Archive of Our Own

Tim comes to slowly.

The first thing he can feel is his heart racing. It’s not very avoidable, but he hopes that it’s not going to give him away as being awake. Suspiciously, the next thing that he notices is how heavy his sense of smell is. There are a lot of scents in the air, overlapping and drifting and thick; he can smell metal, and stale water, and old cloth, and wood. Past that, he can smell animals; dogs, and chinchillas, cats, weasels, and what he’s pretty sure must be monkeys. He can smell feces and urine, after that, but it’s overlapped by something sterile and then something more pleasantly scented, like someone thought they could overpower the former with the latter. And then, he can smell people. Clean clothes and shampoo and deodorant and hair products. A rosy perfume wafts past him, and he can tell that someone just walked behind him.

He can hear everything attached to those smells, too. He hears clanging metal. He hears growling, hissing, chittering, and screeching. He hears people shuffling around him, quiet conversations, people talking in that voice that only salesmen use. He can’t pick out individual words yet; something blocks the sound, like a lightly muffling barrier.

There is no light coming through his eyelids. When he twitches, his limbs don’t meet any resistance; but he can feel fur shifting across the surface of whatever he’s laying on. When he swallows, focusing a little harder, he can feel his tail flicking, his front legs curling into his chest.

He blinks his eyes open carefully, remaining unmoving otherwise. It’s dark; the light levels are low, but he can still see the scratched wood underneath of him, the tiny space surrounded by bars, and the dark fabric draped over the top. Tim pushes his head up slowly, twisting to see the rest of it. There’s not much space; his head is about three inches from the door, a padlock closed around the bars, and if he stretched his tail out, he could hit the other side. It’s not much bigger on the width, and a good portion of the space is filled with a small metal dish with shallow water that he knows came out of a sink that hasn’t been cleaned since it was installed. A cage, he deduces reluctantly. The top of the cage isn’t very high either, but he’s pretty sure he could stand up in it. When he turns his head, he can feel the fur around his neck pulling on something firmly pressing against his throat.

He's not entirely sure what to do from here. Unfortunately, before he can decide his next step, the decision is made for him.

The dark fabric is pulled dramatically from the cage. Light filters in, bright and unforgiving, and a voice booms at him, loud and combined with a hand slammed onto a surface near him, so harsh that he doesn’t even hear what’s said. He does, however, hear the boisterous laugh that follows when he shoots to his feet and hisses. He never uses this body, and trips over his own legs, nearly falling to the wood again.

A woman in a crisp white collared dress shirt grins down at him. “And here he is,” she croons, dragging a dark blue nail across the bars. The tinkling sound it makes is soft and taunting. “The main man of the show.”

“He’s so small.” Someone says critically, raising an eyebrow. There are people crowding the cage, peering in at him from all sides. They’re all nicely dressed; Even the guys in clothes that are less fancy are clearly expensive and in good condition. Fear rises in his throat, and his breathing picks up. There’s nowhere to hide from their intense, judging gazes.

“How do we know that’s really him?” Someone else asks suspiciously.

“One of our men got the jump on him during a fight.” The woman grins. Fingers around his throat. His head slammed into a wall, cheek pressed against the brick. Hands pinning his wrists. A prick at his neck, where his hairline meets the collar of his suit. “We know it’s him. We wouldn’t advertise him if we weren’t absolutely sure. Unless you’re questioning our honesty?”

“I don’t want to spend money on a tiny kitten who turns out to be a regular boy.” The person sniffs.

“He’s the real deal.” The woman confirms. She turns, leaning in close. Her smile is sharp. Not a bit of her purple lipstick stains her teeth. “Isn’t that right, Robin?” She whispers.

The pure malice in her tone makes him shiver. He can’t help the fur that stands up along the length of his spine.

“He’s pretty, anyway.” Someone murmurs, and Tim really hates the little gleam in their eyes.

He feels fingers brush over his fur, nails digging in near his belly. He hisses, scrambling away from the hand. The person snickers as he swipes pitifully at their retracting fingers.

“Those eyes are so blue.” Someone coos.

“He would fit in well with my collection.” Someone else says softly, making him shudder again.

“His stripes are beautiful.” Another says critically, eying him. “Extremely defined, even with the long hair type. Beautiful.”

