Matt asked. Tim feels the way Matt tenses up, sees the way his knuckles go white. He shifts, leaning to kiss Matt's jaw, to cover the other's hand with his own, all soothing touches that say 'it's okay'.

Its in the past now. Tim's over it, for the most part. Except for the rare occasions he sees his father's anger in Matt. But he's learning how to cope with that, too.

"So you did," Tim murmurs, and in a way, he thinks he's proud. Matt saw injustice and he did something about it. Maybe it wasn't exactly ethical, but Tim can't say he's sad that some piece of shot child molester got the hell beat out of him.

He wants Matt to be safe. But he knows better than to ask the other to stop fighting. That's just how Matt is. That's the person Tim fell in love with.

"I never got that end of it, thankfully." He tips his head down, pressing a kiss to Matt's shoulderblade. He closes his eyes as he continues. "I guess in retrospect, he probably did it to mama. I never saw it, though. Worst it ever got for me was when he caught me kissin' Johnny Sutherland in my truck."

He smiles against Matt's back, like he's remembering a fond moment. The smile is bitter, though, and it bleeds into his voice. "Hit me so hard he gave me a concussion. By the time he was done, I looked like I'd gotten hit by a God damn truck. Missed school for a week. I remember mama tellin' him if he ever did anything like that again, she'd shoot 'em in his sleep. Might be where I got the idea from."

He wanted to kill his father, but he never admitted IT out loud until this moment.