Chapter Text

The bread was stale.

The fact it’s stale isn’t the cause of contention, really. Dick knows that being allegedly dead for over a year meant that certain perishables in his apartment would, as the name implies, perish. Eggs, milk, leftovers from Alfred, and certain sauces all were disposed of before Dick returned, as any smell of rot hadn’t assaulted him when he finally got home. Things like his oatmeal, various cereals, and coffee beans were left untouched, but some stashes – like the bread, or the protein bars he kept in his bedside drawer – were moved, or replaced, as brands he’d never normally buy from invaded his apartment.

But it’s been a few weeks, now. Just under a month since Dick came back, and his bread was stale. Bread he’d bought a day after returning, and evidently hadn’t eaten, and hadn’t intended to eat long enough for him not to notice the mold growing, or the hardness that spread outward from the middle of each slice.

He doesn’t want to throw it away. He’d opened the bag once, the day he bought it, to make… something. He doesn’t quite remember, but he knows it had tasted bland, because that was all he could stomach back then. Now. Whenever.

But it was stale. It was taking up space (which he could spare – the cabinets were barren, save for cereal, or bundles of cans of ciders and sodas), which was wasteful. It’ll stink up his apartment, soon, if he doesn’t get rid of it. Then he’d get complaints. And he doesn’t think he can deal with the legalities of being evicted over one-too-many fuckups, so he throws the bread into the bin, and opens a protein bar instead.

It’s a conscious effort to chew, to go through the motions, but his body reminds itself of the rhythm soon enough.

Dick wanders from the kitchen back into the living room, hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Stale bread aside, he’s been doing well enough – he’s managed to keep up some contact with Damian, despite tensions. The little robin checks in every few days with barely concealed requests for team-ups, for mundane interactions like, ‘The children in my Arabic Language course are infuriating, unavoidable leeches, however did you deal with them?’ to which Dick would tease him for. Damian would evade conversation soon after, going dark, up until the next complaint he has.

A notification lights his phone – no, Dick realises: it’s a phone call. ‘Little Wing!’ the screen says, which Dick pauses his trek for. Stuffing his face with the last of the bar, he doesn’t hesitate to answer, despite – well. Jason’s been no-contact basically since he returned, save for their explosive, albeit small, reunion.

He takes a breath. “Hi, Jason,” Dick says. “What’s up?”

A silence ensues, which Dick uses to crumple the wrapper still in his hand. He drops it on the floor and collapses onto the sofa. “Jason?”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ – I heard ‘ya, shit, gimme a second.” Jason’s gruff voice sounds over the receiver. This, too, gives Dick pause. He’s beginning to feel like a statue.

His voice sounds – hoarse, though that’s all Dick can discern before Jason finishes whatever he was doing. “Look, Dickhead, I need’ta. I don’t know. Where are you?”

Concern pounds his heart against his ribs. He feels his blood pressure rise. “My apartment, I was just about to head out. Where are you? Is – Is something wrong–”

“No!” Jason says quickly, shutting Dick up. He blinks into the white walls of his barren home. “No, no. Nothing’s wrong, just. Are you coming to B’s later? For their stupid fuckin’ shitshow of a dinner?”

“I,” Dick begins, then stops. Frowns. “I wasn’t planning on it. I haven’t, um. Gone for a while. You know that, Little Wing.”

“No, yeah, I know. I know.” Jason sounds mildly – distressed, Dick thinks, and curses the shit quality of phone calls. He hears his little brother take a breath. “Don’t go, anyway. I’m coming over. Stay the fuck put.”

What? “What? Wait,” But he hears the click of Jason hanging up, and swears, fumbling to call him back.

It goes unanswered.

“What the hell,” He whispers into the silence. Predictably, there’s no reply.

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*“Hey. It’s, uh. It’s Dick. It’s been– it’s been rough, lately. Apparently you died a month ago. Or so Bruce told me. I had to pry it out of his stubborn fucking mouth, but he told me. *

“I missed your funeral. I’m sorry. I think you would’ve hated it, anyway. Me being there. You would’ve called me a loser for crying so much.

“I’ve been back a week. The Titans have left me alone, for now. It won’t last, I know it won’t, but I’m grateful for the space. I think. I don’t know. I don’t know.

