Deep breath. Dick could do this. It wasn't the hardest thing he'd done this week, not by a long shot, but still— standing in front of the door, he could think of about a hundred places he would rather be. Thousands, probably. Dick really, really didn't want to go inside.

But he had to, so he knocked. Might as well get this over with.

There was a muffled "I'll get it!" from inside the house, and then the manor door cracked open— Dick could make out a pair of unfamiliar eyes.

"Oh," said the kid, stepping out onto the threshold. "Hi."

So that was Jason. For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other, and Dick meant to be polite (he honestly did), but what came out was a lot closer to "Seriously?"

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Is Bruce home?"

Jason pushed open the door. "He's in the living room. I guess you know the way." He vanished down the hallway to the kitchen, and Dick continued on his own.

Bruce was sitting in his armchair, reading. Dick wondered if he'd chosen the spot for dramatic effect— that seemed like a Bruce thing to do, didn't it? Dick could just picture him settled there all day, waiting for the doorbell to ring. He must have known Dick was coming. Bruce set aside his book as Dick leaned against the doorway, trying for casual.

"Hey," he said. "Can I come in?"

Bruce nodded, so he sat down on the couch. "I just wanted to explain… about the other night."

"I know about Slade."

Oh. Dick looked down at his hands with a weird mix of relief and panic— relief because he wouldn't have to talk about it, panic because he didn't have anything else to say, and he couldn't count on Bruce to carry a conversation. What now?

The two of them sat in silence until Jason marched through the door and dropped a sheet of paper into Bruce's lap.

"I made you a list," he told him.

"Hello," Bruce read. He looked back up at Jason. "Hello?"

"Did you say it?"

"You didn't," Dick reminded him.

"Hello."

"Well there we go." Jason raised his arms in a my-work-here-is-done kind of gesture and made for the door.

Bruce looked down at the paper. "Are you okay? Of course he's okay, look at him…" He glanced behind his chair, but Jason was already gone. "You are," he asked Dick, "Aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Few bruises."

"Good."

More silence. Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wishing he could leave. Maybe he should— Bruce probably wouldn't object. He couldn't possibly be any more comfortable than Dick was.

"Did I hurt you," Bruce read— not asking, Dick noticed, just reading from his list. He decided to treat it like a real question anyway. "Yes?"

Bruce looked up in surprise. "Sorry," Dick continued, "but have you seen my identical twin running around your house?"

"I really meant in the fight," muttered Bruce.

"Right, obviously." Yeah, he was leaving. Dick stood up to go, but Bruce cut him off before he could take more than a few steps.

"Wait."

Dick settled back onto the couch.

"Look I know this is hard to believe, but Jason isn't here because of what happened between the two of us. He's here for him. And—" Bruce set his discarded list on the coffee table, so Dick could clearly see "I'm sorry" written across the bottom (underlined twice). He knew Bruce wouldn't actually say it.

"And I hope you know that even though you're not… here anymore… I still want to help you whenever you need—"

Apparently that was about as far as Bruce could get, because he lapsed back into silence, fidgeting uncomfortably with his ring. Dick didn't really know how to follow that either.

"You know you're both hopeless," said a voice from the next room. "Right?"