Dick gets the call while he's out with Tim, which is why he's reluctant to answer it even before he knows who it is. It's the first time he and Tim have spent time together since Dick had been ousted as alive and had gone back to being Nightwing. They're supposed to be patrolling Gotham together in a fit of nostalgia, but instead they're both perched on the roof of an old, crumbling cathedral, enjoying the companionable silence that one can only achieve with a sibling.

In any case, the silence is broken by Dick's cell phone.

"Seriously," Tim laughs, "how the Hell did you fit that in your skin tight suit?"

"Years of practice, my friend," he grins. "Let me just ignore the call and. . ."

Tim is immediately alert. "What's wrong?"

Dick sighs so long that Tim is almost impressed. "It's Red Hood. That can't be good." Nightwing visibly steels himself and answers. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hood's returning sigh comes as static over the phone. "I'd call Red Robin but he's probably in San Francisco with the rejects."

"Actually, he's with me! Though I'm still not sure why you'd call either of us."

"Aw, you know, the usual. Just wanted to catch up, see how the big guy is holding up. Personally, I'm doing pretty well. Other than the fact that Plastique knocked me out and put a bomb around my neck that I can't defuse or see the timer to."

Dick stands up so abruptly Tim almost gets knocked over. "Where are you?"

"Pier 25. She's gone, nursing a bullet wound to the shoulder, but I'm stuck in a certain radius. No civilians at this time of night, though."

"I'm on my way," he says. Then, to Tim: "Go get the micro EMP from the cave and meet me at Pier 25. Jason's strapped to a bomb."

"No offense, Dickiebird, but I really don't need a babysitter. I'll send you a picture of the timer and you can let me know what I've got left from the comfort of the Saint Joseph's Cathedral."

Dick's already on his bike, but Saint Joseph's looms behind him. "How'd you know?"

There's an audible pause, but Dick's not sure why that question requires any deep thought. "Contrary to your hopes and dreams, Dick, we're not actually strangers."

"I guess Santa didn't get my list this year," Dick lobs back. He doesn't hear a reply over the road noise.

When he arrives, Jason already looks a little singed. One sleeve of his leather jacket is in tatters and his hair is stuck in dried blood on the side of his face. Dick parks the motorcycle a good distance away, but doesn't come any closer when he sees Jason's outstretched hand.

"I know you've got binoculars on that bike somewhere," he says. "Use those. I don't think the blast radius is that big, but better to be safe."

Dick pulls out his binoculars. "Wow, concern? Now I'm really worried."

Jason briefly lifts his mouth in a smile. Dick can see it and his somewhat dazed eyes through his binoculars. "Well, I'm pretty sure I have a concussion, so there's that. What's it say?" He lifts his head up to extend his neck.

"5 minutes, 14 seconds. Tim will get here in half the time. Can I come closer now?"

Jason cocks his head to the side as Dick walks over. "Wow, concern? Now I'm really worried," he parrots.

Dick snorts and sits down cross-legged across from Jason. He can just barely hear the faint beeping from the timer. "So," he says, grappling for small talk, "Plastique, huh? How'd you piss her off?"

Jason hangs his head for a split second. "I didn't. She had outdated information and wanted to hurt someone else. And you do realize that I've got a bomb around my neck and you're asking me what I did wrong, right?"

Dick's eyes soften. "Sorry. Who was she targeting?"

Jason scowls. "What does it matter? It's not Batman, if that's what you're worried about."

Dick rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he's my number one concern right now. Seriously, Jay, just tell me."

Dick watches the timer get down to 4 minutes before Jason replies. "Talia," he finally says, and his voice is far less drenched in sarcasm and cynicism than Dick has heard in a long time. "Apparently, Talia pissed off a group of supervillains by refusing to join them, and Plastique wanted to send a message that that wouldn't fly by hurting someone close to her."

Dick's throat is dry. "You and Talia are close?"