• “I’m sorry I wasn’t – I wasn’t there, little wing, when you – God, you tried to call me, didn’t you, that’s what–*

“God, fuck, I’m– I’m so sorry, I didn’t– I–”

-

Half an hour later, there are pounding knocks on his door. After Dick’s previous worry about being evicted due to a large amount of complaints, he barely holds back a sigh.

It’s definitely Jason. A wave of faint trepidation rushes over him – it’s been weeks – but this is his little brother, and despite the assuages that ‘nothing’s wrong,’ something definitely is, because he’s broken what is basically his vow of silence – to Dick, anyway – for what? To keep Dick away from a dinner he wasn’t going to attend?

He blows out a breath. Another, more impatient-sounding knock resounds from the door, and so Dick finally swings it open.

“The hell took you so long, Dickhead? I was standing there for fuckin’ ages.” Jason gruffs, shouldering past Dick with noticeable restraint.

It’s the first touch he’s had since Jason socked him round the face.

Dick closes the door silently. The windows allow sunlight to invade his living space, giving Jason no chance to shadow any expression. It’s how Dick sees the tightness in his mouth, the furrow in his brow; in turn, Dick keeps his face open, relaxed, as he meanders into his kitchen and flicks on his coffee machine.

He realises he hasn’t responded. “If you’d have given me more warning for an ambush, then maybe I would’ve been more urgent.”

Jason scoffs, shooting him a sarcastic smile. “That right?” He asks, and the dropped cadence makes Dick frown. He turns to lean against the counter, watching as Jason slowly takes in his apartment – the mess of his living room, the dishes in his sink, the open door to his bedroom which is equally as messy – but he doesn’t comment further.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Dick asks into the silence. He doesn’t give Jason time to wave off his concerns again. “I know you’re not – happy with me, right now,” Dick gives Jason time to scoff. He doesn’t. A little off-kilter, a little less certain, he continues, “But I’m here, Little Wing. I know it’s something personal.”

His little brother finally glances back at him, frowning, but not surprised. Dick breathes in for a second, two, before asking, “Is it Bruce? Did he–”

“Alright,” Jason interrupts, looking at him like he’s – Dick doesn’t know. He can’t tell. Jason’s face twists. “Alright, stop your fucking – stop. Sit.”

When Dick doesn’t move, he gestures to the couch with controlled aggression. “Sit.”

Hesitantly, Dick abandons the coffee he was attempting to make, and sits on the couch. Jason doesn’t join him; he begins to pace across the carpet.

“Jason,” Dick says, “Jason, seriously, what’s up? What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” Jason echoes, sounding incredulous. Dick swallows. “What’s going on? I’ll fucking tell you what’s going on, it’s that no one’s heard from you in days, your trackers say you haven’t left your shitty apartment in a week, and you missed the awful monthly get-together which I had to attend, *alone, *because you decided not to show up!

“And what’s worse,” Jason continues with thinly concealed anger, “is that you lied to me, earlier, because all you’ve been doing recently is lying, and you weren’t going to leave here, were you? Goddamnit, Dick – we thought you were dead! Again! Because you just decided that you don’t give enough of a shit to let anyone know that you’re fine, despite there being no Nightwing sightings for five consecutive days!”

Dick reels back at the force of Jason’s words. He watches, throat constricting, as his brother runs a hand through his hair, evidently stressed, before he stops his pacing to turn a burning glare on Dick.

“Not that I give a shit anymore, but you can’t just drop off the face of the Earth, you son of a bitch. No CCTV picked you up. Your suit hasn’t moved. Fucking – you haven’t opened your front door since Monday.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick manages around the tightening of his airways. His mouth has gone dry. “I’m sorry, Jay. I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I’ve just been– sick. For a little while.”

Jason scoffs. All Dick can think is finally. “Yeah? That your excuse?”

“Yeah,” Dick tells him. “Yeah, it is. What, you don’t believe me?”

“Fuck no, I don’t believe you! We’ve established you’re a liar, haven’t we?” Jason’s tone turns mocking. Amused, maybe. Dick can’t tell. Can’t focus enough to pin it down. “If you were sick,” He spits, as if the words offend him, “then why wouldn’t you tell Bruce? Huh? Your partner in-fucking-crime?”

“You know I don’t tell B everything. You know that. I haven’t even spoken to him recently, why would that prove anything?” Dick feels– lost, a little. He deserves this ire. He just doesn’t know why it’s happening now, again, what triggered it this time. “Jason, you’re not telling me something. What aren’t you telling me?”

