"—not here at the moment," Bruce's secretary is saying into the phone as Tim and Damian make their into the vestibule before Bruce's office. Her expression is pinched, her lips pulling down at the corners, and Tim wonders who the phone call is from. When that look comes out, it usually means that some evil business tycoon wants something big from Bruce. "I'm afraid that's just not possible, sir. Mr. Wayne isn't in the country at the moment."

Damian shoots Tim a sharp glance, but Tim can only shrug. It makes sense that Bruce told his secretary that he's out of town on business. He couldn't really tell her that he's up in a secret Space Station orbiting Earth, now could he?

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience," Ms. Davens says, "but I can't get ahold of him. I do, however," Ms. Daven's eyes meets Tim's, and Tim feels his stomach sink, "have two of his sons here. One of them is over the age of eighteen."

Tim's eyes bug. "Ms. Davens—"

She holds a finger up and Tim's mouth snaps shut, and that's probably why Bruce has kept her on for so many years. She's not afraid to exert her will, even if it's usually with as much respect as possible.

"I will," Ms. Davens says to the person on the other line. "Thank you, Officer. You, too."

"Officer?" Damian asks, his tone curious. "The police?"

Ms. Davens sighs as she hangs the phone up. "Yes, it was the police. Specifically Officer Peterson. He says he has your brother locked up in a holding cell, and he needs someone to come get him."

Damian looks offended. "As if we would go get To—"

Tim elbows Damian in the arm. Hard. He glares at the demon that's his little brother, trying to convey shut the heck up without actually saying it. Damian rolls his eyes, but he seems to get it, only taking a moment to glare dramatically at the wall like the teenager he is.

"Did Officer Peterson say why Dick was arrested?" Tim asks, ignoring the way Damian sucks in a sharp breath and glances between Tim and Ms. Davens. It's not Tim's fault that Damian forgot that Jason is still legally dead, and that no one would call Bruce about him. They would, however, call about Dick Grayson.

Ms. Davens shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Timothy. All I know is that he's not in major trouble, but they'd like someone responsible to pick him up."

Damian snorts. "Because Drake is responsible."

"I'm an adult," Tim hisses, even though he would like to do anything but bail Dick out of jail right now. "You're a teenager. That makes me the responsible one right now."

"Come tell me that when you manage to actually take care of yourself."

Tim blinks, because that almost sounded like— "Didn't know you cared, Damian."

"As if," Damian seethes, arms crossing protectively over his chest, the look of disgust blatant on his face for the world to see. That's all Tim sees when he looks at Damian, but if Dick were here, he'd probably say something like Go easy on him, Tim! Dami's insecure when it comes to caring for other people, and yet. All Tim sees is hate. Damian, clueless to Tim's thoughts, continues, "I just can't stand how you upset Father and Grayson when you don't sleep for days on end. Grayson comes crying to me."

Tim's right. Dick's wrong. Damian's not insecure, he just doesn't want to be bothered. Good to know.

(And he's definitely not fooling himself because Damian has never showed an ounce of interest in his well-being.)

It occurs to Tim then that Ms. Davens is probably watching this whole exchange. Good thing she knew the both of them well enough not to read too much into their bickering. She's seen it too many times.

Tim sighs, turning towards the secretary. "Right. Well, me and Damian will just go get Dick, then. I'll be back later for Bruce's reports, Ms. Davens."

Ms. Davens waves them out. "Goodbye, boys."

As soon as they're out of the room, Damian turns to Tim, his eyes narrow and calculating, and Tim can practically see the thoughts speeding through his mind. "This isn't like Grayson. He doesn't get arrested."

Not that he's going to admit it, but Tim can't agree more. Dick's a police officer and a vigilante. He should know how to not get arrested, and how to get himself out of trouble if he is caught up with the police. And yet, here they are, on their way to pick Dick up from the station after a phone call to Bruce's office.

Damn. When Bruce gets back, he isn't going to be happy.

"They said he's not in major trouble," Tim says, pushing any thoughts of the aftermath of this situation to the side, "so maybe it was just a wrong place, wrong time kind of thing."

Damian side-eyes him, but Tim knows that Damian knows that it's probably not anything like that. Because it's Dick, and Dick doesn't do anything half-assed, especially getting in trouble. He's got a flair for the dramatics, and Tim just hopes that hasn't landed his big brother in a pot of hot water.

"Maybe you're right," Damian says once they're almost to Tim's car, and Tim tries not to let himself react visibly—

—because that's new. And it's only obvious now that it's not being directed at Tim.

Damian's worried.

Maybe Tim had been fooling himself.

They get to the Gotham Police Department precinct in record time, barely avoiding breaking any traffic laws thanks to Tim's ability to function somewhat with very little sleep. Damian's a pest, of course, and it doesn't help that he's being such a backseat driver.

"Will you just be quiet for two seconds," Tim scowls as they pull into a parking spot designated for civilians. "I know how to drive."

