Standing on the top of a building, Dick surveyed the Bludhaven skyline. It was an unusually quiet night for some reason, but Dick wasn't complaining. It was nice to be able to have a little quiet for once with everything that had recently occurred. Well, more like spun out of control. He heard a small thud next to him and turned. "Tim?" he asked, both confused and surprised. "Why aren't you in Gotham?"
Tim emerged, a slight smirk on his face. "Can't I visit my brother once in a while?" He strode to his older brother, placing a hand on his shoulder upon reaching him. "How are you holding up?"
Dick turned from Tim, hiding his face. "I've been better," he replied shortly. He didn't need to say any more. His best friend had just been taken from him, and Dick never got the chance to say goodbye. How was he supposed to feel? He opened his mouth to say something to Tim, but was interrupted by a shout below them. Perfect timing, too, because Dick really wasn't in the mood to talk. Now he simply wanted action.
The cry came from a mugging victim who was carelessly pushed into a dumpster as the birdboys approached the scene. The mugger tried to make a break for it, but Dick was too fast for him. Grabbing the criminal's arm, he pulled back, tossing the perp to the ground. Standing up, the man advanced, attempting to strike a blow to Nightwing's abdomen. The former bat easily blocked his opponent's clumsy attack, and delivered a punch to the man's face. Watching the blood flow from his adversary's nose, Nightwing hit him a few more times for good measure. Finally satisfied, he dragged the mugger towards the street, 'accidentally' dropping him once or twice. Tim frowned at his elder, but made no comment, sensing that his usually cheerful brother was not to be questioned now.
That didn't stop him from bringing it up after they had taken care of the scene. Back on a rooftop, he asked Dick, "What the hell was that?"
Dick ran a hand through his dark hair. "I was doing my job, Tim. I was getting justice for that guy he hurt."
"No," Tim contradicted his brother. "That was not in your job description, and you know it. Look, I know you're upset about Wally. We all are. But just because you're upset doesn't mean you-" Dick help up a hand, effectively interrupting the oncoming lecture.
"Stop. Wally's death meant something different to you than to me. You lost your friend. Tim, I lost a brother. Just like if you died. It's just-" he sighed, and sat down on the ledge. "People like that, who go around and hurt other people, they're throwing their lives away. Those men that rot in prison could have done something. Just like he did. He saved the whole goddamn world!" He yelled in frustration. "And still people continue to rob, and kill, and hurt others! Why?" he croaked, looking up at Tim, a few tears spilling from behind his mask. "Why?"
"I can't give you the answer to that," he told his brother gently. "But not everyone is like that. That's why we do what we do: to help the people who make their lives count."