Jason turns away. Dick stands, but doesn’t approach. “Jay,” He softens his voice, worry making his heart jackrabbit.

“I found,” Jason says, quieter than before. “I found my old phone from. Before. Cracked the stupid fuckin’ passcode. Found some shit.”

Dick waits for Jason to continue. When he doesn’t, he prompts, just as quietly, “What’d you find?”

He sees Jason swallow. Watches as his chest expands in a breath, then deflate as he lets it out in one massive blow. “Your voicemails. Over a hundred, at least, from when I died up until a year ago.”

Dick stops breathing.

“I listened to a few,” Jason continues, as if Dick hasn’t had the rug pulled from under him. “No, I listened to them all. Every last one. Over three hours of missed calls. But shit wasn’t adding up, in some places, with some things.”

When Jason finally turns back to Dick, his face crumples, barely. “I didn’t mean the shit I said earlier. Well, I did. Don’t go fucking – silent, again, because then they all get on my ass and I just – anyway. I’m not actually pissed at all that. Not this time. I just.”

It’s times like these that Dick is violently reminded that Jason isn’t all that old. Barely able to drink. He doesn’t seem like it – Dick assumes he does it on purpose, making them all forget. But Dick sees it, sometimes, in the way he holds himself, the way he hesitates and talks.

“Shit wasn’t adding,” Jason says with a guilty note to his voice. Dick forms his hands into fists to hide their shaking. “So I talked to RR. And Oracle. To try and clear things up.”

“What–” Dick’s voice catches. He clears his throat, tries again, feeling like his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’m sorry. You were never supposed to find those.” Dick offers a smile, one of his best, one he tries to reassure with. Jason glances away. “I’m sorry, Little Wing. None of those would’ve been nice to listen to. For what it’s worth, whatever I said – I’m better now! Over it all.”

Jason pins him with a stare. “Yeah? That why you’ve become a depressed recluse?”

“That’s not fair,” Dick tells him. “That’s– I was sick, Jason. I told you that. What do you want me to say?–”

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*“It’s not fair. Death isn’t ever fair, I know that. Everyone knows that. *

“Ma believed in fate in the same way a Christian believes in God, did I ever tell you? She used to say that there’s a reason for it: dying. How only time- retrospect, not that either of us knew that word in English at the time– could show that not all tragedy was bad. Sometimes, sad things happen. But they always happen for a reason.

“What reason was there for her murder? For Pa’s?

*“For yours? *

*“It’s not fair that the Joker lives and you don’t. It never will be. He had no right, taking life away from you. That’s nature’s job. But he thought he could– had the right to– *

“He had no right–”

“I want you to stop lying to me, Dick!” Jason snaps, albeit with less of anger than before. “I want you to be honest with me for once! I heard– I heard shit, and the shit you didn’t say, and then there was that shit in the background, and I.” To Dick’s horror, Jason’s hands begin to shake. He barely thinks before he takes them in his own, attempting to quell the tremors, hiding them from his view.

“I’m sorry,” Dick tells him again, somewhat desperately, mildly encouraged when he isn’t shaken off. He clasps a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I mean it, I never meant for you to listen to those–”

“That’s the fucking *point! *The point is that you were never going to tell me anything, were you? You weren’t going to tell anyone!”

He’s being too vague. Dick doesn’t know how to diffuse or clear up whatever Jason’s learnt without potentially revealing more than he wants to. “It’s not your burden.” Dick says as calmly as he can manage. “It was never for you to hear. And I’m sorry you found out whatever you did the way you did. It’s – impersonal.”

He takes a breath and is glad when it’s steady. “Tim and Babs are investigating, you said?” At Jason’s slight nod – more of a twitch – Dick feels a flair of panic rising. He squashes it best he can, lest it show, somehow. He’s only glad Cass isn’t here; she’s at the manor, hopefully, where she’ll stay. “Well, why’re they doing that, when I can answer any question you have?”

“You don’t,” Jason sounds frustrated. “You don’t want that. You don’t want to tell me shit, you never do.”

“No,” Dick agrees, finally stepping away and falling back into the couch. “No, of course I don’t, Jay. Whatever I have going on is for me to deal with, past or present. I have people – who aren’t my little brothers and sisters – to talk to.” Well, he had. Not since Spyral. Not since he died. “But you know whatever it is you know, and I can’t change that. So it’d be better if I cleared it up, sooner rather than later, yeah?”

