand to his ear. "Go ahead, Oracle." Beneath the cowl, Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow as he settled into a patient-but-ready stance and returned his gaze to the warehouse below. Two-Face had assembled a more competent gang than usual; they hadn't scattered when their leader was carted back to Arkham. It would be up to Batman to persuade them that they did not want to continue whatever plans they had - "Any idea where he might have gone?" Robin's question to Oracle derailed Batman's train of thought. Someone was missing, and if Oracle was calling Robin, the odds that it was a criminal that Nightwing had been tracking were about 2.73%. "I showed him the basics, yeah, but I doubt he could get to a rooftop." Spud, Batman realized. He opened his own channel to Oracle, drawing a startled look from Robin when his voice came on line. "He could get to a rooftop," he said flatly. "Batman?" "Dinah caught him scaling the Cave bottom to top last week." Oracle sighed heavily over the comlink. "Great. Twice the area to cover then." Robin shot a glance at Batman. "Where's Nightwing?" "He's been staking out the Municipal Trainyards, but Spud wouldn't know that. He knows the basic patrol route, but I can only guess where he'd think Nightwing would be." Batman considered for a moment. Spud wouldn't be hiding - he would be trying to arrive at a patrol point ahead of Nightwing and plead his case. He also could hear the request Oracle had intended to make before she realized that Batman was with Robin. "Robin, go to Bludhaven," he ordered. "Are you sure you can spare him?" Oracle asked as Robin shot off a jump line. "He can spare me," Robin replied, already only audible to Batman through the earpiece in his cowl. "Tell Nightwing I'm on my way." "Thanks, guys," Oracle signed off, her relief audible. Batman sat for a second more in the silence. Spud was going to catch an earful for this one, no matter how competent he was becoming as a potential sidekick. Dick was adamant; no kevlar for his son. Bruce found himself in the rare position of being the only one who understood Dick's reasoning, but he could also understand Spud's desire to join his father's crusade. Yes, there would definitely be an argument in Bludhaven tonight. He shook himself, focusing back on the task at hand, and opened a link to Batgirl. "Batgirl, change in plans," he began, rapidly laying out a new strategy for cleaning out Two-Face's hoods. He would call in the morning to find out how Dick dealt with his wayward son. Right now he had work to do. *** August 15, 2315h "Nightwing, I'm sorry -" Robin began as he touched down on the roof of Dick's old apartment building. He bit his tongue as Nightwing held up a hand. The older vigilante was intently scanning the surrounding neighborhood. After a moment, his focused stance eased. "No dice, Oracle. And Robin's here now. I'll keep you posted." Nightwing's eyes turned to Robin. "We thought he might try to intercept me around here since he knows the neighborhood pretty well and knows it's on my patrol route." "Look, Dick, I -" "Save it, Robin. And don't apologize. This has been a long time in coming, but his timing sucks." Nightwing's tone did not invite further discussion, but it didn't allay Robin's sense of guilt, either. He knew Nightwing did not want Spud taking up kevlar, and still Robin had taught the boy to use the jumplines. Somehow the excuse that he hadn't meant any harm felt hollow now that the boy was once again out on the streets of the 'Haven. He started as Nightwing launched off into the night and hastened to follow him to the top of a taller building. "We're following my patrol route backwards from here," Nightwing explained when Robin dropped down beside him. "He'll want to meet me on a roof to prove he can do it, but he still doesn't have a lot of upper body strength. He'll need landings to climb more than two stories, and I'm pretty sure he's got one of my lines, not one of Batman's pneumatic launchers. So keep an eye on fire escapes." "You don't have a tracer on him?" Robin asked, moving a little apart from Nightwing to scour the shadows below for any sign of movement. Nightwing made an irritated sound. "Yeah, every kid needs their father figure replacing their buttons with Bat-tracers and stitching homing devices in the seams of their jeans." Robin threw an incredulous glance at his companion. "Don't look at me like that - he did it to you, too." "I knew he had one in the cape -" "This is going to take too long," Dick interrupted. "Oracle, any chance he took the tunnel?" Oracle's answer sounded in Robin's ear, indicating that she had opened their channel to him. "Not likely. I've been in here since you started patrol aside from when I tucked him in, and that was around 10. And I would've picked him up on one of the other house cameras if he tried to take the stairs down." "The bus again?" Robin suggested. "Probably. And he had to figure that Babs'd notice within a camera sweep or two." "He knows how to make the transfer at the Port Authority," Oracle pointed out. "You usually surf the el into the business district, right?" "Yeah, Robin. And I call home all the time from Palmeiro Building over by 61. Think he'd try it?" "I'd rather you guys found him before he tried." "Right. Robin, we're splitting up. You take the Palmeiro Building. I'm going to try Felini Towers just south of the PA terminal and work back toward the Blue Line. Thanks, Oracle." "Just find him." "We will." Nightwing's tone did not admit a chance of failure. "Dick?" Robin started again. Nightwing paused, then turned to face him fully for the first time. "Tim. He's fine. I know how well you all have trained him. It's good that you did, because at least he knew how good he would have to be before he tried this stunt. "He's not out here now because of you; he's out here because of me. And you can fret all you want about the jump lines, and I can fret all I want about the fact that *I'm* the one who showed him how to time Babs' camera sweeps and sneak out, and he'll still be out there somewhere. Got it?" Tim blinked, realizing he'd slipped into reading Nightwing's attitude as Batman-like and finding himself taken aback by the offered explanation. "You taught him -?" "We wanted to surprise her with some ice cream." And despite Dick's words, there was self-recrimination in his tone. *** August 15, 2345 "Robin to Nightwing." "Go ahead, Robin." "I've scoured the area north of the Palmeiro Building to 61. I'm going to swing back your way." "Any signs of trouble?" "No. In fact, it's almost too quiet." "I know. It's been that way the last couple of nights. Blockbuster's been lying low, trying to quietly shift stuff around the 'Haven so the cops don't nail him. And it might actually be too hot for the usual riff-raff." "That'd be a first." Tim hesitated. "Any luck?" "Negative. I'm following the Blue Line curve before I swing back north. Why don't you head for the Port Authority?" "Will do. Robin out." *** August 16, 0020h Spud sat seiza in the middle of the roof, trying to get his breathing to settle. It was hard. The rooftop was uncomfortable under his shins, and his legs, still burning from 43 flights of stairs and a one and a half story ladder, were not happy to be folded beneath him. Plus his mind was working overtime, refusing to clear. He sighed and opened his eyes, staring at the jump line which sat coiled in front of him. Yeah, he knew how to use it - after someone else had set the grapple for him. It had taken him sixteen tries to snag the bottom landing of the fire escape, and then the line had hung over empty space, too far from the wall for him to walk up the side. Then his shoes wouldn't grip the decel line right. He had to sit for a long time once he got onto the iron landing before he could even use his arms enough to pull the jump line up after him. He wished he had a watch. He knew it took him way too long to climb the building, but he wasn't sure if Dick's patrol had brought him by this point yet. A distant rumbling began, and Spud leapt to his feet. The Blue Line! He dashed to the south edge of the rooftop, squinting in the direction of the sound. Dick had been right - you could watch the train from here. Spud stared as the three car el trundled through downtown, occasionally eclipsed from his view by a taller building. He was looking for a dark shape on the roof of any of the cars, but as the train came nearer, it was clear no one was riding on it. Disappointed, Spud returned to the middle of the rooftop. Where was Dick? Babs would have noticed Spud was missing by now. Maybe they thought he went back to Chestnut Street? He hoped not - Chestnut Street was a long ways away. He picked up the jump line, then set it down again. He would just have to wait. *** August 16, 0030 A needle in a haystack, Tim despaired, squinting through Starlite lenses into another dark alley - this time from the roof of the Port Authority Bus Terminal He hoped the unnatural quiet of the 'Haven held at least until they found Spud; even just dealing with one mugging had left him feeling urgently as if Spud would pass him by unnoticed while Robin was tying up bad guys. His comlink beeped. "Nightwing to Robin." "Go ahead, Nightwing." "I found him." Nightwing's tone was somewhere between amusement and relief. "Really? Where?" "Camped out on the Old Passeo Building - clear view of the northbound Blue Line and the Bus Terminal. Apparently I was talking to Babs about it the other night." There was a hint of fatherly pride beneath the sardonic edge in Nightwing's voice. "He okay?" "Aside from about to get grounded for life?" "Ouch. Listen, I'm on my way over. Don't be too hard on him." Nightwing snorted. "Funny, Babs said the same thing. See you in a bit." "Yep. Robin out." Tim smiled in rueful amusement. Spud was going to get an earful. Maybe it would be better to spare the kid the embarrassment of getting reamed out in front of Robin. He glanced at the time. Ten minutes, he decided, shooting off a jumpline to take a short tour of the Bludhaven skyline. *** August 16, 0033h "Now young man -" Spud steeled himself for the inevitable lecture, scowling and pointedly refusing to meet Dick's eyes. Except Dick wasn't saying anything. Spud risked a look up, confused. Nightwing wasn't looking at him. Instead, he appeared to be scanning the horizon, his body in an attitude of readiness. Before Spud could ask, a gauntleted hand was clamped on his shoulder, steering him towards the windbreak for the building's rooftop access door. Once behind the small brick shelter, Nightwing dropped to one knee in front of Spud. He put a finger to his lips and gave the deeply shadowed corner a significant look. His message was clear. Stay here. Hide. Seeing that Spud understood, Nightwing nodded once and slipped back into the night. Spud counted to thirty before he heard a sound, a faint metal hiss. It was quickly followed by the clash of weapons. "Ah, Vigilante," a soft voice said. "You are as quick as I have been told. I had thought the others exaggerated." Spud closed his eyes, listening hard. "Others." It wasn't a question. A soft chuckle. "Don't worry, Vigilante. I would not sully my hunt by inviting the usual Desmond rabble." "You might wish you had." Sounds of a scuffle, silent but for an occasional crack or clang of a deflected weapon. Spud knew the sounds of fighting from listening to Scorch with the gang, hiding much as he was now. In the gang fights, though, someone had usually landed a punch long before this point. He heard them break off again, from their voices back to circling. "You