"Draw four, asshole." Jason set his wildcard on the pile and smiled as serenely as he could at his older brother— which probably wasn't that serene, given the circumstances. He glanced around the table. "And the color is red."

Tim fished a red three out of his hand of cards. Damian came up with a red four. The three of them sat quietly while Grayson finished drawing his cards.

Uno tournaments were traditional, when the gang was all together. Jason couldn't tell you when that started— he just knew that they kept a deck in the batmobile glove compartment. It didn't seem like something Bruce would let in the house, much less in the car, but there you were— he let it pass. Card games had gotten them all through some dull nights.

Why uno? The wildcards didn't give anybody flashbacks, for starters.

And games could get intense. Dick was taking the worst of it tonight— he had about a third of the deck fanned between his hands. That tended to happen when you sat between two people who were furious with you.

"You are eventually going to let me play a card, right?" Grayson tapped his fingers against his new cards as he added them to his hand. Jason laid down a red skip, and Dick made a face. "Okay."

Mmhm, that's what he got. Jason was really glad they were playing, honestly, because it turned out to be quality aggression relief. They had things to talk through anyway.

"So is Barbara coming?" he asked. She hadn't responded to his text, but that was pretty standard. He tried not to take it personally.

"I don't think so," Grayson said. Tim and Damian played red nine, yellow nine respectively. "She doesn't really want to be around me right now. Last time we talked she said some harsh things."

"You're dead to me?" Jason guessed. He set his last yellow card on the deck. "Sorry, no—that was last week. My bad." He grinned in Dick's direction. "Draw two."

"Get wrecked," Tim muttered. He laid down his own card— a yellow skip— and handed Dick two from the pile. "Babs isn't coming."

"What, so she texts you back?"

"Yeah, unlike you. It's your turn." Tim slid his chair a few inches away from Damian, who was scowling at him. "Chill."

"Well if we're not waiting for anyone else," Jason ran through his cards. No yellows. "The meeting can officially come to order." He laid another wildcard— unfortunately without the drawing bonus— onto the deck and turned to Dick. "You're a despicable person, and I'm honestly considering setting you on fire. The color is green."

"Seriously? I have thirty-six cards, but no greens."

"That's your problem then. One among many."

"I missed you too." Dick reached for the pile and drew another handful of cards, finally coming up with a green five. Tim played a one. "I really did, you know. And I'm glad to be back, even if Damian is the only one that will talk to me."

Damian played a draw two. "Who's side are you on?" Jason asked him, reaching for the pile.

"I'm not saying I agree with what he did." Damian fanned his hand in front of him, rearranging his cards intently. "But I've already been forced away from one person that's important to me, and I'm not doing it twice."

"Listen…" Jason set his cards on the table. "We'll figure the Bruce thing out, okay? Don't worry about it. He always comes back."

"Don't we all?" Damian rubbed uncomfortably at his own chest. "Three for four."

Jason jerked a thumb at Dick, who set a blue draw two on the pile. "That's not the same, and you know it."

"If you want to be technical about it, I was dead for about a minute."

"That offends me on a very deep and very personal level." Jason glared at Dick. "Wow! A whole minute. That must have been a nightmare. At least you didn't have crawl your way out of your literal grave." He pulled down the neckline of his shirt, revealing the tops of his autopsy scars. "These are real."

Tim took a pair of cards from the pile. "That's disturbing by multiple definitions, and you need to stop." He turned to Dick. "But he's right. That doesn't qualify as dead, and even if it did, it wouldn't matter— that was a minute. You were gone for months."

"You're right. I don't mean to make excuses, I just—"

"I'm not finished yet." Tim set his hand on the table. "You had no right to do that to us. It doesn't even make logical sense— what exactly were you worried would happen if we knew you were alive? Who did you think we were going to tell? I've been keeping your secrets since I was twelve."

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"Yeah, you're sorry. Meanwhile I get to watch literally every member of my family die. It's a lot of fun. Doesn't scar you at all. I definitely don't wake up every morning and feel like screaming into the eternal void that swallows everyone I love." Tim laughed unsteadily. "And this whole time, you were playing James Bond. I can't even believe you."

