"Take me home."
Tim's broken sob drove Dick to wrap his arms around his shuddering shoulders and draw him onto his lap.
"I should have come after you months ago," he murmured, rocking his brother as he cried hot tears against his neck. "I'm so sorry, Timmy."
"I want to go home. I want all this to just stop."
"We'll go home. Spring's come early and the daffodils are blooming and the grass is turning green. Gotham is actually pretty."
"No more sand. No more heat. No more death."
"No more, I promise."
"I failed," Tim moaned. "He's alive but I can't find him and I went too far and I...You can't want me back." He shook his head violently and Dick pressed one hand to his skull, holding him still.
"I don't care what you've done. You're still my Tim," he whispered, his heart breaking. He knew what Tim had done. The League of Assassins, R'as al Ghul...
Tim had killed. He'd stepped across that line.
Dick didn't care.
Tim was coming home with him no matter what. He'd get him the help he needed. He'd take care of him. He'd heal him.
Then he'd beg his forgiveness for not believing him about their father.
And then they'd go find Bruce together.
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