have some of Cain in you, Vigilante. You were trained by one of his pupils. I wonder -" A whistle of steel through empty air, then in a slightly louder voice: "Oh, and a hint of Shiva! How did such a one as you end up on these shores, Clever Bird?" Spud could almost hear the grin in Nightwing's voice. "Home field advantage." A first blow - glancing - but still the squishy sound of flesh and a startled grunt, followed by the soft sound of landing feet. "Well played, Vigilante. It seems you may be worth the price on your head." "That cuts your profit margin, doesn't it?" "But satisfies the sportsman." Re-engagement. This time more blows landing. Spud almost jumped out when he heard Nightwing gasp and dance back. Both he and his opponent were breathing heavily now. "Your kevlar will not stop a blade, Vigilante. First blood." "Wait - I've seen this movie. Isn't this the moment when you tell me the blade is poisoned, yadda yadda yadda..." A snort. "Such subterfuge is beneath such warriors as we are." "Then you'll have to get more blade on me to make that stick." Another attack, punctuated by grunts as still more blows found their mark. Spud huddled down smaller, eyes wide as he strained to determine who was getting hit with each sound. He was rewarded by a sudden howl. "That *hurt,* Vigilante!" "It was supposed to." "You will regret your smugness!" "Bring it on." More sounds of battle. How long had this lasted? How long could it last? Spud shifted anxiously. Nightwing had called Robin - The fight broke off again. "You want me to fight angry, Clever Bird. You are as smart as you are skillful. No wonder you have come so close to toppling my employer." Nightwing's voice, relatively near, "He is toppling himself by overpaying the help." Another soft chuckle. "You will not bait me again, Vigilante. I will bide my time. I am rested, you are not." Robin really should be here by now, Spud agonized. "Care to test that theory?" Spud squirmed. He could hear a catch in Nightwing's voice, and now that he was listening closer, a hitch in his breathing. He had called Robin ages ago. "In good time, Vigilante." "But sometime tonight, I take it?" *Quit dissing him, Dick!* Spud pleaded silently. *He'll hurt you.* "You are too close to victory to let live, so yes, tonight." "Well then." Spud couldn't take it anymore. He needed to peek out, to see how Nightwing was, to see if Robin was coming across the rooftops. He peered around the edge of the wind shelter. Nightwing saw him. Spud could tell by the way his head tipped just the slightest bit in his direction. That was all the other man needed. Spud barely registered the dark blur of the man before his world was consumed by the gleaming blur of twin machetes. He opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no words came out. He could only watch as the two rapid swipes raked Nightwing's body, cutting him down in his instant of distraction. Dick didn't even cry out as he collapsed to the ground. Moonlight fell on the face of Nightwing's assailant, highlighting a fierce grin. He held his blades over Nightwing, blood clearly dripping from them. "Game, set, match, Vigilante. You tried," the man said, turning away. He was just dropping off the edge of the building when Spud found his legs and ran forward, torn between pursuing the man with the blades and - His legs betrayed him again as he froze at the edge of a growing pool of blood. His eyes tracked unwillingly to the source, his mouth crying out in soundless rage and fear. Nightwing - Dick Grayson - lay still, a gaping hole in his belly, just like Scorch. *** 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. *** August 16, 0043h Dinah was bored. Batman was out on patrol and Alfred was - of all things - *dusting* the Batcave. Babs had been testy when she had called earlier, pointing out that she was very busy and terminating the connection hastily. Plastic Man was manning communications at the Watchtower, and she definitely didn't want to talk to him anyway. She sighed. She wondered if Bruce kept any video games on the Batcomputer. She had just reached for the keyboard when the light in the Cave suddenly went red and a piercing siren screamed through the air. She jerked back her hands as Alfred rushed forward. "I didn't touch anything, I swear!" Alfred didn't reply, instead hitting a flashing button on the computer array and saying, "Go ahead, Oracle." The Oracle icon snapped into focus on the screen, the word "EMERGENCY" running along the bottom of the screen in urgent red letters. "Nightwing is down, massive bodily injury and blood loss. Robin requests aid." Batman's voice suddenly filled the Cave, obviously networked into the same emergency channel. "Alfred, bring the Batwing downtown. I'm getting Leslie. Oracle, do you have more information?" "Stay here, Miss Dinah," Alfred directed as he headed for the hangar, swiftly gathering supplies from the medical station on his way. "I'm sending coordinates now." There was a split second's hesitation. Then: "Hurry." Suddenly Robin's voice was on the channel, urgent but not panicked. "Okay, I'm back. Pulse is thready, breathing shallow. Oracle, pull out the stops because we need some units of blood up here three minutes ago." "Robin," Batman's voice, absent of any inflection. "Hurry, Batman. His vitals - damn! Just hurry!" "Robin?" Oracle this time. There were only scrambling sounds, then Dinah's heart sank. She heard the two quick bursts of air, the pause, the muttered count to twelve. CPR. They were losing him. *** August 16, 0045h The Flash was moving as soon as Oracle's voice sounded in his ear, overriding his conversation with Jesse Quick. The techs at the Keystone City blood bank, clearly alerted by Oracle, were already packing four units of O positive and transfusion equipment for him when he arrived. He paced impatiently at super speed for the 30 seconds it took them to get everything together, listening with a deep chill to Robin begin a second count to 12 over the emergency channel. No one else spoke. "Here you go, Flash," one of the techs said, handing him the cooler and med kit. "I'm on my way-" the Flash announced as he flew out the door. "-Robin." The Flash stopped short on the Bludhaven roof, staring in shocked disbelief. Could the human body hold that much blood? And - Spud? The boy was practically lying across Nightwing's abdomen, his cheek resting near the edge of the rib cage that Robin compressed. "Dear God-" Wally breathed. "Can you run a transfusion?" Robin asked, not looking up, his voice coming in cold Bat tones. "No," Wally admitted. "Then take over here. We don't get blood in him now we're just killing him faster." The Flash hastened to obey, handing his burden over and dropping to his knees on Nightwing's left side next to Spud. He felt the blood soaking through the legs of his uniform. "Flash!" Robin barked. "Watch your speed." Wally nodded, putting his panic aside to give his friend two hopefully life preserving breaths. He tried not to notice the little bubbles of blood that hissed from a gash between two of Nightwing's ribs as the air pushed into his lungs. After two compressions, Robin spoke again. "Stop for just a second." Wally obeyed, watching as Robin unwaveringly plunged a needle into Nightwing's now bared right arm and opened the flow of blood. Nerves of Bat, Wally thought, resuming compressions at Robin's nod. Wally finished his twelve count and shifted to give two more breaths. After the first, though, Nightwing gave a sudden gasp. Robin, still holding the now half empty transfusion bag aloft, reached his other hand toward Nightwing's neck. The emergency channel was absolutely silent, as if everyone was holding their breath. "I've got a pulse," Robin finally announced. "Weak, but there. Batman, we need medics and transport." "We're en route." They might have been talking about the weather. Wally looked at Robin's face, closed and grim as he watched the transfusion bag empty and readied a second one. He'd seen Dick go into this mode as well. He shuddered and looked away. His eyes fell on Spud. The poor kid hadn't moved. This couldn't be good for him, but Wally could think of no way to lessen his trauma. He reached for him, intending to hold him, comfort him, but Robin's voice stopped him. "Don't touch him, Flash. That boy's 56 pounds are the only thing keeping this blood in Nightwing's body." Wally hesitated. "I can spell him, Robin. He's just a boy." "He's saving his father's life," Robin replied coldly. Oracle's voice chimed quietly in Wally's ear. "Leave him, Flash. At least he's feeling like there's something he can do to help." *** August 16, 0046h Dr. Leslie Thompkins had taken to working nights how long ago? Nearly twenty years, she thought ruefully. It was rough enough getting doctors to work at her volunteer clinic during the day, but at night when the truly bloody, dangerous injuries came about? Damn near impossible. So the sound of the door crashing open shortly after midnight simply sounded like a prelude to another neighborhood tragedy. "Leslie." Dr. Thompkins heart froze in her chest. He never used the door. The window, always the window. The door could only mean- "It's Dick. Come now." The emergency bag in her office somehow found its way to her hand and before she knew it, Bruce's powerful arm was hauling her into his body and she was in the air, feet dangling beneath her. In seconds, she was on the roof beside him. She scanned the rooftop for the broken body of one of her charges, but there was nothing. She turned her attention to the sky, copying Bruce's gesture. She saw nothing. "What's happened?" she managed to ask. "Massive bodily injury and blood loss," Batman replied succinctly. Leslie felt her face drain. "I may need-" "Alfred's coming with more supplies." Leslie's slight form was nearly bowled over by a strong wind and then there was someone else standing there. "I heard the emergency call," Superman said. "What can I do?" "The plane," Batman said, inclining his head at the speck that swiftly became the Batwing, coming to hover at the roof. The canopy opened to show Alfred's drawn face as he leaned out to assist Dr. Thompkins into the plane. "The Old Passeo building in BlŸdhaven. Fast." He vaulted into the plane himself as Alfred activated the canopy. Superman hefted the plane on his shoulders and sped toward the 'Haven. *** August 16, 058h Batman opened the hatch and rose from his seat. Stale hot air whipped into the cockpit, temporarily disorienting the other passenger. "What's he doing?" Leslie asked in alarm. "He's getting out on the wing," Alfred said, his voice flat with dread as he fought to keep the craft level and steady. "He's what? Bruce, you can't!" The hatch hissed shut. *** August 16, 059h Spud's arms burned. His chest was warm and damp, as if he'd wet himself on the wrong end of his body. But he hadn't. The fluid wasn't his at all, and it wasn't urine. The sky above him, already night, darkened and he looked up to see a massive shadow bearing down at them. It had to be Death. Death was coming for Dick. Spud opened his mouth. And screamed. *** August 16, 0100h "What's going on?" Barbara shouted, a note of panic creeping into her voice at her son's scream. "I'm on the roof," Batman's hard voice replied. His eyes swept over the rescue effort as Superman set the plane down, tilting it slightly to allow Alfred to help Dr. Leslie out of the vehicle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them scrambling to join the others. Peripherals. If he focused on peripherals, he wouldn't see the main event spread out before