Good Memories

by Lara Wilson

"You're not going all Joan Crawford on me, are you?"

Truly puzzled, Dick looks over at Tim who's sitting on the floor in front of the fire in Bruce's Aspen cabin, looking equally puzzled. "Huh?"

Tim gestures to his hands, more precisely to the hanger in them. "Wire hangers."

Getting it, Dick rolls his eyes and continues to pry the wire apart. "Yeah, like you wouldn't pull some move and have me trussed up with the thing if I tried."

Grinning, Tim nods in acknowledgment of that sure fact, then reaches over and meticulously places a log on top of the equally meticulously placed burning ones. "So...?"

"Marshmallows, Timmy."

"...Oh." The smile wavers and fades, and, seeing that, Dick sets down the hanger and scoots over to his brother.

"What? Marshmallows are happy food," he says, trying to lighten the suddenly dark mood.


He watches Tim shake it off, smile again, but knows that smile is forced, and he wracks his brain for some reason for Tim's sudden sorrow.

And then he remembers--tales of camp outs with friends, Young Justice so bright and eager. Young Justice, gone, its members...gone.

"Oh shit, Tim, I'm sorry." He lays a gentle hand on Tim's shoulder, feels the muscles bunch, then slowly relax.

"Dick, it's okay. It's just a marshmallow."

"I brought you up here to help you forget."

"Never gonna happen. Shouldn't happen, but...I'm okay. I promise." Tim reaches for the unfolded hanger and the bag of marshmallows that had been sitting behind Dick. "The memories are good ones." Stringing two of the confections on the wire, he reaches up and pats Dick's hand. "We had a lot of fun on those camping trips."

Dick swallows his own sorrow, puts on a happy face and reaches for the other hanger. "I'm glad." As Tim carefully turns his marshmallows just outside of the flames, browning them evenly, he sticks his own directly into the fire and lets them burn.

"Typical," Tim teases.



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