A half hour later Tim was gratified to hear a moan. "I think you can wake up without too much misery now," he advised. "The worst part's done."

It was as done as he could make it with his limited materials, at least. He'd used a great deal of what was left of their water to irrigate the gaping wound the rock had left, but after that his options had been limited. While he'd been unable to see bone at the bottom of the gash, it was deep enough that had they been at home it would have been given several layers of stitches to help it heal faster. With finite supplies, inadequate light, and no experience suturing, however, he had deemed it best to retreat to the top of the wound and do what little he could. Drawing on the simplistic instructions in the grainily-printed first-aid manual and what he could remember of injuries he'd had in the past, he'd sewed the skin shut and wrapped it in bandages.

That process alone had taken up the majority of the time that Dick had been out. Once he'd placed the last piece of medical tape, he had turned to the myriad lacerations on the older man's hands and forearms. Here he had felt more confident, and his fingers had slowed in their shaking as he'd scrubbed the scratches with antibacterial wipes. A thick layer of bacitracin – they had a copious quantity of that, if nothing else – sealed the nicks and scrapes from dirt. It was as he was putting the lid back on the ointment's tube that his brother stirred, and he had rarely been more pleased with someone else's timing.

"Ugh...Timmy?"

"Right here."

"Next time we go hiking...let's wear body armor, kay?"

"We'd be a hell of a lot less beat up," he agreed. "...Sweaty, though."

"Yeah, but we're used to that. And we reek anyway." Dick turned his head until their eyes met. "I'd give anything for a bath right now."

"You couldn't have one with fresh stitches. A shower, maybe."

"Stitches? Aww..." A grin appeared. "You really gave me stitches?"

"I, uh...I didn't have much choice," he shivered. "It was really deep. They're rudimentary, and I knowthey're going to have to be redone, but...I did what I could."

"You did great," a freshly-cleaned hand reached out to pat his shoulder. "I know you hate medical stuff, so that makes it doubly awesome that you managed stitches. Stitches," he wondered, shaking his head. "I'm proud of you, little brother."

He turned his face away so that his blush wouldn't be visible in the headlamp's glow. "...Thanks, but you might want to hold off on that emotion until we see how well they hold. For all I know they'll all pop out as soon as you move. I hope not," he added quickly, "but it's not like I've ever given them before."

"I know. But tell me; is your tongue bleeding?"

"Huh?" Maybe I should check your head again, he frowned.

"I said, is your tongue bleeding? I only ask because I'm betting you had it between your teeth the whole time you were working."

"Oh..." His cheeks grew hotter, but he smiled. "Maybe a little bit."

"Then I'll bet not a single one of those stitches you put in pop out. But," Dick rose onto his elbows, "now it's my turn to play doctor. Help me up so that you can lay down."

"Um...I'm okay," he insisted, keeping his attention on reorganizing the medical kit. No more, he pleaded. Can't we just go to bed?

"Timmy..."

The gentle big-brother-grade reassurance with which his name was spoken made him feel like he was being a complete baby, but he couldn't help it. Everything that had happened in the last twelve hours was encroaching on the tiny corner of his mind he'd managed to keep clear enough to function in, and he was too tired to push it back any more. "...I'm sorry," he sniffed.

"It's okay. Hey?" Fingers curled against his shoulder and tugged him around. "Look at me. It's okay. I'm upset too. It's okay."

"You don't look upset. You look...you look like a fucking pro at this. Damn it..." He swiped at his face, angry at his weak emotional walls. If Dick had needed to sew him shut, he bet there wouldn't have been any hesitation, shaking, or tears involved. "...I'm sorry..."

"Stop apologizing. If it'll make you feel better to see me cry, Timmy, just keep going, okay? Because to be honest, seeing you cry right now will be all it takes to push me over the edge."

The admission tempted him to look up. "...Really?"

"Really. I'm only half a step back from where you are right now, especially after that hunk of yuck you pulled out of me," Dick teased kindly, then sobered. "To be honest, the only reason I'm not right up there on the edge of a total breakdown with you is sheer experience. Even then, most of my time dealing with stuff like this has been mask time, and you know as well as I do that that's different."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It...it is." For all that they knew that what they did in costume was real, and more real in some ways than their daily lives were, their masks provided a mental filter that nothing else in the world could duplicate. With their eyes hidden from the world they felt stronger and more resilient than they could ever be as just Dick and Tim; it was only when their alter egos were sleeping that the nightmares came. They had had no protection today, though, no lenses to look through, and try as he might Tim couldn't tap into the power of Red Robin's mask from a continent away. "...I just want to be home, Dick. That's all I want right now."