him. Emergency efforts on a still body. Leslie was there now, doing her job. Good. That meant he could do his. Witnesses. Robin was plugging another unit of blood into Nightwing's arm. He could wait 'til later. That left Spud. He looked down. Superman had taken over the application of the pressure, his arms on either side of the boy, keeping him protected and still part of the operation even though his job was finished. "I need to talk to Spud," he spoke, his voice rougher than usual. Superman-Clark-looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Wouldn't be the first time, he didn't say. "Bruce, leave him alone," Barbara hissed through his communicator. He didn't bother explaining things to her. He just turned the earpiece off. Clark nodded to Spud who ducked under his arm and went, wide-eyed to Batman. "I need you to tell me what you saw." Spud stared up at him blankly. Batman squatted, sinking to eye level with the boy. "Spud, I need for you to tell me who hurt Dick. I need to know what he looked like. I need to go get him." Bruce's voice. Bruce was here. Bruce would fix everything. "I need you to talk to me." Gauntleted hands reached up to the cowl. Had anyone noticed, they would have stopped and stared as Bruce Wayne stared into the eyes of a scared little boy. "I need you to tell me everything you know." Spud spoke. In a hysterical, blubbering recall, he told Bruce everything he knew. Batman stood up. The cowl was back in place. Bruce Wayne was gone. *** August 16, 0130h Superman returned to the curtained area of the warehouse feeling suddenly at loose ends. Nightwing was in surgery - nothing Superman could help with there. Batman had made it clear that he did *not* want help from the *Boy Scout,* although he'd insisted that Robin help with his investigation. He had reacted - unpleasantly - when Superman had suggested that perhaps Robin should stay with Nightwing. The Flash was getting Barbara, leaving the Man of Steel in a position of rare helplessness. He busied himself trying to find things for the inevitable waiting room crowd to sit on. He had just found a stack of five gallon buckets when he noticed a motion at the curtain. Spud! How had he forgotten - but, no, the boy had been shuttled to whichever grown up was nearest Nightwing ever since Superman had urged him from his father's side and cauterized Dick's wound. Alfred or Leslie had probably just sent him out. Superman's expression saddened as he watched the youngster. Spud clung with one hand to the curtain, as close as he could get to Nightwing. His hand, like the rest of him, was covered in blood which was blackening as it dried. Superman realized suddenly that the boy was shivering. The shivering prompted action. In an eyeblink, the Man of Steel was at Spud's side, draping his cape across small shoulders. There was no reaction until Superman tried to lift him away. He'd moved only two steps before he realized that Spud had stiffened every muscle, was desperately trying to get away. He wasn't squirming, just pushing small hands against the unyielding chest of his unwitting captor. The boy's head and neck craned away, facing urgently toward the impromptu operating theatre. Fearful Spud would hurt himself, Superman let him go. The boy sprang from his arms, scrambling until he was back at the curtain, once again hanging on with one bloody fist. The other hand held the cape around his shoulders, somehow making his lonely vigil seem more forlorn. Superman sighed. He couldn't even comfort one small boy. There was too much Bat in him. *** August 16, 0132h From her control center, Babs tripped the locks on the front door barely seconds before a red blur whisked through it, too urgent to remember that it should be locked. Wally West skidded to a frozen stop in the middle of her kitchen, looking around wildly. "Barbara!" he called. "Right here," she answered, wheeling out of her work room. "I-" "C'mon!" he insisted, scooping her from her chair and bolting toward the city docks. A signaler on her wrist shut and relocked the door, that gesture filling the time of Flash's mad dash to Nightwing's warehouse. Then her stomach lurched as he stopped too quickly at an access door and made as if to set her down on her feet. "Flash!" she objected, clinging to his arms. "Omigod'msorryBarbara!" he blustered, tightening his grip and reaching to open the door. "AnIfogot-" "Wally, hush!" she ordered, her eyes scanning the warehouse desperately. Bright light filled one corner of the space, drawing her eyes to the screened off operating space STAR Labs had teleported down. "Barbara!" Superman stepped toward her from a spot near the curtains, his face pinched with worry. She wasn't seeing him. His movement opened a clear line of sight to a small form clinging to the curtains. "Spud!" she cried. Without prompting, Wally zipped her to the boy's side, settling her down gently on the ground beside him and then stepping back once she had arranged her legs enough to balance herself in a sitting position. From beside the curtain she could hear metal clinks and the burbling squeal of suction. The physicians' murmurs were low and urgent against an unsteady beeping of monitors. She heard someone announce that BP was dropping, then a faint clash of instruments and scrambling sounds. By her side, Spud tightened his hand on the curtain, his eyes screwed tightly closed and his face frighteningly pale beneath the streaks of blood. "Spud," she said again softly, reaching a hand up to rest gently on his back. The contact sent a shudder through his body. His eyes opened, darting crazily for a moment before focusing on her. He opened his mouth as if to speak but instead took a gasping breath. Babs made herself not listen to the curse of a doctor on the other side of the curtain, instead reaching for Spud's clinging fist. "I'm here, Spud," she said soothingly, forcing a calmness she didn't feel. He took another hiccoughing breath, then suddenly he flung himself at her, tangled in her useless legs, arms wrapped around her waist as he sobbed against her stomach. She tried to stroke his curls, but they were too blood-matted to admit her fingers. So instead she only held him, her eyes caught by the red handprints he had left on the pale blue curtain. Her world was just this tiny circle - the blood-covered boy in her lap, the hand-shaped blood stains on the curtain, and the voices over her husband trying to find all the places the blood was coming from. She tightened her grip on her son and closed her eyes. *** August 16, 0140h "Hold on, Babs, I'm coming," Dinah breathed, easing her foot down on the gas pedal now that the Bat-designed radar detector on the dash had stopped it's pinging. She was almost surprised to get an answer. "Do you have a chair?" Babs' voice was almost a whisper. "A chair -" She thought quickly. Had there been a chair tucked into the back of the Volvo? There had been at one time. "Hold on." With one hand redirecting the rearview mirror and her foot still firmly on the gas pedal, she slipped the car easily onto the City Dock off ramp. If she could just angle the mirror right... An unexpected knot of traffic made her crank the wheel fiercely and jump off the gas, creating a cacophony of squealing tires and honking horns and Babs' voice saying, "Dinah!" softly but urgently in her ear. "I'm fine," she reassured her partner, keeping a quaver out her voice. "Volvos are very safe. And yes, there's a chair in the back." "Be careful, Dinah. I don't want-" Babs didn't finish the sentence; she didn't have to. Dinah knew. Things were bad, worse than bad. "I'm almost there, Partner," Dinah reassured, changing lanes to turn into the warehouse district. She'd taken the Volvo because it was the only car whose keys she immediately recognized in the Wayne fleet's key locker. Now, weaving through the decrepit and depopulated city docks of Bludhaven, the choice seemed like an act of genius. The Bentley would get noticed. The 20+ year old Volvo rocketing down the pot-holed streets? Another night on the docks. The brake squealing stop she made in the shipping/receiving area of Nightwing's workshop/lair wouldn't raise an eyebrow. The car's headlights picked out the form of a red-haired man sitting on the end of loading dock who scarcely flinched as the Volvo came careening in. He only looked up blearily when Dinah leapt from the driver's side door. "Wally?" "It's a lot of blood," he said hollowly. Dinah was already moving to the back of the car. "He'll bounce back. Now, we need to get Babs her chair, so if you'll shake a leg -" Wally didn't move. He looked vulnerable there in his civvies, and Dinah remembered that he and Dick had been best friends as teenagers. "I forgot," he explained. "I should have got it when I got her, but I forgot." "Well, bygones be bygones and let's fix the situation shall we? At least open the door for me?" She had already wrangled the wheelchair from the back of the station wagon and closed the door. Wally blinked at her, then he jumped to his feet. The warehouse door sprang open a split second later and then the chair was whisked away from her and into the building. By the time she could follow, Wally was standing uncertainly beside a curtain wall and staring down at the tangle of Spud and Babs sitting on the floor. "Babs! Spud!" Dinah called, rushing to her friend's side. Her hands went immediately to Spud's shoulders. "Hey, Tater Tot," she said in normal tones, "how 'bout you come to me for a second so we can get your mom more mobile?" He did not resist her gentle pull, nor did he transfer his hold to Dinah. He merely stood back enough to give Wally room to lift Babs and turned his face once more to the curtain. Dinah realized then that what she had taken for a blanket was actually Superman's cape, and that under the cape, Spud was stripped to the waist and covered in blood. His eyes wore a haunted look that held her worried stare until Babs spoke to her. "Thank you, Dinah." Dinah looked to see Babs sitting in the chair, looking only slightly less haunted than her son. "Hey," she cracked, "it's the Black Canary delivery service. I come complete with a fully stocked Volvo." She reached out to hold Spud's free hand, the one that wasn't grasping the cape around his shoulders. "In fact, I betcha we can find some of Tim's old clothes in there if we go look." She knew Spud understood the hint, but he did not respond at all. From behind the curtain, Dinah heard someone say, "Oh, crap! There's another stab wound back here. Left kidney. Damn it! I need some suction here so I can see-" "Spud." Babs calm tone cut through Dinah's sudden sense of dread and drew Spud's eyes away from the curtain. The boy's eyes widened, noticing suddenly a bright red smear on the front of Babs' light colored shirt. He gave a sudden gasping sound, as if sucking in the last air he would ever breathe. *** August 16, 0200h The skin on Tim's legs stung, chafed almost raw by the blood drying in the kevlar weave of his uniform. He had pulled Batman off three different muggers in the past hour and somehow dissuaded him from a fool's mission to Blockbuster's Avalon Hill home, but still Batman insisted on scouring the streets for any sign of Nightwing's attacker. It was a fair bet from Spud's description that the man had cloaked himself in the night and would lie low, and even their short eavesdropping session at one of Blockbuster's warehouses suggested that no one knew there was a plan to bring down the city's resident vigilante. Batman suddenly moved beside him, and for a moment Tim feared he would crash down on the men