Oops I Made A Thing

Jason swatted Dick away as he tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Like I’m ready to go fu— freaking home already.” 

Alfred glanced over his shoulder with a Look. At first, Jason assumed it was from the near-swear, but then Alfred opened his mouth. “I’m afraid you won’t be leaving just yet, lad.”

“Wha—Alfred!”

“We’ll review your symptoms tomorrow, to ensure they haven’t become more severe.”

“So what if my helmet broke? It did its job! You can’t keep me here!”

Dick, having chosen to casually lean against the foot of his bed, snorted. There was no humor in the sound. “Jason, the thing practically shattered while it was still on your head. You have ten stitches on your forehead alone. I’m with Alfie on this one.”

“Thank you, Master Dick. Master Jason, you are quite lucky it is only the concussion and a few stitched wounds. Had your leg been broken as we had worried, you would not be leaving this Manor for the foreseeable future.”

And thank fucking god for that. Being forced to stay up in the Manor for weeks on end? Jason could handle a few hours here and there, finally relenting to invites for family dinners or Sunday brunches within the past few months, but if he was trapped there for days at a time, Jason was sure blood would spill. And certainly not his own.

Jason fumed, but decided it was wiser to stay silent now. A disappointed or testy Alfred could be soul-crushing, and he’d dealt with enough bullshit emotions for one night. Alfred nodded decidedly at his silence.

“Go get some rest, Master Dick. Master Jason, sleep well.”

Jason sighed, long and loud. “Yeah, you too, Alfie.”

Despite the warning tone in Alfred’s instructions, Dick didn’t follow him to the exit. Instead, he decided to push his luck again, approaching the head of the bed. Jason should’ve kicked him when he had the chance, but damn, despite not being broken, his leg sure was fucking sore.

“You doing okay?” He asked, his tone so gentle that Jason could physically feel his hackles raising. “Really?”

“Fucking fine, Dickhead. Get the fuck out of here and let me sleep.”

Dick huffed, an uncomfortable mix of amusement and bitterness that Jason refused to squirm at, and nodded. “Alright, Jay. I’ll let you rest.”

And then, because god forbid the asshole stop playing jovial big brother for even a second, Dick darted in close with a mischievous smile. Jason tried to fight him off, whatever his game was, but somehow Dick managed to dodge around his arms and into his personal bubble. Chapped lips connected with his hairline, carefully away from his stitches and bruising, startling Jason into stillness for a split second. By the time he went to fight again, Dick was already backing out of his space, jogging for the stairs.

“Sweet dreams, Little Wing!”

“Fuck you!”

Dick’s laughter echoed off the stone long after he was gone. Between that and the weirdly gooey feeling in his chest, it took a long time for Jason to finally sleep.

*     *     *     *     *

The next day was no better. Jason woke up feeling like death warmed over; his head pounding, his stitches itching, and every muscle in his body aching from the previous night’s abuse. Bitterly, he wished he could blame the medbay cot for some of it, but Bruce spared no expense on his setup, and the thing was unfortunately pretty comfortable.

Alfred, despite having checked his symptoms upon waking up and tending to his needs since then (god, had he missed Alfred’s cooking. A meal or two a month only satisfied his cravings so much), refused to release him until at least the late afternoon. After a series of complaints, Alfred told Jason he was lucky that he wasn’t being kept for a full 24 hours of observation, and that quickly shut him up.

Still, there was only so much he could do to entertain himself while stuck in the medbay. He did some stretches for his sore muscles, careful of the second set of stitches in his side lest he risk Alfred’s wrath. He snacked on whatever Alfred brought him, even after his hunger was satiated, just to beat back the boredom. He even asked Alfred to bring him down a few book options, and even though they were to his taste, he struggled to read around the headache squeezing at his skull.

Okay, fine. Maybe the concussion was a little beyond mild — but if Jason wasn’t throwing up and seeing stars, he didn’t care. He was fit for the field.

Eventually, Dick and the twerp made their way downstairs. Dick tried to check on him, dragging the mouthy little bird with him, but Jason was quick to chase them out. Just because he was stuck here did not mean he was going to play happy little family. Thankfully they got the message — though not without an eyeroll from Tim and a kicked-puppy pout from Dick — and headed off to the training mats. If Jason eventually wandered out to watch them train, it was just to stretch his legs. Alfred only said he had to stay at the Cave (or Manor, but Jason was still avoiding Bruce as much as possible), not in the medbay itself. He was bored and his legs were stiff – he absolutely was not looking to spend time with those chucklefucks that called themselves his brothers.

