[His hands eventually come to settle on Tim's shoulders once he's convinced there's no obvious sign of permanent damage, his grip strong but-- trying to be gentle, and wary, still half certain that this was way too good to be true. The evidence was right here. He didn't need to doubt right now, did he?]

Everyone's fine. [Physically, at least.] They're... dealing with it.

[Maybe. Honestly, he doesn't really know for sure. Alfred, for all his stoicism, is probably heartbroken. Steph was probably a mess, though maybe she and Cass at least had each other. Babs dealt with things in anger-- and Bruce... He'd refused to even let himself guess. But it's all nust maybes and assumptions anyway.]

You should probably give everyone a call-- talk to them yourself. Everyone... was worries. [Understatement, and the barely feigned cheer in his voice doesn't have the same ring it usually does.] If you call Alfred down, I'm sure he'd be wiing to make you the biggest damn buffet you've ever seen.

[His voice tapers off into an unfinished thought-- he plans to be long gone before Alfie shows up to investigate the noise. But then, with little fanfare, Dick pulls Tim into his arms. Just for a moment, and he's sure to mindful of cute and bruises for another moment there it seems like he's not willing to let go, because god Tim was here and he was alive and OK and he was going to live and Dick's chest couldn't help but swell with joy and relief at the thought as his mind finally came to terms with what must have been reality.]