Tim was stalking DIck. He knew it was probably something Kon would call creepy, but Tim had always thought of it as an advanced form of roof top tag. How long before his brother noticed him? How close could he get? It had been a few hours already, and now Dick was warming down with a kata after taking out a group of Sprang Street bangers. It was time to declare this night's game a victory. Tim propped his elbows on the edge of the roof he had been peering over. "Hey Nightwing.' Dick's startled leap into the air might have been exaggerated, but Tim knew the surprise in his eyes was not. He grinned.

"How long was it this time?' Dick asked, trying to sound stern and failing.

"Two hours, forty six minutes and thirty seconds, give or take.' Tim flipped himself over the edge of the roof, making the movement as smooth as he could. (Who doesn't try to impress their big brother?)

Dick bounced on the balls of his feet, "I'm just about done with patrol, wanna grab a burger?' Tim looked down at his new, heavily armored and padded Red Robin uniform- it was certainly a lot harder to hide under civvies than his old one had been. "we'll have to stop by one of the safe houses.'

Dick's smile widened, "I've seen that look before, usually in the mirror... rethinking your fashion choices?'

Tim shook his head, "it's not like it's covered in fringe or anything, but I think the cowl might be making my forehead break out.'

This time Dick threw back his head and laughed for real, reaching out to ruffle Tim's hair. When his knuckles met armored cowl he sobered a little. "Yeah, I think the mask might have worked a bit better for you. That safe house on 49th set up yet?'

Instead of answering him Tim dived off the roof, shooting his grapple to catch the building across the street and calling back over his shoulder, "race you!'

Dick won of course, but it being almost a foregone conclusion never stopped him from looking smug. "What happened to your window?'

"I've got a guy coming on Tuesday to fix that.'

Dick shook his head, "okay, but that's not what I asked.' By now Tim was digging though drawers, looking for something clean as well as something that would fit his eldest brother's broad shouldered frame.

"It was just Jay, you know he loves to make an entrance almost as much as you do.' Suddenly Dick was behind him, grabbing his arm and spinning him around.

"Are you alright? What did he want? Why the hell didn't you tell anyone!?' Dick was gone, it was Nightwing's clipped professional voice asking the questions. Tim pulled himself loose and unconsciously took and defensive stance.

"Will you calm down? He just needed his back stitched."

"Jason came to you for help?" Dick's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. Tim shrugged.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but he's mellowed a lot since you showed him that I'm as replaceable as he was."

His brother sucked in a sharp breath, "Tim! You know it wasn't lik-" Tim cut him off with a sharp gesture, calm blue eyes meeting worried ones.

"It happened. I'm dealing with it, you won't see me murdering drug dealers any time soon. Do we really have to have this talk again?" Dick seemed to shrink into himself a little bit.

"I guess not. Are we still on for burgers?"

Tim gazed at him, unblinking, for a moment before shaking his head, "you can put away the puppy dog eyes, you know i wouldn't bail on you."

His brother perked up immediately. "Can we go to Gracie's on 3rd?"

"Yes."

"Can we take my bike?"

"No, we're taking my bike."

"Can I drive?"

"No Dick, you're riding bitch."

"I hate riding bitch."

"No you don't."

Tim is dressed and out the door, forcing Dick to hurry after him, trying to hop into a pair of baggy jeans. They're halfway down the stairs when Dick pretends to stumble, "How can anyone wear these things? It's like being draped in a freaking tent!" Tim know the often sunny, sometimes bubbly Dick is trying to lighten the mood, that he wants to apologize for the tension back in the apartment, even if he can't think of the right words to say. Tim shoves his hands into his hoodie's front pocket. Pouch? Pocket.

"Dick, really. We're o.k." Tim can feel the warmth of DIck's grin hit him right between his shoulder blades. Down in the ally they slip on helmets and climb on the Ducati, Dick curling into Tim's back in a way Tim just knows is to blame for the rumors about the bat family that younger members love to spread all over the watch tower. He remembers when he first met Mia; for a solid month she refused to spar with him. It took cornering her in the kitchen during clean up one night and breaking out his very own version of puppy dog eyes (no small trick in a mask) before she'd tell him why. Apparently Mia had walked in on one of Dick and Roy's "sparring" sessions and ever since then had thought "spar" was Bat Code for "half naked oil massage". Tim rolled his eyes inside the helmet as Dick started petting his abs.