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“Okay.” Tim raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, so I probably shouldn’t have pointed out how many times I’ve been left on my own for longer than this before. I still feel like you’re maybe overcompensating a little here.”
“Forget that.” Jason’s voice was sharp with indignation. “You’re not even going to be on your own. And yes, I am taking that lack of faith personally—”
“Jason,” Bruce shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he didn’t have a headache before this conversation started, he would by the time it was finished. “You don't have to stay here if you don't want to, but this has nothing to do with not trusting you. You know perfectly well I did talk to you about this before I even mentioned it to Dick, and you thought you were going to be out of town at the time.”
“Yeah, well.” Jason’s arms were still crossed as he scowled at Bruce. “I’m not. You didn’t have to arrange for a babysitter to come take over.”
Bruce sighed deeply and looked to Alfred as if for backup. Alfred merely raised his eyebrows and returned the appealing look with a blandly unreadable one of his own.
“Dick is not coming as a babysitter,” Bruce reiterated with strained patience. “He’s coming as backup because he has some case leads to follow up on in Gotham anyway. My point was to remind you not to take any unnecessary risks tonight while you’re so shorthanded in the field. With Oracle sick and Spoiler—”
“And my point,” Tim said, “is that if you and Alfred don’t go pretty soon you’re going to miss your flight.”
“It’s a chartered flight. They’ll wait if they have to.”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Just get out of here already. He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. How much trouble do you actually think we’re going to find in the less than 24 hours until Dick gets here as ‘backup’? And more importantly, what has you so convinced he’s going to keep us out of it once he gets here instead of finding more of his own?”
Bruce, who had been reaching for his coat where it draped over the back of a kitchen chair, paused mid-motion.
“Will you shut up and quit making things worse?” Tim hissed at Jason.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said calmly. “I am sure the many cautions and instructions they have been left with will be quite sufficient for any difficulties they may find themselves faced with while we are away.”
“I know.” Bruce sighed. “I know you can handle it. I just don't like being out of contact so long.”
“Yeah, yeah, we'll miss you and so will Gotham,” Jason said. “We’ll be sure to give all the criminals an extra punch from you. Go have fun at your weird rich people retreat. Catch lots of bad guys. Everything will still be standing when you get back.”
“Hood? I need… pickup.”
Jason nearly skidded over the edge of the roof, checking himself so abruptly. “What happened?”
He should have known better than to split up for even a part of their patrol. There was just so much ground to cover and when Tim had wanted to do a circuit to check in on a few night workers at 24-hour corner stores they regularly kept tabs on—
It had seemed like a reasonable plan. Routine. Just putting in a few appearances to remind the neighborhood someone was keeping an eye on things.
It seemed less reasonable now, with Tim’s breathing rasping over the comm, quick with—fear? Pain? He could hope it was only the aftermath of a sprint across rooftops, but he doubted it.
“Answer me, Robin. What—”
“Sorry,” Tim said. “I kind of ran into a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” He was already pulling up Tim's tracking information as he dropped down into the alley where he’d parked his bike.
“The kind that requires pickup.”
“Tim,” Jason growled. “Are. You. Bleeding.”
“Yeah.”
“Yes?!” Jason revved his bike. “You could have led with that!”
“I was getting to it,” Tim mumbled.
“Are you safe right now?”
“I think so. I got away. Just kinda… stuck now. And my leg hurts too much to walk.”
Okay, well. That didn’t sound too bad. Might turn out to be nothing worse than a sprain, even.
Wait, no, he’d said he was bleeding.
“Where are you bleeding?”
“My leg.”
Okay, not just a sprain, then.
Getting a report from Tim in the field did not usually require playing twenty questions. It was—frustrating, obviously. But also more than a little concerning. He couldn’t tell if the evasiveness was just embarrassment making him downplay a stupid injury or genuine inability to focus well enough to give a coherent sitrep.
“How bad?” Jason asked.
Tim hummed thoughtfully. For a few beats of silence, Jason thought he was just taking a closer look in order to give a better assessment. Then it went on just a little too long.
“Robin,” he prompted again, “talk to me. How bad is it?”
“Oh.” Tim sounded startled. “Kinda bad, I guess. The knife’s still in there, though, so that’s good?”
So. No more taking anything he said at face value. He was definitely not in any shape to be making logical decisions right now.
“Yeah, that’s great. You got pressure on it?”