Tim bares his teeth. Someone else calls him adorable.

“Any chance we could see him in human form?” A greasy-looking guy asks, looking up from him to the woman. “I haven’t had any up-close encounters with Robin yet. I want to know if he’s pretty as a human, too. Make sure I’m paying for someone who can do me justice, you know.”

The woman shakes her head, thankfully. “No can do, sorry. Robin’s slippery. Boss specifically told me not to take the collar off.”

The guy mutters expletives, drawing back to sulk disdainfully. The woman claps, catching attention. “Starting bid is going to be seventy-five-kay. The auction will start at nine. In the meantime, I encourage you to look around, consider some of our other offers. Robin is the only auction today, so everything else has static prices. Anyone with this pin can answer whatever questions you have.” She smiles.

A good chunk of the crowd disperses. Some stay, staring and talking about him. Tim has to focus to take his attention off of them and look around. There are tables lined up around the place; each is stacked with metal cages, and each cage holds an animal. Except Tim’s not sure any of them are just animals. Most of them, he can clearly see a collar on; leather, stamped with magic runes he’s never seen before. Those same runes lightly glow against the gray fur on his chest. The cages are impossibly small, cramping the people in them. Each cage has a number attached to it. At least three of the ones Tim can see have a sticker slapped on them with the word “SOLD” printed on it. Blue velvet drapes the walls around them, as well as the tables, as a pseudo table cover. There are a lot of people here. A lot of assholes. Every so often, he spots another person in a crisp white shirt and a purple pin.

There isn’t a whole lot of space in the cage. Even when he bunches himself up as much as he can in the exact middle of it, any fingers reaching into the bars can still touch him. He tries hissing and biting, but they all just laugh and pet him again before withdrawing. A minute or two, and he can feel more fingers dragging down his tail or stroking down his side. The perfume and cologne clings to his fur, making him smell overwhelmingly other. One person comments about how good his mouth must be after he bites them, and that one really makes him want to cry.

People start gathering back up again. He’s seen at least four more cage numbers get stuck with the sold sticker.

The woman comes back to stand by him. She flicks her nails over the bars again. The sound is more jarring than it was before. She grins down at him, satisfaction and glee lining her lips, and yells out, “Starting bid for Robin, seventy five thousand dollars! Auction starting now!”

A few stragglers join the edge of the group. The auction starts. Tim hates the way the numbers jump immediately.

The woman barely gets through seven bids before a mechanical voice calls, “How about three hundred?”

Everyone falls silent, because everyone recognizes the voice. Even a good chunk of the people in the rest of the cages go quiet. Tim scrambles to the back of the cage, trying to keep out of sight. The man who waltzes through the crowd still has his glaring white lenses fixed on Tim.

“A little bird told me you guys caught Robin.” He says, leaning down to tower over the top of the cage. Tim can smell blood on him. He can’t help the way his comparatively impossibly tiny body shakes. Sure, there’s a bunch of metal between them. That doesn’t make him any more confident in his safety. The Red Hood stands back up, looking up at the woman. “And I want him. My offer is three hundred.”

He puts a very blatant hand on the gun strapped to his thigh, turning slightly so everyone catches the threat. No one else speaks up. The woman raises an eyebrow, but yells out “Sold!” anyway.

The crowd disperses again. They don’t voice their disappointment, but he can see it. He shuts his eyes and flattens his ears as the woman and the Red Hood start discussing payment. His only warning a few excruciatingly long minutes later is a small metal click and a squeak as the door opens before a gloved hand reaches in and picks him up by the scruff of his neck. He wails and his little paws flail uselessly, and this is why he never fucking uses this form.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” The woman asks, eyeing Tim.

“You’ve got him collared.” The Red Hood says flatly. He turns Tim in the air, peering closer at his neck. “I’ve never actually seen magic like that before. Besides, Robin knows what will happen to him if he tries to run.”

The grating voice rings in his head, drawing back too-recent memories of halls stained with his blood, of his bones crunching against the tile, of gunshots cracking through what was supposed to be a safe place. He can feel his breath stick in his stupidly small lungs, and he goes still entirely. Because yeah, he does know what will happen. And that what is a whole lot of pain and maybe not being lucky enough to survive it this time.