"No!" Jason yells, and his eyes are almost pleading. "We were, maybe. But that was before. After she– After Damian, I stopped answering her calls. We haven't seen each other since before all of that."

He nods his head, but doesn't respond. Jason takes his elbows off of his knees and sits upright, drawing himself up even though the motion hurts his temple and his eyes are still unfocused.

"You know that I wouldn't talk to her after what happened. You know."

Dick looks up into his eyes, confused as to Jason's adamant tone. He can feel the lump in his throat grow worse the longer he thinks about Damian, but he swallows around it to answer. "Yeah, Jason. I believe you."

"He was just a fucking kid, and he–"

"I know, Jason. I was there."

They look at each other in silence for a few seconds more. The timer clicks down to 2 minutes.

"Listen," Jason says. Dick doesn't listen, chooses instead to keep his eyes on the metal collar that's counting down. "Dick, listen."

He finally looks up again. Jason's eyes are dry; Dick doesn't think he could say the same about his own.

"Babs slapped me at your funeral." Jason goes to laugh, but it's just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. "She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered," his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, "did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?"

"Bruce," Dick croaks. "I hit him, too. I regretted it, but I did. I hated Bruce."

Jason breathes in deeply and sighs, as though this were some great relief, as if that had been the best news he had ever heard. "I should," he starts, then shakes his head a bit to gain focus. "I should be sorry. I should apologize to you for– for everything. But I'm not sorry, Dick. And that's not what I want to say."

"What do you want to say, Jason?" Dick whispers.

Jason smiles for real now, a Robin smile: self-assured and cocky and optimistically bright. "I am really fucking glad that you're alive." Jason kept the smile on his face as long as he could, but soon his mouth faltered and began quivering.

Dick, speechless and aware that the only reason he was hearing this was probably because of the concussion, grabs Jason by the nape of his neck, just above the collar. They've got thirty seconds now; if Tim doesn't come back soon with the EMP, they're goners.

Jason knows that, too, even without seeing the timer. "Okay, time for you to back up now."

Dick shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you."

"Come on, Big Bird. You really going to do that to everyone again?"

"Are you really going to do this to me?"

The beeping gets louder and Jason shoves Dick back across the ground, unable to scrabble back himself because of the bomb's perimeter. Dick can't make out if Jason's eyes are dry or wet from where he's landed, but Jason looks calm. He is fearless.

Suddenly, the power dies around them, and the streetlights are dark. Dick can hear someone running up to him over the wood of the pier, but he couldn't care less. He's scanning the darkness in front of him, panicked though he didn't hear any bomb go off.

Tim catches up to him. "I heard you through your comm. We were running out of time so I EMP'd the whole block and then ran. Where is–"

"Here," Jason says from the darkness. "Good job, Timmy. Quick thinking. Of course this means my bike is completely useless, but with my neck still intact I'll count it as a win."

Dick can't help it. He starts laughing. "Oh my God," he wheezes out, "you couldn't tell me you hadn't blown up?"

"You of all people are criticizing my theatricality, circus boy?"

Tim rolls his eyes and pulls out a flashlight. Jason is still sitting cross-legged in the same place, away from them. Tim moves towards him to tamper with the lock system on his neck, but Jason puts his hand out and stands up.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'll cut it off once I get back to my safe house."

"Jason," Tim replies, his flashlight dipping a bit as he steps forward. "You don't have to stay away anymore. B told you he trusted you. I thought that meant you reconciled."

"He needed me to follow Batgirl, that's not reconciliation. Not really, anyway. And I told you, Timmy, when we had breakfast, he wouldn't–"

"And I told you that he's not here."

Dick keeps silent. He didn't know how much closer Tim and Jason had gotten, how far they had come from when the Red Hood had initially made his mark in Gotham.

"It's different in Gotham, Red," Jason says, his voice barely audible. "He's everywhere."

"I don't care," Dick says finally. "And what does it matter if you and Bruce are fighting this week or not? We're not him."

Jason doesn't reply. Dick takes another step further and breathes in some confidence.

