So I lied about the Tact series being over, but this WILL be the last story in this story. On tumblr I said this would be eight chapters, but it's actually going to be nine. Characters, relationships, and tags will be added as they pop up. Thanks for sticking with me for this series!

If you're new, you should probably read the first four in this series as it'll reference those quite a bit.

"Can I ask you a question?" Tim whispered into the dark. He couldn't see Dick's face, curled up together as they were in Dick's bed after a hard night of patrol, but it was probably for the best. Tim wasn't sure if he could ask this while looking straight at his brother.

Dick hummed sleepily. Tim took that as a yes.

"It's about Wally," he admitted, giving Dick one more chance to back out. He didn't like the idea of cornering Dick, and Wally was still something of a sore spot. When Dick didn't say anything, Tim let out a sigh. "Okay, so, how did you and Wally become friends?"

"I already told you that story," Dick said softly. "We saved each other's lives."

"Yeah," Tim said, "but I guess that isn't really—okay. So, what I meant was how were you friends?"

Dick was silent again, and Tim could tell that he was tense. Tim sort of felt guilty for springing this on the guy after the day he'd had, but it was killing him not to know. Ever since Wally had shown up all those weeks ago in the kitchen, demanding to see Dick, Tim had been curious as to how two so very different people had become friends in the first place.

But now probably hadn't been the time to ask about it.

Tim and Bruce had been getting Dick back into the game slowly when Dick just wanted to dive in, and tonight had been his first full patrol since Wally had saved his life in that alley a few weeks back. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Of course, because nobody in this family could catch a break, they'd run into a bunch of thugs with access to fear toxin. Scarecrow was still locked up in a cell, so they hadn't realized what they were dealing with until Dick had gotten hit with a dose. Someone on the streets had access to Crane's toxins, and Batman had ordered a retreat back to the manor until they could figure out just what the situation was.

(Tim had been lucky enough to still have an antidote on him, so Dick hadn't been too affected.)

They were under house arrest for the rest of the night—morning, it was almost two—and Bruce had pulled Tim aside once they'd gotten back and suggested that Tim stay with Dick for the night in case of an ill affects while he tracked down the gang controlling Scarecrow's toxin. Tim hadn't argued. So, here they were.

And then Tim had gone and blurted out a stupid question like that while Dick was probably still being affected by the fear toxin. Great move there, Einstein.

Finally, Dick spoke, and Tim hated how small and off put he sounded. "I don't think I understand the question."

"Never mind," Tim said, his stomach flipping. He felt sick, like he was on a roller coaster. "Don't worry about it."

"But you are."

Tim blinked and sat up, looking over to where Dick was lying in the gloom. He wasn't looking at Tim, just staring at the ceiling as he waited for Tim to respond. And honestly, Tim wasn't really sure what Dick meant.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tim asked.

Dick sighed. "You're worrying about it, Timmy. I want to know what you're thinking."

"Well," Tim said uncertainly. "I just wanted to know how you and Wally could be friends when you two are so different."

"You've never known him any other way."

"Was he any other way?" Tim asked. All Tim had ever seen from Wally was anger and exhaustion. Occasionally, the guy got some glint in his eyes when he looked at Artemis, but Tim had just figured it was some sort of love. The same Tim had when he looked at Dick or Alfred or Bruce.

But with everybody else, with Dick, it wasn't there. Just with Artemis. If it had ever been there, Tim had never seen it.

"He used to be," Dick admitted. "He was my best friend, Tim. We fought together, we died together, and that doesn't just go away. It used to be that I could just call him and he'd be there at my side in a second, and I tried to do the same for him. We talked to each other, we understood each other, and then I guess—"

Dick cut himself off, and he looked a little sick.

Tim didn't think a lot of that made sense, especially the part about dying, but he was trying his best to listen to what Dick was saying to him, to understand what had been between the two friends, but he also wasn't sure if he should press any further.

"Dick—"

"No," Dick said, shaking his head. "No, it's fine. It's just. I have some not so nice memories of Wally right now. You're right. We're are different now, but we didn't used to be."

"What made things different?"

Dick didn't answer, and Tim didn't know why he couldn't just leave well enough alone. Dick had probably said what he wanted to say, and now Tim was just pressing an issue that hurt Dick. His brother probably wasn't up for talking about this anymore.

But, of course, like always, Dick proved him wrong.

"I don't know," Dick admitted slowly. A hand ran down his face, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week in just that one moment. He blinked, and Tim wasn't sure that Dick was actually as okay as he'd been trying to make himself seem these past few weeks. "I don't—I don't know where we went wrong."

"Maybe that's your problem?" Tim tried, because this felt a little too important to just let go of now that he knew that Dick was struggling with it.

Dick's gaze met his, but it still felt a little too slow, like Dick's brain wasn't fully processing everything. Something cold gripped Tim's heart, and Tim tried to push past the feeling and continue.

"I mean, you and Wally aren't exactly on the same page," Tim said, clutching nervously at his (Dick's) T-shirt. "And you probably don't want to lose your friendship with Wally over that," Dick flinched, but didn't cut in, and Tim kept talking, "and I think the best way to go back to being friends would probably be to talk to him. Get on the same page as Wally. As everyone."

Dick looked at him—through him—and bit his lip, and Tim could tell that Dick was turning his words over, testing them, trying to make them make sense in his head, and Tim hoped that Dick did make sense of them, find some meaning to the babble that Tim was now turning red over.

"Uh," Tim started again, "just. Maybe think about that?"

And then Dick's gaze sharpened, bright blue eyes practically glowing in the semi-darkness as they met Tim's own. "I will," Dick said quietly, with a sort of intensity he only got when he had a plan, and Tim couldn't help but relax slightly. Dick kept his gaze, and told him, "Thank you."

Tim nodded. Anything. Anything to help his brother, because Dick was family and would do the same thing for him a thousand times over. Tim would do anything to help, say anything to help, even if he couldn't admit.

"Are you okay?" Tim asked as they lied back down on the bed.

Dick's arm curled around his shoulder and pulled him in tight against him, and said, as honestly and sincerely as Tim had ever heard him, "I will be."

That was enough for Tim.