The woman hums. “It’s a new sort of magic. People are easier to transport when they’re in this form. Plus we let the buyer keep the collars even though they’re expensive as hell to make. Some people are into that shit, y’know?”

Hood nods, scratching his thumb underneath Tim’s jaw. He leans into it a little, to his absolute horror. “What time does your buying end? I might have to come back for another. I haven’t decided yet.”

“We finalize everything at midnight.”

“Good to know.” Hood nods at her, setting Tim back down in the cage. He shuts the door and locks it again. “Money should be transferred now.”

“Yup, you’re good to go.” The woman nods. “Need any help gettin’ him back home?”

“Come on now. Surely I can carry a baby kitten by myself.” Hood says sarcastically, lifting the cage easily. Tim’s body sways back and forth with it.

Nobody protests as he’s carried out the door.

Hood carries him to a dirty brown beat up pickup truck that Tim is fairly certain does not belong to him and sets him in its passenger seat. He starts the truck silently. Tim huddles himself in the farthest corner, trying desperately to get his heart rate to slow down. It’s not working.

Hood muses after a while, “You were definitely not that tiny the last time I saw you.” He says it so casually. Like he didn’t just buy Tim. “I don’t remember you being this fluffy, either.”

Last time was a trauma response. And he was covered in blood.

“You do have pretty stripes, though. Bruce didn’t get it perfect, did he? The rest of us are solid black.”

He says it like he’s not taking Tim to torture him until he passes out again. Like death at his hands isn’t a very real possibility for Tim right now.

Hood stops at some nondescript house in what has to be Crime Alley, and takes Tim’s cage with him. After a lot of disabled traps and Tim bouncing around the cage after being dropped an unnecessary two inches from the ground so Hood had both hands, they were inside. Hood locked the door behind him again. And Tim was officially in two cages.

Hood sets the cage down on the counter, and pulls off his helmet. Jason Todd’s face smirking at him hurts about three times more.

He pulls open the door again, and drags Tim out by his scruff. Tim does manage to get his claws around Hood’s fingers, and twists to try to bite him.

“Oh no,” Hood deadpans, “You’re doing so much damage. Oof. Ouch. Wow, look at that, I’m bleeding so much.”

Tim tries to sink his teeth deeper into the leather of his gloves.

“You’re adorable, kiddo.” Hood rolls his eyes, palming Tim and turning him around to look at the collar around his throat.

He digs a finger under the leather to lift it above Tim’s fur. The pressure increases as he tugs, turning the collar in his fingers. Tim’s going to fucking hyperventilate before Hood can even get a chance to try and choke him out with it.

“You’re so lucky I found you,” Hood murmurs softly, transferring his fingers to scratch Tim’s head. His hand goes all the way around Tim’s skull. He strokes around Tim’s throat tauntingly. “Anyone else could have just snapped your neck and been done with you.”

Tim shudders. Hood shifts him in his hands so that his back legs are dangling underneath him, his front legs are held in the crook of Hood’s thumbs, and his belly is entirely exposed. Hood runs the pads of his thumbs over the soft tissue of his stomach. His fear spikes into the heavens, because if Hood even just pushed a bit too hard he could crush Tim easily. If he did it right, then the death would probably be incredibly slow.

Hood just pets him for a few moments longer before setting him back in the cage. “I’ll be back in a while. I have some scumbags to take care of. Don’t go anywhere, Timmy.” He warns mockingly, pulling on his helmet. Then he leaves, and Tim is alone with no possible way out of the house of the guy who definitely wants him very dead.

When Hood comes back, he smells even stronger of blood. And gunpowder. And there’s a second person that follows behind him.

“I’m burning this safehouse after you leave, so there’s no point in selling the information.” He tells them.

“I wouldn’t do that anyway.” They say smoothly, but Tim is fifty percent sure they’re lying.

Hood unlocks the cage once more, swiftly pulling him out. “Stay still, Robin.” He warns seriously, and parts the hair at Tim’s neck for the other person to look at. “Everyone else pulled their collars off just fine, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t see any weird side effects to it. But I think this collar has double the runes, and I’m worried about what removing that much magic from a tiny body is going to do to him.”

Tim is transferred from Hood’s hands to the stranger’s hands, and he gives out an alarmed yowl. Unfortunately, they are also wearing gloves.

