Archive of Our Own

Dick Grayson is seven years old, and he is almost certain this is the worst day of his entire life.

Today is the first day of summer vacation, and it is supposed to be the best day ever. Dick had been planning for this summer for weeks. He is going to build a treehouse in the big oak tree behind the manor. He is going to catch fireflies every night and put them in jars with holes poked in the lids. Alfred said he had to release them before bed, but catching them is still fun. He is going to eat popsicles until his tongue turned rainbow-colored.

But now, all his plans are ruined.

Because his dad brought home another kid.

Dick sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase, arms folded tightly across his chest, his black tail wound around his leg. The tip of his tail swished back and forth against the smooth wooden floor. Tap, tap, tap. His dog ears, usually perked up alertly on top of his head, drooped down, nearly reaching his shoulders.

"Dick," his father Bruce said, crouching down in front of him. "I know this is sudden, but—"

"You didn't even ask me!" Dick interrupted, his voice louder than he'd intended. His tail smacked hard against the floor. "You said this summer would be just you, me, and Alfred! You promised!"

Bruce's tail shifted uneasily. "I know, buddy. But… Jason's mom, Catherine. She is an old friend from college. She's going through a really tough time right now, and Jason needs a safe place to spend the summer."

Dick peered over his father's shoulder at the other boy standing in the doorway.

Jason is small—smaller than Dick—with a mop of messy black hair sticking up in all directions. Two dog ears pressed flat against his head, so tight that Dick almost didn't notice them at first. They were a rusty red color, like autumn leaves. His tail is tucked firmly between his legs, and his hands gripped the straps of a worn-out backpack.

Dick felt a pang in his chest. Maybe it is because Jason's ears were trembling, or maybe it is because his bright blue eyes kept darting around the enormous foyer, as if expecting something bad to happen. But Dick immediately pushed the feeling down. He didn't care if Jason is scared. Jason had ruined his summer.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," Dick said, standing up and turning his back on Bruce. His tail bristled upright with indignation. "I'm going to my room, and I'm never coming out, and you can't stop me."

He stomped away, every step a protest, his ears pressed flat against the back of his head. Behind him, he heard Bruce sigh. A deep, weary sigh that made Dick's chest ache faintly. But he didn't look back.

From his room, Dick could hear Bruce speaking to Jason in that gentle voice the one Bruce used when Dick had nightmares. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Passing Dick's door. Then the creak of the guest room door opening.

Dick pressed his ear against his door, listening.

"Alfred's put on fresh sheets, and there's space in the wardrobe for your clothes. It's your room now," Bruce said.

A long silence. Then Jason's voice, so quiet Dick had to prick his ears forward to hear, said, "It's… really big."

"Is this okay, sweetheart?"

Another silence. "I think so."

Dick felt his tail wag involuntarily. The guest room really is big. There is a window seat with cushions, bookshelves filled with books Alfred had selected, and a toy chest that Bruce always kept stuffed full, even though he rarely had guests. The room is actually pretty nice.

Not that Dick cared.no

He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stars he'd stuck up there last year. His tail thumped irritably against the mattress.

This is supposed to be his summer. Just him and Bruce and Alfred. They were supposed to go to the aquarium, to the science museum, and maybe the beach if Bruce could get time off work. With Jason tagging along, none of that would happen.

Dick rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, ears pressed flat against his skull.

He is never, ever going to like Jason Todd. Never.

An hour later, Dick heard the bathroom door close and the sound of running water. He crept out of his room and peered over the staircase banister.

Bruce is in the big bathroom—the one with the fancy jetted tub that had sprays and could fit three people. Through the half-open door, Dick could see steam curling upward. Like clouds. He heard Bruce speaking in that gentle voice.

"These bubbles are called 'Ocean Breeze,'" Bruce said. "Alfred says they smell like the beach. Jason, have you ever been to the beach?"

"No." Jason's voice is small.

"Then we'll have to go sometime."

Dick's ears perked up. They were going to the beach? He and Bruce and Jason? That isn't fair. The beach is their thing. Dick and Bruce went every summer, just the two of them—well, maybe Alfred too. They built sandcastles and collected shells, and Bruce would let Dick bury his legs in the sand.

He heard splashing, then Bruce said, "Alright, I'm going to grab your pajamas from your room."

Dick quickly ducked back into his room, pressing flat against the wall beside the door. He heard Bruce's footsteps pass and heard him go into the guest room, then come back out.

After Bruce's footsteps faded down the hallway, Dick couldn't help tiptoeing toward the bathroom.

The door is open just a crack, and Dick peeked through.

Jason is sitting in the enormous tub, surrounded by mountains of white bubbles. His ears were still pressed back but had relaxed somewhat. His tail draped over the edge of the tub, water dripping onto the bath mat. In his hands, he held a rubber duck—the one Alfred kept in the bathroom specifically for Dick's baths. He is turning it over and over, as if unsure what to do with it.

On the edge of the tub, Dick spotted something that made his chest tighten: the stuffed elephant. His stuffed elephant. Well, technically it didn't entirely belong to him—it belonged to the manor, usually sitting on the shelf in the playroom. But Dick had named it Peanut, and sometimes during baths, he'd pretend Peanut is a ship captain, navigating the ocean of bubbles.

Bruce must have brought it for Jason.

Dick watched as Bruce returned to the bathroom with pajamas on. They were the soft blue kind dotted with little stars—the ones Alfred kept for guests. He placed the pajamas on the counter, then picked up Peanut.

"This is Peanut," Bruce said, offering the elephant to Jason. "He likes to help with bath time."

Jason stared at the elephant for a long while. Then he shook his head, his ears drooping even more. "I'm too old for toys."

"You're never too old for Peanut," Bruce said with a small smile. "He's a very smart elephant. He's been on many adventures."

Jason didn't take the elephant. Bruce set it on the edge of the tub anyway, within reach.

"If you need anything, I'll be downstairs," Bruce said. "Take your time. When you're done with your bath, put on your pajamas and come find me, okay?"

Jason nodded, his tail swishing anxiously in the water.

After Bruce left, Jason sat motionless in the tub. Dick watched him slowly reach out and touch one of Peanut's ears. His own ears twitched slightly forward, but then Jason pulled his hand back, hugged his knees tight, and curled up in the tub, looking impossibly small.

That strange feeling surged through Dick's chest again, as if someone were squeezing his heart. He turned away from the bathroom and went back to his room.

Maybe Jason isn't that terrible. Maybe he is just… scared.

But that didn't mean Dick had to like him. His summer is still ruined, and in a way, it is still Jason's fault. Even if Jason hadn't meant it.

Dick climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head, turning himself into a dark cave where no one could see his drooping ears or tightly curled tail. Tomorrow, he decided, he would completely ignore Jason. He'd pretend Jason didn't exist at all. That would show everyone exactly what he thought.

Dick's plan to ignore Jason lasted only four days.

If it hadn't been for two things, the plan might have lasted longer: first, it's incredibly difficult to ignore someone who lives in the same house as you, and second, it rained.

And not just regular rain. This is the kind of downpour that hammered against the windows and turned the whole world into a blurry gray smear. The kind of rain that meant you absolutely could not go outside to build a treehouse or catch fireflies.

The kind of rain that meant you were stuck inside with nothing to do.

Bruce had left early that morning for work—something about an important meeting that couldn't wait. Alfred made breakfast (Dick's favorite chocolate chip pancakes) and then said he needed to lie down for a bit.

"These old bones aren't what they used to be," Alfred said with a tired smile, his gray tail swaying slowly. "Do be good while I rest, child."

This meant Dick is alone in the manor. Well, except for Jason.

Dick had been working hard to maintain his "ignore plan." When Jason came down for breakfast, Dick pretended to be deeply fascinated by his pancakes. When Jason sat in the big armchair in the library, Dick deliberately sat across the room. When Jason looked at the board game shelf in the playroom, Dick immediately ran to play with his toy cars.

But now, after lunch, with Alfred still resting and the rain still pouring, Dick is so bored he thought he might explode.

He lay on the playroom floor, rolling a toy car back and forth, watching the wheels spin around and around. His tail lay flat on the ground, the tip twitching slightly. His ears drooped with boredom.