Damian scoffs. "Obviously not, otherwise you wouldn't have almost hit that cat—"

Tim throws his hands up in the air. "It's not like I wasn't watching the road, Damian! It's not my fault that it came running out like that!"

"I'm driving on the way back," Damian declares as they both climb out of the car.

"You're thirteen."

"I know how."

"That is most definitely not the point," Tim says as they walk into the precinct. He lowers his voice a little bit so he's not yelling as much. "Let me handle this."

All Tim gets from Damian is a muttered "whatever" and then they're both in front of the desk, the man behind the desk looking between them curiously. Tim tries for a small smile, knowing that it's best to be polite and straightforward in these types of situations.

"Can I help you?" the man asks.

Tim glances at his badge. "Officer Peterson. I'm Timothy Drake. You called Wayne Enterprises about my brother being here."

Realization dawns on Peterson's face. "Oh. Oh. Mr. Drake. Thank you for coming," he says, sliding around the desk and extending a hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Tim blinks but takes the hand. This is not going the way he'd thought it would. The officer almost sounds pitying in a way, and Tim wonders how bad Dick had to have screwed up to have warranted that kind of reaction to the escort out of here. "You, too," Tim says, his tone conveying some of his confusion. "Is Dick…?"

"He's not in any trouble," Officer Peterson reassures him as he gestures for Tim and Damian to follow him further into the precinct. Tim's honestly wondering if this guy is new to this or something, because he looks way to innocent to have been on the force long in Gotham City.

"He's not?" Tim asks.

Peterson shakes his head. "No. Poor guy's hurt, though. He refused a squad car trip to the hospital and told us to call Mr. Wayne instead."

"Huh."

Damian's looking as confused as Tim feels, and their eyes meet in a single moment as they wonder, but then Tim's looking around the precinct. Looking for Dick. Something about this is bothering Tim, he just can't put his finger on it quite yet.

Dick isn't stupid. He may act it sometimes, but Dick's smart and talented and he should know that Bruce is currently pulling double duty at the Watchtower right now, not in his office at Wayne Enterprises. But if he got hurt….

Tim looks over to Peterson. "Officer, how exactly did Dick get hurt?"

"Oh," Officer Peterson stops a few feet from where Dick's chatting away with a pretty officer, an ice pack held to the back of his head. "Mr. Grayson was in a store when it was robbed, and one of the robbers was about to shoot a kid. Mr. Grayson tackled her to the floor, but she pistol-whipped him before he could hold her down. The police arrived just moments later and took care of the situation."

So Tim was right. Dick had a head injury and hadn't remember that Bruce was currently unavailable. Great. He really should have just called Alfred, honestly. Would have saved a lot of time, Tim thinks.

Dick catches sight of Tim and Damian, then, and he waves, his face lighting up even brighter than it had been just moments before, a loopy grin on his face and eyes slightly unfocused. Concussion then.

Damian slips away from Tim and Officer Peterson, making his way straight towards Dick, hissing a "You're such an idiot, Grayson," that Dick just laughs off. Tim lets Damian go.

Officer Peterson clears his throat, and Tim shoots him a questioning glance. "Sorry. It's just, uh," Peterson scratches the back of his head, "maybe you want to drive him to the hospital? There's a nasty bump on the back of his head."

Tim hums. He's kind of surprised the officers didn't call an ambulance. Sure, Dick's had worse, but the police don't know that.

Instead, Tim supplies, "He was probably hoping our private doctor would have a look at him first. If the media finds out Dick's been admitted to the hospital, they're going to have a field day."

Officer Peterson looks sort of abashed. He scratches the back of his head again. A nervous habit. "He, uh, Mr. Grayson said the first part, about the private doctor, but I didn't realize the media was so intrusive into the Wayne family's lives."

He doesn't know why, but that startles Tim. The Wayne family. He forgets sometimes that everybody else is looking at their family from an outsider's perspective, and of course they wouldn't know that the Wayne family is really anything but. Too many bad memories stuffed into seven people, each with their problems, their own issues. They don't deal with those issues like normal people, and really, the only person who even tries is Dick, and that ends up blowing up in his face more than half the time.

It's odd, Tim think, that despite knowing how his family is, Dick still tries again and again to bring them closer. To try and actually make them all a family. He supposes that that's just how Dick is. A heart far too big for the people he got stuck with as a family.

The thought kind of makes Tim sad.

Okay. Enough social interaction. Enough introspection. He needs to get out of his own head before he buries himself in it, and he still has to drive a concussed Dick and a thirteen-year-old Damian—who can't legally drive a car yet no matter what he says—home.

So Tim walks away from Officer Peterson with a small, "thank you," shot the policeman's way, before he's coming up beside Dick and Damian. Dick's chuckling and he looks so fond as he watches Damian scowl and skulk that something heavy drops in Tim's stomach.

He shouldn't care anymore. But he does. It's stupid.