"Join the club," a chuckle sounded. "But right now we're here, and we'll get through it. At least we've got each other, huh?"

"Yeah. Jesus..." What would I do without you? "I feel like such a wimp."

"Why? You're doing great!"

"Sure, but you're...I'm supposed to be the strong one right now," he sighed. "You have every right to be the one on the verge of tears, and here I sit, needing you to pick me back up...Damian's right. I am pathetic."

"No, Tim. You're not," Dick said, his tone turning serious. "And I'll tell you two reasons why. First of all, you can't help how you feel, and there's no shame in it. Besides, as much as I appreciate you taking care of me – and I do, don't misread me on this – I'm not afraid to throw my title around and insist on big brother privilege when it comes to taking care of you in return. Second, if Damian was here instead of you, I guarantee you he'd be just as shaken as we are. He'd make me work a heck of a lot harder to get him to show it, but he'd want a big hug right now, too. So make things easy on me and lean in, would you?"

He didn't think twice, but just slumped to the side. Warm, salve-sticky arms wrapped around him and squeezed, and he returned the gesture as best he could. It shouldn't have made him feel better, not when it didn't do a damned thing for their material situation, but somehow it did. "...Dick?"

"Mm-hmm?" was hummed above him.

"Um...thank you."

"You're welcome, Timmy. Now lay down and let me see your knees. I don't really have the energy to pin you, but I'll find it if I have to."

The half-serious threat drew a bark of laughter from his throat. "Okay," he nodded as he pulled back. "I guess after what I did to you I deserve to have a few slivers plucked."

"Deserve? No. You're seeing the unsavory side of big-brother privilege, that's all." The headlamp's beam caught Dick's expression for an instant as they changed places, highlighting a hopeful sadness that Tim wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. "...Maybe someday you'll understand just what I mean."

"What do you..." Oh, it clicked. Damian. While he was prepared to admit that he might have come to understand the little jerk a bit better over the past few days, he didn't see them ever having a relationship on the level that Dick would have liked them to have. That was the last thing he could stand to say to the man after catching his look a moment before, however, so he fudged the truth. "Ah. Well...yeah. Maybe." A big maybe, he kept to himself. White lies to spare your feelings; that's little brother privilege, at least in my book.

"I hope so," a wistful sigh was breathed. "But daydreams aside, I need the headlamp."

"Sure." A hand gripped his wrist when he extended the requested item, and he frowned. "What-"

A bolt of electricity ran up his arm from his once-crooked pinkie as Dick wrenched it deftly back into place. Through his scream Tim felt himself being guided backwards onto the ground pad. "Daaamn it," he sobbed as his hand screeched.

"It's okay. That was the worst part, I promise. The taping won't hurt at all compared to that."

"It's n-not that," he spat, mad at himself. "Although th-this sucks too..." Fail, Drake. Ultimate fail.

"...Well what is it, then?"

"I sh-sh-should have seen it coming! Sneak attack...it's the same thing I d-did to you!"

"Yeah...but that's because you're the smart one, Timmy. You had the answer right before you even knew there was a question. If you have to do something painful to help someone while they're awake, always try to catch them by surprise. It keeps them from tensing up and making it harder to fix the problem the first time. Now hold still, huh?"

"Are you going to s-surprise me again if I do?"

"Nope. No more surprises. Well...not from me, anyway. Okay?"

Sniffling, Tim tried to relax. He didn't enjoy that any more than you enjoyed seeing his leg all...filleted,he told himself. Don't make this any harder on him than it already is. If there was one thing he had learned tonight, it was that putting someone you loved back together was one of the most horrible chores in the world. God, how does Alfred do stuff like this for us all the time? You hear about stiff upper lips, but holy shit...

He wasn't sure how long it took for Dick to finish cleaning him up. All he knew was that his buddy-taped hand was eventually laid on his chest and that after that the gentle squeeze that was applied just above his knee during each extraction acted as a vague anesthetic. Eventually a glob of the same cool antiseptic gel he'd been responsible for smearing on earlier landed atop his own wounds. "Mmph...is that it?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think that's it. Unless you've got something else you haven't told me about?"

"No. Just the same hundred thousand bruises you have."

"Ooh...a bath in bruise cream. How about that?"

"Any bath would be great right about now."