“Uh… I did. Dropped the gauze when I passed out and now it’s all gross from the ground.”
“Okay, well, you don’t need to stick dirty gauze back on there.” That was the last thing they needed, introducing whatever had accumulated in that particular patch of Gotham dirt into an open wound. Jason checked his location. Not far now. “Do you have any more?”
“Maybe.”
“Check for me and see if you can find some.”
“Have t’do everything myself ‘round here,” Tim grumbled.
“Just for a little longer,” Jason assured him. “I’m almost there. Couple more minutes, tops, then I’ll take over, okay?”
Tim made a sound that might or might not have been an acknowledgement.
“Did you find more gauze?” Jason asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good. You get it on there and keep up as much pressure as you can until I get there. Got it?”
“Mmhmm.”
The fact that he was responding was good. The rapidly flagging level of alertness in his voice was not.
“Hey,” he prompted. “No falling asleep yet. Keep talking to me. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
No response.
“Tim,” he snapped.
A sharp, stuttering inhale.
“That’s it. Wake up and talk to me.”
“Bossy,” Tim complained with a weary groan. “Who died and made you Bruce?”
…okay, not even going to start with that one. Instead, he said, “No names in the field.”
That—that was not making him sound less like Bruce, actually.
“You started it,” Tim pointed out.
Well. At least he was aware enough to keep track of that.
“And you are more than welcome to tell on me when B gets back, as long as you stay awake right now, okay?”
“Fine.”
Earlier, he’d said that he passed out. How long had he been out, and how much was he bleeding during that time without any pressure on that wound? Too much, if he was this out of it.
Jason pulled to a stop and dismounted his motorcycle, headed for the alley Tim’s location beacon was directing him toward. The area was deeply shadowed and, as far as he could tell as he ventured further in, entirely empty of anything that looked like a stray Robin.
“Hey, kid, tracker says you should be here, but I’m not seeing you.”
“‘M back here.”
He heard the faint echo of Tim’s voice just a little further on, as well as through the comm. A few quick strides brought him around the corner of a dumpster to find—nothing?
No, the very tip of a boot was just visible in the tiny space between the dumpster and the wall. Impressive hiding place. He certainly wouldn’t have guessed a person could squeeze in there.
“I’m here,” he told Tim. “You can come out now.”
A brief scraping sound, movement against gravel, and then, “Can’t. M’stuck.”
…maybe not an ideal hiding place, actually. It’d kept him safe long enough for Jason to get there, though, and that was the important part.
“Right. Just hang tight and I’m gonna pull the dumpster out a bit, here.”
Jason wrapped his hands around the edge and threw his weight into it, bracing one foot on the brick wall as he pulled. With a considerably louder scrape and a brief squeal of protesting metal, it reluctantly shifted. Not far, but good enough.
The second he had the space for it, Tim was moving. Or trying to. He pulled up short almost immediately with a muffled cry of pain, still instinctively trying not to draw attention.
“Easy, just wait for me to help,” Jason told him.
He crouched down by the opening and leaned in for a better look. Tim was not looking so hot, but at least he was still sitting up and still had a hand pressed down on the blood-soaked gauze around the knife sticking out of his left thigh.
“Well,” Jason said with forced cheer, “On the bright side, looks like you’re growing after all, shortstack. You’re getting too big for this.”
He expected an eyeroll, maybe a sarcastic comment. All he got was a grunt. Tim’s head was drooping.
“Robin.”
Tim picked up his head. It took a second more for him to actually focus.
“I need you to hang on to my shoulder, okay? I’m gonna move you out of there.”
Tim was sitting on his cape, which would make moving him smoothly at the weird angle a little easier, at least. Jason gathered the bottom edges up over his legs, bunching it in one hand to form a kind of sling as he slid his other arm under Tim’s lower legs. He waited for Tim to have a good grip, leaned forward with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.
“Moving on three,” he told Tim.
He gave the count and then moved, fast and smooth. It was more of a slide than a lift, just getting him far enough off the ground to pull him out of there without jostling him more than necessary.
No more than necessary didn’t mean not at all. Tim went stiff, smothering the sound that wanted to escape against Jason’s shoulder. He hated this every time, the need to make things worse in order to make them better. He could be quick about this part at least, setting Tim down where he could get a good look at him, his back propped against the side of the dumpster.