On the other side of the room, Jason sat on the window seat, knees pulled up to his chest, watching the rain. His tail is curled at his feet, his ears constantly swiveling—toward Dick, then away, then toward Dick again. As if he wanted to say something but didn't know how to start.

Dick rolled the car one more time, then sat up with a long sigh. He looked at Jason. Jason looked at him.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Dick's curiosity won over the silence. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

Jason's ears shot up in surprise, as if he couldn't believe Dick is actually speaking to him. "The rain," he said. "I like rain."

"Rain is boring," Dick said, though his tail wagged involuntarily. "You can't do anything when it rains."

"You can do stuff inside."

"Inside is boring too."

Jason's tail wagged. "Have you ever played rain games?"

Dick's ears perked forward. "Like… playing in the rain outside?"

"Yeah. Like jumping in puddles and stuff."

Dick thought about it. He'd never played in the rain before. Alfred always said to come inside when it rained, and Bruce said rain would give you a cold. But the thought of splashing in puddles, getting completely soaked, maybe even sliding in the mud—it sounded kind of fun.

"Alfred said we have to stay inside," Dick said, already getting to his feet, his tail wagging faster.

Jason slid off the window seat. His ears perked up, alert and curious. "Alfred's asleep."

"Bruce says rain makes you sick."

"My mom used to let me play in the rain all the time," Jason said. Then his ears drooped. "Well, she used to."

Dick's chest tightened again. He didn't know what "used to" meant exactly, but it sounded sad.

He made a decision.

"There's a mud pit behind the garden," Dick said slowly, his tail wagging so fast it is almost a blur. "A big one. Sometimes there are frogs in it."

Jason's face lit up instantly. His tail started wagging too, matching Dick's rhythm. "Frogs?"

"Lots lots of frogs," Dick said with certainty. "Do you… want to go see?"

"Yes!" Jason's ears stood straight up, and for the first time since arriving at the manor, he looked genuinely happy. Dick felt a warm rush in his chest. He tried to suppress it (because he is still angry about his ruined summer, really still angry), but it wouldn't go away.

"Fine," Dick said, trying to sound casual even though his tail is wagging furiously. "But we have to be sneaky about it. If Alfred wakes up and sees us going out in the rain, he'll stop us."

"I'm really good at being sneaky," Jason said, giving his tail a proud flick.

They tiptoed through the manor like secret agents, tails held high, ears pricked wide, ready to catch any sign of Alfred stirring. Dick led the way to the back door—the one that opened onto the garden path, the one Alfred sometimes forgot to lock.

Dick turned the handle slowly, slowly, and the door opened with barely a squeak.

Rain immediately splashed onto Dick's nose, cold and wet. He shook his head, ears flapping, sending droplets flying. Jason giggled, and Dick felt his own tail wag harder.

"Come on!" Without thinking, Dick grabbed Jason's hand, and they ran together into the rain.

The rain is magnificent.

Dick had never felt rain like this. It is cold and warm at the same time, somehow, and within three seconds, his T-shirt is completely soaked through. His tail, heavy and drooping from the water, weighed him down, but he didn't care. His ears were plastered to his head, but that is fine too.

Beside him, Jason is laughing—really laughing, not the soft, quiet laughs from before. His tail is wagging so fast it splattered water everywhere; his ears were pressed back by the rain but he looked happy regardless.

"This way!" Dick shouted over the sound of the rain, pulling Jason toward the back of the garden.

They ran past Alfred's vegetable garden, feet splashing in puddles on the flagstone path. They ran past the rose bushes, where butterflies usually lived. They ran all the way to the back corner of the yard, where the lawn sloped downward and the grass grew tall and wild.

And there it is: the mud pit.

Except it isn't just a mud pit anymore. It is more like a small lake. A small, brown, gloriously murky lake.

"Wow," Jason breathed, eyes fixed on the puddle as it spread wider and wider.

"Told you it is big," Dick said proudly, puffing out his chest.

They stood at the edge of the mud pit for exactly two seconds before Dick took a running leap and landed right in the center.

SPLAT.

Mud sprayed everywhere—on Dick's shorts, his shirt, and his face. It squelched between his toes (he'd left his shoes at the back door, because muddy shoes were a given), splashed his tail, and made it heavier still.

"Dick!" Jason shouted, but he is laughing. "You're covered in mud!"

"Your turn!" Dick shouted back, grinning so wide his face hurt.

Jason didn't need to be told twice. He took a running leap and landed beside Dick with an even bigger splash.

And there they stood, in the middle of the mud pit, rain pouring down on their heads, completely coated in brown muck. Dick's tail swayed slowly through the thick mud, sending ripples outward. Jason's tail swayed too, and when the tips bumped together, they both dissolved into giggles.

"This is amazing!" Jason said, and he meant it. Dick could tell from his perked ears and nonstop wagging tail.

"I know!" Dick agreed. Then a thought struck him: "Wait—the frogs!"

They'd been so busy playing in the mud that they'd completely forgotten about the frogs.

Dick crouched down, tail high, peering carefully at the muddy water. At first, he couldn't see anything—just brown ripples. But then—there! Something moved near a clump of grass.

"There's one!" Dick whispered excitedly, pointing.

Jason crouched beside him, shoulders nearly touching. His tail went completely still, ears pricked forward, and he is focused intently.

A frog hopped out from the grass—a small green frog with yellow spots on its back. It sat on a rock, throat pulsing, completely unbothered by the rain or the two mud-covered boys staring at it.

"It's so cute," Jason whispered.

As if the first frog is a signal, more began to appear. Big ones, small ones, green ones, brown ones. They hopped around the edges of the mud pit, calling to each other in croaky voices that somehow carried over the sound of the rain.

"There must be a hundred frogs," Dick said in wonder.

"At least", Jason agreed.

For the next hour, they caught frogs (and immediately released them, because Alfred's rules about fireflies applied to frogs too), made mud pies (which were really just mud, but they pretended they were fancy desserts), and raced to see who could slide the farthest down the muddy slope (Jason won, but only because he is smaller and slid faster).

Before they knew it, they were both lying on their backs in the mud, staring up at the gray sky, rain pattering on their faces. Their tails were tangled together, both coated in mud. Their ears were plastered to their heads, but neither of them cared at all.

"Dick?" Jason asked softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for bringing me here."

Dick turned his head to look at Jason. That warm feeling surged through his chest again, stronger than ever before. "It's nothing," he said and meant it. "This is fun."

"The best," Jason agreed.

They lay there for a few more minutes, watching clouds, listening to the frogs, feeling the rain.

Then Dick heard a sound that made his ears perk up despite being soaked through: the back door opening.

"Uh-oh," Dick said.

"What?" Jason asked.

"Alfred."

They both sat up simultaneously, tails rigid with alarm. Through the curtain of rain, Dick could see a figure standing by the back door, the warm kitchen light glowing behind him.

Even from this distance, Dick could see Alfred's tail swishing with displeasure.

"Master Dick," Alfred's voice carried across the garden, calm with an undercurrent of horror. "Master Jason. Inside. Now."

Dick and Jason exchanged a look. Jason's ears were pressed flat against his head. Dick's tail is tucked between his legs.

"We're in so much trouble," Dick whispered.

"So much trouble," Jason agreed.

But when they looked at each other—covered head to toe in mud, frog-splattered, faces wearing exhausted but happy smiles—they couldn't help but giggle.

Alfred did not look pleased.

His normally neat gray ears were slightly crinkled, and his tail swayed in that slow, deliberate way that meant he is choosing his words carefully so as not to say something he'd regret.

Dick and Jason stood in the doorway corridor, mud dripping everywhere, staining the clean kitchen floor. Dick's tail is tucked so tightly it is nearly invisible. Jason's ears were completely flat against his head, and he is trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I will say this once," Alfred said, his voice very calm, very soft. "You will not leave this spot. You will not track mud into my clean house. You will stand right there and wait while I draw a bath."

"Alfred, we can explain—" Dick started, his tail trying to wag apologetically, only succeeding in flinging mud everywhere.

"Master Dick," Alfred's ear twitched. "Stand still."

