Tim has the nagging suspicion (certainty) that Dick knows it isn't.
He can will himself as far as searching through the brush ahead for either signs of wandering eyes, or Laelaps. He finds neither. There's the open wounds of the earthquake though- to their right is a line of downed, strong trees, uprooted because the ice and ground broke right from under their roots. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?]
I'm going to have to stick you in a big tub to thaw you out.
[More of Tim attempting to delay the inevitable because Bruce isn't the only one who will have nightmares and aches in his chest because Nightwing smells like fire. --but. Nightwing also smells like himself. Tim's crashing into him with a bone-deep exhaustion. He's like a mangy cat, or some sickly wolf that can't stick around a pack, his head butting squarely onto Dick's chest and his hands and arms-- disengaged.
There's aches in his chest but Tim is not crying. There will be time for that later; his brother is real. Tim's not sure if he's grateful. Doesn't that make him terrible-? He has family here, again, and he's not grateful. With the low droning of disuse, Tim explains.] I didn't want to touch you because I'm scared I'm going to hurt you.
[And now he's not sure he'll be able to pull himself away.]
no subject
Tim has the nagging suspicion (certainty) that Dick knows it isn't.
He can will himself as far as searching through the brush ahead for either signs of wandering eyes, or Laelaps. He finds neither. There's the open wounds of the earthquake though- to their right is a line of downed, strong trees, uprooted because the ice and ground broke right from under their roots. If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?]
I'm going to have to stick you in a big tub to thaw you out.
[More of Tim attempting to delay the inevitable because Bruce isn't the only one who will have nightmares and aches in his chest because Nightwing smells like fire. --but. Nightwing also smells like himself. Tim's crashing into him with a bone-deep exhaustion. He's like a mangy cat, or some sickly wolf that can't stick around a pack, his head butting squarely onto Dick's chest and his hands and arms-- disengaged.
There's aches in his chest but Tim is not crying. There will be time for that later; his brother is real. Tim's not sure if he's grateful. Doesn't that make him terrible-? He has family here, again, and he's not grateful. With the low droning of disuse, Tim explains.] I didn't want to touch you because I'm scared I'm going to hurt you.
[And now he's not sure he'll be able to pull himself away.]
God, I missed you.