It took Tim a few seconds longer to release his death grip on Jason. He waited where he was until Tim eased back, trying not to think too hard about the dark puddle he’d caught sight of behind the dumpster, or the trail of red that had followed him, more visible out here in the light from his helmet.
“Let’s have a look at what we're dealing with, huh?” he said, once Tim had caught his breath a bit.
The knife was… sure in there. Which was, as Tim had said, probably a good thing under the circumstances, but it definitely didn't help the grisly look of it all. He’d have to stabilize it before he could move Tim anywhere else.
His hands found the pockets that held his first aid materials almost without thought as he studied the situation. Tim jerked and hissed as he started to press the gauze down around the knife, on top of what Tim already had there.
“Sorry,” he said, pressing down tighter. “Gotta get this slowed down. You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“N-not lost. ‘S right there. And… over there.” Tim gestured vaguely down the alley. Presumably in the direction he’d originally come from.
“That's not funny.” The blood was soaking through faster than he liked. He added some more gauze on top of the stack. “It was old when I was Robin and Dick tried to pull that shit.”
“Robin tradition. Gotta carry on…”
“No.”
Tim was swaying a bit where he sat, having tipped forward to watch Jason work. Jason caught his shoulder and eased him back to rest against the dumpster again.
“You are no fun when you’re in charge,” Tim complained.
“Most people,” Jason said absently, “would not be surprised by that fact. Red Hood is not known for being fun.”
He should be being more reassuring, though. Or at least trying to take Tim’s mind off things. Trying to take his own mind off things. It was hard to play along with weak jokes when his entire brain wanted to default to blood volume calculations and worst-case scenarios right now.
And something about Tim’s behavior kept pinging as off. It might have been confusion from blood loss, but…
“You hit your head?”
“No.”
“Look up at me a sec.”
When Tim did as he asked, he flicked the light of the helmet’s eyes up a bit higher, shining it in his face. Tim flinched and looked away, squinting as his face twisted in a grimace. Hm. Pupils were equal, but huge even under the light.
“Tell me what happened,” Jason prompted.
“A bunch of guys were trying to rob a bike messenger.” Tim’s voice was a little breathless, unsteady with the pain, but he seemed to gain more focus as he fell into the familiar routine of a report. “Dunno what he had but he wasn’t giving it over and they were getting mad. He took off when I jumped in, got away okay, but I didn’t see that they had another guy on lookout. Caught me off guard and one of ‘em got me with the knife. I got free long enough to hide, but…”
He seemed to run out of steam then, just waving a hand, as if to encompass the situation in general. Jason nodded, his eyes still fixed on the wound. None of that explained that vague sense that something was off, but it probably wasn't an immediate emergency. Unless it was, and he just didn't know it yet.
“Are you mad?” Tim asked.
“No.”
He wasn’t mad. He was trying very hard not to be terrified out of his mind. He needed this bleeding to slow down already so he could get Tim to some real medical care and it was taking all his focus not to yell at Tim right now, which he was well aware was completely unfair and something he would immediately regret, but—
“I kind of feel like you’re mad.”
“How am I supposed to help when I don’t know you need it? You couldn’t even stop to call backup before dropping into a fight that was clearly more than you could handle?”
Tim didn’t argue the slight on his capability. Instead, he dropped his head back against the dumpster with a sigh, then shrugged. “YOLO?”
“No, not YOLO!” He clamped down hard on the urge to shake Tim until his teeth rattled. It took considerable effort. “It was stupid. You know better.”
“Sorry.” For a second, Jason almost felt bad for snapping at him in this state. Then Tim kept talking. “‘sclusionary language. Forgot ‘s twice for you. YOLT sounds kinda dumb, though. Y’should come up with a better one.”
He was going to kill him. If Tim died while making death jokes even Dick would be ashamed of, he was going to find a way to bring him back just so he could strangle him with his own hands.
“The fact that I died isn't a reason for you to take stupid risks, either, dumbass! You're supposed to learn from my mistakes. You can’t help anyone if you’re dead.”
Tim blinked at him owlishly. Not exactly scared, but startled at the harsh tone.
“Sorry,” Jason said more quietly. “You scared me, that's all. You're gonna be fine. Just need to finish wrapping this. You picked a good spot to go down. Leslie's isn't far from here. She'll get you fixed up and we'll be home before you know it.”
Tim nodded, watching him quietly for a few seconds as he wrapped the bandages, carefully bracing the knife to make sure it wouldn't be going anywhere when he picked Tim up.