Dick's mouth snapped shut. Beside him, Jason made a tiny squeaking sound.

Alfred disappeared for a moment, and they heard running water from the bathroom. Dick tilted his head to look at Jason, and Jason tilted his head to look back. Despite the certainty that they were in trouble, Dick felt a giggle bubbling up.

The corner of Jason's mouth twitched. Then his tail gave a small, guilty wag.

That is all it took. They both dissolved into giggles, trying to hold it in but failing miserably. Their ears perked up slightly, tails beginning to wag despite everything.

"I can't believe we did that," Jason whispered, eyes sparkling.

"I can't believe there were that many frogs," Dick whispered back.

"Your face is all brown."

"Your face is all brown."

And then Alfred is back in the kitchen, and they were laughing again. He held a towel in each hand, looking distinctly unimpressed by their giggles.

"Come along," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He guided them through the house, making them step on towels at each doorway to avoid tracking mud everywhere. In the big bathroom, Dick saw that Alfred had already filled the tub—but not with the warm, bubble-filled water from Jason's first bath. This water is clear, and Dick could see steam rising from the surface, which meant it is hot.

"In," Alfred said, pointing at the tub.

Dick and Jason climbed in together, and Dick understood immediately. The water is hot enough to make his muddy skin tingle, and it smelled like… mint? And something else. Something vaguely medicinal.

"Is this the special soap?" Dick asked, ears drooping. "The one for when we're really dirty?"

"Indeed," Alfred said, rolling up his sleeves. His tail gave a firm wag. "You two have taken 'really dirty' to an entirely new level."

What followed is twenty minutes of Alfred scrubbing them both with a professional-looking brush and soap that made Dick wrinkle his nose. The soap smelled like mint and eucalyptus with something sharp underneath that made his eyes sting slightly. The water turned brown almost immediately, and Alfred had to drain it and refill. Twice.

"I'm too old for this," Alfred muttered, scrubbing behind Jason's ears where a thick layer of mud had caked. "Really, truly too old."

"Sorry, Alfred," Jason said quietly, ears drooping with guilt.

Alfred's expression softened slightly. "Well, I suppose boys will be boys." His tail gave a gentle wag, his tone less irritated now. "Though I do wish you boys would use less soap and do more."

The tub is refilled three times before the water finally ran clear. Alfred added some regular bubble bath—the Ocean Breeze kind—and left them to soak while he went to deal with their mud-caked clothes.

"When you're clean, put on the pajamas I've left on the counter," Alfred said. "Then the both of you are to go straight to Master Jason's room. No Mario Kart, no television, and you are not to leave the room before dinner.Understood?"

"No Mario Kart?" Dick's ears perked up in dismay.

"You should have thought of that before deciding to become mud monsters," Alfred said firmly. "Actions have consequences."

"But—"

"Master Dick."

Dick slumped in the tub, tail barely moving in the water. Beside him, Jason looked equally deflated, ears drooping.

After Alfred left, they sat in the minty bubbles in silence for a moment.

Then Jason said quietly, "It is still worth it."

Dick looked at him. Jason's hair is sticking up every which way from the scrubbing, and there is still a spot of mud behind one ear that Alfred had missed. His tail floated in the water, looking pathetic and limp.

But he is smiling.

Dick felt his own tail begin to wag underwater. "Totally worth it," he agreed.

They finished their bath, scrubbing the last bits of mud from between their toes, under their fingernails, and from the tips of their tails. Then they put on the pajamas Alfred had left—matching blue sets dotted with little stars. Dick's tail wagged when he saw them, because wearing the same pajamas as someone felt like being teammates.

Jason's room looked especially cozy in the rain afternoon light. The curtains were drawn and the light soft and dim. The bed is big, piled with the fluffy blankets Alfred had provided.

They climbed onto the big bed together, and Dick marveled at how soft the blankets were. Alfred must have brought out the best ones. They leaned against the pillows, shoulders touching, tails curled together on the blanket between them.

Jason pulled a comic book from the stack on the nightstand—Batman—which made Dick grin, because Batman is the best. They started reading together, heads close so they could both see the pictures.

The clean mint scent from the bath clung to them, mingling with the smell of fresh sheets. Outside, the rain continued to tap rhythmically against the window, like a lullaby. The room is warm, dim, and quiet, and Dick felt himself growing more and more relaxed, tail uncurling, ears drooping—but from comfort this time.

Jason is nestled beside him, smelling of mint and clean pajamas and, somehow, underneath it all, still faintly of earth. He turned the pages of the comic slowly, his breathing even and steady.

Dick's eyelids grew heavy. The Batman comic is really good—Batman vs Penguin, very exciting—but the bed is so soft, Jason is so warm, and the rain is so peaceful…

Dick's last memory is Jason's tail winding around his under the blanket, like holding hands but with tails. It felt good. Safe.

Dick closed his eyes and fell asleep smiling, ears resting against Jason's shoulder.

Bruce came home to find them like that asleep on Jason's bed, curled together like puppies. Jason's head on Dick's shoulder, Dick's tail still entwined with Jason's. Their ears drooped in sleep-soft relaxation.

—

Dick carefully extracted himself from the pile of blankets, and Jason nestled beside him, tiptoeing to the window. The sun is low in the sky. Not quite sunset, but getting there. The rain had made everything look clean and shiny, and Dick could see puddles reflecting golden light.

He heard footsteps on the stairs, and just as the door opened, he scrambled back onto the bed.

It is Bruce.

Seeing them both on the bed, his dad's ears perked up, tail wagging in a slow, amused kind of way. He is still in his work clothes, though he'd loosened his tie, and his ears looked tired.

"Alfred tells me you two had quite the adventure today," Bruce said softly, glancing at Jason, still sleeping.

Dick's ears drooped. "Are you mad?"

Bruce came over and sat on the edge of the bed, tail curled up on the blanket. "Mad? No. A little worried that both of you'll get sick, but not mad."

He reached out and ruffled Dick's hair, scratching lightly behind his ears—the spot th of always made Dick's tail wag.

"Alfred says we can't play Mario Kart," Dick said mournfully.

"Well, actions have consequences," Bruce said, though his eyes were warm. "But honestly, I think Alfred's pretty happy you two are getting along now."

Dick's ears perked up. "We are getting along," he admitted. Then, quieter: "Jason's actually pretty fun."

"I'm glad," Bruce said softly. His tail swayed gently. "I know this isn't how you wanted to start your summer. Thank you for giving Jason a chance."

Dick looked down at Jason, still sleeping, his small face peaceful and calm, ears relaxed against the pillow. "I think… I think maybe Jason being here isn't such a bad thing."

"High praise indeed," Bruce smiled, standing up, his tail swishing happily. "Alfred's making dinner. Go wake Jason up—you two can come down in about fifteen minutes."

After Bruce left, Dick gazed at Jason for a long moment. Jason looked even smaller in sleep, his ears twitching occasionally as if he were dreaming about something. His tail is curled against his belly.

"Jason," Dick said softly, gently shaking his shoulder. "Wake up. It's time for dinner."

Jason's ears moved first, then his eyes blinked open. He looked confused for a moment, then his gaze landed on Dick, and a sleepy but blissful smile spread across his face—one that made Dick's tail wag in return.

"I dreamed about frogs," Jason mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Of course you dreamed about frogs," Dick grinned.

They went downstairs together, tails wagging in sync, ears perked up in eager anticipation of food.

Dinner is Alfred's famous spaghetti and meatballs, and two tails wagged furiously, bumping against each other under the table. Bruce told them about his boring day at work—meetings, so many meetings; his ears drooped just thinking about it—and Alfred gave the two of them a meaningful look.

But no one is really angry. Dick could tell from the happy wag of Bruce's tail and Alfred's perked, alert ears.

After dinner, Bruce announced he'd brought a surprise home. He pulled a bag from the fridge—a whole bag of popsicles—and set it on the table.

"Picked these up from the store on my way home," Bruce said, placing the bag on the table. "Thought you might like them."

Dick and Jason immediately crowded around the bag of popsicles, ears perked, and tails wagging furiously.

"There are five fruit bars!" Jason said, eyes wide.

