Chapter 3: Tim

It wasn't Tim's fault that his homework still wasn't complete a week in from its assignment. Juggling college life, his social life, (or lack thereof), and his nightly debuts as a certain Red Robin, it was hard finding the time to write out each and every essay. Especially for literature analysis class, that Mrs. Short was a real shark. Sure he knew that taking online classes would've been easier, and much less time consuming, but he wanted the actual college experience. Deadlines came along with that.

Now though, as he was scampering to finish his ten page report on the nuclear civil wars in Kaznia, a quick glance at his laptop's digital clock made him groan, (in relief actually).

It was 3:00 A.M. Four hours until he had to turn the paper in, he'd make it with time to spare.

--line break--

It was around 5:10 when Tim finally finished up his project, fully prepared to get another hour of much needed sleep before turning in the paper.

Just as he was getting up from his slouched position in the cushiony swivel chair, an obnoxious ding came to life from his glowing computer's screen. A message from Alfred.

Quickly and without hesitation Tim opened the messaging application. He shifted back into the warm seat and began reading. His eyes glazing over as he took in each and every word.

"..Oh Dick" he whispered, his concern growing as he processed the diagnosis.

Taking the time, Tim stood and rushed to his closet, pulling out an old worn duffle bag from the top shelf. Removing the fake bottom he speedily changed into the black and red Kevlar bodysuit. Pulling up the smooth black cowl over his black hair and covering his face, then snapping the x-shaped utility belt (cough, cough sash) around his upper body, he opened his dorm's window and leapt out into the night.

His laptop still open on his desk.

(Note, his bow staff is collapsible and stored inside of a pocket on the outside of his right leg. Yes I am making this up. Is it true? Absolutely no idea).

--line break--

The closest Zeta Transporter to the Watchtower was nearly halfway across town.

On the way there Red Robin (Tim), had stopped an armed heist, thwarted two muggings, and had caught someone attempting to steal a picnic basket. That guy was also for some reason armed with a small silenced pistol, and a stuffed bear with a bowtie he referred to as Boo Boo.

Tim had make quick work of all of them, and had left them to the proper authorities. (Why a family was picnicking so early in the morning, -in Gotham no less!- was entirely beyond the teenager. Tourists probably). Finally with nothing more to distract him from the more pressing matters at hand, Red Robin arrived at the telephone booth shaped Z.B.T. (Zeta-Beam Transporter).

Recognized. B20, Red Robin.

A monotonous voice announced as soon as he stepped inside of the box like room. In a bright flash he was whisked away from the musty back alley. The call receiver and tinted windows melting into first a platinum white, and then becoming more solid. Metallic.

He took a moment to gain his bearings. Sure as a member of Young Justice Tim had used the Zeta-Beams to travel around the globe, almost like second nature, but after becoming Red Robin and settling down in Gotham he had little to no need for the flashy exits. Thus the tingling feeling in his fingers and toes.

Red Robin was in the Watchtower's Observation Deck, a ring of reinforced windows that allowed him to gaze forlornly out into the cosmos before him. The Zeta-Transporter to his back was still cooling down as he took stock of himself. Making sure nothing was lost during his momentary travel.

With his mind finally a bit more caught up, Tim made his way to the medical lab. Most of the rooms were occupied, getting hurt was a guaranteed part of the hero gig.

Speeding up his pace a little more he approached the rooms with the more, difficult, patients.

The ER was mostly empty. The only few rooms that had doors closed clearly in use. But somehow none of that mattered. That other heroes could be dying just beyond those doors, just out of sight. Not really. Because his brother was at the end of that hallway. Because Dick Grayson was the only one who mattered at that moment.

Tim Drake knew from experience that he was probably one of the more mature members of the Bat Family. Not cold hearted, no. Just a bit distanced.

But even his amazing analytical mind was having a great deal of trouble dealing with this particular mission. His brother was dying? It was too hard to process. Richard "Dick" Grayson had been through many things over the years, usually making through it with only a few scratches and broken bones and a quick quip to boot. But that's why this fatality was so damn fitting.

Nothing was more likely to kill his brother, than the man himself.

--line break--

"What do you mean you don't know how to fix him?!" The doctor before him, a man probably in his nineties or so gave him a hopeless shrug. Tim had been berating him for a little under ten minutes, for the man was one of the most incompetent human beings he had ever met.

The only things he could tell him were snippets of actual medical conditions, all of which a three year old could deduce. He means seriously. "He lost a lot of blood," and "It's an unusual case," weren't even close to the answers he was looking for. (At that point he didn't know what he was hoping for, but hey. Sleep deprivation did that to a guy).

He was counting on something being there. Something for him to fix, absolutely anything was better than nothing. God where was Leslie? That woman could solve this entire debacle. --

It was about then when something really broke through to him in the conversation. It hadn't really occurred to him in his mind until he saw the billowing golden cape enter the room.

A man stood by the door to Nightwing's room, a room which even Tim could not gain access to until Batman or another founding league member showed up.

Doctor Fate had arrived.