“Jason?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“It really hurts.”
“I know. I'm sorry. Just hang on a little longer, okay?”
“‘Kay.” It was more sighed than spoken. “‘M glad you’re here.”
Jason did not fumble the bandage he was trying to secure, but it was a near thing. He swallowed hard.
“Yeah. Me too.”
He just… really wished he wasn’t the only one here, right now.
Dick let himself in through the Manor's front door. For all that neither Bruce nor Alfred could be considered noisy on a normal basis, it was amazing how quiet the house felt when they were both gone.
Or maybe quiet wasn't the word. Empty. Like the soul of the place was missing, somehow.
He shook himself out of the morbid thoughts as he headed down the hall toward the parts of the house the family tended to gravitate to during the day.
“Anybody home?” he called out.
“In here.” Tim's voice, coming from the den, was a bit groggy. Like he'd been sleeping. Or maybe he was coming down with something. Or both.
Dick’s suspicions were further confirmed as he entered the room to find the TV turned on low—some kind of documentary, it looked like—and Tim lying on the couch, buried under a heap of blankets.
“Not feeling well?” Dick asked.
Tim shook his head.
“B didn’t say anything about you being sick yesterday. What happened, Jay give you food poisoning?”
“No.” Tim frowned at him. “Got the… what d’you call it. The blood goblins. Not enough of ‘em.”
“Goblins.”
“Mmhm.”
He sounded even worse close up. Looked it, too. Dick took in Tim's even-paler-than-usual face and listless, unfocused expression.
“Low hemoglobin?” he ventured.
“Yeah, that one.”
Dick’s eyebrows rose. “I believe it, but I don't think that's the only thing you've got going on right now, bud. What’s up?”
“I am also… on drugs.” Tim pronounced each word with careful precision.
Right. Obviously, this wasn’t just run-of-the-mill sickness or… random sudden onset anemia, but being highly medicated would definitely explain a few things, too.
“Okay. That also tracks. Why are you on drugs? What happened?”
“It's okay, ‘cause Jason gave ‘em to me,” Tim assured him.
Yeah, not exactly the part he was worried about at the moment, but good to know.
“I'm sure he had a very good reason,” Dick agreed. “What was the reason?”
“Dr. Thompkins said so.”
Dick drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Because you're injured?”
“Oh, yeah. Got stabbed.”
“You what?”
Tim sighed, more put upon than genuinely upset. “Don’t yell at me. Jason already did. And B’s gonna be mad when he gets back. And probably Alfred, too.”
The more he considered that line of thought, the more depressed Tim was starting to look.
“Okay,” Dick said, more gently. “I’m not going to yell at you. I’m just worried, that’s all. And surprised. Bruce only just left, I didn’t expect you to find that much trouble this fast.”
“‘S what Jason said too,” Tim grumbled. “He jinxed it.”
“Are you seriously blaming me for this?”
Dick did not flinch as he turned to see Jason standing in the doorway. Because he was much too experienced to betray the fact that his heart had just tried to lurch out of his chest. It was easy to forget just how quiet Jason could be when he wasn’t announcing his presence on purpose.
“Hey,” Dick greeted him. “Tim was just telling me he’s been doing drugs because his blood goblins are missing.”
Jason’s face contorted into something that looked closer to despair than amusement. “He’s been taking the medications that Dr. Thompkins prescribed,” he clarified. “Antibiotics and painkillers, which I’ve been keeping hold of myself to make sure he takes the right doses on schedule, given it's currently got him… like that.”
“‘S not my fault.” Tim scowled. “I'm hurt. You should be nice.”
“I am being nice,” Jason told him. “I made you soup, didn’t I?”
“Dunno. Haven’t seen it yet.”
Yeah, Tim was definitely sulking now. Jason rolled his eyes.
“That’s because I had to leave it to come out here and see what the commotion was.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Don't know how Alfred hasn't become a supervillain yet.”
Dick snorted and Jason turned to him with a kind of teeth-gritted pleasantness.
“Guessing you haven't had lunch yet. Do you want to eat in the kitchen or out here?”
“Might as well all eat together,” Dick said. “I’ll come help you carry stuff.”
He suspected the cooking this morning had been as much a product of stress as catering to Tim’s preferences. The smell of fresh bread was emanating from the kitchen, along with whatever soup Jason had made. He waited until they were out of earshot down the hall for any further comment.