The stranger ignores him completely as they peer at the leather, focused entirely on the runes. “I can draw some of the power away first.” They say decidedly. “Then I’ll have to break the leather myself; I don’t think that you doing it would be a good idea.”

“Have at it, then, just make sure he doesn’t have a tail when he changes back.” Hood drawls.

Tim is handed back over again. Hood pets him the entire two minutes the other person is muttering under their breath, tucking him close to his chest and caging him there. He tugs on Tim’s fur every so often, and Tim knows it’s a reminded threat.

The stranger stops after a minute, then takes out a small knife. Hood holds him still, and the stranger takes the knife to Tim’s throat, Tim trembling under his touch. All they cut is the leather, though, and the collar falls free into their hand.

“There.” They say, satisfied. “The magic will stay in his system for another fifteen minutes, but he should be able to shift again after that. There shouldn’t be any weird side effects. If there is, it’s likely due to his own shifting.”

Hood nods. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, just remember to show up at my neighbor’s. I can’t stand that douchebag any longer.” The named Dean walks their way straight back out of the door.

Hood takes off his helmet again, and leaves it on the counter. He transfers Tim to his other hand so he can peel off the mask underneath, and Tim gets juggled around a bit more as he strips most of his gear. Then he settles on the stained dark blue couch in his living room, keeps Tim cupped to his chest, and pulls out his phone to start a timer.

Tim can’t even do anything as Hood pets him. Anything he could try would be useless. And this close to Hood’s chest, the scent of blood and gunpowder and death filling his nose, all he can think about is how much pain those hands inflicted on him last time. And he really hates the purr that builds up in his chest, even through the terror, because he knows full well that the only reason he’s not on the floor and bleeding is because it’s much harder to torture a tiny kitten than a human kid.

The timer ringing sends fear spiking through his chest, cold and sharp. He looks up at Hood with wide eyes as he picks Tim up and drops him on the floor. “Go on,” Hood says, raising an eyebrow. “Shift.”

He thinks about bolting for a minute, but he really doesn’t ever use this form and he can just hear his bones crunching underneath Hood’s boots after he inevitably trips and eats shit. So he sits up, takes a deep breath, hopes that if Hood’s going to kill him he’ll at least do it quickly, and pushes against the wall that’s been blocked by magic thus far.

He’s always hated the feeling of his bones and skin moving around. It’s one of the many reasons he doesn’t ever do it. His feeling of relief at having his body back is quickly overpowered by mounting dread. Before he can even stand, though, he’s being knocked onto his stomach, Hood’s knee pressing into his back.

“Glad to see they had the sense to get rid of your gear,” He says, sounding amused. He catches Tim’s wrists as he tries to push Hood off, and even as he wrenches, he can’t stop the zipties that tighten around them. The knee releases him, and then Tim’s being picked up by the collar of his suit and pushed onto the couch.

Tim’s breath catches again. He jerks against the zipties, but they’re only just barely not cutting off his circulation, and there’s no way he can break them without Hood noticing. “Let me go.” He says, voice cracking. “Please. Please let me go.”

Hood raises an eyebrow. “What, and pass up this opportunity? Not a goddamn chance.”

“I wasn’t even doing anything.” Tim says desperately.

Hood snorts. “You weren’t doing anything last time, either. Are you injured?”

“Please, I can’t-”

“That’s not what I asked.” Hood rolls his eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Tim bites his lip, eyes darting anywhere but Hood’s face. “No.” He’s extremely sore and extremely tired, but he’s also pretty sure that doesn’t count.

“How long have you been missing?”

Tim doesn’t answer. Hood rolls his eyes again, and pokes him in the stomach, his finger digging into the soft tissue even through his suit. “Come on, Tim, we don’t have all night.”

“Since last night.” He says quietly.

Hood smirks, his eyes gaining a sharp glint. “Well that’s perfect, isn’t it? I bet the Bat is freaking out.”

No one’s going to find him here. “Jason. Please.”

“Shut up, Tim, I just paid three hundred thousand dollars for you, I’m not lookin’ to dump your body in the harbor tonight.” He scoffs, pulling out a phone from one of his many pockets. He dials a number and hits the speaker button.

“What do you want?” Tim asks, eyeing the phone.

“I just kidnapped you. I believe I’m owed a ransom.” Jason smirks. The dial picks up.

