After several more months than I intended, I (finally) bring you chapter 4!

And, as usual, I'm so *so* sorry for taking so long. x.x'' October through December are big-time birthday/holiday/no time to sit down and work on things in silence months. And then school and sports and college preparation and AAAAA! ( that is the sound of oncoming insanity )

But I made myself finish this chapter before schoolwork tonight – because it should have been done months ago. Not to mention, Jason keeps sneaking into every single fic I write. I'm pretty sure my Jason muse has laid claims on my Tim muse and, therefore, has scared my Kon muse away. That is the best explanation I have right now. But! JasonMuse is now locked in a jewelry box so I can work on the next chapters in peace.

So here it is! Mild-angst and big brother cuddles are nigh!

Disclaimer: Still don't own them. . .yet.

Dick isn't going to lie – he's worried about Tim. Usually the newest Robin seems overly excited to go to Titans Tower; readily accepting any excuse to visit. And really, Dick can't blame him. His time with the Titans had composed some of his best memories. Young Justice is to Tim what the Titans were to Dick. Teammates. Friends. Family. But suddenly, Tim doesn't seem to want anything to do with the team. Not since he returned to Gotham late last Friday, sporting a rather nasty bruise on the left side of his face. Dick had thought it was from some sort of mission or a training session gone wrong and dismissed it entirely. But now – now he was starting to doubt those theories.

Mainly because it has been a week and two days since Tim returned to the manor and, rather than looking for any possible reason to return to his team, Tim seems determined to never leave Gotham again. But more than that, Tim seems. . . off. He's been a bit different ever since Jack's death – but not quite like this. He rarely leaves his room, for starters. And when he does, he is quiet. And not the usual, self-conscious and shy 'Tim' quiet. It's a stiff, uncomfortable quiet. The mourning sort of quiet. It would be hard to notice, even for skilled detectives, but Dick *knows* Tim; and so he knows something is wrong.

Contrary to popular belief, Dick is no idiot. He had been busier than usual this week so it took him more time than it should have to put two and two together, but he thinks he knows what's going on now. Black eye, brooding, reluctance to go to the tower:

There had been a fight.

Now with whom and over what, Dick has no idea. But he knows how to find out. Which is why he is currently standing outside of Tim's room – hand hovering above the door knob as he debates knocking first or simply walking in. And he may or may not be delaying his final decision in order to stall the inevitable confrontation. Because team fights are. . . tricky. And a very, very touchy subject. And because of that, Dick would normally just leave something like this alone – let whoever is involved work it out by themselves. But this is Timmy. *His* Timmy. And watching him mope about the manor – and it *is* moping, no matter how many times Tim puts on that stupid fake smile and assures everyone that he's 'Just fine' – is the equivalent of watching someone senselessly kick a puppy over and over again: heartbreaking and completely depressing. So Dick decided it is time to intervene – although he really has no idea what he plans to say. Ask if Tim is alright? Okay, A) it's obvious that he isn't and B) he would just get another lie. Ask who he needs to beat up? That could work. . . Although, based on Tim's current mood, he may just have to follow through with that threat upon finding out who hurt his baby brother. Maybe just ask if he needs to talk? Ha! Right – the kid can be a mini-Bruce when he wants to. Sometimes you would think you were asking them to done a major organ rather than attempting to strike up a conversation.

But Tim *needs* to talk. He needs to open up and let someone in. Because if he doesn't, Dick knows he will continue to get worse – even if that seems impossible at this point. So Dick reminds himself that he is, in fact, the adult in this situation, and raps a 'Shave and a Haircut' beat on the door. Tim, ever the prompt, answers with a soft 'come in' almost instantly – and Dick pretends he doesn't feel a small wave of disappointment hit him because of that. It isn't that he doesn't want to talk to Tim, he just hoped that maybe he could put it off just a little longer. But he's here now – and it's for the best. He takes a deep breath and puts on what he hopes looks like a casual smile before turning the handle and stepping into the room. It's dark – almost completely. The only light comes from the laptop sitting in on the bed in front of Tim.

"Hey Timmy. Can we talk?" Dick asks, blinking as his eyes adjust to the dim light. He internally winces as he catches the small smile spreading across the younger boy's face: the one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. The one that he had been wearing for the past nine days.