“He's cute when he's loopy. Not the best storyteller, but cute.”
Jason grunted. “Least it’s only the pain meds now.”
“He just told me he was stabbed, no other details. How bad is it?”
“They got him good in the thigh, but Leslie says he should be okay.”
Dick accepted the bread knife Jason handed him and set to work on the fresh loaf, but took the chance to covertly watch Jason as he did. He was, to all appearances, focused on his task, gathering plates and bowls and silverware onto a tray. Dick could see the tension lingering underneath the surface, the rigid control that kept anything from rattling as he set each piece down with just the slightest degree of unnecessary force.
“Pretty rough night, huh.”
Jason’s back was to him now. Dick expected a dismissal. To be brushed off with an assurance that he’d had it under control. He’d handled it.
“Wasn't just the knife,” Jason said instead. “Apparently it was laced with some kind of sedative. Couldn't tell for a while there if there was a head injury we had to be worried about, or if the blood loss was…”
Dick froze mid-motion. His primary concern had been how Jason was handling things, but now his train of thought was suddenly diverted onto an entirely different track.
“What kind of sedative?”
“Weird one, don't have a name on it yet.” Jason gave him a sharp look, sensing the change in tone. “I've got a copy of the bloodwork downstairs. Knife’s in evidence for analysis, too, just haven’t gotten to it yet. Took Leslie a bit to figure out if it was safe to give him anything else, but it seems to have gotten out of his system fine. Why, you know something about it?”
“Maybe. It could be related to the case I'm here for, actually. We've had a few weird incidents in Blüd, and everything’s been pointing to some kind of experimental weapons being brought in through Gotham. I've got a lead on a possible seller, but the guys who attacked Tim could be a more concrete tie. I'll have to see what he can tell me about them.”
“Yeah, well.” Jason’s tone grew wry as he turned back to ladling the soup. “Good luck getting a straight answer on that in the near future. Might be able to get some footage of them coming or going, though. Like I said, I haven't had much chance to look into anything yet.”
“I’m not criticizing you for that, Jay. Of course he was the priority.”
Focused on Tim, last night, and this morning… focused on caretaking that doubled as distractions. Food like this took time. He hadn’t pulled it together in half an hour.
“You get any sleep at all?” he asked.
He was aiming for casual there. Nonconfrontational. Apparently he’d hit the mark, because Jason just shrugged, still focused on the food.
“Couple hours, maybe. Dozed off for a bit in a chair waiting for him to wake up at Leslie's. I’m good, though. Run on less all the time. You shouldn’t be going after this one alone.”
“Yeah. Doesn’t mean sleep wouldn’t help. After we eat, you're gonna let me take a shift keeping an eye on Tim. We’ll talk plans once you've had some rest.”
Jason nodded once, sharply. His expression, what Dick could see of it from this angle, was still grim and set.
“Hey,” Dick said gently. When Jason didn’t react, he added, “You said it yourself, he’ll be okay.”
“I told Bruce—”
“I know. And we all know this kind of thing can happen no matter who’s taking point that night. You did fine. We’ll handle the rest of it together.”
Jason nodded again. Maybe a little less angry with himself, though he didn’t look much less unhappy.
“C’mere,” Dick said, nudging his shoulder.
Jason yielded reluctantly to Dick’s hand on his arm, turning toward him. Dick stepped in to wrap his arms around him. He couldn’t envelop his little brother like he used to. It felt a whole lot more like hugging Bruce these days, a wall of stiff muscle and bone, but a good hug was a good hug, and this one was clearly needed. Unlike Bruce, it only took Jason a couple of seconds now to slump into the embrace, dropping his face to rest on Dick’s shoulder. A few more slow breaths and the worst of the miserable tension seemed to be draining away.
When Jason finally straightened again, Dick let him go, politely pretending not to see his covert swipe at his eyes with one hand as he turned back toward the food.
“We should get this out there before Tim decides I’m not going to feed him after all,” Jason said.
“Yeah.”
Jason cleared his throat, then added, not quite looking in Dick’s direction, “Thanks.”
“Course. Any time. You know how often I’ve done this when B was freaking out about someone getting hurt on his watch?”
That got Jason turning to look at him. Glare at him, more like. Dick didn’t work terribly hard to suppress his grin at that incredulous indignation.
“I am not acting like—”
“You kind of are.”