“Jason?” A voice says uncertainly.

“Dickie! How kind of you to pick up the phone.” Jason smirks harder. “I believe you’re missing something. A baby kitten?”

“What? Did you find him?”

“I did.” Jason says smugly. He waves the phone in Tim’s direction. “Say hi, Timmy.”

“Dick, I-”

Jason takes the phone away, flicking his lips. “Good job. Guess what, Dick? I want something from you.”

There’s a long sigh from the other side. “Jay. Are you really ransoming our little brother?”

“I can keep him. You won’t be able to find him again.”

“He has school, Jay.”

“Do I sound like I care?”

Dick groans. “Fine. What do you want?”

“I want my fucking rocket launcher back.” He hisses.

“You dropped it after we caught you trying to blow up the Black Mask again, little bird.”

“Yeah, he deserved it.”

“Bruce doesn’t want you to have it back.”

“Does Bruce want his baby Robin back any time soon?”

“It’s a rocket launcher, Jay. It’s made for destruction. Can’t you ask for, like, case information or something?”

“I want it back, Dick. I swear to god I’ll teach him how to use a shotgun.”

“Don’t do that.” Dick says hastily. He sighs again. “Fine. I’ll go sneak it out of the storage. You’re not allowed to use it for at least a week though so B can’t blame me.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands.” Jason smirks.

“Whatever. Text me the address?”

“Sure. I’m burning this one after you come get him, though.”

Jason hangs up. Tim is really confused. Jason points a finger at him, says “Stay there.” Then he leaves.

Dick sounded less worried than Tim thought he would be. He was on his way, apparently. Jason hadn’t actually hurt him yet. He’d just traded him for a rocket launcher? The raging dead man who wants Tim’s blood painting the floor clashes with whatever the fuck this is in his mind. This is such a different reaction than it was last time. Tim practically fell, gift-wrapped, into Jason’s lap, and he’s not taking advantage of it. He can’t help but be suspicious.

Jason comes back out in regular clothes and carrying two duffel bags. He throws them by the door, then pulls out another two more from the closet next to said door and starts stuffing them full of his gear. Tim watches him take canned food and an assload of medical supplies from around the house and pack them up. Jason sets those bags by the door, too, seemingly finished.

He sinks down onto the couch, throwing his legs over Tim’s. Tim startles at the action, but Jason only smirks at him. He decides to stay silent, watching the other carefully. He swears Jason’s eyes were greener last time.

Eventually, there’s a knock on the door. It’s the short series of knocks that any Bat would recognize. Jason stands, stopping at the door to peer through the peephole.

“Where is she, Dick?” He yells.

“’She’? It’s in my car, let me in.” Dick yells back.

Jason disengages several locks, and turns away. Dick opens the door, walking in as he rolls his eyes.

Tim gets pulled to his feet. A knife flashes, and he has about half a second to be worried before the tension around his wrists releases.

“You zip-tied him? Really?” Dick says incredulously.

“He’s Robin.” Jason shrugs. “I didn’t want him tryin’ to sneak off before I got my rocket launcher back.”

Tim shoves himself into Dick’s arms. Dick holds him immediately, shifting automatically to hold most of Tim’s weight. “Hey, kiddo.” He says softly, fingers curling at the back of Tim’s skull. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” Tim whispers back.

“Could you tell me about it?” Dick scratches at the base of his neck lightly, shifting up to run his fingers through his hair.

Tim slumps further into his hold, taking a deep breath. “I split off from B on patrol last night.” He starts, trying to keep it as much like a report as possible. “Some guys caught me. Injected me with something, I don’t know. I remember waking up when they put the collar on. I think the magic must’ve overwhelmed me, because I passed out again after that. They must’ve kept me drugged, because I didn’t wake up again until a few hours ago. I woke up as a cat in a cage. There were a bunch of other people, all with collars, in cages too. There were people buying them. They auctioned me. People kept touching me. Jason came in and bought me. I thought he was going to hurt me. He threatened to snap my neck. I didn’t…”

“He what.” Dick growled.

“I did not threaten that. I told him somebody could’ve.”

“That is a threat, Jason.”

“I was making sure he knew how much trouble he was in.”

“I’m sure he knew full well without you making him think you still want to kill him.” Dick said icily.

“I didn’t touch him.”