Dick peered into the bag. Five popsicles, each a different color visible through the wrapper. Red (probably cherry), orange (definitely orange), purple (grape?), green (maybe lime), yellow (hopefully lemon).

"Five popsicles," Dick said slowly, ears tilting as he thought. "But there are only two of us."

"That's right," Bruce said, tail wagging with interest. "I'll let you two figure it out."

He left the kitchen with Alfred, the two of them heading to the living room, where Dick could hear the evening news beginning to play. Their tails disappeared around the corner, leaving Dick and Jason alone with the popsicle problem.

Dick sat down at the kitchen table, and Jason climbed into the chair next to him. They both stared at the bag of popsicles.

"Five is a weird number," Jason said, his tail swaying thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Dick agreed. He started counting on his fingers. "If we each get two, that's four popsicles, but then there's one left over."

"We could save it," Jason suggested, but his ears drooped at the idea.

"Or," Dick said, tail wagging with excitement, "we could each have two and then split the last one in half."

Jason's ears perked up. "Can you split a popsicle in half?"

"I don't know. We'd need a knife, but Alfred says we can't use knives without someone watching."

They both thought for a moment, tails swaying in sync.

"We could ask Alfred to cut it for us," Jason said.

"But then we'd have to decide which one to split," Dick pointed out. "Like, what if I want the red one and you want the red one, but we have to split the green one? That's not fair."

Jason frowned. "This is really hard."

Dick started pulling the popsicles out of the bag, arranging them in a color-coded line on the table. Red, orange, purple, green, and yellow. Five colorful popsicles, each looking equally tempting.

"Okay," Dick said, tail held high with determination. "Let's think about this with math."

"With math?"

"Yeah, math," Dick pointed at the popsicles. "There are five popsicles and two people. Five divided by two equals… um…"

"Two and a half?" Jason said, ears tilting slightly and uncertain.

They ended up choosing. Dick picked red and purple—which turned out to be grape. Jason picked orange and green.

That left the yellow popsicle sitting between them on the table.

"Do you like lemon?" Jason asked.

"It's okay," Dick said. "Do you?"

"It's okay."

"Wait," Dick said. "Do you want the red one?"

"I—" Jason's tail drooped. " I mean, cherry is really good, but you already picked it…"

Dick looked at the red popsicle in front of him. Cherry popsicles really were good—Dick's favorite. But Jason's ears were drooping and tail tucked, and Dick remembered what Bruce had said about giving Jason a chance.

Besides, they had so much fun today. The frogs, the mud, the bath, the nap… All of it was wonderful. Dick hadn't been this happy in a long time.

Jason is smaller than him, probably younger too. And while Dick didn't know exactly what had happened with Jason's mom or why Jason had to spend the whole summer with them, he knew something bad must have happened.

Dick made a decision.

"You know what?" Dick said, pushing the red popsicle toward Jason. "You can have the red one."

Jason's ears shot up in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. Because…" Dick's tail wagged as he figured out how to explain it. "Because you're my brother. At least for this summer. And brothers should get an extra popsicle."

Jason's face lit up instantly. His tail wagged so fast it is nearly invisible. "You think of me as your brother?"

Dick felt his cheeks grow warm. "Well, yeah. Kind of. If you want."

"I want!" Jason said immediately. Then, smaller ears shyly drooped: "I always wanted a big brother."

Dick felt a warmth in his chest like he'd swallowed sunshine. His tail wagged hard, thumping against the chair. "Okay then. So you get three popsicles—orange, green, and red. I get two—purple and yellow."

"But that's not fair," Jason protested, even though his tail is still wagging. "You should have three too."

"No," Dick said, tearing open his purple popsicle. "This is exactly right. Besides, yellow and purple look good together. They're like a team."

Jason carefully unwrapped his orange popsicle, tail wagging happily. "Thank you, Dick."

"You're welcome, Jason."

They sat at the kitchen table, eating their popsicles and watching the golden evening light pour through the window. Their tails swayed in sync, ears perked with contentment.

The next two weeks were the best two weeks of Dick's life.

Every morning, he and Jason would wake up—usually in Jason's room, because somehow Dick always ended up there—and race downstairs for breakfast. Alfred would make pancakes, or waffles, or French toast, and they'd eat until their bellies were full and their tails wagged with satisfaction.

Then the adventures would begin.

They built the treehouse Dick had been planning—only better, because Jason figured out where to put the rope ladder and how to make a secret snack compartment. They worked on it for three whole days, measuring and hammering (under Alfred's supervision, of course, because tools were serious business), and ended up with a platform in the big oak tree, accessed by a rope ladder, with a roof made from old planks. They painted a sign that said "DICK AND JASON'S FORTRESS," and Alfred's ears twitched with laughter when he saw it.

Every evening, they caught fireflies, filling jars with the tiny glowing bugs and releasing them before bed, watching them drift like shooting stars into the dark sky. Jason is better than Dick at sneaking up on them—his tail stayed perfectly still as he crept through the grass, while Dick's always wagged with excitement and gave him away.

They skipped stones at the pond on the edge of the property. Dick taught Jason how to find the perfect flat rock and how to angle his wrist. Jason's best is four skips; Dick's is seven. But Jason is getting better every day, his tail wagging with excitement each time he threw.

They learned cat's cradle from a book Alfred found in the library. The string kept getting tangled in their fingers and sometimes around their tails—especially during the tricky parts when their tails wagged too much—but eventually they mastered Jacob's Ladder, Cup and Saucer, and Witch's Broom. They taught Bruce too, and every evening the three of them would sit in the living room, concentrating on string patterns, ears pricked with focus.

One day, Alfred took them to the farm at the edge of the estate. It is technically their land, but Alfred rented it out to a kind lady who grew vegetables and kept chickens. They searched the fields for wild strawberries, filling a basket with the tiny red berries that were sweeter than any store-bought strawberry. Their fingers and mouths were stained red. They ate half of what they picked right there, tails wagging the entire time.

"These are the best strawberries in the whole world!" Jason declared, ears perked, hands clutching a strawberry in each fist.

"The whole world!" Dick echoed, even though his mouth is so full of strawberry that he could barely speak.

Another day, they went mushroom hunting with Alfred. He taught them which mushrooms were safe to eat and which ones absolutely were not. They found chanterelles and puffballs, which Alfred cooked with butter and herbs for dinner. Bruce said it is the best meal he'd had all year, and Alfred's ears turned pink with pride.

But the best times were the quiet ones—the in-between moments when it is just Dick and Jason.

Like lying in the treehouse on sunny afternoons, reading comics aloud to each other, tails dangling over the edge of the platform, swaying lazily in the breeze.

Or playing Mario Kart, where Jason turned out to be genuinely good—which made Dick's competitive tail perk up with determination to beat him, though he never could.

Or racing down the hallway in their socks, sliding on the polished floor until Alfred threatened to make them wear shoes. Their tails streamed behind them like flags, ears pressed back from speed, always ending in a heap of laughter at the end of the corridor.

One evening, about a week and a half after the mud pit incident, they lay on their backs in the grass near the garden, watching the stars come out. Fireflies had started to flicker around them, and frogs sang in the distance.

Dick's tail is spread out on the grass. Jason's tail curled beside it, almost touching. Both their ears were turned toward the darkening sky.

"Dick?" Jason asked quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course." Dick turned his head to look at Jason. In the dim light, Jason's ears were slightly drooped, tail still.

"Before I came here," Jason said slowly, "my mom… she isn't home much. She worked a lot. Sometimes she'd be gone for days. I had to make my own food and stuff."

Dick's ears drooped with concern. "By yourself? But you're only seven."

"Six, actually," Jason corrected. "My birthday's next month. But yeah, by myself."

Dick couldn't imagine it. Even when Bruce worked long hours, Alfred is always there. Always making sure Dick is fed, had clean clothes, and had someone to tuck him in at night. The thought of being alone, of having to take care of yourself…

"That sounds really hard," Dick said softly.

Jason's tail twitched. "It is okay sometimes. I learned to make really good grilled cheese sandwiches. And I got really good at reading because there isn't much else to do." His ears drooped lower. "But sometimes… sometimes I got scared. Like when it is dark and I didn't know when Mom is coming home."

