A/N: Okay, so Part 2 took longer than expected, but I just had to wait for my feels to get up to maximum level again. And the fic I just did "She Can Tell" just totally did it for me, so this is getting up right now.

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice or any associated characters.

Our Family

They left the apartment, Dick with his hands shoved in his jacket. His raven hair covered his face within seconds, completely soaked. Tim, after a few minutes, actually reached up and pulled up Dick's hood, trying to keep him dry.

All he got in return was a soft smile, but Tim didn't ask for anything more. He could tell something was up, but since they weren't in uniform, he didn't feel the need to ask any questions. Not like they were out on patrol or busy on a mission. He just moved alongside of his spectre-like companion, following the elder around corners and letting him lead.

Buildings rose high above their heads, skyscrapers full of busy people, abandoned apartment buildings. Blocks and blocks worth of buildings passed them by while they walked, each and every one of them taller than the two themselves. Tim noticed that Dick would look up at them every once in a while and smile sadly. Still, he didn't ask. Dick knew what he was doing. Tim just kept going.

Soon enough, iron gates rose up above them as the Gotham Cemetery reared its ugly head, ominous and dreary compared to the rest of city. This place was the only dead spot, no crime, no people. An empty plot of land in the center of their little world.

Dick pushed open the iron gate and held it open, letting Tim slip inside, and then let it shut behind them, the cracked hinges creaking and the rusted iron shuddering. His hands returned to his pockets as they kept moving.

A shortcut? Tim didn't think much of it. It was just a cemetery. They could cut through it if they wan-

His comrade was taking a path off to one side, eyes now on the ground as he followed the slightly curving gravel back to a place he held sacred. His hands remained in his pockets as he kicked a few pieces of the gray gravel. Dick did not look over his shoulder to see if Tim was following.

The Boy Wonder had to come on his own, quickly jogging to catch up with Grayson. He managed to find his place beside Dick again and then slowed down, trying to keep pace. Quietly, he reached up and fixed his companion's hood again; this time, he didn't get a smile in return.

Again, Dick switched directions. Tim once more had to hustle to catch up again, but this time, when he found his place at Dick's side, Grayson had stopped beside a pair of graves and was just standing there in a stoic silence, much like Bruce would when he was brooding. And at this point, Tim knew silence was best.

Now, Dick pulled his hood back and looked up to the sky, his face bathed by the rain within seconds. And after about a minute, he looked back down again and shook his head, droplets flying in every direction. Then he gave a quiet yet somehow content sigh and got down on his knees. "Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad."

Tim swallowed hard. He'd come back from patrol at the wrong moment. Now he was roped into a sappy moment… There was no way he'd hold up very long. He pressed his arms closer to his body and just watched as his brother ran his fingers along the names and over the top of the graves.

"This is Tim," he said softly, putting one hand on the grass where, six feet under, his parents would be. "He's my brother now. Bruce took him in just like he took in me and Jason. I hope you guys like him." Dick looked up to his adopted sibling with a calm smile and instantly saw tears burning in Drake's eyes; he turned his attention back to the graves, putting a hand to his lips and then touching each stone in turn.

No way. He couldn't last much longer. How he'd ever become a bat was a complete mystery. Bruce was silent about his emotions; Dick managed to keep everything under wraps, although his eyes betrayed anything and everything; Barbara could always muster a stoic face when needed. Tim? He couldn't hold up too long, especially not when it came to family. Tim swallowed hard again, trying to fight it off.

Dick reached in his jacket and into that inner pocket, retracting the letter and watching as it was splashed with raindrops. He waits until the paper is thoroughly soaked before putting it on his mother's grave. Silently, he makes the Sign of the Cross before murmuring a prayer, barely audible over the sounds of the falling rain and nearby passing cars.

Then, he leaned over and hugged his father's tombstone. His eyes had become watery very quickly, an ache worming its way into his heart. A broken longing was suddenly rearing its ugly head again. The child inside of him was screaming for his parents, crying, shattering, screaming. He had to push down that child, silence it. Still, it's always hard. Especially on days like this.

When he didn't let go for a long while, Tim knelt down beside him and just stayed there for a time. He said nothing, merely kept an eye on Dick to make sure he was holding up. That's what brothers were for, right?

Everything ached. He wanted to go home, back to the circus, back to Bruce, wanted to go someplace where he wasn't alone, where he was loved, where there were people, family. He could go anywhere, but nowhere would truly be right, not today. Tomorrow, he could go anywhere, but today was the day that he was abandoned for the first time. They died nine years ago yesterday, but he was abandoned today. He held onto his father's grave and watched the rain eat away at the letter, making it sink into the ground, maybe where his mother could read it.

After about thirty minutes of kneeling, Tim knew he had to get Dick home and out of the rain. "Hey," he breathed softly, touching the mourner's shoulder carefully and trying not to alarm him. "We should get home. You'll get sick in the rain, Dick." Again, he reached for Grayson's hood to shelter him from the heavenly rain.

He released the grave, pulling away and leaning against Tim for a long moment. He ran one finger over the names again while his eyes analyzed the dates. "See, Mom? I told you Tim was a good kid…" He reached up and, with one sleeve, wiped at his face. Dick managed to get to his feet with his little brother's help, and they stood there for a little bit longer, the elder lost in nostalgia, the younger lost in the moment.

Tim Drake knew loss. He knew it very well. His mother. His father. Still, he was much more… detached from them. His mother died when he was young. His father was a mob man. Family was family, but Dick's attachment was so much more than Tim could ever understand.

"I love you," he whispered to the graves before turning and letting Tim guide him back, out of the rain, to the place where he belonged. His little brother was taking him home.

A/N: Review, please? Thank you for reading.

~Sky

In Memory of John and Mary Grayson