Jason stares. It prickles faintly against his skin, but Dick meets it head on, despite how shaken he feels.

“Good,” he says, taking the spot next to Dick on the sofa. “But we should bring in Tim and O for this. I don’t know what the fuck they’ve found, but they’ve been periodically blowing up my phone like I’m an on-call fucking officer, so it’s probably something.”

Dick closes his eyes briefly. There’s a moment where he’s floating, an abyssal nothing lapping at him. “Yeah,” He says in a breath. Keeps his eyes closed. “Easier to explain once, get it all out in the open in one go.”

There’s a charged silence, which makes Dick wary enough to glance at Jason. His brother is looking straight ahead, hands clasped in front of him, phone propped on his knee. “We’re not all gonna fit in this shithole. There’s a safehouse not too far from here that I can get Babs and Tim to go to.”

It’s less of an offer. Dick knows when he doesn’t have a choice. He swallows. “Alright.”

Jason finally looks at him, the afternoon sun making his cold gaze appear warm. Softens him, almost, as dull as a jaded knife can be. “Alright.”

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“H–

“Um, hi, Jay. It’s been a little while, huh? Timmy – Timmy, he was. Taken, by the Joker. A few days ago. We got him back yesterday.

“I thought he died. Like you. I thought – Robin was mine, you know? And ever since– ever since B took it away from me– it’s like some sort of omen. I thought… if Tim died, as Robin, because he was Robin–

“It’d be my fault. Because Robin was mine. My mother gave it to me. I don’t think I ever told you that. She used to call me Robin. Am I ruining her? What I have left of her? She wouldn’t have wanted— she was so good, Jay, I miss—”

(A breath, shuddering.)

“And anyway, B took that namesake away from me, and gave it to you, and you d-died, and then Timmy–

“... Don’t blame me, Jay. Please. I didn’t… I feel so–

“When he said what he did to you– what he did to Tim, I lost it, I, I– B brought him back, but it’s, God, I wish he hadn’t. It’s not fair. It’s never fair. I feel blackened, Jay. I’m so angry, I can’t, I don’t know what to do with myself, and he just, he just revived him without thought, and all I could think was, ‘that bastard killed him, and now you bring him back?’ How dare he? H-how could he?

“I’m sorry.”

(A choked noise. A stifled sob.)

“I’m sorry.”

Tim is already inside when Dick and Jason arrive.

They’d taken their time, Dick finally making his coffee and putting in a thermal cup to keep warm. He’d offered Jason some, but he’d only shaken his head, and motioned to the door.

Dick hadn’t bothered to drive separately. He backpacked off of Jason, who had tried to force a helmet onto his head – the only one he had, at the time. Dick didn’t let him. Asked him to let him have this.

Jason had glared, called him a dick, called him– something else he doesn’t remember, but had let it be.

Twenty minutes later, and they were in a nondescript apartment on the ground floor. Jason had squeezed his shoulder briefly before walking in, Dick following behind as relaxed as he could.

The safehouse was open-plan, bigger than Dick’s apartment, with two sofas in the living room and an island in the kitchen. It was clean, but obviously used, with things out of place, like books and blankets.

“Heya,” Dick says to Tim, who’s currently sitting on one of the sofas, his legs bundled up beneath him. He was messaging someone when they arrived, but has since put his phone down and stared at Jason and Dick up until Jason walked away to grab water.

Tim gives a small smile. “Hi,” He says, “it’s… been a while.”

Dick’s chest expands and deflates in quick succession. Tim– he’s hurt Tim, with Spyral. It’s not even that he’d died, he’d said– it was the fact he’d lied. He hadn’t needed to, and yet.

(“You know,” Tim said with a deadly calm, but his knuckles were white around the armchair, and his voice shook like winter. “What it’s like. Thinking someone you’re close to is dead. To grieve for them. You’ve done it–what, five times already?”

Dick said nothing, heart in this throat.

“You know! You know it so fucking well, and you– you still–” Tim’s eyes fill with tears, his face bunching, his nose slowly turning red.

It’s crushing him. Dick can’t breathe. Tim storms away before he thinks to speak. He only ever sees him as Red Robin, after that.)