While neither of them were going easy on the other, it was clear to Jason that his spar was more play than work. Dancing around each other, hopping out of grasps, taunting and teasing (which, granted, was a trait embedded in any Robin, even in work mode, but still) – they were just toying with each other, winding each other up. And then Dick lunged, quick and graceful as a panther, a move more intent than any Jason had seen so far. Things were livening up. Jason stood a little straighter, ready to see where this would go.

And then Tim started screaming.

Jason started for the mats before he even processed what was happening, every nerve on high alert at the noise. He’d fought the kid on several occasions and never heard that sound. He’d rescued the brat from torture and never heard him scream like that before. What in the fuck had happened for Tim to throw all that stoicism out the window?

A shrill cackle stopped Jason in his tracks. Dick hadn’t even bothered to pin the kid, just wrapped his noodly limbs around him like an octopus as he dug his fingers into every inch of ticklish torso he could reach. Tim was spitting and cursing and writhing through his laughter, and though Jason saw at least three different ways he could escape Dick’s hold, Tim didn’t take any of them. Even being tomato red and wheezing, Jason didn’t think he’d ever seen Tim alight with so much joy. And, honestly? Despite how humiliating it no doubt was, Jason couldn’t exactly blame him. 

A lifetime ago, Jason was the one writhing beneath those hands. He and Dick had a rocky start, and a rough relationship overall, but even Jason couldn’t keep lying to himself that things were all bad. They had their good moments; train-hopping, ice cream hangouts, a meager handful of patrols together. 

And Dick absolutely taking Jason to pieces on those very training mats. Or in the theater room. Or the family room, one of their bedrooms, trapped in the car — really anywhere Dick thought he could get away with it.

Jason hadn’t reached for those memories since he’d gotten back. Everything from before often felt so bitter and tainted, bruised and aching, so he tended to leave well enough alone. He wasn’t that scrawny little kid anymore after all, beaming bright and spouting bullshit about how “Robin is magic!” He’d never be that kid again, so what was the point of dwelling on it? His so-called family already had that handled for him.

Even still, a feeling bubbled up in Jason’s chest. It wasn’t warm and melty, like whatever Dick had left him with last night. It was oozing and sticky and sharp, like an open wound congealed in blood. Jason huffed a sharp breath through his nose and turned tail, settling himself back in the medbay. He roughly snatched up one of the books, flipping it open and trying to focus on it around Tim’s howling. He spent most of the time staring blankly at the first page, fighting off the memories trying to creep up on him. He was so lost in his own head that he almost missed when the laughter finally stopped echoing off the Cave walls. He cursed under his breath, flipped about a quarter of the way through the book, and pretended to be lost in the novel. 

“Good book, Little Wing?”

“Sure,” Jason grumbled, skimming the random page he opened. It seemed vaguely familiar — he must’ve read it when he was a kid.

“Dick and I were gonna raid the secret junk food stash,” Tim piped up. “If you wanna come.”

Alfred totally knew about that, nothing stayed secret from him. Still, it was remarkable that he’d let them pretend for this long. Jason remembered the days where he helped Dick, and even Bruce, stock the stash behind Alfred’s back. But as much as Jason could really go for some chalky Donettes or double-stuf Oreos, that nasty fucking feeling in his chest did not leave him much room for brotherly bonding.

“I’m good,” Jason said, tone snappy. “Alfred’ll be down soon to give me the all-clear. Knock yourselves out.”

“Jay, are you sure?”

“I said, I’m good.”

Dick raised his hands in surrender, backing out of the medbay with a bitter smile and dragging Tim with him. He heard them muttering to each other as they made for the stairs.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s got a concussion, kiddo. Can’t blame him for being grumpy.”

“I’ve seen him get shot and be less grumpy than that.”

Dick’s sigh followed them out of the Cave, bleeding into Jason’s own sigh as he let the book fall onto the bed next to him. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with him?

*     *     *     *     *

After the concussion incident, Jason turned back to his good friend avoidance. Unfortunately, it was a tactic that could only work for so long. With word of Red Hood’s new penchant for antiheroism spreading, he could only get himself so far these days. Usually, he could fend for himself – he had Bat and League training, after all – but sometimes he had to swallow his pride and call in backup. Hence why he was crouched on an old warehouse catwalk with Nightwing and Robin, of all people.

The up-and-coming drug lord he was after this time was no joke. He was clearly bringing power in from somewhere else, probably an out-of-towner thinking he could make easy moves in such a crime-ridden city. He’d even outright taunted the Red Hood, bragging around the Alley about his impending takeover. Hood would’ve had a bullet through his head weeks ago, but unfortunately, the asshole had the skill to back up his bravado

Hood had only caved when the first bodies showed up, done in by whatever the shithead had laced the drugs with.

