-Neither friends nor enemies…simply brothers.

This terrifying world is not devoid of charms, of the mornings that make waking up worthwhile. -Wislawa Szymborska

Take a breath, pause, and exhale.

Dick, while careful to uphold his sleeping front he took a quick assessment of his situation. He was surprised to find that instead of the cold, damp gutter he'd expected to wake up in— he was actually surrounded by a pleasant warmth and well supported on a softly cushioned surface.

There was no denying the ache though; it felt as if he'd been hit by train and a very large one at that. The faint scent of antiseptic clung to the air, but the aroma of freshly done laundry outweighed it. Only the slight scratch of bandages against his skin was concrete proof of any injury.

"I called him dad once, not daddy or father, just… dad."

Jason shouldn't have been able to tell when he had regained consciousness. Dick had practiced this charade, perfected it. He couldn't count the sheer amount of people who bought it, Batman among them. But this was Jason, his replacement. It was highly possible the man was skilled in the art of picking apart such deceptions.

Or he could've been talking for hours.

With that tuft of white hair sticking out with stark contrast to the other's black dyed locks, the possibility of madness was always lurking.

"But he never called me son, not until after my death."

Dropping all pretenses for the chance of seeing the humanity in his otherwise calloused 'brother,' Dick willed his eyes open. For a brief panicked moment he thought he'd gone blind, only to realize that the room was almost as dim as the blackness that his closed eyelids provided.

It didn't take long for him to realize just where he was, the manor was a give in, but the bedroom of his deceased adoptive father took a bit more observation. Void of any particularly personal affects, it was the floor length satin curtains draped over brilliantly arched windows and the silk linen sheets beneath a goose feather comforter that gave it away. Only two days earlier he'd held Damian's rattled form in the same place on this vast mattress, hushing the young boy into a fitful sleep.

With a breath snatching effort Dick propped himself up in a sitting position, his eyes flitting toward the darkened silhouette perched at the foot of the bed.

"Fa- thering was not always Bruce's strong point."

He choked on the first syllable, voice breaking along the way up his painfully parched throat.

"Easy boy blunder," waltzing from the bed's edge to the first of three arched windows Jason took hold of the heavy satin fabric in both fists and flung the curtains open. Behind him came a muffled protest as he was sure his brother shrank away from the sudden dose of sunlight, then the protest became a groan of pain which, as was to be expected, bitten off.

Jason without even turning around could just imagine the edges of Dick's teeth tearing through the tender flesh of his bottom lip, one of few bodily expanses which had remained surprisingly undamaged.

"I said take it easy!"

His voice was a bit rougher than he intended as he rounded on the damaged bird, now hunched slightly with a grip over his bandaged abdomen. Jason stalked toward the bed with a vicious glower and without hesitation shoved Dick into the cushioned hold of the many pillows surrounding his battered form.

"Idiot," none of the usual malice marred Jason's hushed tone and he swore as he turned toward the mahogany bedside table to fetch the glass of water sitting on it he saw Dick smirk through his obvious discomfort. Half tempted to wipe the grin from the other's face, only the glaring gauze pad adhered firmly to Dick's cheek kept him from doing so. Beneath it Jason knew was a thickly painted glob of bruise salve.

After witnessing Alfred bandage up the broken blue bird, he knew there were other gauze pads situated with the same salve all across the other's body. Seeing the smattering of injuries Dick was saddled with almost made Jason feel guilty about how rough he'd been during the trip from the apartment complex to the manor.

Almost.

Dick forgot everything the moment the chilled crystal of the delicate drinking glass brushed his lips. He sucked down the iced water greedily, a chill running down his spine. The liquid slithered down his throat, glossing over the sore roughness in sweet relief. Had Jason not snatched the glass away, Dick probably would have tried to swallow the crystal.

"What part of 'take it easy' does not register in that bird brain of yours?"

The bite to Jason's tone was slight and Dick felt compelled to simply stare. It had been years since he'd gotten the chance to see Jason, to really see him, daylight included.

He looked too old, far too old. His devilishly hansom face carved with sharp angles and even sharper features. The icy edge to his eyes had softened, or the light was playing tricks, both were equally possible. But the standout of differences was the splatter of shallow cuts and faint bruising along the right side of Jason's face, most certainly caused by a left hand.

Tim was left handed…

Tim.

"Where is he, how is he?"

Dick did his best to keep any accusation from seeping into his tone, but the way his body jerked violently in a sudden attempt to rise was a clear sign of panicked worry over his younger brother's well-being.

If it affected Jason it didn't show, though it was seldom that anything managed to breach his bored façade.

"Believe it or not, the replacement is comforting that little demon spawn."

Dick's heart sank, a sudden wave of thoughts about Damian and what the past night –possibly nights- had been like for him.

"Help me… please."

Not in the mood to deal with Dick's mother hen hysteria, Jason complied with the somewhat commanding request. While attempting to be at least moderately gentle, Jason wrapped an arm around the slightly shorter man's waist and helped him into a sitting position and then a standing or rather leaning stance. He ignored the blush the rose across Dick's fair skin once the man realized he was clad only in a pair of dark gray boxers. Only the great boy blunder would be more concerned with his lack of clothing and not the large variety of gauze, bandages, and medical tape adhered to the majority of his body.

For a moment Jason considered draping Bruce's robe across Grayson's shoulders, at the last moment he thought better of it. Hesitantly he peeled off his freshly laundered leather jacket and helped it's new wearer get his arms through the sleeves. The look of curiosity shot at him through royal blue orbs was almost enough for him to take it back.

With eyes focused steadfast toward whatever happened to be in front of him, Jason mumbled only a slight explanation.

"I didn't want them to mistake you for…him."

That seemed to be all the explanation Dick needed. The whisper he got in return from good ole golden boy was returned just as softly as Jason helped him down the stairs.

"I'm sorry for your loss Jason."

"I'm sorry for yours ...Richard."

"Touché."

AN: Jason does not come with an instruction manual on how to turn off the brood and turn on the fluff. Dick is nothing but fluff. This chapter is an odd attempt on trying to incorporate Jason's fluff with Grayson's fluff while Jason's brooding is kept brewing. Love as always to the reviewers.