"Alfred, have I ever told you that I love your roast beef sandwiches?"

"Merely every time I make them, Master Dick. But might I recommend leaving the meat for the sandwiches?"

Dick dropped his hand to his side and did his best to look innocent. "I don' know wha' you're talkin' 'bout."

Alfred shook his head disappointedly. "You were certainly raised by a Wayne."

A floorboard creaked by the doorway, and Dick asked in a playful tone, "So how was your decontamination?" Alfred didn't have to turn around to know that Tim had entered the kitchen.

The wiry teen stood with his arms crossed uncomfortably over his chest, wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and looking like he wished it was something more. The brace covered most of his torso, but his arms, shoulders, and most of his upper chest were still bare. His hair and wings were both still clearly damp.

"It was pretty nice," he answered. "Nothing worth reporting." He grinned at the sight of the sandwiches Alfred was making. "Those smell incredible."

"You can ask Master Dick how they taste," the butler answered smoothly. Tim snickered.

"You try to resist Alfred's food for half an hour," the acrobat said defensively.

Alfred turned around, holding a tray with two sandwiches and two glasses of lemonade. "I have the patio prepared for a pleasant lunch in the beautiful outdoors."

Dick took the tray from him. "Thanks, Alfred." He grinned at Tim and walked out the door on the far side of the room, forcing Tim to cross the kitchen without hitting anything with the enormous protrusions on his back. It was easier said than done, but he managed it well enough.

"It's a beautiful day. I figured we'd take advantage of it." Dick was waiting by the set of French doors leading to the patio, holding the tray in one hand to open the doors with the other. "It'll help your wings dry, too."

Tim stepped outside, and if he'd been content before, he was ecstatic now. He still had his arms crossed, but his shoulders relaxed from their hunched position. A breath that had felt like a permanent resident in his chest released. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sun shining on his face. He beamed as a light breeze caressed the feathers of the wings, hinting at what would someday come.

Dick set the tray on the square table in the center of the patio. "It's a perfect day, isn't it?"

Tim took a deep breath of the fresh air and released it slowly. "Yeah, it is." He turned an armless chair sideways and sat down, draping one arm over the back. "Alfred is the best," he said with a grin as he grabbed one of the plates with a sandwich and a glass of the sweet refreshment.

"He really is." Dick moved the remaining sandwich and glass in front of himself, setting the tray off to the side.

They both started eating, each fully aware that the only reason they weren't talking was that neither of them wanted to stop eating long enough to say something. Occasionally, one of them would pause to sip some lemonade or maybe breathe, but it wasn't until Dick shoved the last bite in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed that the relative quiet was broken.

"So did you have anything you wanted to do today?" he asked.

Tim set down the second half of his sandwich. "Well, I was thinking it would be nice to just spend some time outside. I've been cooped up so long, I don't really have any plans other than 'get the heck out of the house.'"

Dick nodded understandingly. "Well, if you don't have anything else you want to do, we can start stretching. You can't stretch your wings yet, but you can start moving your arms again. It'll be hard to fight crime if you can't reach the top of your head."

Tim just looked at him.

"Okay, that was uncalled for," Dick admitted.

Tim smirked. "I'm glad you realized that."

"But really, it would be a good idea to start stretching as soon as possible. The sooner you start, the faster you can get yourself back in shape." He sipped his lemonade.

"You say that like I'm overweight or something," Tim said, lifting an eyebrow.

Dick almost choked on his drink. "You know what I meant," he said as he wiped lemonade off his face.

"I know what you meant," Tim echoed with laughter in his voice.

Dick wiped his hands on his pants, eyeing the remainder of Tim's sandwich. "Aren't you going to finish that?"

Tim shrugged, nudging it slightly away from himself. "Not that hungry, I guess." He took a small sip of his lemonade.

Dick nodded. "Alright, Alfred can pack it up for later, or something."

The breeze picked up slightly, and Tim inhaled sharply for two reasons: One, he wasn't wearing a shirt, and it was a cold breeze; two, it felt absolutely incredible on the wings. Maybe their dampness made them feel cold, but at the same time, the gentle stimulation was definitely something he could live with for a while. Several hours, at the very least.

Dick recognized his expression. "It's great, isn't it?" he asked. Tim nodded, closing his eyes with pleasure. "Here, come on." Dick stood up, pulling off his shirt.

Tim opened his eyes and watched him, uncomfortable for several reasons (all related to one another). "What?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Just come on."

Tim stood up and followed him off the patio, curious about what they were doing. They made their way up the small hill nearby and stopped just below the peak. An enormous pair of jet-black wings spread over Dick's shoulders, and he sat so his legs angled back down the incline. He patted the grass next to him, indicating that Tim should sit next to him, and Tim obliged, putting his hands on the ground behind him to prop himself up.

"So... what are we doing?" he asked when several quiet moments passed with both of them sitting bare-chested on the grassy slope.

Dick put a finger to his lips, his eyes closed.

Tim looked at him in confusion for a moment, then sighed and closed his eyes as well. He wasn't sure what they were doing, but Dick had been trained by the same wackjob as Tim. He probably had some kind of ancient philosophical wisdom or centuries-old technique to control breathing or something like that.

"Feel that?" Dick asked quietly.

Tim had no idea which of the feelings he was referring to, so he remained quiet and waited for the inevitable explanation.

"The breeze?" his brother prompted.

There it was. Now Tim didn't have to make something up. "Yeah, I feel it."

That was apparently it. Dick stopped talking (for once), and they sat in the afternoon light, soaking in the sunshine and the gentle air currents. The zephyr stirred the feathers in the wings, and Tim let out a small, comfortable sigh. He could maybe get used to this, especially if actual flight (assuming it was attainable) would be as spectacular as Dick had told him during his time in the cave.

When he felt as though he'd absorbed enough of the sensation, Tim turned his head to look at Dick. Namely, his wings. In the afternoon sun, the black feathers shone with a dark blue iridescence that shifted with the gentle motion of Dick's breathing, and the breeze brushed through them, running ripples along the rich plumage. It was a sight to behold, and Tim was proud to be one of the few privy to them.

His gaze slowly drifted to the brown appendages attached to himself. Now that they were clean and in more natural light, he could make out reddish hues and darker brown flecks in the previously scummy green and dirty brown feathers. Even the off-white mottling the bottom edge had gained sheen during the thorough washing, glistening as it neared complete dryness.

He couldn't deny it: they were beautiful.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he shut his eyes again as the breeze picked up slightly, caressing its future partners of the sky. Maybe that was a bit too poetic, but he was excited. It was the first time his wings looked like they could actually be more than a filthy, exotic backpack that barely held up under its own weight. As much as he'd hated-- despised-- them, he couldn't deny their now-evident beauty, nor their elegant promise of what the future would hold.