“He made a fair assumption based on Titan’s Tower, and you didn’t correct him.”

“Whatever.” Jason huffs. “It’s not my job to protect his feelings. I dealt with the traffickers already, and all the people who hadn’t been sold and taken yet. They’re with my guys, we’ll get them sorted out. I also had a magic user come and make sure Tim didn’t have any side effects from the magic. You’re welcome.”

“And what about the victims who did get sold?” Dick asks.

“I have a list of names. We’re going to track them down as soon as possible.”

“Do you need help?”

“I’m not gonna tell you no if you want in.” Jason responds.

“I do.” Dick confirms.

“Okay. I’ll call you when we start. I also think you should give this to the Bat for him to ask about it.” Jason moves closer, and Tim can see him hand Dick the collar he’d had. “This kind of shit hasn’t existed before. Everyone was stuck in their shifted forms until those were taken off. I’ve never seen that kind of magic control in such a concentrated form before, and I have no idea how these guys got their hands on it, but I know it could be really fucking dangerous if it becomes wide-spread. People are easier to transport when they’re shifted. I have my guys taking a look at the ones we took earlier, but that one has like two times more magic in it. We need to find a way to either resist its effects or to counter it.”

Dick nods. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

“Good. Get him home. I need to burn this house before someone else shows up.” Jason says, brushing past him.

Dick nods again. He shifts his arms, hoisting Tim up by his sides, and slides an arm under his thighs so he’s now holding Tim like a toddler. He makes a noise of protest, but Dick just ignores him, like a bastard. Tim gives up, slumping into his hold. Jason’s trying to pick up all four duffle bags at once, and with the sheer amount of guns and explosives in them, Tim’s not surprised that he’s not succeeding.

“You need an extra mask?” Jason raises an eyebrow at Dick.

“My windows are tinted.” Dick says. “Unlike that thing. Where did you even get that?” He wrinkles his nose at the brown pickup parked outside.

“Stole it.”

“Jay.”

“Come on. It used to belong to some asshole who sold dangerous drugs. I’m gonna give it to someone else after I change the license plate. And probably the tires.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “And maybe a paint job.”

“What, you don’t like the shit-stain brown?”

“Not even a little.”

Dick sets Tim down in the passenger seat. He watches Dick pull the honest to god rocket launcher out of the back seat and dump it into Jason’s eagerly waiting hands. Through the open door of the car, he hears Dick say quietly, “Thank you. For saving him. We were worried like all hell when B couldn’t find him.”

“Well I didn’t do it for you, or B.” Jason retorts. “Especially not B. I wasn’t about to leave the kid there. He’s too damn tiny. You should ask Alfred to make him eat more.”

“Might be easier if you show up to breakfast tomorrow.”

“Are you insane? Do you want Bruce to have at least three holes in him before 9 a.m.? ‘Cus if you do, then you could just ask.”

“Bruce won’t be there.”

Jason’s quiet for a while. “Nah. The kid won’t want me there.”

“Have you actually asked him that?”

“No, and I’m not going to. Just take him home, Dick. He’s exhausted. And probably hungry. Those traffickers aren’t big on actually taking care of the people they’re selling.”

“Alright, fine. Alfred misses you.”

“Fuck off.”

Dick shuts the back door and climbs in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t actually start driving for a minute, just looks at Tim – who’s slumped back against the seat with his eyes half-closed – with furrowed brows. “I’m sorry we didn’t get you sooner, kiddo,” he says quietly, reaching out to run his fingers through Tim’s hair. “And I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know you don’t like your other form. It must’ve been scary. You didn’t deserve that.”

Tim leans into the touch, reaching up to let his fingers hang loosely from Dick’s wrist. “I thought Jason was going to hurt me,” he whispers. “Why didn’t he?”

Dick’s quiet for a minute. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “I’m not sure why he’s even talking to me again. Something must’ve changed. I don’t know what it was. He asked me for help on a case one day. And we haven’t talked about anything yet, but he’s not trying to shoot me anymore. And I don’t think he actually wants to hurt you anymore either, Tim.”

Tim closes his eyes and thunks his head against the thing between them, pushing Dick’s hand to the steering wheel. “Let’s go home,” he whispers, trying to work through all the confusing questions in his head.

If Jason doesn’t want him dead anymore… then that changes things.