“Why, Timbo, I saw you just last week, didn’t I?” Dick smiles lopsidedly, turning away before Tim can see how it doesn’t reach far. Reach his eyes. He busies himself with taking his shoes off. “I get it, anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

Tim looks away. Dick manages to free himself from his god awful trainers and offers Tim his coffee. A peace offering, maybe. He just wants the kid to stop looking so– guilty. So guilty. “Think you’ll need this more than me, with the last few hours you’ve supposedly had!”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees mutedly. Dick’s smile falters, he knows it does, because Tim immediately takes the offered drink and tags a swig. “Thanks, Dick.”

“‘Course. Gotta feed the caffeine addiction, right?” Dick teases.

Tim gives him a wry grin, but there’s some spark back in his eye. “It’s not an addiction if I can stop at any point.”

Jason walks back with a clear glass of water, half-filled. “That’s what addicts say.” He tells them.

“Good thing I’m not an addict, then.”

Jason snorts. “Those raging bags beneath your eyes seem to be telling me otherwise–”

“That’s fashion now! And it’s because I got too much sleep, which couldn’t have happened if I drank too much caffeine, which I’d do if I were an addict. Which I’m not.”

Dick looks between the two of them, their bickering, and settles against the couch with a smile he can’t contain. It’s warm here, in their company. It’s been too long. It’s been over a year.

He’s happy they’re getting along.

“Anyway,” Tim says, evidently chastised by– something, with the way he glances to Dick and then away again, sheepish. “Anyway. The voicemails.”

The warmth seeps away. “Right.” Dick says under his breath. In his peripheral, Jason straightens. “Yeah. I thought Babs was going to be here?”

It’s a deflection, but a valid one. Tim concedes it without argument. “She’s at the Tower, still. Looking into something else. She’s also keeping Bruce off my tail, since I’m ditching for this.”

Dick hums.

“Something relevant?” Jason asks Tim. “Like, to this?”

“Kind of. Not really. I won’t know until she sends me an update.” He uncurls from his position on the sofa, throwing his feet into Dick’s lap. The casual touch brings back some of the golden sun from earlier, running in his veins. “It could be nothing, it could be related. We’ll find out eventually.”

“Could I help with it at all?” Dick asks. He feels Jason’s incredulous stare. “Like, narrow down any possibilities?”

“You?” His brother seemingly can’t help but ask, blowing bleach-white hair out of his face. “You, who would rather become a recluse than reveal one teensy tiny fucking secret? You’re offering this freely? I had to yell at you, goddamnit–”

Dick throws a pillow at Jason, ignoring his spluttering. He stares at Tim imploringly.

Tim fidgets with the rings on his hands. “I don’t think so. Again, I don’t know. You probably could, but I’ll find out within the hour, anyway, and we have other things to talk about.”

He sucks in a breath. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Damn right it’s fair.” Dick turns to look at Jason again, who meets his eyes with hesitancy. He pauses. “Listen, Big Bird, neither of us know how to do this shit. But we want to… be there for you, okay? It’s not fuckin– it’s not fair that you have to keep shit to yourself whilst also taking on all our bullshit. Do you get that?”

“‘Course I do, Jay,” Dick says. It isn’t a lie. He gets it, in theory. He understands.

Jason seems to get this, because he scowls. “Shut up. Fuck did I say about the lying? You get it, but you don’t believe it at all, do you? I mean it, dickhead. We all do. The shit we heard– that you said–” Dick tenses. “It can’t just all go away. We couldn’t be there for you then, so we’re here now, and if you even fuckin’ think about trying to deflect like you normally do, I swear to God I’ll get the little demon brat in on this, too.”

Dick can’t help the flare of anger that rises in his chest, so sudden that it takes his breath away. “Don’t. Don’t bring Damian into this, Jay, I mean it. He’s a kid. He doesn’t need to know.”

Before Jason can speak, Dick continues, “And anyway, I’ve already agreed to answer whatever you want. It’s all in the past. There’s nothing to be ‘here for,’ okay? I’m all good. I’m just doing this so you all stop freaking out.”

Tim clicks his tongue. “Even so,” He says like he doesn’t believe a word that just came out of Dick’s mouth. “We’re family, Dick. We rely on you. You can rely on us, too.”

He speaks before he can think. “Like you have since I’ve gotten back?” Dick snaps, and then immediately goes cold.