The second he got wind of this meeting, he’d reached out to Nightwing for backup. Most stakeouts Hood would handle on his own, whether he was getting help with the case or not, but this time he wasn’t taking any risks. He even bit his tongue on any snide comments when Nightwing showed up with Robin, insisting that three sets of eyes were better than two.

Of course, that only mattered if the fuckers actually showed up.

Three hours in without a sign of movement and Hood was ready to admit he’d been played. Whatever Drug-Fucker was doing that night, he’d wanted Hood out of the way, and he’d gotten more than he’d bargained with half the Bats detained at the same time. Hood wasn’t looking forward to the news that came in tomorrow, haunted by visions of bodies in the streets even as Nightwing and Robin practically dragged him from the warehouse. Still, he made sure his pity party was over by the time they reached a nearby BatBurger.

“I’m getting my fries jokerized,” Robin said as they settled on the roof, trying to decide their order, “and I don’t care what you have to say about it.”

Hood shrugged, unlatching his helmet. “It’s the only decent way to eat them.”

Nightwing looked at both of them like they were insane. 

“You can’t give me that look,” Hood said. “I’ve seen you eat your cereal with orange juice before.”

“I was eighteen! You can’t still hold that against me!”

Robin cocked his head to the side, his domino wrinkling with the furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong with orange juice?”

Hood shook his head. “Not drinking it, little bird. He full-on drenched his Wheatie-O’s in orange juice.”

The kid’s face quickly twisted in horror as he turned back to Nightwing. “That’s disgusting.”

“Okay, one, they were not Wheatie-O’s, those sound disgusting. Two, I was a teenager–”

“So? I’m a teenager now.”

“And you have more Zesti in your body than blood, you don’t count.”

“He’s got you there, kid.”

“Hey, I’m on your side!”

“You’re right. It’s a perfectly respectable amount of Zesti, I’m sure.”

Nightwing flicked Hood on the forehead. “Look– my questionable teenage diet has nothing to do with the fact that you two want fries named after a murderous psychopath–”

Robin tilted his head to the side – not exactly beating back the bird allegations there. “Doesn’t it though? I mean, orange juice cereal soup kind of makes you a psychopath too–”

“That’s it!”

Hood’s chuckling at the ridiculous argument was quickly drowned out by the shrieky giggles of a far-too-ticklish mini-vigilante. Nightwing was a flurry of quick jabs and wiggling fingers, digging into all the less-armored areas of Robin’s uniform he could reach – places that required mobility that didn’t allow for bulk, like knees and elbows and armpits. Robin squirmed like a feral alleycat, almost slipping off the edge of the roof if not for Nightwing’s quick reflexes.

That sick, slimy feeling returned to Jason’s chest, and Jason couldn’t help but poke at it with a metaphorical stick. It certainly wasn’t jealousy — no, he remembered the cloying, bitter tang of jealousy well, and this oozing stickiness didn’t quite fit the bill. Plus, why would he be jealous in the first place? It was pretty fucking funny to watch the newest Robin squirm around and squeak like a ferret shoved into a plastic tub of dry pasta.

… He really needed to tell Dick to stop sending him TikToks.

Whatever the itching in his chest, though, it was fucking obnoxious. Not even the muffled cheeps from the little bird could pull him out of it, as hilarious as watching the kid try to muffle his laughter was. It was a pretty useless endeavor, from what Hood remembered; Nightwing had gotten him like that once or twice, the few times they’d patrolled together before his world exploded (literally). Batman armored up the Robin suit more and more with each model, but there was no stopping the soft spots around joints for mobility — especially for a kid meant to be so flippy. He learned to never underestimate how ticklish knees and armpits and even fucking elbows could be when they were the only things accessible.

“Hood, help!” Robin called out, stupidly reaching an arm in his direction. Nightwing took swift advantage.

Hood scoffed, polishing an invisible smudge off his helmet. “You’re on your own, kid.” 

It came out a lot more sullen than he intended. The play fight paused next to him, an awkward silence filling the space instead. Nightwing cleared his throat.

“I guess I’ll go order for you little rebels. I’ll be right back.”

He flipped off the roof before they could say anything. So much for emotional intelligence. Robin fiddled with his gloves for a moment as Hood finally set aside his helmet, then piped up.

“It’s not your fault.”