"Is that why you're here?" Dick asked. "Because your mom has to work?"

"Sort of." Jason is quiet for a moment. "She's sick. Really sick. She has to go to a special hospital, and they said I'd be better off staying somewhere else for a while. Your dad let me stay here because he and my mom used to be friends."

Dick felt a tightness in his chest, a dull ache. His tail curled protectively. "Is your mom going to get better?"

"I don't know," Jason whispered. His ears were pressed flat, and Dick could see his tail trembling slightly in the grass. "I hope so. I really, really hope so."

Without thinking, Dick reached over and took Jason's hand. "I hope so too."

They lay there in silence for a while, hand in hand, watching stars appear one by one in the darkening sky. A firefly landed on Jason's knee, glowing soft yellow-green, then flew away again.

"You know what?" Dick said, squeezing Jason's hand. "No matter what happens, I'll be your brother. For real. Not just a summer brother."

Jason turned his head to look at him, eyes glistening in the dim light. "Really?"

"Really." Dick's tail gave a firm wag. "Brothers protect each other. So I'll protect you. Always."

Jason's face crumpled, and Dick thought he might cry. But instead Jason smiled—a trembling, joyful, grateful smile that made Dick's ears perk up slightly.

"Thank you, Dick," Jason said. "That means… a lot to me."

"You're welcome, Jason."

They stayed on the grass until Bruce called them to bed. Their hands still linked, tails touching, watching the fireflies dance and the stars twinkle, feeling like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

That weekend, Bruce gave them a surprise—a special trip.

"We're going to the aquarium," he announced Saturday morning, tail wagging excitedly. "And then the beach."

Dick's ears shot straight up. The aquarium! He loved the aquarium—the fish swimming behind glass, the touch pool where you could feel starfish, and the dark tunnel where sharks swam over your head.

"I've never been to an aquarium," Jason said quietly, but his tail is wagging so hard it knocked over his orange juice glass.

The drive to the aquarium took about an hour, and Dick and Jason pressed their faces against the car windows the entire way, ears swiveling constantly to catch every new sight and sound. When they finally arrived and Bruce paid for their tickets, Dick grabbed Jason's hand and pulled him toward the entrance.

"You're going to love it!" Dick said, tail wagging so fast it is a blur.

The first exhibit is the tropical fish tank—enormous and colorful, filled with fish of every hue. Blue, yellow, striped, spotted—everything imaginable. Jason's eyes went wide, his nose nearly pressing against the glass.

"They're so beautiful!" he whispered, tail swaying slowly with wonder.

They saw jellyfish that glowed in the dark. They saw eels hiding in rocks. Seahorses that looked like tiny dragons. And an octopus that Bruce said might be smarter than all of them combined.

But the best part—the absolute best part—is the touch pool.

"You can actually touch them?" Jason asked, ears perked, staring curiously at the shallow pool filled with starfish, sea cucumbers, and anemones.

"Watch," Dick said, rolling up his sleeve and reaching carefully into the water. He gently picked up a starfish—a bumpy orange one with five arms—and held it in his palm. "It feels so cool. Like… bumpy and hard, but also kind of soft?"

Jason rolled up his sleeves slowly and reached in. His fingers touched a purple starfish, and his whole face lit up. "That's so cool!" His tail wagged hard, splashing water from the puddle behind him.

They spent twenty minutes at the touch pool, feeling every starfish they could find, gently poking the anemones and watching them close up, carefully holding sea cucumbers—squishy and oddly shaped—which made them both giggle.

Then they went to see the otters.

The otters were playing in their huge tank—diving, swimming, chasing each other around. One otter floated on its back with a rock on its belly, cracking open a clam. Another kept diving down and coming up with pieces of kelp, wrapping them around itself like a scarf.

"They're so silly," Jason said, laughing as one otter spun in circles in the water, tail whipping behind it.

"So silly," Dick agreed, watching two otters hold hands as they floated on the surface, tails swaying in the water.

Bruce stood behind them, hands on their shoulders, watching them watch the otters, his own tail wagging with contentment.

After the aquarium, they drove to a nearby beach.

Dick had been to the beach before. Many times with Bruce. But going with Jason made it feel new and exciting all over again. Jason had never seen the ocean before—never felt sand between his toes or heard waves crashing against the shore.

When they got out of the car and walked across the sand, Jason suddenly stopped, ears straight up, tail completely still.

"It's so big," he breathed, staring at the endless blue water stretching to the horizon.

"I know!" Dick said proudly, as if he'd created the ocean himself. "Come on!"

They ran to the water's edge, tails streaming behind them. Bruce called after them to wait so he could put on sunscreen, but they were already at the line where waves met the sand.

The first splash of water hit Jason's feet, and he jumped, yelping, then immediately laughed. "It's cold!"

"Freezing!" Dick agreed, jumping over the next wave.

Bruce caught up and made them stand still while he applied sunscreen (including on their ears, because ears can get sunburned too—Dick hadn't known that before). Then they played in the waves for hours.

They jumped over small waves and got knocked down by big ones. They dug holes in the sand, trying to fill them with water before it drained away (impossible, but fun to try). They collected shells—pretty fan-shaped ones, spiral ones that held the sound of the ocean, broken ones with interesting patterns.

They built a sandcastle—a massive one, with towers and walls and a moat. Dick showed Jason how to drip wet sand for decoration, and Jason figured out how to use a bucket for perfect tower shapes. Their tails kept accidentally knocking into the towers, but that just meant they got to rebuild, which is half the fun anyway.

And then came the best part: Bruce bought them ice cream.

Soft-serve ice cream, in cups with little wooden spoons. Dick got chocolate, Jason got vanilla, and Bruce got strawberry.

"We should share," Bruce said, tail wagging. "That way everyone gets to taste every flavor."

So they passed the cups around, each taking a small spoonful, ears perking up with every new flavor. The ice cream is cold and sweet and perfect—already beginning to melt in the beach heat, dripping down their fingers.

Dick's tail wagged hard while he ate, dragging through the sand and picking up grains. Jason's tail did the same. Within minutes, both their tails were coated in sand.

"Boys," Bruce said, ears tilting, amused and worried at the same time. "Your tails—"

But it is too late. They'd been rolling around in the sand while eating their ice cream (because lying down makes ice cream taste better), and now they were completely covered. Hair, arms, legs—and worst of all, tails full of sand.

Bruce's tail drooped in resignation. "This is going to be quite the cleanup."

It is.

When they got home, Bruce had to hose them both down with the garden hose in the backyard before Alfred would let them in the house. Then it is straight to the bathroom for what Bruce called "Operation De-Sand."

Getting sand out of hair is hard enough. Getting sand out of furry tails is nearly impossible.

Bruce sat on the bathroom floor, detachable showerhead in hand, warm water flowing, while Dick and Jason took turns sitting on the edge of the tub. Bruce carefully worked his fingers through their tails, loosening every grain of sand—which took forever because the sand had worked its way deep into the fur.

"Ow!" Dick yelped when Bruce hit a particularly stubborn spot.

"Sorry, buddy," Bruce said, ears drooping apologetically. "Almost done."

Jason's tail is shorter, so it is slightly easier, but he still squirmed and whimpered when Bruce hit sensitive spots.

By the time both tails were finally clean—fluffy and soft and sand-free—nearly an hour had passed, and all three of them were soaking wet. Bruce's ears drooped with exhaustion, his own tail dripping water all over the bathroom floor.

"Next time," Bruce said, wringing out his shirt, "we eat ice cream sitting on towels." Away from sand. With tails tucked underneath us."

"But that wouldn't be as fun," Dick pointed out, his freshly clean tail giving a wag.

"Not fun at all," Jason agreed, his tail matching Dick's wag.

Bruce looked at them both—their happy faces, wagging tails, ears perked with satisfaction despite the ordeal of the bath—and his expression softened. His own tail gave a slow, gentle wag.

"You're right," he admitted.

"This is the best day ever," Jason said, and he meant it.

That evening, after dinner, when Jason went upstairs to brush his teeth, Bruce asked Dick to stay in the living room for a moment.