"It wasn't fun for me either, you know."

"Uh huh," Jason told him, "I'm sure it was awful. Now that I think about it, you probably had it worse than us— I mean, we only went through two deaths in a year. That's much better than going into deep cover and 'shouldering the burden' or whatever it was you said. Definitely." He twirled a finger in the air. "Hey look at that— it's a bird! It's a plane! It's complete and total bullshit."

"I'm not saying I had it worse. I'm just saying that it was hard. I didn't want to leave you guys."

"Well you did, didn't you? So now you're gonna have to live with the consequences. Which are going to be severe, because you hurt a lot of people." Jason glanced around the table. "Damian. Express emotion."

Damian carefully set a card on the deck. "I wish you had been here when I got back," he muttered. "That's all I have to say."

"There you have it." Jason rolled his eyes. "I'm sure being by yourself was really rough. I'm sure you hated it. Really hit a downward spiral, I'm guessing." Tim sighed loudly— Jason smiled. "I hope whatever you were doing was important."

"It was," Dick said. "It wasn't exactly the Gotham circuit, but I think I still saved lives."

"Great. Four for you, Dick Grayson! You go, Dick Grayson." Jason pulled another wildcard from his hand. "But literally, draw four."

"You've been waiting to do that, haven't you?"

"I think I deserve this." Jason slid the deck across the table. "Red again."

"Are you ever going to let this go?" Dick pulled his cards from the pile— at that point he was holding half the deck. "Just curious."

"I don't know. If you play your cards right, maybe." Jason sighed. "You could start with an actual apology."

"I thought I already gave one."

"Coded instruction isn't an acceptable format for saying you're sorry." Honestly, did Grayson think that was okay? Jason watched Tim lay down a red eight.

"For all we know, you didn't mean any of that. Unless you expect us to believe that everything you wanted to tell us magically fit into your damn pattern game. Can you see why I'm a little suspicious here? Kinda shady, if you know what I mean." Jason rolled his eyes. "You can do better than that. One chance. Use it however you like." He snapped his fingers into a gun shape. "There— did you get my message?"

"Okay, fine." Dick took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry I let you guys think I was dead. I'd been through a lot, and I just did what I always do— I kept moving. I tried to start over. Bruce gave me an opportunity to do that, and I took it, but that wasn't fair to you. I'm not a traveling circus anymore. I have people I can't leave behind. I should have remembered that." He sighed. "I put you through hell, and none of you deserved that. I'm sorry."

Jason didn't quite know how to follow that, so he stared down at his cards instead. It was a fair apology, but it didn't make him feel any better— the only thing that had helped so far was punching Dick straight in the face. Maybe he should do that again.

"Uno," said Damian, laying a red zero on the pile.

"Wait what?"

"Uno," he repeated. "One card. I'm about to win. As usual."

"What the hell?" Tim asked. "You had eight cards the last time I checked.

"Then I would assume that was seven rounds ago," Damian told him. "Todd, it's your turn."

"I could make it green?" Jason asked, looking around the table. "Do you think that would fix it?"

"I don't have a green," Dick reminded him. "You'd be gambling on me drawing something good. But we could do that."

"We already used most of the good cards," Tim said. "I object both on mathematical grounds and because it was Dick's idea."

"Thanks, Tim."

"I'm still mad."

"Got it."

"Does he have another red?" Jason stared at Damian's face, looking for a clue, but Damian stared impassibly back. "If he doesn't, I could just reverse it."

"I'm pretty sure you're cheating," Damian muttered. "This isn't a team game."

"Whatever." Jason decided to go for it— he played his reverse. The entire table waited for Damian to reach for the pile.

He flipped a red skip onto the deck. "I win."

"Dammit, Jay!" Tim swept the deck into his hands and started to reshuffle.

"You all owe me a dollar." Damian stuck his hand across the table. "Unless you want to play again."

"I should probably…" Dick tried to say, but Jason cut him off.

"Don't you dare leave." He pulled a dollar from his pocket and set it in Damian's outstretched hand. "You owe me two months of time. You're playing another round."