beneath them and demand information from them that they clearly would not know. Instead, Batman shot out a jump line, heading back in the direction of downtown. Tim was hot on his heels when a soft voice came over his comlink. "Superman to Robin." "Yeah," Tim whispered, trusting the wind as he whipped through the air to keep his voice from reaching Batman. "I know you're with him, so you don't have to answer. Just, if you can find a way to get him back here -" Tim landed softly beside Batman, who sat crouched at ready. After a brief moment, Tim realized he was waiting for the approaching blue line el train, and he psyched himself for the jump. "Robin, they're doing everything they can, but - but I don't know how many times they can restart his heart." Superman's voice was very quiet, and Tim bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face from betraying his reaction to this news. Batman still noticed some change in his partner's demeanor, because he shot a scathing glance in his direction before launching himself onto the train. In the moment's cover provided by his own jump, Tim whispered, "I'll try," before landing with an awkward bounce. Before he had an opportunity to right himself, he felt a heavy hand grip him tightly, holding his arm until he was steady and then dropping it without comment. Batman had said less than ten words to him since they had left the rooftop... The rooftop. With sudden clarity, Tim realized that's where they were heading, and his stomach flip-flopped. Tim doubted he would ever be able to even walk into the Old Passeo Building without a sick feeling, let alone go back to the roof. Scene of the crime - that's what Batman had to be thinking. Never mind that whatever clues the machete man might have left would either have been obliterated by a pool of blood or trampled away by their efforts to save Dick. It didn't stop Batman. Tim forced his unwilling body to follow Batman's leap from the train, his swings over darkened streets, and finally his landing back where less than two hours before, Dick Grayson had stood whole and healthy and prepared to lecture his son. Batman watched Tim land, then walked toward the edge of the roof. "He jumped down here?" he asked. Tim nodded woodenly, pushing himself to point out the exact spot. The blood seemed to cover half the rooftop, tracked by feet and by the wheels of the gurney to a broader area than it had originally covered. Batman studied the thigh high lip of the roof, his eyes narrowing as he engaged various lenses in his cowl and scrutinized the area. His hand never reached for his belt for any evidence bags; the man who had cut down Nightwing was good. He had to be good, Tim reminded himself. Batman shifted his study over the edge of the building, examining the drop to the ground. "Jump line?" "I don't know," Tim answered, fighting the urge to point out that he had more important things on his mind when he saw what had happened. Batman grunted and finally turned to face the spot where Nightwing had fallen. He tread carefully from where he stood to the edge of the blood, examining the area for a trace of a footprint, a faint trail, anything. Tim stayed by the roof's edge, his eyes tracking Batman but deliberately unfocused. He watched as Batman knelt down, his fingers reaching down to the red puddle at his feet, and then stood again. Nothing. There was nothing to find here but blood and pain. "Bruce?" Batman ignored him, the turned back communicating more than an angry glare might have. "Batman, stop." Now Batman did turn, drawing himself up to his full height and letting his cape settle around him on all sides. His stance was challenging. "We need to be there - with him. Not - not chasing - not -" The force of the glare from Batman's shielded eyes silenced him. Tim lowered his head for a moment. "We need to draw him out, make him think the job's not done." "How -" Tim looked up, startled, at his mentor, but his question died on his lips. "No." "You would rather he gloat over his victory?" Batman didn't wait for an answer. "We need to be back in Gotham now. You've got to work in the morning." Tim stared incredulously at Batman, but he had turned his back and was already readying his jump line. How could he just go to the office in the morning, just be Tim Drake on another ordinary day? Because he had to, a voice reminded him. It was what he did. With a heavy heart, Tim followed Batman from the roof. *** August 16, 0222h "Okay, the kidney's pinking up again." "Hold up, that cut *did* nick the ureter. Chisolm-" "I got it. Clamp." "Clamp." "Suture." "Suture." "Shift over, Joe. And get me more light over here." "I got blood in the suction again." "Damn. Chisolm-" "Just one more suture-" "This section of the descending colon is just destroyed, Maya." "Keep that irrigated. He doesn't need this wound to go septic if he makes it through this." "He'll make it, Doctor." "Look, Leslie, I-" "He'll make it, Doctor. Alfred -" "BP's crashing again." "Dammit, where's that blood coming from! Maya-!" "More light! Joe, move!" "Alfred, get whoever's at the JLA and let them know we're going to need more clamps and sutures. And a couple of -" "Still dropping." "Jocelyn, get another unit started. Someone find that bleeder!" "I'm on it." "Alfred, more blood, too." "Right away, Dr. Thompkins. Mister Lantern -" "Found it! Clamp!" "Clamp." "Pressure stabilizing." "Watch that EKG, that rhythm's looking - damn!" *** August 16, 0223h Donna Troy woke from a nightmare with a gasp, scattering the cats curled up on her bed. She reached a hand out for her absent boyfriend, then after a panicked moment remembered he was on monitor duty at the Watchtower. *Just a dream,* she told herself, seeking calm. Her racing pulse settled, but the sense of foreboding that came with the nightmare did not. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to will herself back to sleep, and only succeeded in making herself feel more awake. When Dynamo stuck a curious nose into her face, she realized it was hopeless. Stroking the concerned tabby, she sat up and swung her legs off the bed with a sigh. It was after two a.m. Sighing again, she rose and headed for the kitchen, pausing to power up the laptop sitting on the breakfast bar. She put the kettle on and dropped a tea bag into a mug before she swung the little computer around to tap in the JLA codes. It was only a moment before Kyle's voice filtered through the speakers: "Green Lantern here. One moment, Troia." Donna frowned slightly. It wasn't like Kyle to call her by her superhero moniker, even if things were frantic in the Watchtower. Maybe he had had the misfortune of drawing monitor duty with Batman? She held that thought, feeling guilty for being uncharitable. Batman was - difficult - but he was a good man and didn't deserve her negative thoughts. "Sorry, Donna," Kyle's voice apologized. "I'm covering for Oracle and it's a bit crazy tonight." "Covering for Oracle?" Donna questioned. "This isn't going to be another one of those incidents where Aquaman makes you write a memo, is it?" The unexpected pause in response made her joking tone seem suddenly very wrong. "No," Kyle finally answered. "Hold on." The tea kettle began whistling behind her, and Donna turned to shut off the stove and to pour the boiling water into her mug. The anxious feeling from her nightmare was back, distracting her as she put too much honey in her tea and puzzled over Kyle's Oracle coverage. She sat down on a stool in front of her computer and grimaced as she took a sip of her too-sweet tea. She should dump it out and start fresh, she thought, but instead she just kept sipping it, staring at the JLA desktop. "Okay, I'm back," Kyle's voice suddenly returned. "Everything okay?" Donna nodded, then remembering they did not have the visual feed active, answered. "I'm fine. Just had a bad dream. Is something wrong?" Another long pause served to fuel her tension. "Kyle?" "Damn! Just one more second, hon," he promised, falling silent again. The promised second was closer to 15, and when Kyle spoke again, he sounded shaken. "That *should* hold them for a bit." "Kyle, honey, if this is a bad time -" "No, no. I was almost going to call you anywayÉ" His voice trailed off. "Kyle? Kyle, what's wrong?" There was another pause, then a sigh. "Batman's not going to like it, but you should know." "Know what? Kyle, if -" "Stop. Donna, we've got a man down." Donna felt her stomach knot. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Who? How bad?" "At least ten units of blood bad," Kyle replied grimly, "and several teleport requests." "Ten units - Kyle, what happened? Who's hurt? Is it Batman, is that why -?" "It's not Batman." She could hear that he didn't want to tell her, but suddenly she just knew. Her hand tightened around the mug, but she managed to set it down before she could shatter it. "Oh no - it's Nightwing, isn't it?" "Macheted," Kyle confirmed. "They've got him at his warehouse lair in BludhavenÉ" The roar of blood in her ears drowned out whatever else Kyle had to say, and Donna gripped the edge of the counter. "No," she whispered. "Donna? Donna, are you all right? I can get Plastic Man to -" "No, Kyle," Donna replied in flat tones. "I'm fine. I'll be okay. Just - just do whatever you can, okay?" "Of course. Are you -" "I love you, Kyle." His response sounded faintly choked, as if fighting tears. "I love you, too, Donna. I'll be home in the morning." "I know. Good night, sweetheart." "Good night." Donna severed the connection and stared as her screensaver took over the monitor. Kyle's tone said almost more than his words; Dick Grayson could not be in good shape, might even be dying. One of her oldest friends in the worldÉ And Batman hadn't wanted anyone to know. Cold-hearted to the last, she thought bitterly. Was he leaving poor Babs and Spud to face this possible loss alone? Righteous indignation did something to quell the roiling fear in her gut. Dick needed his friends. *She* needed her friends. With firm resolve, she lifted her phone from its cradle and dialed the Titans Tower. *** August 16, 0224h BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Superman felt the links of chain he was grasping melting and fusing in his hand. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Dinah froze at the work sink, oblivious to the cold water numbing her hands and to the fact that the leg of Spud's jeans had covered the drain and the sink was filling rapidly. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Babs' breath stopped as she reached down to touch the head of the boy now clinging to one feelingless leg. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Spud's hand tightened around the cross that had been his Mommy's, and he squeezed his eyes closed. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE *** August 16, 0227h Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Be - Beep. Be - Beep. B- Beep. B-Beep. Beeeep. B-Beep. Beeeeep. Be - Beep. B-Beep. Be - Beep. Be - Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. *** August 16, 0245h The lift from the hangar level stopped, but Batman did not move to exit. Instead he said, "Go home." "What?" Robin blustered. "You aren't going back out there without - " "Lucius is going to need Tim Drake at that meeting tomorrow. You should seem rested and ready to work." "Batman, Dick is -" "The hospital would call Barbara. Barbara would call Bruce and Dinah. No one would think to call anyone else yet. As far as you know, nothing has happened tonight." Tim blinked. The cover story. He was talking about the cover story. Batman was talking about the cover story in those impossibly logical tones that Tim couldn't argue against even though every fiber of him screamed he was wrong. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. Batman showed no indication of leaving the lift until he knew he would be obeyed. "What are you going to do?" Tim finally asked, giving in. Now Batman moved, stepping out of the lift in the direction of the Batmobile on it's turntable. "The press will need an accident site." Robin started and began to step forward. "Wait, Batman -" Batman halted again, his back imposingly turned to Tim. "Go home," he ordered. Tim stared at the straight back beneath the drape of the cape, wanting to shake Batman. Except he knew it wouldn't work. With a sigh, he hit the lift button and let the doors slide shut to take him up a level. As he moved heavily toward the changing area, he heard the squeal of tires as the Batmobile roared out of the Cave. He looked down at the darkly stained uniform on his body, then glanced into the locker where his civvies hung, seeming relatively fresh despite a day's wear. "Yeah, Tim," he addressed the clothes bitterly, "as far as you know, nothing happened tonight." Robin began to strip off his bloodied clothes. *** August 16, 0310h Donna's call hadn't been the first Roy had gotten and the team was nearly assembled when he'd finally promised to meet her en route and hung up. She was a little ahead of him now, pushing at the constraint of having to play tour guide to the rest of the Titans. "It's right ahead," she called back to them, pointing into the inky blackness of the docks. "That doesn't help us much, Wonder Chick," Roy replied tersely. Having to ride in Toni's plasma bubble made him edgy enough on a normal day and it was far from a normal day. "You'll have to give us better directions when we meet up with Garth and Jesse on the ground." Troia didn't argue with the rebuke. Roy's temper was generally pretty stable but she wouldn't be the one to set him off. Not tonight. Instead she rushed them through the rendezvous with Tempest and Jesse Quick, the group snaking behind her to a warehouse that could easily have been mistaken for any of the others and crowded around as she hauled the door open. As Roy led the team through the door, he saw Barbara and Spud huddled near a curtained off section on the far end of the room and a very familiar blonde head comforting them both. A very familiar blonde head that had turned on them at a trot and wasn't looking very happy at all. "We're here," Donna announced anxiously, her voice carrying across the warehouse. "What do-" "Try keeping quiet for one," Dinah snapped as she approached the group. "There are people trying to operate over in the corner." "No signs of anyone noticing their entrance," Wally spoke up from the back of the group. Roy turned to see his old friend in civvies, the grimmest look on the speedster's face Roy could ever remember. He felt a stab of guilt at their obvious intrusion and tried to cover it up. "Hey, it's us," he announced. "Of course no one saw us." "You're damn lucky they didn't," Dinah replied, fixing him with one of her stares. "I would hope you guys would have learned how to be discreet by now." "Is Nightwing ok?" Argent asked from the back of the group. "He is our teammate," Donna added. "And we care a lot about his well-being or lack thereof," Garth finished. "All we want is some information." "If you wanted information, you could have called the Watchtower," Dinah reminded them. "Look, Nightwing's wife and kid appreciate your concern, but things are a little tense in here and you guys need to either make yourselves useful elsewhere or go back and sit in the Tower until someone tells you something. All we know right now was that Nightwing engaged an unknown hostile who fights with two swords. He's sustained massive bodily trauma and blood loss. He's in surgery now and that's all that anyone knows. The Watchtower will alert you if there's a change." "With the Bat in charge? We'd get a memo about it in a month," someone grumped from the back of the group. Roy winced and held up one hand. "All right," he spoke up. "Black Canary's right. We're heroes. We need to start acting like them." "They could use some more blood," Wally suggested. "Great. Those who can give blood-" Roy scanned the room. "That would be you, Wally, and Jesse. Is there someone here to draw and bag?" "Star Labs," Vic spoke up. "They'll process it and beam it down." "Great. Vic, go with them. Speed things up. The rest of us will go after whoever took down Nightwing." "Absolutely not," Dinah answered just as Jesse said, "No way." "What?" Roy barked. They both started talking at the same time until Dinah nailed Jesse with a glare. "Batman and Robin are going after the attacker," she explained. "No one else touches him." "Batman and Robin don't have my tracking abilities," Roy pointed out. "And they're not metas," Argent helpfully broke in. "Yeah, and-" "No buts. He belongs to them." Deathly silence loomed over the group at that pronouncement, broken only by the vague murmurs across the room and the small sound of a steadily beeping machine. "Fine," Roy finally agreed. "Has the scene been investigated?" Dinah nodded thoughtfully. "Yes and it needs to be sanitized. We don't need someone going up to the rooftop for a smoke in the morning and calling the cops on a possible mur-crime." "Ok then. Jesse, Wally, Vic, Star Labs. The rest of you with me." He cracked a cynical smirk. "We've got cleanup duty." "You'll need more blood than just Wally and I can provide," Jesse suggested. "We'll go around to the other heroes after this and ask them to go to Star Labs to donate." "I'll get Linda," Wally suggested. "She's a universal donor." "Now you're thinking." Dinah nodded approvingly. "Get out of here." She turned on her heel and headed back to her partner and the little boy gripping the curtain. Roy glanced around the warehouse and saw what he wanted in the corner. "Toni, grab the rags and buckets over there," he instructed. "We'll need them." "Roy, I want to talk to you a minute," Jesse cut in, pulling him aside. "One," Roy replied in reference to the minute. "Why the hell aren't you giving blood? Are you going after that guy anyway?" "You read the personnel jackets," Roy said shortly. "You know why." "I thought all that was over. Even regular blood banks only ask about the past year. If there was anything wrong with your blood, Star Labs would have caught it years ago." Roy gazed at Jesse seriously. "Labs can be wrong," he replied. "And if, by some random chance, something is wrong? No way I'm saving my friend's life only to kill him later on down the line. Go do your job. I'll go do mine." He turned away and faced the three left to him. Donna, Garth and Toni. Two of Dick's oldest friends, three counting himself, and Toni, who looked up to Nightwing as if he were some sort of well, legend. Which just maybe he was. "Scene of the crime is the Old Passeo building," Roy announced, information gleaned from Kyle Rayner hours ago. "Ladies, if you will?" Donna caught him up, rising in the air, and Toni used her plasma bubble to haul Garth and the equipment along. In seconds, they were in sight of their destination, in minutes their feet were touching the rooftop. "All right," Roy called back to them. "I want this building so clean by dawn that people will be begging the birds to crap on it. If it's dark, assume it's blood and terminate with extreme prejudice." He shook his head, thinking that Dick would be amused by their menial task. "How do we know what's blood what's just dirt?" Toni wanted to know, her voice small. "Toni, didn't you listen to-" Roy trailed off as he turned his eyes on the expanse of roof that lay before them and the mass quantities of the unnatural darkness that had affixed itself to the concrete laid out before him. "Oh god." *** August 16, 0410h Leslie Thompkins pulled her surgical mask down as she stepped through the curtain. Her exit was immediately met by the wordless, desperate stares of Dick's wife and son, still sitting practically against the curtain wall. Leslie stripped off her gloves and brushed her hands self-consciously across her bloodstained scrubs. She glanced across the warehouse floor to where Dinah and a few superhero types still waited. They weren't her concern, but she was glad that Babs and Spud were not here alone. She cleared her throat. "They're closing him up," she said, knowing that didn't answer any questions. She sighed as her words were met only with silence. She took a few steps to grab one of the five gallon pails scattered around the operating theatre, then set it down and sat on it, facing Dick's family. "Barbara. Spud. He's hurt very badly. There are three serious cuts - a stab at kidney level on his left side, then a slash starting just below that and cutting across his abdomen, then a bone deep slash the length of his left arm." Spud had seen that, of course, but Babs closed her eyes against Leslie's news. "How - what -?" "We've managed to isolate the obvious bleeders and stitch him back together as best we can - at least enough to stabilize him enough to move him. He's a mess, Barbara." "Chances?" Leslie could tell Babs didn't want to ask but felt she had to. "Hey," she said gently, reaching out to touch Babs' hand. "He's made it this far. We're going to have to go back in at some point, keep an eye on him in case we've missed a vein that was cauterized and wasn't obviously bleeding. We didn't pay enough attention to the arm right now - low priority. And we'll at least want to do some cosmetic restitching." Leslie was so tired she wasn't sure she was making any sense. "But right now, if you've got a way to move him, we should probably get him out of the warehouse before dawn." Babs nodded. "The tunnels. There's a cart." "I can get it," Dinah interrupted, coming up beside Babs and squeezing her friend's shoulder encouragingly. "A cart?" Leslie questioned uncertainly. "Like a golf cart," Dinah explained. "We can get him back to the basement lair." "That's good," Leslie agreed, her eyes drifting down to the boy still hugging at Babs' leg. "You doin' okay there, Spud?" she asked gently. Spud only stared at her - or rather through her in the direction of the opening in the curtain wall. She laid a hand softly on his head for a moment, then stood. "If you can get that cart soon, Dinah," she suggested, turning away from the haunted eyes of a little boy and hoping against hope that his father would live to see the dawn. *** August 16, 0417h One of the doctors drew open the curtain wall, and at a word, a group of five of them began wheeling toward the cart, keeping gurney and respirator and EKG and other monitoring equipment moving forward at a briskly uniform pace. Suddenly one of them yelled, "Whoa, whoa whoa! Kid! Whoa!" The entire team ground to a halt, frozen mid-motion by the little boy who had dashed among them. "Spud!" a voice cried, but if he heard, he gave no sign. His eyes were focused on the pale face of the man on the gurney, his hand knotted in the thin sheet that covered the mangled body. The expressions of the doctors around the gurney varied from deep sympathy to irritation bordering on anger, but all managed to hold their tongues as Leslie Thompkins swiftly stepped in and knelt down next to Spud. She whispered to him for a moment, drawing only nods from him in response. Then she rested her hand on his shoulder and steered him - not away from the gurney, but to the other side of it. The other doctors stared at her, and she met