Until Dick notices Tim, and then that look shifts from Damian onto Tim, and Tim can see the unconditional love for his little brothers that Tim's not sure either he or Damian deserve.

"Ready to go home?" Tim asks, hoping his thoughts aren't showing on his face—they probably aren't. He's too good at keeping his expressions neutral.

Dick nods enthusiastically, and turns back towards the policewoman. "Thanks for the ice, Officer Romero."

The woman gives Dick's hand a pat. "I'd say anytime, but I really don't want to see you hurt yourself again."

Dick's too concussed to look sheepish—they should really have him checked over by Alfred—and all he does is wave and say goodbye to practically every police officer Peterson leads them past. Once they get back to the front desk, Tim extends his hand out to Peterson.

"Thank you," Tim says honestly. "For not sending him to the hospital. And for going out of your way to help my brother."

Officer Peterson firmly shakes Tim's hand, a smile on his face. "I'm glad I listened to my instincts. I wouldn't want any trouble for the guy that just saved people, you know?"

Tim nods, and then prods his brothers out the station doors. They're caught up in an argument about what the proper protocol is for taking down a clan of ninjas, and the only reason Dick seems to be winning is because his ideas are so ridiculous that even the Demon Brat is having trouble keeping a straight face.

"You're joking, Grayson. That wouldn't take down even one ninja, let alone a whole clan," Damian insists as he and Dick climb in the back seat.

"Would, too," Dick pushes. "Besides, if it doesn't work then you can just ask nicely to surrender."

Tim snorts out a surprised laugh as he slides into the driver's seat. "Dick, I don't think—"

"And if that doesn't work you can always give them each a hug."

"They are ninjas, Grayson!" Damian grounds out. Tim pulls out of the parking lot and starts back to the office to pick up those reports. Damian sounds absolutely scandalized now, a million miles away from amused. "Ninjas! They will not accept your stupid offers of a hug."

Tim can almost hear the frown in Dick's voice as he asks, "Why not?"

Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. It's probably just from the concussion, but Tim still finds it so Dick Grayson that he wants to give a ninja a hug to make it stop fighting. It's so ridiculous and so sad at the same time.

He wonders if he'll ever be able to see things the way Dick does.

Probably not, he thinks as he makes a right turn. Because Dick is an abnormality in their brooding circle that is the Wayne family. Sometimes it really seems as if Dick's the only one trying, even though they all try to make it work to some degree (well, all except Jason, who still isn't even ten percent on board with this whole thing quite yet, but that's getting better the more time passes).

"Whatcha thinking about?" Dick asks, leaning forward to lean his forehead on the passenger seat. Tim can see him from the corner of his eye, and he looks concerned.

Tim decides to be honest. Takes a leap. "You," he says and pretends like he doesn't regret it the moment it comes out of his mouth.

Dick hums. "What about me?"

"Just…wondering how hard you hit your head," Tim covers, and it's awful that he can't even open up slightly when all Dick would have said is, I was thinking about our family, and that would have been that. "You seem kind of out of it."

They're all trained to diagnose themselves, but Tim still takes it with a grain of salt when Dick says, "I don't think I'm too bad. I mean, my head hurts, but it doesn't feel very foggy, you know?"

"Sure," says Tim. "You think you'll be okay if I leave you two for a bit?"

Dick furrows his eyebrows. "What do you mean? Where are you going?"

Tim pulls into the parking garage of Wayne Enterprises. "Just into the office to grab those reports and have a chat with Tam. It won't take too long," Tim tells him. "You'll have Damian with you."

Damian scowls at Tim, but doesn't object. The kid's been quiet for the most part this entire experience, and Tim wonders what's going through his head before dismissing it. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't even want to know what's going through his own head.

"Okay," Dick says, relaxing, and Tim notices now that they're parked that Dick's gripping Damian's hand like a lifeline. "See you in a bit?"

Tim nods, opening the door but leaving the keys in the ignition. "I'll be right back."

Tim picks up the reports, talks to Tam and Lucius, and then he's back in the parking garage ten minutes later.

Damian and Dick are playing rock paper scissors, and to Tim's utter delight, Dick is crushing the kid. The atmosphere, despite Damian's scowl, is playful, teasing, and warm, and Tim slips into it with an ease he'd never thought he would before. The rest of the drive home is the same. Dick creating this atmosphere just with his smile, and Tim and Damian falling right into it like they always do.

It's family. A little messed up and skewed, but Dick pulls them together. He's not trying, he's doing, and Tim honestly can't believe that he hasn't realized it before just now.

When Dick smiles at him later, when they're back at the manor, Tim surprises both of them by offering one of his own.

This is a very exciting day. Because today (yesterday for practically everybody but me) was my birthday! And his was a present for all of you...? Anyways, Dick is fine. He was kind of playing it off as bigger than it was because most normal don't shake off a hit like that. Alfred gave him a green light, so he's not actually that concussed and can somewhat hold a conversation.