[Dick's inclined to agree. Damian's never looked better than in his old colors.

He doesn't hesitate; drops to one knee to meet him halfway, throws his arms around Damian as soon as he's within reach. The force is more than he bargained for with that lunge, and he thinks he might well completely fall over or break a rib or probably had a bruise-- but he at least holds his ground, and his grip isn't the same amped up vice as Damian's, but it's still tight and clinging like he's never going to let go.

He's back. God, he really is back.]

It's not their fault-- [His voice is wet, though there's no hiccups, his eyes are tearing up but he hardly even cares as he buries his face in Damian's messy black mop of hair.] --They don't know. You're not even supposed to know. Couldn't tell anyone the truth... Even got my own funeral.

[He'd went along with the plan, despite his objections. He didn't like hiding from his family.]

I wanted to come back sooner. I should've. I-I missed you.