"You might want to get a deeper stretch," Jason said idly, "Bruce isn't going to let you rest for long."
"I know, Jason." Tim sighed, resigning himself to the ghost's concealed concern. Tim reached further, fingers brushing his toes. The gentle tap of shoes against stone was the hallmark of someone approaching Tim. He froze waiting for Bruce to round the corner.
"Good morning, Timmy!" Dick Grayson called. Tim heard a pained gasp of air from Jason.
Sparing the phantom a sideways glance, Tim moved forward to greet the enthusiastic hero.
"You're happy to see me all of a sudden." Tim noted, deceptively calm. Dick, for his part looked sheepish. He tugged on a strand of his longish hair.
"I... I wasn't being fair to you, Tim. I was lashing out and... I'm sorry." Jason stepped closer to his brother.
"Dicky..." Jason murmured longingly, "I'm sorry for leaving. My death... It wasn't your fault."
"It was my fault," Dick insisted, "Let me make it up to you. Let me train you." Tim swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Jason closed his eyes regretfully and backed away from his brother.
"Yeah," Tim croaked, "Sure. When do we start?"
"Uh..? Now...?" Dick suggested, "I mean, if you want." Tim nodded.
Tim panted as he dodged Dick's next strike.
"Left cartwheel!" Jason shouted. Tim threw himself forward, knocking Dick off-balance just as he began his cartwheel. Dick hit the training mat hard. Tim, breathing heavily, smiled faintly.
"You're a quick study, Tim. I didn't think you'd be able to beat me with only four hours of instruction." Dick praised.
"You're predictable." Tim gasped out.
"You figured out my attack patterns?" Tim nodded, taking a step towards the young man, intending to help him up, but the moment Tim's foot hit the ground his knees gave out.
"Tim!" Both Dick and Jason shouted in concern.
"I'm sorry... Give me a second, n' I'll be fine." Tim mumbled softly, still breathing heavily.
Dick was at his side in an instant.
"Don't apologize. Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be fine." Dick fretted, stroking Tim's hair. Tim slowed his breathing, trying to get it under control.
"Bruce was right; you really do need to work on stamina." Jason observed. Dick scooped Tim up in his arms, carrying him to the infirmary. Tim squirmed, uncomfortable with the continued concern and affection.
"You have asthma." Jason said accusingly. Dick set Tim down on the hospital-style bed.
"You're okay. Come on. Breathe, Timmy. Where does it hurt? Oh, I'm sorry." Dick said.
"For the love of god, Dick! Shut. Up." Tim snapped. Dick recoiled, hurt and anger on his face.
"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have yelled," Tim apologized carefully. Dick smiled hesitantly. Tim's eyes met Jason's. The ghost-boy flicked his eyes back to Dick.
"Can you tell him for me?" Jason asked. Tim bit his lip.
"And Bruce too. Please, Tim." Jason nearly begged. Dick frowned, turning his head this way and that way, trying to find what held Tim's gaze.
"What are you looking at?" Dick asked curiously. Tim wet his lips nervously. He dragged his flinty eyes away from the spirit.
"I see Ja-just a crack in the wall," Tim said, changing his mind at the last minute.
"Tell him!" Jason shouted, "You have to tell him!" Jason slammed his hands against a nearby table. The table shook with the force, papers and pens toppling over. Dick hurried over to right the items. Jason grabbed Tim's arm roughly.
"TELL HIM!" Tim choked back a sob as he felt the pressure of both Jason's hand and his rage intensify.
"I can't." Tim whispered, too quietly for Dick to hear.