Jason’s face tightens in fury. “We thought you died, forgive us for being fucking– pissed the hell off, you piece of shit, you let us believe you were six feet below when you were actually travelling the goddamn world–”

“Jason,” Tim warns.

“No, no, let him hear this.” Jason stands, towering over the two of them. Dick keeps his face blank. “You can’t expect us to actually– you broke m– our trust, gallivanting off to that stupid undercover mission, as they fucking– mourned you! You don’t get to be mad at us for needs space after learning that you’re just a sad fucking–”

Tim stands, too. “Jason! Seriously!” He raises his hands, putting himself between Dick and Jason. It makes his stomach knot thinking about how Tim has to mediate this. He shouldn’t need to. This is Dick’s fault.

“Let’s just– Jason,” Tim’s voice lowers, barely above a whisper. “That’s what Oracle is looking into. Something isn’t right.” He glances to Dick when he says this.

Blood rushes in his ears.

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*“Hiya, Jay. *

“I haven’t got much to say since last time. Do you remember what I told you? Roy and I drove around on my bike. This time, I let Roy drive. He isn’t insured. Don’t tell B.

“... I’ve, uh. I’ve been thinking. I could’ve been so much better to you. I wasn’t… we weren’t that close, I know. I’m sorry. I only know the small things about you. Your name. Age. How you were still afraid to grapple, but do it anyway, because you didn’t want to embarrass yourself. I wouldn’t have minded. I’d have caught you. I would’ve tried.

“I don’t know what your favourite colour is. Isn’t that funny? I don’t know. I won’t ever know. I can’t ask B. I… We’ll just argue again. It’s all we do now. It’s bad for Tim, so I’ve been… I’ve been in ‘Haven more. Visiting less.

*“Anyway. I think you hated the colours of Robin, secretly. It’s just a gut feeling. Thank you for wearing them. They’re the… They’re the Grayson colours, you know? *

*“I’m glad you were so happy to be a Robin. *

*“I’m sorry that it killed you.”

A hand is placed on his shoulder. “Dick?” Jason bends into his field of vision, frowning severely.

A glance tells Dick that Tim is hovering behind, but that’s all he gets before Jason snaps his attention back again. “Jesus. You’re back? You good?”

Dick nods. Jason huffs as he leans away, sharing an indecipherable look with Tim. “Sorry. I’m– yeah, I’m pissed at you, but that’s not the point here. Didn’t mean to… freak you out.”

“It’s fine,” Dick tells him. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I think I’m just tired.”

“Don’t give me that shit, asshole,” Jason says harshly, dropping back into his chair. Dick follows suit, and only then does Tim settle back down on the couch, closer this time, just out of reach. “I know you, unfortunately. We’re coming back to that later.”

Drumming a hand in the space between himself and Tim, Dick nods, feeling the noose slip around his neck. He’s fucked.

”Okay,” Dick says.

Tim’s face twists into a mix of apprehension and awkwardness, as if he can tell from the bland tone that Dick is — well, reluctant, by every stretch of the word. Still, he doesn’t comment, so they move on. “How much did Jason tell you?”

At that, Dick manages a wry smile. “Not much. I know you’ve heard the voicemails, but honestly, it’s been a while. I can’t even remember when I last sent one, much less what it was about.”

It isn’t a lie. Tim looks at him like it is one, anyway. “Okay. Sure. The last one is probably — the easiest, all things considered. Innocuous compared to the rest. I’ve, uh,” Tim begins to look abashed, dodging Dick’s gaze to stare past his head at the wall. Jason shifts in Dick’s periphery. “I’ve tried to compile a timeline—“

”A timeline,” Dick echoes with more levity than he feels. He raises a brow when Tim’s ears flush red. “Uh huh.”

Delaying a response, Tim takes a swig from the travel mug. Dick shares a look with Jason; incredulous, but largely unsurprised.

It brings a warmth to his chest. His brothers. He hadn’t thought he could be in the same room as them again, as civilians, with no animosity in the air — much less sharing a humorous glance with them. The sudden sappiness must show on his face, because Jason’s brow twitches in annoyance.

”Yeah,” Tim continues, drawing Dick back into the present. “A timeline. You shared some stuff from when you were with the Titans—“

”Actually, you know what,” Jason interrupts, abrupt, “yeah. Yeah, let’s start with that.” He turns bodily, making severe eye contact with Dick that makes him, suddenly, nervous.

”What’s this about Deathstroke?”