A sound on the rooftop behind him, so faint as to be indistinguishable from the fall of rain if not for his heightened senses. And even so, noticed only because he has, on some level, been waiting to hear it.

The light, mocking edge in the voice belies its care. "Daredevil, brooding in the rain. Isn't that a cliché?" Without waiting for an answer, Dick moves up close, then drops to gather him into an embrace. "Matt. Don't do this to yourself."

"It's not worth it," Matt says, and the obviousness of the lie doesn't require either to refute it.

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