their gazes with calm challenge in her eyes. At a little squeeze on his shoulder, Spud reached out and wrapped his hand around three of the fingers of Dick's exposed right hand. "Okay," Leslie said. "Go ahead." One of the doctors opened his mouth as if to protest, and Leslie fixed him with a hard look. "Deal," she said succinctly, stepping back to let them continue toward the cart.. She stood and watched as they moved equipment onto the cart, then managed to get the gurney loaded without disrupting Spud's hold on his father's hand. "Leslie?" Babs puzzled, wheeling up to the older woman. Leslie glanced at her. "There are different kinds of lifelines," she explained. "If it's in his power to hold him here, he will." The two women watched as Spud settled in among the other equipment and two of the doctors took up positions to monitor their patient on his ride through the tunnels. Dinah, still in the driver's seat of the cart, watched this activity then turned expectantly toward Babs. "Go on," Leslie urged. "Someone needs to get them set up at the other end. I'll get everyone cleared out of here." Babs nodded, her eyes still fixed on her husband and son, and then wheeled to the cart. There was a moment's confusion as they realized that there was no space for Babs' chair, then with a simple gesture, the problem was dismissed, the chair abandoned, and the cart on its platform began to sink through the floor to the tunnel beneath. Leslie watched until the floor closed up again, leaving no sign of the escape route below, and sighed. *** August 16, 0417h One of the doctors drew open the curtain wall, and at a word, a group of five of them began wheeling toward the cart, keeping gurney and respirator and EKG and other monitoring equipment moving forward at a briskly uniform pace. Suddenly one of them yelled, "Whoa, whoa whoa! Kid! Whoa!" The entire team ground to a halt, frozen mid-motion by the little boy who had dashed among them. "Spud!" a voice cried, but if he heard, he gave no sign. His eyes were focused on the pale face of the man on the gurney, his hand knotted in the thin sheet that covered the mangled body. The expressions of the doctors around the gurney varied from deep sympathy to irritation bordering on anger, but all managed to hold their tongues as Leslie Thompkins swiftly stepped in and knelt down next to Spud. She whispered to him for a moment, drawing only nods from him in response. Then she rested her hand on his shoulder and steered him - not away from the gurney, but to the other side of it. The other doctors stared at her, and she met their gazes with calm challenge in her eyes. At a little squeeze on his shoulder, Spud reached out and wrapped his hand around three of the fingers of Dick's exposed right hand. "Okay," Leslie said. "Go ahead." One of the doctors opened his mouth as if to protest, and Leslie fixed him with a hard look. "Deal," she said succinctly, stepping back to let them continue toward the cart.. She stood and watched as they moved equipment onto the cart, then managed to get the gurney loaded without disrupting Spud's hold on his father's hand. "Leslie?" Babs puzzled, wheeling up to the older woman. Leslie glanced at her. "There are different kinds of lifelines," she explained. "If it's in his power to hold him here, he will." The two women watched as Spud settled in among the other equipment and two of the doctors took up positions to monitor their patient on his ride through the tunnels. Dinah, still in the driver's seat of the cart, watched this activity then turned expectantly toward Babs. "Go on," Leslie urged. "Someone needs to get them set up at the other end. I'll get everyone cleared out of here." Babs nodded, her eyes still fixed on her husband and son, and then wheeled to the cart. There was a moment's confusion as they realized that there was no space for Babs' chair, then with a simple gesture, the problem was dismissed, the chair abandoned, and the cart on its platform began to sink through the floor to the tunnel beneath. Leslie watched until the floor closed up again, leaving no sign of the escape route below, and sighed. *** August 16, 0945 "Dinah on line two." Tim blinked at the sound of Cass's voice. "Put her through," he said, words that felt foreign to his mouth. "Tim?" "Yeah, Dinah, I'm here." "Dick's going back into surgery," Dinah said without prelude. "Again?" "Leslie says the first round was triage. They were just-" Dinah sounded like she was gasping a little. "-stitching things back together and getting him closed up before he lost any more blood. They'd planned to go back in a day or so and make sure things were where they were supposed to be, but then he threw a clot and-" Tim felt his face drain. Throwing a blood clot could result in instantaneous death. Dick was lucky he'd made it into surgery. "Dinah-" "Hold on." Tim heard background noise. "Tim, I gotta go." He heard Dinah put her hand over the mouthpiece on her end. "Dinah?" He had to wait a moment for her to come back. "No news is good news Tim, ok? Remember that." And she was gone. *** August 16, 1012h The coffee was hot and strong. Neither woman knew who made it. Neither woman cared. "Car accident." "No bruises, no impact injuries. "Off duty, still in uniform, goes after mugger." "Would be wearing a vest. Wounds too deep for a switchblade." "Working on the roof. Fell ontoÉ a fence?" Barbara thought on that one, taking a careful sip of her coffee. If it burned her, she made no indication. Across from her, Dinah Lance Wayne sat, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, dark smudges under her eyes the only indication of a nightmarish night. "Puncture wounds," Babs said thoughtfully. "They would have to break off pieces of the fence and take them with him until they stabilized him and had blood handy. We have picket fences. He would be gouged in several places in a row. Not cross-slashed. The wounds are shallower at the top and bottom and deepest in the center." "Will anyone look close enough to notice?" "Can we take that chance?" Barbara sipped at her coffee again. "We had an appointment today to meet with Spud's new teacher." "I'll go." "Thank you." Barbara dismissed the problem as easily as Dinah had accepted it. "What cuts? Better yet, what slices?" "Glass?" "He crashed through a window? Blockbuster knows Nightwing's down." "Crashing through a window leaves shrapnel marks. Bruce is having Alfred alter a Nightwing uniform for Tim to wear." "Tim's going to wear Dick's uniform?" Barbara's eyes were cold. "He's going to make appearances," Dinah said firmly and quietly. "If Dick's attacker thinks he's dead, he'll leave town. We need to make them think the job's unfinished and draw him back out." Barbara's face closed up. "When we settle on a story," she continued as if Dinah hadn't said anything, "we need to call Filb. He'll get word to Amy. That way, when we get the police report into the system, they'll think they have the inside track and won't look at it too hard. What about his bike? You ride motorcycles. Could he run into something on the road that would slice like that?" *** August 16, 1245h Barbara stared at the flickering screen in front of her. Accident report. Tim had given them a location. Bruce had laid rubber hours earlier, anticipating this. They would have to wreck the bike. Falling glass would chip the paint. Slash the seat covers. Slash the tires. Destroy the headlight. Slice through Dick. They'd need blood. He'd lose the bike. It would skid. Skidding would grind off one side of the bike. The motor casing would be ground away. Handlebars mangled. The footpeg on that side would be ripped off. Chrome scraped away. Turn signals destroyed. Skidding would lead to a crash against the concrete road barrier. The mangled handlebars would be crunched inward. The engine crushed. Headlight ground off. Chassis crumpled. The front wheel assembly would crush, give way. The whole front wheel would probably detach and roll across the highway. With that image burned in her mind, Barbara put her head in her arms and cried. *** August 16, 1330h Dinah walked up the sidewalk of the strangely quiet school. It didn't seem right for a school to be so hollow and barren. Lockers should be slamming, people yelling across the halls, sneakered feet beating a path to an almost- missed class, bells ringing, kids spilling from the double doors...that was the school she remembered. She'd been hovering in the parking lot for twenty minutes, way too early, but fearful of being late. She passed a nervous hand over her stomach. Although her carefully chosen slate-blue suit lay flat across her midsection, she was definitely starting to show. Bruce had been anxious for the baby to start kicking before all this and had even fallen asleep one night with his hand on her stomach. She'd wished for a camera. She hadn't seen him once since Dick's injury. Her heels echoed in the empty hallways as peripheral noise indicated that the teachers, fresh from summer vacation, were preparing their classrooms for the influx of new students. Ms. Senonca Jones was in room 212. The hallways were decorated with brightly colored construction paper and the air smelled like new pencils and chalk. The door to room 212 held an array of children's book covers, blown up into posters. The letters announcing the room number and teacher were precise and level. Dinah smoothed her hand over the front of her suit one more time. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room, her eyes glancing back to the desk where a regal woman sat. The door was at the rear of the room so Dinah moved forward, toward the blackboard and desk. Senonca Jones looked up. She was a light-skinned black woman, her features aquiline, her high forehead highlighted by her severe hairstyle. Her age could be anywhere from thirty to sixty, Dinah guessed, noticing the flawless skin and intelligent eyes. "Hi," she said aloud. "I'm Dinah Lance-Wayne." Ms. Jones nodded pleasantly. "My name is Senonca Jones. Will your child be in my fall class?" "Yes," Dinah nodded, feeling more at ease. "His name's Spud. Well, it's James Grayson, but we call him Spud." "I'm sorry." Ms. Jones was regarding her with a piercing look that made Dinah feel like she was back in second grade herself. "I was expecting a Barbara Grayson." "Yes." Dinah smoothed her suit self-consciously again. "She couldn't come. She couldn't make it." "I see." Ms. Jones' expression was closed. "See, I'm her best friend... well, her mother-in-law, actually, which is pretty funny, but um-" Dinah realized she wasn't scoring any points with this conversation. "You're Bruce Wayne's new wife," Ms. Jones said. "I've seen you in the papers." Dinah felt a flash of anger. She knew there'd be these days-days when people would see her as 'Bruce Wayne's wife' rather than as 'Black Canary' but she'd had yet to have someone say it to her face. She tucked it away though, hoping she could use it as leverage. "Yes. I am." Dinah shifted stance and glanced down when her leg bumped into one of the child-sized tables scattered across the room. She sat gingerly on the edge. Ms. Jones' face tightened in disapproval. "Dick Grayson was Bruce's foster son. Barbara is his wife." "I see." Ms. Jones moved a file folder to the center of her desk but didn't open it. "I see here that James has been living with the Graysons a year?" "Well, a little more than that, actually," Dinah filled in. "A year and about three months, I guess. And they adopted him you know." Ms. Jones was already nodding. "A string of disciplinary problems at Hilltop." "He's had a hard time," Dinah excused. "And he couldn't read and they didn't know that." "I see." Ms. Jones pinned her with another glare. "Are you aware that most nine-year-olds are entering fourth grade at this time?" "Um." Dinah racked her mind nervously for this information. How should she know? "No? Wait, yes, I did know. Roy-uh, a friend of mine, his daughter went to fourth grade two years ago." "And you realize that Somerset's placement tests have assigned James to a combination first and second grade classroom?" "Babs told me. I didn't know they combined grades." There was a pause as Dinah scrambled frantically for Ms. Jones' point. "I know he's a little behind, but he was on the streets for over a year. He just doesn't know. He's a smart kid, I'm sure he'll catch up fast." "I've had many parents tell me that," Ms. Jones assured her. "I find it's the will of the child more than the will of the parent that decides such a thing." Dinah felt as if she'd been slapped. "I'm sorry to waste your time, Ms. Jones," she said stiffly, standing and picking up her purse. She turned on her heel and hurried towards the door. "Ms. Lance-Wayne!" she heard the other woman call to her, but she ignored the sound. She hurried through the twisting corridors, out the front doors of the school. The air inside had been muggy and stagnant, the lights dimmed and Dinah was grateful for the smallest of breezes that disrupted the beaming sunshine. