[ Everyone's fine. That's good. Tim doesn't bother hiding the way his shoulders slump in relief beneath Dick's grip. He'd known there'd be casualties as soon as the prisoners started escaping, and known the numbers weren't all that great, but looks like everyone pulled through. ]

I will. My gear's busted, or I would've called in as soon as I got out.

[ The Martian Manhunter hadn't said whether he'd let Batman know if he saw him, but Tim's sure the news has already spread around to the rest of the big leaguers. But when Tim calls in - oh boy. That's gonna be an adventure. Batman's probably going to put him through the ringer, to make sure he's really alive and really himself.

Maybe he'll let Alfred know, first. Tim doesn't want to face Bruce on an empty stomach. ]

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make everyone worry--

[ The apology cuts off when Dick drags him into a hug, and there's a lump in his throat at how desperate and relieved it is. Tim's never been all that physically affectionate, unused to handing out casual touch, but he's responsive and sensitive enough to know when to meet someone halfway without prompting. He winds his arms back around Dick, tight; small and wiry and very much so Tim, ripped suit and all, face buried in the older vigilante's chest. ]

Are you okay, Dick?

[ Talking about hallucinations, and Jason. And for some reason he's in his BPD uniform, and he said that Tim should call, rather than Dick immediately ringing them all up, or calling for Alfred, and there's a lot of pieces here that don't fit right. Something that Tim can't put his finger on, but it's nothing good, he thinks. ]