"Of course. What about?" Tim answers, voice almost cheery as he pulls his hands away from the keyboard and drops them into his lap. If Dick didn't know any better, he might actually believe that Tim is as okay as he pretends to be. Too bad for Tim, though, he *does* know better.

"Can't a guy just want to chat with his kid brother?" he chimes as he pulls the door shut and walks further into the room. As he does, he takes note of the way Tim watches him with careful, calculating eyes. 'He knows something is up. Be on guard.' Dick thinks to himself as he makes his way to the bed and falls onto his back behind the cross-legged Robin. He then rolls over to his side and uses his arm to prop up his head as he peers at the data running across Tim's screen. "Whatcha up to?"

Tim shrugs and slides his laptop back to where it was before Dick's fall bounced it a few inches forward – his fingers instantly returning to their rapid typing as he answers, "Running some scenarios. Nothing important – just passing some time."

He seems so robotic. Like he is functioning on autopilot. And this is what Dick was afraid of. Tim tends to shut himself off when things happen. If he can't handle it, he just lets go of everything and sets his mind on one task to keep himself from focusing on his problems. And right now, that task is scenarios. And from the looks of it, that has been the task since Friday. Meaningless numbers running across a cold screen while he sits alone in a dark room. 'Coping.'

Dick lets a frown cross his face before he quickly sits up and throws his arms over Tim's shoulders, wrapping the small teenager into an awkward hug. The action entices a little gasp from the boy, and Dick takes that as a first of many small victories he hopes to accomplish before the night ends. With a fake smile of his own and a small laugh, Dick hums out, "Scenarios? Really? That sounds like the lamest possible way to spend your evening. No wonder you're always brooding - your social life sucks."

"It's not - This is a perfectly adequate way to spend my time." Timmy responds, almost indignant. And hey, that's an improvement - he is showing honest emotion. But not enough. So Dick snorts and ruffles Tim's hair, earning a small sound of protest as he tries to struggle out of Dick's iron-clad hug. "At least I'm doing something useful - like *not* annoying someone who is obviously busy." Dick would normally laugh at the 'insult' - but the usual joking force isn't behind it. He can tell Tim just wants him to leave him alone; leave him alone and let him go back to being a robot. Well - not on Dick's watch.

"So you would rather sit here and watch the boring version of The Matrix rather than hang out with your awesome big brother? I'm hurt, Tim, I really am. Here, make it up to me." Dick hums with a small grin as he stands, easily scooping up the smaller vigilante bridal-style as he does. Tim outright yelps at this - his arms reflexively lacing around Dick's neck. But no more than a second later he seems to realize what he is doing and a blush spreads across his face like wildfire through a dry prairie. He drops his arms and shifts, as though to break free from Dick's hold - but Dick will have none of that. He holds Tim tighter as he turns and walks to the door. He begins to worry slightly as the boy remains uncharacteristically pliant to such babying - but he feels the fading smile on his face brighten as Tim's confused, wary, and somewhat annoyed voice asks, "Uh. . .Dick? Is there a reason why you are carrying me across the threshold and out of my room?"

"Sure is, kiddo. It's called 'You are sixteen years old and shouldn't be sitting in your room alone running scenarios of all things.' It's a disease. Little geniuses are very susceptible. The only known remedy is video games."

It only takes Tim a moment to catch on before he finally lets out a sigh. And Dick's heart sinks because he knows that sigh. It's the 'I know I'm about to disappoint you but I can't help it' sigh. Tim is going to turn down the offer - and then Dick will have to outright confront Tim about his problems. That method rarely works with the youngest of the Bat brood. But at this point, that's all he has.

But then Tim looks up at him with a grin - the same empty, false one but a grin nonetheless - and chimes, "Fine. If you're prepared for a long night of 'My younger brother just embarrassed me.'." And Dick forces a smile and an all-out laugh past his ever-sinking heart and ever-growing concern. Progress, he reminds himself – this is progress. Slow progress, but progress all the same. And, if nothing else, this is better than letting Tim lock himself in his room. So he laughs and unceremoniously dumps Tim onto the couch as he snickers,

"Challenge accepted, little brother. Get ready to eat those words."

This one's a little bit shorter – but the next one is already about halfway done. I won't say when I'll post it because I'm pretty sure that jinxes me, but I swear it will be soon.

Thank you for reading and please review! Reviews make me happy. c:

'Til again, pigeons.