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her stomach. That was clearly a disaster. She wondered suddenly, desperately, if she could learn to handle teachers before her own child neared that age. As if in answer, something fluttered inside her. Her eyes flew open. Was that a kick? She pressed her hand carefully, rubbing her stomach a little. Nothing. Maybe just too much coffee. *** August 16, 1515h "There's the pitch, and - HE CREAMED IT! Heading for right center and the Whalers are on the board! That's a 3-run dinger for Gutierrez and the" - RING! - Filb turned down the TV with a grumble and reached for the phone. Who would call him during the game? "Yeah," he said into the receiver, his eyes still tracking Gutierrez's home run trot and the replay of his mammoth homer. "Filb, what's going on?" a voice barked. "Amy?" he asked, his attention suddenly focused. "Your partner, Filb. What's going on?" Her tone was making Filb uneasy. "Grayson? He's going to meet Spud's teacher today. There a problem?" There was a moment's pause. "You don't know?" Amy sounded faintly despairing. Filb turned off the TV. "Amy, what's going on?" "Graham," she began, and Filb felt his insides tighten. Graham meant bad news. "Dick's - step-mother? - just called the station. I figured you already knew-" "Knew what, Amy? What's wrong?" "Dick was in an accident of some sort. Bad. She didn't give details, just that he needs an indefinite leave of absence -" Filb closed his eyes. An indefinite leave of absence. He knew Dick Grayson. The kid could bounce back from anything in a week. "Did she say-?" "He's in critical condition. She didn't say where, but I can guess Bruce Wayne has him somewhere private. Filb-" "Was there an accident report or anything?" "Nothing's come through yet. Probably handled by County Sheriff - you know how they are with paperwork." "You want me to -" "Yeah. Yeah, Filb. Find out. And find out what *really* happened, okay?" Filb hesitated. He knew what Amy was asking. "I'll try," he acquiesced, already deciding he wouldn't push too hard past whatever explanation Babs gave him. He suspected there were some answers he did not want. "Filb?" Amy's voice sounded tiny in a way that Filb had only heard once or twice when they were partners and never since. "Yeah, Amy?" "Do you think -" "He's a fighter, Amy. In a month, you'll be lecturing him about jumping into firefights to save kids again." "I hope so, Filb." "Your rookie will be fine. I'll even call the house now and report back, okay?" "But if-" "Okay?" "Okay. Thanks, Filb." "Bye, Amy." Filb hung up his phone and stared at it for a long moment. Dread had curled icily in his stomach. Babs always called for Dick, since the only times Dick ever called in were times when he was too sick or hurt to pick up the phone. "Guess what my klutzy husband did this time?" she'd say, and the desk sergeant would always chuckle and announce the latest Grayson folly. Amy and Filb would chuckle and shoot each other the *look*. It was ritual by now. But if Dinah had called, if the Gotham branch of the family was involved in the affairs of their fiercely independent Bludhaven juniors... He glanced at the cross hanging on the wall, hung there by Marina the day they moved into this house. Filb had always been a passive Christian at best - more agnostic than anything - but Marina had always found comfort in her faith, especially near the end. Filb had never had the heart to take the cross from the wall, and now his eyes found it automatically as he whispered a rare prayer: "Please, let them come out of this okay..." He took a deep breath and hit 2 on his speed dial. The phone rang twice, then a precise British voice answered. "Grayson residence." Filb felt himself involuntarily straighten up. "Umm, this is Graham Filbert calling - Dick's partner?" "Yes, Officer Filbert. Is there something I can do for you today?" Filb hesitated for just an instant. He'd expected Spud to answer, although if Dick were truly so seriously injured... "I was hoping to talk to Barb or Dick?" "I'm afraid, Officer, that that -" There was a click, and then Babs' voice on the line. "I've got it, Alfred." "Are you certain, Miss Barbara? I can -" "I've *got* it, Alfred." Classic Barbara Grayson irritation. Filb would have been heartened if he could not so clearly hear the tears in her voice. There was another click on the line - Alfred hanging up. "Barb?" Filb began. "Amy just called. Is-?" "It's bad, Filb," she said quietly. "He - we almost -" Her voice cracked, and she stopped. "What happened?" he asked gently, trying to keep his own tone calm. Babs gave a short almost-laugh. "Stupid bike. He tangled with a damned *glass* truck. Can you believe that? Fucking plate glass-" She broke off as Filb recoiled from the unexpected profanity. Things were definitely bad. He waited for her to continue. Her voice was steadier after the pause. "He's lucky there was an off-duty EMT in the car behind. Some animal darted into the road and the traffic swerved - he got forced into the other lane. They said he kinda jumped," yeah, that was Grayson, Filb reflected, "went over the top of the truck and probably would have been fine except for the glass." Now her voice grew softer, and Filb barely heard, "He almost bled to death." "Barb." It was an inquiry as much as a statement. Babs understood. "We're at a private Wayne Enterprises hospital now - I had the home line forwarded so I could monitor the calls. They tell us the next few hours are critical." "How are you and the boy doing?" "I'll live." A flat statement. "Spud -" A deep breath. "Spud managed to slip past the EMTs when they brought him here, saw how bad-" Filb listened to her struggle for control, his own heart desperately racing. "You think if I talk to him-?" "He won't talk to anyone right now, Filb, and I don't want to push him." Again a beat before she added softly, "He won't let go of Dick's hand." The silence between them lengthened as Filb digested this. "Barb - if you need anything -" "I know, Filb. It's just good to hear your voice. The family's all here, but -" "I understand. You'll let me know -?" He couldn't finish the sentence. Another brief silence. "Can you check in? I don't want other people calling all the time, but could you-?" "I'll do that. When should I-?" "They're still trying to stabilize him. There's still some little bleeders and organ damage-" "Barb, you sure you don't want-?" "No, not yet. Just - liaise with the department for me, okay? Keep Amy in the loop? And call back around 9. I'll tell Alfred to expect your call." "Okay, Barb. And Barb? He'll be okay. He's tough. And stubborn." "I hope you're right, Filb. I really hope you're right." "Hang in there. And call me if there's anything I can do." "Thanks, Filb. I will. Good bye." "Bye." He hung up and sat very still for a second. Then he fiercely punched the arm of the couch. "You better live, Grayson," he muttered. "You better." He fought the lump in his throat. Save the tears in case you need them later, Filb, he cautioned himself. Never say die. He had been sitting staring into the middle distance for several minutes when the phone rang. He swallowed hard before he answered. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "Haven County just faxed over the accident report." Amy sounded like she was ready to spit bullets. "Criminal negligence, Filb! They didn't even cite the driver - hauling glass without properly -" "Amy." She was instantly silent, and Filb knew she was fearing the worst. "Filb?" "He's hanging in there - but it's not good." He could hear her sigh of relief before she drew in another angry breath. "It was a slipshod accident report, Filb. *Our* officers would have done better." "Our officers would probably be trying to cover something up." There was a thoughtful pause. "You think it was really -" "An accident, Amy. A very terrible accident." He could hear her not wanting to believe him. He let her think about it for a moment. Then he added, "Amy, I think I need a few days off." Suddenly she was all business again, the ever capable Captain Rohrbach. She'd be a bear to work with for the next few days, but Filb knew she wouldn't push the issue of the accident report. "I understand, Filb. Is there a place to send flowers or get well cards?" "Not yet, Amy. Let folks know we'll share that information as soon as we get it. Right now though-" "We'll wait for word. You'll call me the instant you know something?" "Of course." "Right. I'm posting the memo now. Take care, Filb." "You, too, Amy." "Bye." The line clicked dead, and Filb hung up the phone for the third time in 20 minutes. He stared blankly at the TV remote,. He'd probably only missed half an inning, but suddenly the game didn't seem so important. *** August 16, 1800h Hank Hogan stepped toward the kitchen at the sound of falling boxes and a muttered, "Oh, shit!" Then he smiled as he heard his wife's voice saying, "Michael Patrick Hogan, d'ya think you're too old t'remember the taste of a bar of soap?" "Sorry, Ma," he heard Michael apologize sheepishly. "Another bacon cheese," Hank called back into the kitchen, returning back to the crowded bar to begin another sweep from one end to the other. It was one of those nights where they really needed a second bartender, but Dixie was home with the flu and it was Garcia's night to have his kids, so the Hogan family was managing short staffed. Of course, that meant it was one of the busiest Thursdays of the year. At first Hogan thought it might be the heat, but the drinking around him had a faintly desperate quality that he associated with bad news in the department. He was too busy to get the full scoop, but as the afternoon had worn on, he had gathered that some officer had been in a serious accident - off- duty, thank god, but the kind of thing that made cops confront their own mortality. He was halfway down the bar when a sudden quiet descended. He almost didn't want to look up. He'd seen it before, a cop with a partner down, the situation on everyone's lips, and then he or she walks into the bar. He never knew if it was embarrassment or respect that caused the other cops to go silent. He kept his eyes on the beer