"I was really scared right now, Jason. I was really scared I was going to lose my little brother before I ever properly got him back."

Dick doesn't know where he stepped wrong, but he knows for sure that he did. Jason steps menacingly up to him, a limp barely noticeable, Tim following his movements with their only source of light.

"'Properly got him back,' huh? And whose fault is that, Dick? Who stayed–" Jason snorts and shakes his head. Dick notices that the laceration he thought had scabbed over in the dim streetlamp light actually hasn't stopped bleeding. "I hate this city. I was here for years, Dick. You wanted me back? I was here."

"Jay," Dick pleads.

"I know why, Dick," Jason says, and he's so close now that Dick could touch him, but he doesn't. "I know why you never came back for me. Why, when we're in front of anyone else, you act like I'm garbage." The flashlight glistens off the tears that threaten to fall. "It's because I'm wrong, isn't it? I didn't come back like you wanted, so I didn't come back at all."

Dick had forgotten about this part of Jason. They had had it hammered into them, and had seen it firsthand, how quick Jason was to anger, but that had never been the whole story. Jason Todd had always been quick to emotion in general, to tears when someone else was sad, to uproarious laughter when someone else was smiling. And this empathetic sensitive soul had been alone for years, long enough to shut down everything but anger. Long enough to try, anyway.

The eldest had to clench his fists to keep from touching him. "There's nothing I can say about what either of us did when you came back, Jay. There's no excuse you'll believe, no concession you'll take. But," Dick takes a shuddering breath, "but here are the things that I know to be true, just in general. I have a green pillow on my couch because it was your favorite color. Neopolitan ice cream used to make me cry. There's a picture of the two of us from that camping trip we took on my nightstand and we both look so incredibly stupid but I can't put it away. I missed you every single day that you were gone. I have wanted to hug you every single day that you've been back. And, most importantly, no matter what, I love you, and I'm glad you're alive. I am so, so soul-crushingly relieved that you got a second chance, Jason."

For a few immeasurable moments, all Dick can hear is Tim breathing. Jason looks as though he's just been punched: dazed and glassy-eyed and pale in the beam of the flashlight. The concussion certainly isn't helping, but Dick can't help but think that's not the only reason anymore.

"No one," Jason says.

Dick shuffles forward, encouraging. "'No one' what, Jay?"

"No one's said– No one ever–" He's trembling too hard to get the words out.

Dick holds his arms out. He is hoping, against everything he's seen up to this point, against everything they have both done, that Jason will take the invitation.

"I know, Little Wing," he says.

Jason all but collapses into Dick's arms. He is silent, but his body betrays his distress, shaking so badly that Dick has to grasp tightly at his arms to keep him up. Tim looks on in shock and astonishment, but knows better than to say anything and ruin the moment.

"Hey, it's okay," Dick says gently. "It's all okay now, Jason. But we have to do something about that head wound."

There are a few more tremors and then, as if a switch is flipped, Jason stops trembling. He stands to his full height, taller than Dick now that he's grown up, and takes a step back. His face is wet but he looks composed.

"Um," Tim says, and both older brothers' gazes look to him, "Alfred should be here any minute with the car."

Dick looks back to Jason. "Is the Cave okay? It's pretty early; I don't think he'll be there."

Jason wipes at his face. "It doesn't matter. Like I said, he's everywhere. He had to have known I was in town. Besides, Tim's right. Everyone's reconciled."

The car pulls up behind them and throws them all into the light. Jason winces at the brightness of it, but the shadow Dick is casting offers him some respite.

Dick sighs and touches Jason's shoulder. "I know you reconciled, Jay. I know you let go of the anger you have towards him. But that doesn't mean you can't still feel hurt. One day, you'll be able to get rid of that, too, but don't think you have to pretend everything's okay between you two when it's not."

Jason looks at him, surprised, and Dick realizes that no one ever told him it was okay to feel hurt, either.

The three of them move towards the car.