Dick's ears perked up curiously, his tail swishing with unease. Bruce's expression is serious—the kind of serious that made Dick's stomach flip.

"Dick," Bruce said, sitting down on the couch and patting the spot beside him. "I need to talk to you about Jason."

Dick climbed up beside his father, tail curling onto Bruce's lap. "Is something wrong?"

Bruce is quiet for a moment, ears drooping, tail still. "Jason's mom… Catherine… she's very sick. We were hoping she'd get better over the summer, but she hasn't improved. The doctors don't think she's going to."

Dick's ears pressed back, his tail going rigid. "You mean… she's going to die?"

"We're not certain," Bruce said carefully. "But it's possible. And even if she recovers, it will take a very long time. Much longer than just one summer."

Dick thought about this. "So Jason's going to stay here?" Dick asked. "Not just for the summer?"

"Probably," Bruce said, his tail giving a slow, heavy swish. "Maybe for a long time. Maybe… maybe forever."

Forever. That is a big word. "Forever" meant Jason would be here for next summer, and the summer after that, and all the school years in between. Forever meant Jason would truly be his brother—not just a summer companion.

Dick's tail began to wag gently. "I… I think that's okay," he said softly.

Bruce's ears perked up in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah." Dick's tail wagged harder. "Jason's my brother now. I like having a brother."

Bruce smiled, but it is a smile touched with sadness. His ears still drooped slightly. "There's something else you should know. Jason's father…"

"Jason has a dad?" Dick's ears shot up. Jason had never mentioned a father. Dick had always assumed it is just Jason and his mom.

"He does, but…" Bruce sighed, tail shifting restlessly. "Jason's father is in a special place. A place where people who've done bad things—who've broken the law—get sent. He's been there since before Jason is born. Jason's never met him."

Dick processed this. A special place for people who'd done bad things. He understood, ears drooping. "You mean prison? Like on TV?"

"Yes," Bruce said quietly. "Like on TV. Jason's father made some very bad choices, and he has to stay there for a very long time. Maybe forever."

Dick's tail went rigid, ears pressed firmly against the back of his head, and expression determined.

"Then Jason definitely has to stay here," Dick said firmly. "Because everyone needs a home, and if his family can't take care of him, then we will. Right?"

"Right," Bruce's voice is slightly rough. "Exactly right, buddy."

"Does Jason know?" Dick's voice is muffled against Bruce's shoulder. "That his mom isn't getting better? That he might not be able to go home when summer's over?"

"He knows his mommyis very sick," Bruce said. "But I don't think he's realized yet that he might not be going home at the end of summer. I need to talk to him about it soon."

Dick pulled away from the embrace, ears perked, tail wagging firmly. "When you tell him, can you let him know that I want him to stay? That I'm not upset at all?"

"I'll let him know," Bruce promised.

They sat on the couch for a few more minutes, Bruce's arm around Dick's shoulders, their tails side by side. Dick could hear Jason upstairs—probably reading in bed or playing with the toy cars Dick had left in the room.

"Forever" sounded like a really good idea.

—

Three days before school started, Bruce made an announcement at breakfast.

"How would you like to take a trip?" he asked, tail wagging with excitement.

Dick's ears perked immediately. "A trip? Where?"

"My friend Clark has a farm about an hour from here," Bruce said. "He's invited us to stay for a few days. There are animals, a pond you can swim in, and—" His eyes sparkled. "—I hear his watermelons this year are the best in the state."

Jason's tail wagged so fast it knocked over the salt shaker. "Watermelons?"

"Lots of watermelons," Bruce confirmed with a grin.

Alfred packed their bags. Dick and Jason bounced around in the car the whole way, tails thumping against the backseat, ears swiveling to catch every new sound and smell as they neared the farm.

Clark Kent's farm is incredible.

It is big—fields of corn and wheat stretching as far as the eye could see, a large red barn, and a farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a swing hanging from it. Chickens roamed the yard, cows grazed in a distant pasture behind a fence, and a collie named Krypto—with the most impressive tail Dick had ever seen, long and fluffy and always wagging—bounded around the property.

Clark himself is tall and gentle, with floppy brown ears that reminded Dick of a golden retriever. His tail is thick and expressive, already wagging as they pulled up.

"Bruce!" Clark called out, ears perking with excitement. "And these must be the boys you told me about!"

Dick and Jason tumbled out of the car, tails wagging in greeting. Krypto immediately ran over to investigate them, nose working rapidly, tail going like a small windstorm.

"I'm Dick," Dick said, puffing out his chest importantly. "And this is my brother Jason."

He felt Jason's tail wag extra hard at the word "brother."

"Great to meet you both," Clark said, shaking their hands solemnly as if they were adults. "I hope you're ready for adventure. We've got a lot to do in three days."

They did indeed.

Their first day at Clark's farm started early. Dick is woken by a rooster crowing—a sound he didn't recognize for a confused moment. Then he remembered: farm. He turned his head and found Jason already awake, ears pointed toward the window, tail wagging excitedly.

"Did you hear the rooster?" Jason whispered.

"Pretty sure the whole world heard the rooster," Dick said, rubbing his eyes. His own ears were still droopy from sleep.

After breakfast—an omelet made with fresh eggs from Clark's own chickens, which tasted miles better than store-bought eggs—Clark took them to the watermelon patch.

The watermelon patch is enormous—rows and rows of huge green watermelons lying on the dark earth in the bright morning light. Some were bigger than Jason's whole head. The vines sprawled and twisted across the ground.

"The secret to a good watermelon," Clark said, tail wagging as he walked between the rows, "is the knock test. Listen."

He rapped his knuckles against a watermelon. Thunk, thunk, thunk. "Hear that hollow sound? That means it's ripe inside. Sweet."

Dick and Jason went from watermelon to watermelon, knocking and listening. Some sounded sharp, some sounded dull. But Dick finally found one that gave a perfect, deep, hollow thump.

"This one!" he announced, tail wagging proudly.

Clark examined it, checking the yellow spot where it had been sitting on the ground, and nodded approvingly. "Good pick. Let's haul it out."

The watermelon is heavy. It is so heavy that Dick and Jason had to carry it together, arms straining, tails held straight out for balance. They set it down under the shade of a big oak tree at the edge of the field.

Clark produced a big knife and split the watermelon open. It cracked apart with a satisfying crunch, revealing the brightest pink flesh Dick had ever seen.

"Wow!" both boys gasped at the same time.

Clark cut them each a huge slice, and they sat under the oak tree, eating watermelon and letting the juice run down their arms. It is sticky, messy, and absolutely perfect. The watermelon is so sweet it almost made Dick's teeth hurt and so juicy that within seconds his face is dripping.

"This is definitely the best watermelon in the state!" Jason declared, watermelon juice streaming down his chin, tail wagging contentedly. "Maybe the best in the world."

"Told you," Clark laughed, his own ears twitching with delight.

They discovered that the watermelon had lots of seeds—big black ones that you had to spit out. Which naturally led to a seed-spitting contest.

Dick went first, launching a seed about five feet. Respectable, but not great. Jason went next, and somehow—somehow—his seed sailed through the air and landed nearly ten feet away, bouncing off a fence post.

"How did you do that?" Dick demanded, ears straight up, shocked and jealous.

"I don't know!" Jason laughed, his tail wagging with surprise and pride.

They spent the next twenty minutes perfecting their seed-spitting technique.

Then Jason had the idea to crush watermelon pieces into "watermelon juice"—squishing the flesh between their fingers until liquid dripped down into cups they'd borrowed from Clark's kitchen. If Alfred had seen the mess, he probably would have had a heart attack. But Clark just laughed, took photos on his phone, and wagged his tail with amusement.

By the time they finished the watermelon, they were covered head to toe in sticky pink juice—tails included, wet and grimy—but happier than they'd been in days.

"Bath time," Clark said, pointing toward the house. "Unless you want to attract every bee in the county."

The second day, Clark took them to the pond.

They'd seen it the day before—just beyond Clark's house, surrounded by willow trees and cattails. But they hadn't had time to properly explore.

"It's spring-fed," Clark explained as he led them down the path, Krypto bounding ahead, his beautiful tail waving like a flag. "The water stays cool, but on a hot day like today, that's perfect."