he was pulling, waiting for conversation to resume again. Instead he heard someone give up their stool and a space open at the bar just to his left. He had to look up, acknowledge the customer... "Hi, Hogan," he said, his eyes flatly unreadable. "Scotch and soda, please." Hogan nodded, put the beers he'd poured on the bar and began mixing Graham Filbert's drink. *** August 16, 1938h Tim let himself in the servant's door of Wayne Manor. Even though it was still fairly light out, he knew better than to look for Bruce upstairs. He knew better than to look for *Bruce* at all. He headed straight to the den, to the grandfather clock and down the stairs. The Cave seemed dark, even for the Cave. It took Tim a moment to realize it wasn't just his imagination. The trapeze rigging, the old trophies - all were plunged in darkness. Almost all of the light that there was came from the giant monitor of the Batcomputer. Tim recognized the spread sheets and Venn diagrams displayed on that monitor from Dick's computer. Blockbuster. A low growl came from the man seated at the computer before Tim could comment. "Suit up." Tim froze, letting his noncompliance speak for him. Batman did not turn or gesture. He just repeated, in impossibly colder tones, "Suit up." "Dammit, Bruce! Can I at least get an update?" Tim felt his uneasiness grow as the silence lengthened between them. Finally: "Alive. Suit up." Tim turned silently and stalked back toward the changing area. Alive. Not dead. That's all it meant. Not dead. Focus on not dead - ? He stopped. Tim hit the comlink on the wall next to his changing stall. "Batman," he hissed. "Suit up." The link immediately went dead. No argument would be tolerated. Not dead, Tim reminded himself, reaching reluctantly for the blue and black suit. *** August 16, 2100h "Grayson residence." That clipped British voice again-Alfred. "Hey, yeah, this is Graham Filbert, uh, Dick's partner." Filb paused, not sure he wanted to ask further. He might find out something he didn't want to hear. "Of course Officer. Miss Dinah will be taking your call, if that would be satisfactory. Miss Barbara is sitting with Master Dick." "Sure thing." Filb waited barely a moment before he heard the next voice. "Filb? This is Dinah Lance-Wayne. We met at Spud's hearing." Normally, Filb wasn't impressed with women who hyphenated their names. Keep it or change it, he figured. No point in having a 27-letter last name. He liked Dinah Lance-Wayne, though. She was probably a bigger celebrity than her husband. Adding his last name seemed more an acknowledgement of love than an attempt to maintain her own sense of self. But all that would have been moot anyway, since she was the chosen bearer of important news. And from the friendly tone of her voice is sounded like the news wasn't all bad. If things were well, the worst, she would have come right out with it. "'Course I r'member you," Filb assured her. "Wish we were talking under better circumstances. "Me too," Dinah agreed wholeheartedly. "I'm guessing you're calling for an update? Barbara said to expect you." "Yeah. Me and some of the guys-and Amy," Filb added, remembering that Dinah was also a woman in a male-dominated profession, "whenever I say 'the guy', I mean Amy too. Anyways, we said a few prayers for Grayson and lifted a drink for him. Hope he's doing better." "Well, keep doing what you're doing," Dinah said, sounding slightly relieved. "Dick's stabilized for now. It's still bad," she warned. "He's had two surgeries already and they had to resuscitate him a few times." "Resuscitate?" Filb asked sharply. "His heart stopped four times," Dinah told him soberly. "It was really touch and go there for a while." Filb exhaled and shook his head. "That kid is damn lucky," he proclaimed. "And he's had some damn good doctors," Dinah added. "He's still at the hospital but you're number one on our list when he can have visitors." "I appreciate that," Filb told her gruffly. "Give Barbara my love, will you?" "Of course I will. Hang in there, Filb, and thanks for calling." "You take care," Filb replied and replaced the receiver in the cradle. He sat in his armchair for a moment and thought about Dick and Barbara and Marina. He coughed roughly into his hand and rose. Must be the AC, he decided. Must be drying out the air. A walk would do him some good. He stepped into the muggy summer heat, locking the door behind him. He stuck his hands in his pockets and started out down the street, wandering vaguely in the direction of St. Anthonio's. *** August 16, 2215 Dinah's disembodied voice filled the quiet air of the basement lair. "Leslie, STAR Labs is on line for you." Leslie glanced up from Dick's chart, faintly unnerved by the speaker-phone-esque arrangement of communications into the lair. It was handy, just to be able to talk as she worked, knowing the multidirectional mikes throughout the basement would pick up her voice, but still, it felt odd. "Go ahead," she finally acknowledged. There was a moment's pause, then STAR Labs came through. "Dr. Thompkins?" "Yes," Leslie answered, her eyes drifting to Spud as she spoke. It occurred to her that it might make sense to take this call on a more traditional line, but any whispered conversation would only distress the boy. And Babs was insistent that there be no secrets kept from her son. "We've processed the specimens you sent up. Would you like us to fax down the reports?" "Please. Anything I should know about?" "Let's see-" There was a sound like rustling paper and then a low whistle. "White blood cell count is starting to get really high." Leslie nodded, her heart sinking. This only helped confirm the source of Dick's steadily rising fever. "Right," she said in brisk, professional tones. "Thanks. I'll watch for the reports." "I'm sending now. Good-bye." "Good-bye," Leslie replied, listening as a click signaled the termination of the call. Babs had wheeled forward during this exchange to be nearer to Spud. As the call ended, she looked up at Leslie, her haggard face creased with worry. "Infection?" she asked. "Looks like it." Leslie could not keep a hint of grimness from her tone. Spud's head jerked up, turning to look between the two women. "What does that mean?" His eyes were alarmed. Babs set a steadying hand on his shoulder. "It means that there might be bits of dirt or bacteria inside him that don't belong there and his body is going to try to get rid of them," she explained. "Well, he can do that, right?" Spud's still unrelinquished grip on Dick's hand seemed to tighten. Leslie tried to make her tone honest but reassuring. "I hope so, Spud. He's going to make his body hotter to try to make it a place the bacteria don't want to stay. It's kind of -" Leslie looked uncertainly at Babs. Spud was frazzled, exhausted. She didn't want to scare him. "It can be kind of dangerous for him," Babs supplied. "Like jump lines. The timing is really important. If he gets too hot, he could really hurt himself, but if he doesn't get hot enough, the bacteria could really hurt him." Spud closed his eyes and put the side of his face down on Dick's palm. "He's already hot," he informed them. He stayed with his head down for a long moment. The image of the exhausted little boy clinging to his father was finally too much for Leslie. He had been there, compelling the doctors to move around him, ever since they had brought him in from the warehouse. They'd pulled him away for the morning's surgery, when he'd resumed his post by the curtain wall. As soon as they had Dick bandaged, Spud was back, his fingers twined in Dick's. "Barbara," she began, "I think it might be about time to have Spud get some sleep." This suggestion brought Spud to attention, his cheeks flushed red. "NO!" he cried. "Dick needs me here!" Babs stroked his back soothingly. "I know, sweetheart," she replied, turning a hard glare toward Leslie. "He's *fine*, Leslie." Leslie shook her head. "He's *not* fine, Barbara. He hasn't slept in at least the last 24 hours. He's barely started talking again. *He watched his father get cut down*. You can't just let him stay here until he collapses." "I'm not collapsing!" Spud protested hotly. "I can't collapse. Dick-" "Spud," Babs interrupted. "Leslie, I know what he's been through. I've been here, too. And I'll thank you to leave him be." "Barbara, as your family physician I think I can fairly insist that you take him off to bed. He's had enough trauma in the last 24 hours." "Leslie." Babs' eyes were cold. "I know the worst that could happen. Are you telling me it would be less traumatic for me to drag him - and I would have to drag him - to bed and make him stay in his room while worse things happen? Force him to sleep only to wake up... to wake up to..." Babs paused and tightened her grip on Spud's shoulder. "I had to wake up for last words once," she reminded Leslie, her eyes still hard but now hinting at tears. "Babs?" Spud asked uncertainly, his eyes taking in her scarcely checked tears. "Sorry, Spud," she said softly. "I was just remembering my father." "James," Spud acknowledged before his eyes suddenly widened. "You don't think-?" "No. No, Spud. Dick's a fighter." Now Spud was openly crying. "So was your daddy. You told me -" "Barbara," Leslie said pointedly. "Dammit, Leslie, leave us alone!" Babs snapped, wrapping an arm around Spud and drawing him to her. Spud's free arm clung to her as fiercely as his other hand grasped Dick's hand. "Shh, Spud. James, shh," Babs was comforting, rocking slightly in her chair. "You've got him. I know you won't let him go. And I won't make you leave." James sniffled noisily, finally releasing Babs to run his arm over his face and look blearily up at her. "You promise?" Babs shot a glare at Leslie before replying. "I promise," she agreed, smoothing down his hair. Leslie shook her head and held her peace, saving her energy for what could be a long night. *** August 16, 2235 "Have Bruce and Tim called in yet?" Leslie's voice sounded old and tired, Alfred thought sadly. "They have not," he answered neutrally. "And how is our young master?" Leslie inclined her head. She bit her lip for a moment and then looked straight up at Alfred. "We've found evidence of an infection," she explained. "If there's any way to get Bruce back here-" Alfred shook his head. Leslie sighed. "Of course not. How silly of me to ask." "Allow me to prepare you a bowl of soup," Alfred decided, reaching for a bowl and his ladle. The large pot of soup had been on the stove all day, simmering quietly in case someone could manage to choke down some food. "It's not healthy to go without food for too long-something this family does not seem to understand." "I've noticed that," Leslie agreed dryly, pouring herself a glass of water. "What kind of soup?" "Chicken noodle," Alfred told her. She watched his hand shake as he ladled the soup into the bowl and reached to place her own hand softly over his. Their eyes met. "You haven't eaten either," she accused him gently. Alfred cleared his throat and looked away. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," he admitted. "Who can eat a time like this?" "Sit down with me," Leslie asked. "Please." She took the ladle from Alfred and poured a second bowl. She took both bowls and set them down on the table, taking the nearest far chair. Tentatively, Alfred sat down in front of the other bowl. He lifted the spoon but set it down again, choosing instead to reach across the table and take Leslie's hand again. "Thank you," he said, "for saving him. They are all I have." "No," Leslie said, folding her other hand over his. "They're not." ***