Jason gave an irritated, dismissive grunt and started to turn away, then froze, his gaze going distant. As if he’d only just heard his own reaction. The cycle of grief that passed over his face as he went from realization to horror was a thing to behold.
Dick clapped him on the shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m reliably informed it’s just part of the growing-up process, finding out you’re turning into your dad after all.”
Jason gave Tim’s very casual stance—leaning against the kitchen counter, no crutches in sight—a skeptical once-over before shaking his head. “You're never going to fool him, you know.”
“I am if you don't give it away, acting all guilty and suspicious.”
“I am not—” Jason sighed, giving up on the line of argument. “You know he's just going to find out when he reads the reports anyway.”
“Sure. But by the time he gets to that it'll go over much better when he's seen for himself I'm perfectly fine now.”
“Eh, might as well give him a fair shot at trying,” Dick put in. “We all know it's basically tradition at this point.”
“Fine, knock yourself out,” Jason said. “But if you’re gonna stand around waiting, do it over there. I’m not having Alfred come home to burnt dinner.”
Tim moved out of the way, one arm braced against the countertop to minimize his limp as he slid away from the oven Jason was bending down to open. Dick leaned across the kitchen island to get a better look.
“What’d you make?” he asked Jason. “Smells great.”
“Lemon chicken, asparagus, mashed potatoes, and sourdough rolls,” Jason said.
Dick hummed appreciatively. “Alfred’s gotta be so happy at least one of us took his lessons to heart.”
Jason darted a look at him, guarded, as if suspecting some hidden mockery. When he found nothing but open sincerity in Dick’s face, he turned back to the chicken, checking the temperature.
“Almost there,” he confirmed after a few seconds. “Hope they don’t get stuck in traffic. Hate to have it dry out on me now.”
As if in answer, they heard the click of the back door opening and shutting. Bruce came through into the kitchen, carrying his bag in one hand and Alfred’s in the other, and was met with a chorus of greetings in varying shades of casual-yet-pleased-to-see-him.
“Boys,” he returned, something in his face easing a bit at the sight of the three of them. “Given the lack of explosions in the news, I take it you didn’t run into too much trouble?”
“Nope,” Tim said. “Everything and everyone still standing.”
Bruce’s attention snapped to Tim. His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over him, assessing. Suspicious. “What happened.”
“Tim got stabbed and drugged a little,” Jason said. “The good news is, it gave us a great lead on Dick’s case so we got that wrapped up just fine and everything’s under control now.”
Bruce stared at Jason. Jason stared back, flat and unreadable. Every muscle of his body seemed to be locked up, waiting for Bruce’s next word to decide between fight or flight. They all knew which way he usually tipped, but at the moment Dick would actually put it at about 50/50 odds on either.
“How’d your thing go?” Dick asked. “Given the lack of scandalous exposés in the tabloids, I take it you got what you needed without too much trouble?”
Bruce blinked, breaking the staring contest with Jason to turn to Dick. The icy intensity that was too often the way his concern manifested on the outside thawed into the faint warmth of visible amusement.
“Yes,” he said. “It went fine.”
Bruce met his eyes, and the subtle shift in his body language as he set down his bags told Dick that the message was received. They could talk details later.
“Dinner smells wonderful,” Bruce told Jason. “I look forward to reading the report later. In the meantime, I'm glad everyone's still standing. Now stop trying to prove it and sit, Tim.”
Tim limped closer to drop onto one of the kitchen stools with a sigh. Bruce cupped the back of his neck with a hand, pulling him forward to plant a fleeting kiss on his forehead. It left Tim with a startled half-smile as Bruce turned back to Jason.
“You did fine,” he told him.
Jason's gaze cut away, dropping towards the countertop behind Bruce. “You haven't read the reports yet.”
“No. But I know you. Everyone's alright now. You did well.”
Jason still wasn't looking at him directly, so he was too surprised to resist when Bruce pulled the same maneuver he had on Tim. No bending over for Bruce this time. Not when their heights were so evenly matched that it was Jason’s head that had to tip down for Bruce’s kiss to brush against that white lock of hair that stood out against the black.
When Bruce pulled back, Jason was left silently opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before he could manage a bewildered, “Okay?”
The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched up in a more visible smile.
“I’m going to change before we eat,” he told them.
As Dick’s eyes met his again, he tipped his head in silent approval, a tiny gesture only Bruce would notice. You did fine.
They all had. And everyone was still here and, more or less, still standing. In the end, that was the important part.