Tim Drake took a step back, ignoring the other doctor, things had just gotten a whole lot more serious. Batman had a strict policy on magic. Suddenly Red Robin didn't really want to see his older brother, he wanted a quiet place to brood. Without another word from the hero he marched off down the closest hallway. He had wanted anything right? Well that anything could stay the fuck away from him for a few god damn minutes. Magic meant that he was useless, techie or not he was no divine warlock.

(He was so frickin tired, he didn't even take the time to say anything to the doctor he was now shunning). The man behind him was no doubt confused as hell anyways. What was that guy's name? Stan something?

--short line break--

It had only been about an hour, before he was called back to that same waiting room.

But instead of Doctor Fate or even Batman greeting him there. He instead found himself facing two of his not so great brothers. Jason Todd, who still referred to him as Replacement, and the devil spawn, Damian Wayne.

Surprisingly when he entered the room it was the later who acknowledged his presence. "Drake." Damian nodded, his eyes narrowed but not particularly hostile or blood hungry. Tim blatantly ignored him in favor of turning his attention to his second eldest brother.

He also had a moment of panic that subtly forced him to make sure that there was no one outside of the bat family in the room to hear the dead name giveaway.

Jason usually took a jab at him any time they crossed paths, but he guessed that this situation was having dire effects on him as well.

His older brother was traveling light from the looks of it, he wasn't wearing his trademark helmet but instead a red domino mask. This allowed his black mangy hair with a streak of white to show proudly upon his head. His brother had also most likely gotten a haircut. Not that it was noticeable, but Alfred had made a very sly comment on how long it was last time Jason had visited the manor. Everyone knew you couldn't disappoint Alfred.

Jason was somehow missing his brown leather jacket. He wore only his thick standard armor of reinforced black fabric which was more of a t-shirt than anything, with a pair of torn jeans. Some of the shirt was stained with blood.

Wrapped around his waist in a way that was surely uncomfortable sitting down, was his belt of gun holsters. He carried only two small handguns, and from what he could see this shiny pair was modified in some way for his brother. (He couldn't identify the model). There was also something in another of Jason's empty holsters but his brother's position on the chair kept him from telling what it was.

Curiosity made Tim's eyes shift a little to have a look at his younger brother as well. It looked as though Damian had given up on getting a proper response out of Red Robin and had gone back to staring daggers at anyone who entered the room. He was rubbing awkwardly at his left leg.

Of course Tim also calculated that the door adjacent to the hallway was only about four feet from Nightwing's room. His brother was way too easy to read. "Where's Batman?" Tim asks, because surely if Damian is here, then so is the big bad bat. "He's in there, with Fate and Zatana." Jason snarks, the rest of his face doesn't move.

"Zatana's here too?" Tim asks in surprise. It wasn't a secret that the magician and their older brother had a history. "What does it matter, Drake?" "Nothing, it's just.." Before he can answer the door leading to Dick's room bursts open. The heavy metal door dents outwards dramatically before falling and landing with a heavy clang onto the barren waiting room floor.

There's no smoke, but the situation has all of the symptoms of an explosion. No one has to say anything, all of the Bat Brothers are standing at attention, weapons poised to attack. What no one expects though, is when Zatana runs from the room, tears streaming down her face.

"Zatana? What happened?" Tim questions. He tries to follow her, but he's pulled back by Damian. "Priorities Drake," is all that he gets before the newest Robin charges into the now doorless room. Jason is right behind him, albeit more cautious. Tim takes a second to compose himself, before he follows his brothers. Just what is going on here?

Tim only makes it a few steps inside the room before he stops. The sight before him is appalling. Right away he notices Bruce, or rather Batman sitting in a chair next to one of the three medical cots in the room. And on that singular cot is Dick Grayson, except he's glowing a deep golden yellow. Doctor Fate is no where to be seen, but the way Batman pierces the three brothers with his gaze, clearly demanding answers, directs Tim's attention from the Lord of Order.

"Calm down." The Dark Knight's voice demands compliance. Tim is ready to just willingly nod his head, however Red Hood apparently has other ideas. "What the hell was that?" He asks, his voice accusing. Damian doesn't look like he's listening, and is instead staring down at the unconscious Nightwing.

"Doctor Fate cast an enchantment, he's currently probing Nightwing's mind to see if he can detect any outside magical interference." Their father's response is calm and to the point. "He can do that?-" and "isn't that J'onn's job?" Are said simultaneously, by the two Reds in the room.

"Yes he can, but only with great concentration and focus. Martian Manhunter is currently off world, but we've asked him to return as soon as he can. Unfortunately it will take him at least twenty-four hours to reach the Watchtower." It's at this time that Bruce notices the silence of his most youthful partner.

Batman's glare lessens somewhat at the obvious concern in the young assassin. "Robin. Don't worry, we're dedicating all of the necessary resources to fix this problem as soon as possible."

"But what is the problem, father?" Damian asks, confusion tinging his words.

"I think I'd be the best one to explain this. Don't ya think?" Tim and Jason both spin around to face towards the new voice. Standing next to a cart covered in Petri dishes is Dr. Raymond Palmer. The superhero known as Atom flicks some pink gunk off of his shoulder and then stands to attention before the Bat Family.