The pond is smaller than the lake Bruce sometimes took Dick to, but it is perfect. The water is clear enough that Dick could see the bottom in the shallow parts, and lily pads floated on the surface with tiny frogs perched on top.

But the best thing—the absolute best thing—is the rope swing.

It hung from a big oak tree that leaned out over the pond—a thick, sturdy rope with a wooden seat at the bottom. Clark showed them how it worked: grab the rope, run forward, swing out over the water, and—at just the right moment—let go.

Dick went first. He grabbed the rope, tail rigid with excitement, and ran. The rope swung out over the pond, Dick sailing through the air, heart pounding, and then—

SPLASH!

The water is cold—cold enough to make Dick yelp when he surfaced, ears plastered to his head. But it also felt incredible. He laughed and waved at Jason from the water. "Your turn!"

Jason is more nervous. He gripped the rope tightly, ears pressed back, tail tucked. But Dick cheered him on from the water, and Clark gave him a gentle push, and suddenly Jason is flying too—ears flattened back, tail streaming straight behind him.

SPLASH!

Jason surfaced, grinning so wide his face might split. "Again!" he shouted, his tail churning wildly in the water.

For the next hour, they took turns on the rope swing, getting braver each time. Dick tried a flip. Jason figured out how to pump twice. Clark took a turn himself—his large frame creating a splash so enormous it sent waves across the entire pond.

After they were tired of the rope swing, they played Marco Polo. Dick is "it" first, closing his eyes tight, ears pricked to catch any sound.

"Marco!" he called.

"Polo!" Jason's voice came from the left—or is it the right? The water made sounds echo strangely.

Dick swam toward where he thought Jason is, eyes still shut, hands reaching out. His tail dragged behind him, heavy and slow in the water. "Marco!"

"Polo! "Definitely to the right this time.

Dick lunged—and touched nothing but empty water. Jason's laughter came from behind him.

They played for hours. After Marco Polo, they raced to see who could dive deepest (Dick could touch the bottom in the deep end; Jason couldn't quite reach, despite trying hard enough to turn his face red). They caught minnows with their hands—the tiny silver fish tickling their palms—then immediately released them, watching them dart away.

At one point, Dick climbed onto the dock to rest and noticed Bruce and Clark sitting at the other end, legs dangling in the water, tails swishing lazily.

They were talking quietly—so quietly Dick could barely hear. But he could see Bruce's ears drooping slightly, tinged with sadness, and caught fragments like "Catherine" and "hospital" and "not much hope." Clark's tail reached over and patted Bruce's shoulder comfortingly.

Dick's ears drooped too. He thought about what Bruce had told him—that Jason's mom isn't getting better, that Jason might be here forever. It made his chest ache with sadness.

But then Bruce turned and saw Dick watching. His expression shifted immediately—ears perking up, smile appearing, tail giving a happy wag. He made a silly face at Dick, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue.

Dick stuck his tongue out back, then is immediately splashed by Jason, who had snuck up behind him.

"Not fair!" Dick shouted, laughing and splashing back.

And just like that, everything is wonderful again.

The third day—their last day—they helped Clark with farm chores.

"A farm's no easy job," Clark said at breakfast, ears slightly perked and expression serious. "Every day, rain or shine, you've got to take care of the animals. Think you two are up for it?"

Dick's and Jason's tails wagged in unison. "Yes!" they said together.

First stop: the chicken coop.

The coop is a red wooden structure with rows of nesting boxes along one wall. As soon as Clark opened the door, a flock of chickens burst out, clucking and flapping, tail feathers ruffled with displeasure at being disturbed.

"Your job," Clark said, handing them each a basket, "is to collect the eggs. Check each nesting box. Be gentle—the hens don't like it when you're rough."

Dick and Jason crept into the coop, ears pricked, focused. The nesting boxes were lined with straw, and sure enough, nearly every one held an egg—smooth, warm, and perfect.

Dick carefully lifted an egg, marveling at its warmth, the way it seemed to glow in the dim light of the coop. He placed it gently in his basket.

Jason reached into a nesting box. A hen still sitting inside pecked his hand, and he yelped.

"She's upset because you disturbed her," Clark called from outside, laughter in his voice. "Just gently shoo her away."

Jason tried again, more carefully this time, and successfully retrieved the egg. But as he turned, his proudly wagging tail bumped into another chicken.

That chicken is not pleased. She lunged and pecked at his tail.

"Ow!" Jason jumped, ears shooting straight up, tail immediately tucking.

But then he laughed—really laughed—tail cautiously wagging despite the peck. "She got me! The chicken got me!"

They collected two dozen eggs total, baskets full of brown and white ovals. Clark showed them how to test if an egg is fresh (put it in water—if it sinks, it's fresh; if it floats, it's not) and then let each of them crack one into a bowl to see the bright orange yolks.

Next came the cows.

Clark had three cows—two brown ones named Bessie and Daisy and a black-and-white one called Oreo. They were big—much bigger than Dick had imagined—with enormous tails that swished constantly, batting away flies.

"Cows are gentle," Clark said, leading Dick and Jason into the pasture, "but they're also big." So move slowly, talk softly, and don't startle them."

He handed them each a brush—a stiff-bristled one, designed to scrub dirt from cow coats.

Dick approached Bessie carefully, tail low, nonthreatening. Bessie turned her massive head to look at him, ears twitching with mild interest, and then went back to chewing grass.

Dick started brushing. The bristles scraped along Bessie's flank, loosening dirt and loose hair. Bessie seemed to enjoy it—her tail swayed contentedly, and she made a low, pleased mooing sound.

"I think she's happy," Dick said, ears perking proudly.

Beside him, Jason is brushing Oreo, tongue poking out with concentration. Oreo's tail—easily three times the size of Jason's—swished lazily, creating a small breeze.

"Their tails are so big!" Jason said, eyes wide.

"Everything about cows is big," Clark agreed with a laugh.

After the cows, they went to the vegetable garden to pick tomatoes.

Clark's garden is impressive—rows of tomato plants heavy with fruit in various shades of red, from pale pink to deep crimson. There were also peppers, cucumbers, and green beans climbing up trellises.

"The secret to a good tomato," Clark said, crouching beside a plant, "is knowing when it's ripe. See this one?" He pointed to a bright red tomato, giving it a gentle squeeze—slightly soft. "Perfect."

He showed them how to twist the tomato off the vine without damaging the plant. Dick and Jason filled baskets with tomatoes, ears pricked with concentration.

Then Clark did something that made both boys' ears perk up in surprise: he picked a tomato, wiped it on his shirt, and bit into it right there in the garden.

"You can eat them raw?" Dick asked, tail wagging with excitement.

"Best way to eat a tomato," Clark said, juice running down his chin. "Still warm from the sun."

Dick and Jason each grabbed a tomato and bit in. The juice burst in Dick's mouth—sweet and tangy and savory all at once, tasting like sunshine and summer. Nothing like the pale tomatoes from the grocery store.

"This is amazing!" Jason said happily, ears perked, tomato juice on his chin.

They ate their fill, then helped Clark carry the rest of the tomatoes back to the house. Clark said he is going to make sauce for dinner.

That evening, they had a barbecue. Clark grilled burgers and hot dogs, and they ate on the porch, watching the sunset. Bruce and Clark told stories from college—funny things that happened when they were younger. Bruce's ears turned red when Clark told the story about Bruce hitting a professor's tail with a water balloon.

Dick and Jason sat on the porch swing, tails dangling over the back.

"This is the best trip ever," Jason said, head resting on Dick's shoulder.

"The best," Dick agreed, tail swaying slow and contentedly.

Krypto came and lay at their feet, tail tapping gently against the porch boards. In the distance, they could hear cows lowing their evening song and chickens settling down to sleep.

"Dick?" Jason asked drowsily.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad I came to live with you guys."

Dick felt his throat tighten. He wound his tail around Jason's, the way they did when they slept. "I'm really glad too."

"Even though I messed up your summer plans?"