Hood’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

“The stakeout. It’s not your fault, he tricked you.”

The back of Hood’s throat itched with the desire to snark back, tell the kid that he didn’t know shit about Hood, to quit making assumptions… But it was the perfect out. Plus, it wasn’t like the kid was totally off base, just tugging at the wrong sulky string.

“Supposed to be better than that — who knows what the asshole was actually up to tonight.”

Robin shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it sucks and there’s definitely gonna be consequences, but like — even Batman gets tricked sometimes.”

Hood went to rub at his eyes, only to stop short when he made contact with his domino mask. “Kid–”

“Plus, you weren’t the only one who missed it. Nightwing and I looked over the entire case file you sent over – twice – and missed it, too. Even Oracle went over it and didn’t catch it.”

“He’s good.”

“So? We’re better.”

Ah, the classic Robin confidence. Hood remembered it well. “What would you suggest then, smartass?”

He got a classic feral grin in return – almost the spitting image of Nightwing’s when he was in the traffic light colors. 

Alright, maybe Hood would hear the kid out.

*     *     *     *     *

The living room window slid open with a quiet hiss. Jason woke instantly, hand already reaching for the gun tucked underneath his pillows. He tossed off the threadbare sheets, rolling silently to his feet even as he heard the window hiss a second time. He hadn’t heard the intruder land – they were either smart, trained, or both. He lowered his center of gravity and slipped through his bedroom door, readying his gun as he steadied his breath, and–

“Little Wing? I know you’re home!”

Jason instantly lowered the gun, flicking the safety back on, and rose to his full height, just in time for Dick to saunter into view of the hallway.

“Goddammit, Dick. I almost shot you.”

Dick gave him a lopsided grin. “Aww, come on, Jay! You could never shoot me.”

“I literally have.”

Dick just shrugged, turning back to the living room and flopping onto the couch.

“Sure,” Jason scoffed, “make yourself at home.”

“Thanks! I think I will.”

Jason heaved a sigh and set his gun on the counter separating the living room and kitchen. “Seriously, man. What are you doing here? Aside from interrupting my evening nap.”

Dick shrugged again. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop in.”

“Yeah, cut the shit. No one just happens to be in Crime Alley.”

“Alright, alright, fine. I wanted to hang out with my baby brother, is that so wrong?”

“Well, you’re in the wrong place for that. Timmy-boy should be back at the Manor, shouldn’t he? Or are Mommy and Daddy Dearest back in town? Maybe check the Drake property.”

“He’s with his team, actually.” Dick rolled his eyes. “And I can have more than one baby brother, you know.”

Jason glanced around the room, making a show of peeking into the dark corners of the apartment. “I dunno, man. I’m not seeing any babies here.”

“Jay, come on.”

“You first.”

Dick pursed his lips, crossed his arms. They had a brief stare-off, but Dick relented faster than he expected, slumping into the lumpy old couch with a sigh.

“I wanted to check on you.”

Jason wrinkled his nose, his shoulders raising. “Why?”

“You just – you seemed sort of off last night, at the BatBurger.”

Jason scoffed, slipping into the kitchen proper. Doing something with his hands meant he didn’t have to look at Dick and his manipulative ass. “My stakeout went to shit, what do you want with me?”

Thankfully, Dick stayed on the couch. “You and Tim were joking around before you shut down.”

“Maybe it didn’t hit me right away.”

“And before that? You’ve been avoiding us since your concussion.”

Water. That was something to do with his hands. Jason grabbed a glass from the cupboard and debated for a moment whether he should fill it from the tap. Then again, if he intentionally poisoned himself with shitty Gotham water to escape this conversation, Dick would know immediately that he was right. He sighed, going for the jug in the fridge.

“I’ve been busy.”

“And before that? When you were acting weird?”

Jason turned toward him, looking at him like he was insane. “I had a concussion. What are you trying to get at here, Dick?”

Dick shrugged – god, Jason was getting sick of that – and leaned back into the couch. “You tell me.”

“You’re as paranoid as Bruce is.”

Dick hefted himself up from the couch, making his way toward Jason and leaning on the counter with crossed arms. The kitchen island was the only thing separating them.

“Your shoulders are squared and tensed, like you’re preparing for a blow–”

“Don’t.”

“–You’re trying to look busy, so you don’t have to look at me. You’re putting up literal walls between us, using the physical barriers of the counter and even your glass of water–”

“Dick, seriously. I’m warning you.”

“–You’ve got that tension around your eyes, that scrunch in your eyebrows, that happens when you’re upset about something–” 

“Fucking, stop! Just shut up!”