"Speaking of water...we're low on it."

"I know. There wasn't much left when I finished with you."

"Well, there's even less now. We can make it until morning, but we're going to need more first thing."

Great. Backtracking. They had filled up at a small spring in the woods that morning, but there was no telling if it was still there after the earthquake. Water had been the last thing on his mind when he'd been guiding his brother through the dusk, and even if he'd seen it then he wouldn't have dared to stop. "I guess we'll do it in the morning, then."

"Yup. Okay...should we attempt to make it back to the tent?"

"It might be easier to just lay here and be bear bait," he winced. "Thoughts?"

"After you went through all the hassle of turning the locator beacons on? Nah, we'd better stay alive."

"You're right. Bats would be pissed if he flew all the way out here just to punch a bear into non-existence."

"Something like that." A beat passed. "...Boy, you know we're tired when our jokes get that dark."

"True." He stuck his good arm up blindly. "Well, if we're done making dire forecasts of the future, can you pull me up?"

"If you can run a three-legged hundred-yard-dash with me, sure."

"Sounds like a plan."

They fumbled their way to their feet, grabbed the first aid kit and their water bottles, and began the long hobble back to the tent. Tim knew they were leaving things undone – the stove should have been packed away and the food ought to have been stashed at a distance from their cooking area, among other things – but they simply didn't possess the strength to deal with them. The strongest predator-drawing smells were away from where they would be sleeping, and that was good enough for tonight.

A flurry of flapping passed over their heads as they reached the midway point in their journey. "What the hell was that?!" he demanded, staring up into the dark sky. What stars there had been when night had fallen were mostly gone now, crowded out by gathering clouds, and he could see nothing. Too dark, he swallowed. A dark corner, a dark alleyway...those were one thing. This, though...with no walls or ceiling, the darkness was just too big. Anything could be out there, and we'd never know. Anything.

Dick, who still wore the headlamp, didn't look up. "Bats," he replied. "There are something like eight species in the park. I think you told me that, actually."

Now that he thought about it, he recalled reading something along those lines, and in the excitement of preparing for their trip he probably had shared the factoid with his brother. "Right. Too bad it isn't the one type of bat we need," he snarked now. I want to go home. It's dark, we're hurt, and there's still so far to go...where are you, Bruce?

"...He'll come, Timmy. Just give him time. Watch, we won't even need to get water in the morning. We'll wake up to him unzipping the tent, and everything will be taken care of. Think about it; he was probably on patrol when you turned the beacons on. Figure an hour to finish up in town and get home after Alfred called him, and then another few hours to fly out here...he could be on his way already."

He wanted to buy into that scenario so badly that it hurt, but a nagging doubt that he couldn't explain hung on in the back of his head. "...You're probably right," he agreed anyway.

"Sure. He'll be here in the morning, and until then," Dick yawned as they approached the low dome of their shelter, "all we have to do is sleep. It's not such a bad deal, really."

"No. It's not." Sleep...he could do that, no problem.

It took a bit of adjusting to get themselves into the tent and situated on the single ground pad in a way that didn't leave one of them wincing. A few swallows of their dwindling water supply served to wash more ibuprofen down their throats, and after swatting a few mosquitoes they lay still. They were tucked tightly together, but Tim found he didn't mind; so long as there was an arm around his waist, he knew the other man was safely beside him, and that was comfort enough for him to be grateful for. Now if Bruce would just do as he was supposed to and show up overnight, all would be well...

"Tim?" a whisper pulled him back just short of slumber.

"Huh?"

"I know this trip hasn't turned out the way we planned, but...thanks for coming with me anyway. I wouldn't have had half as much fun with anyone else. I love you, little brother."

"...I love you too," he murmured back, screwing his eyelids shut to keep from dampening his pillow. "Sweet dreams, Dick."

"Sweet dreams, Timmy. And if they aren't sweet, for the love of all that's holy don't kick me in the leg. I'm begging you."

He bit back a snort of amusement. "I'll do my best."

"Thanks. Night."

"Night."

The low breathing behind him slowed into sleep, and his own respiration fell to match pace with it. Just before he dozed off, he moved his hand to cover the one draped across his stomach. I never felt like I was missing out by not having a big brother when I was little, Dick, he squeezed the older man's fingers, but...I'm so glad that when I got one, he was you.

Author's Note: I posted an amusing little Batman brain-teaser on my blog last night, in case anyone's interested in trying it out. Happy reading!