[ The message, meager as it is, is enough - the phone falls blessedly silent afterwards, and Damian can picture Tim's response with near-perfect mental clarity: he'd be re-reading the message, over and over, a hand covering his mouth but eyebrows drawn down, trying to keep composure. Maybe trying to think of a reply, but deciding to leave it at that, because everything he wants to say can't be done over text. So he'll focus on breaking the news to Alfred and Bruce, then Cassandra and Stephanie, then Dick; and afterwards, he'll turn to the practical side of things, and start sorting out Jason's paperwork. Because Jason Todd is no longer legally dead, and that comes with its own technicalities and paper trail.

He laughs under his breath. Tim is a force to be reckoned with, just as much as Damian. ]

And when he starts getting weepy on you I'm going to laugh.

[ Timothy had been such a crybaby, even as he'd put on a brave face. Ten years hasn't changed that.

But Damian is digging around in the belt again, pulling out a small medical kit -- not much gets by him, and he'd been watching Jason type. ]

Alright, give me your hands. Let's at least try and look like we can take care of ourselves before he and Alfred get the chance to us both out for showing up looking like this--