Dick thought about his original summer plans—building a treehouse alone, catching fireflies alone, eating popsicles alone. Then he thought about the summer he'd actually had—building a treehouse with Jason, catching fireflies with Jason, sharing popsicles with Jason. Catching frogs together, having mud fights, learning string games, eating watermelons in fields, and swimming in ponds.

Everything had been better with Jason.

"You didn't mess up my summer," Dick said firmly, ears standing straight. "You made it better."

Jason's tail wagged softly, and Dick felt him smile against his shoulder.

They stayed on the swing until the stars came out, until Bruce called them to bed, until their eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

That night, they fell asleep in the guest room of Clark's farmhouse, curled together as always, tails entwined, ears relaxed, breathing slow and steady.

Dick's last thought before sleep is that he couldn't wait to tell Jason everything about second grade and make sure Jason isn't scared of his first day of first grade.

Because that's what big brothers do. They take care of their little brothers.

Always.

—

The day before school started is shopping day.

Dick is a little nervous about this one. Usually, shopping is something he did with Bruce. Just the two of them, going to the store, picking out new notebooks and pencils and maybe a backpack if Dick needed one. It is their thing.

But this year, Jason is coming too. It felt a little strange—just different. Everything is changing, and Dick isn't quite sure how he felt about all of it.

Still, when Bruce said it is time to go, Dick's tail wagged involuntarily. After all, back-to-school stuff is back-to-school stuff. And he really did need new crayons, because he'd lost half the good colors last year.

They drove to the big store in town—the one that had everything you could need for school. The parking lot is packed with other families doing last-minute shopping, and Dick could see lots of kids with their parents, some with wagging tails and some with drooping ears, depending on how they felt about school starting.

"Alright, boys," Bruce said as they walked toward the entrance, tail wagging with purpose. "We're going to be efficient. We have a list. We're going to stick to the list. We're not going to get distracted by—"

"Look!" Dick cried, ears perking up. "They have those animal-shaped erasers!"

Bruce's tail drooped with resignation. "—animal-shaped erasers."

The school supply section is enormous and dazzling—rows upon rows of notebooks in every color, pencils in every pattern, folders printed with superheroes and sports teams and animals. The air smelled of new plastic and paper and crayons, and Dick's tail wagged with excitement.

"Can I pick my own backpack?" Jason asked quietly, ears tilting hopefully.

"Of course," Bruce said, guiding them toward the backpack section. "Pick whatever you like."

Dick already had a backpack—a blue one with red straps that he'd gotten last year and that is still in good shape. But he stood next to Jason anyway, watching as Jason's eyes went wide, scanning the selection.

There were so many! Ones with superheroes, dinosaurs, sports teams, and spaceships. Jason examined each one, tail swishing nervously, ears rotating with indecision.

Finally, his gaze landed on one at the end of the last row, and he lit up.

It is gray, with colorful patches sewn on and an elephant embroidered on the front.

"That one," Jason said softly, his tail wagging so hard it bumped against Dick's leg. "Can I have that one?"

Bruce's ears perked up, pleasantly surprised, and his tail gave a happy wag. "The elephant backpack? Great choice."

Jason lifted it carefully off the shelf, holding it like treasure. He traced the embroidered elephant with one finger, and Dick thought of the stuffed elephant from Jason's first bath. It is perfect.

"Perfect," Jason said.

Dick felt warmth bloom in his chest again. "It's awesome," he agreed and meant it.

They filled the cart with everything on the list: notebooks, pencils, erasers, crayons, folders, glue sticks, safety scissors, and pencil cases for each of them.

While Bruce went to check out, Dick and Jason wandered over to look at the lunch boxes.

"What do you usually bring for lunch?" Dick asked, picking up a race-car-shaped lunch box.

Jason's ears drooped. "I didn't really bring lunch last year. The school gave free lunch."

Dick's tail stopped wagging. "Oh."

"It's fine," Jason said quickly, ears making an effort to perk up. "School lunch is okay. They had pizza on Fridays."

But Dick knew it isn't really fine. He thought of his own lunches last year—sandwiches that Alfred made with the crusts cut off, plus apple slices, crackers, and a juice box with a bendy straw. Alfred always tucked a little note into his lunch box, reading "Have a lovely day, Master Dick" or "You are clever and brave."

"Alfred's lunches are the best," Dick said, his tail starting to wag again. "He cuts the sandwiches into triangles because triangles taste better. And he always puts in a treat. Sometimes cookies, sometimes brownies, sometimes fruit gummies."

"That sounds really nice," Jason said, looking thoughtfully at a train-shaped lunch box.

"You should get a lunch box," Dick said. "Then Alfred can make lunch for both of us."

Jason's ears perked up. "Really?"

"Really. Alfred makes too much food anyway. He always wants me to eat more vegetables." Dick made a face, as if vegetables were the worst thing ever, and Jason giggled.

Jason chose the train-shaped lunch box, and Dick grabbed a new thermos because his old one had a cracked lid. When they brought the lunch boxes to Bruce at the register, his tail wagged approvingly.

On the drive home, Jason sat in the backseat, hugging his new elephant backpack, tail contentedly swaying. Dick sat beside him, and they compared all their new supplies, ears perked with excitement despite the fact that school meant summer is ending.

"What's second grade like?" Jason asked, ears perked with curiosity and a little nervousness.

"It's good," Dick said. "Mrs. Pat is nice. She has bunny ears—they look so soft. And we get to do science experiments sometimes. Last year we made volcanoes."

"Volcanoes?" Jason wagged his tail. "That sounds so cool."

"It is so cool. They explode." Dick puffed out his chest proudly. "I'll show you all the good spots. Like the library and the cafeteria. And the playground. The swings there go really high."

"What if… what if the other kids don't like me?" Jason asked quietly, ears drooping.

Dick's tail stood up protectively. "Then they're dumb. You're awesome. You're the best at finding frogs and skipping stones and Mario Kart, and you know everything about Batman."

Jason's ears perked up slightly. "You really think I'm awesome?"

"The awesomest," Dick said with certainty. "And besides, you're my brother. If anyone messes with you, they'll have to deal with me."

Jason's tail wagged again, and he leaned against Dick's shoulder. "Thanks, Dick."

"It's what brothers do."

That night, they laid out their school supplies on Jason's bed, organizing everything carefully. Dick showed Jason how to write his name on his folders and notebooks so nobody could steal them.

They packed their backpacks together, making sure everything fit just right. Jason's elephant backpack looked extra happy on his back when he modeled it in the mirror, its tail wagging the whole time.

"Tomorrow's going to be great," Dick said, even though the first day of school made him a little nervous too.

"Tomorrow's going to be great," Jason echoed, tail wagging with hope.

They got ready for bed, brushing their teeth side by side at the bathroom sink, tails swishing gently. Dick thought about how this summer had been nothing like he'd expected.

—

The first day of school, Alfred made a special breakfast. Their backpacks waited by the door, ready to go.

"Are you nervous?" Dick asked between bites of breakfast—pancakes—their tails wagging under the table.

"A little," Jason admitted, ears twitching anxiously. "Are you?"

"A little," Dick said. "But it's okay. We'll play together at recess, right?"

"And lunch?"

"Packed," Jason said, tail wagging with more confidence.

Bruce drove them to school in the big car, Alfred riding in the passenger seat, tail curled neatly beside him. When the car stopped in front of the school, Dick could see lots of kids and their parents, all wearing new backpacks, carrying lunch boxes, and heading toward the building.

Dick took a deep breath. His ears were straight up, alert and ready. Beside him, Jason's ears tilted with nervousness, but his tail wagged with determination.

"Ready?" Dick asked.

"Ready," Jason said.

They got out of the car together. Bruce and Alfred walked them to the school entrance, Bruce's tail wagging proudly and Alfred's ears perked in approval.

"Have a wonderful day,kids," Alfred said, and Dick knew he'd tucked notes into both their lunch boxes this morning.

"You're going to be great," Bruce added, crouching down to give them each a hug. His tail wrapped around them both tightly.

Dick took Jason's hand and walked through the school doors, their backpacks swinging on their shoulders, tails swaying in rhythm.

"See you at recess?" Dick asked when they had to part—second grade classrooms one way, first grade the other.

"See you at recess," Jason confirmed.