“Pretend you’re mad all you want, Jay. That look means you’re upset. Not mad, not angry or pissed off or full of fucking rage like you love to pretend you always are. Something’s bothering you – I don’t understand why it has to be like pulling teeth just to get you to admit it! Let alone talk about it, god forbid.”

“Jesus Christ, Dick! Can’t you mind your own business for once in your life? You’re not my keeper!”

“I’m not trying to control you, Jason! I’m just trying to help–”

“By studying me like– like a fucking bug under a microscope? Like one of the fucking Rogues?”

Dick took a deep breath, pushing himself up onto his palms and hanging his head. His hair flopped down around his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have… analyzed you like that.”

Jason took a shuddering breath, setting aside his glass and leaning his own palms on the counter.

“I was worried about you. That doesn’t mean I should start treating you like a case. Acting like Bruce.”

Jason was silent for a few moments, their unsteady breathing becoming the only sound filling the apartment. He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to turn off.”

Dick ran a hand through his hair, letting out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is. Let me tell you, man, romantic partners? They really hate it when you pull that.”

Jason huffed. “Duly noted.”

Another stretch of silence. The sound of their breathing, slowing evening out. A thread of sirens blew past on the street below.

“... So?”

Jason slumped over, elbows on the counter as he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “Fuck, man, I don’t even know.”

Dick stayed silent, doing that obnoxious thing where he let Jason work through it on his own.

“I just, feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Jason rubbed at his chest. “It’s sticky and oozing and uncomfortable.”

Dick stood up straight. “All the time?”

Jason shook his head.

“When?”

Jason pursed his lips. What was he even supposed to tell Dick? Oh, often when you’re giving the kid attention and not me – but it’s not jealousy, I promise! Yeah, Dick would believe that. Instead he took a page out of Dick’s book. He shrugged.

“Okay.” And Jason had no idea when Dick shifted, but suddenly he was halfway around the island, moving slowly like Jason was some kind of cornered animal. “It happened when you had the concussion and were stuck in the Cave. It happened again last night. Did it happen at all between then?”

Jason shrugged again.

Admittedly, yes, it had. He’d had way too much time to himself during his concussion, too much time to think and lose himself to memories – and it wasn’t like he immediately escaped his own mind once he got back in the field. Sometimes the feeling was caused by memories of Bruce (though those came with the bite of bitterness and anger) or Alfred, but it was mostly from his memories with Dick, few as they were. With the state of Bruce and Dick’s relationship when Jason was a snot-nosed little brat like Tim, Dick hadn’t been around often. They’d had a pretty rocky start, too – though not as rough as his and Tim’s vigilant equivalent of a fistfight behind the Waffle House at 3 a.m. Still, after Dick got his head out of his ass, he’d tried his best. The best an exhausted eighteen year old could after being replaced, and Jason couldn’t help but clutch onto those memories. 

Days where Dick would pick Jason up from school on his motorcycle and they’d go out for ice cream. Weekends when Bruce was on League missions or W.E. trips and Dick would come by and actually stay – movie nights, meals, training, anything they wanted to do (within reason – per Alfred, of course). Patrols, even when Dick and Bruce were barely talking, where Jason got to flit off with his predecessor and truly learn how to be Robin – things Batman couldn’t teach him, things only Dick knew. Goofing around like brothers, tussling and play-arguing and (though Jason would never admit fondness for the memories under pain of death) getting the shit tickled out of him.

There weren’t as many as Jason wished he had. And that was the problem.

“You know,” Dick started, and they’d been silent for so long that Jason almost jumped when he spoke, “this safehouse is pretty shit.”

The comment was such a non-sequiter that Jason actually sputtered a laugh. “It’s not an apartment, Dickhead. It’s a place to shower and crash before diving out and doing it again the next night.”

“I actually still keep some safehouses here in Gotham, just in case. Not Bat ones, my own. They’re pretty cushy.”

“What are you getting at?”

Dick gave him that innocent, puppy-eyed look. “Movie night? Batman-free?”

“And, what, skip patrol?”

Dick patted the counter with his palm before pushing off it and moving towards the door. “Timmy’s plan needs some time to set in motion – not much we can do about your guy tonight. Batman and the Birds of Prey should have the basic crime handled, I think.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You coming?”

Jason glanced around his pitiful safehouse, barely containing the bare essentials.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, palming his phone and following Dick out.

He ducked his head to hide his grin when Dick let out a whoop of victory.

*     *     *     *     *

Alright, fine. Maybe Dick was onto something with Jason’s safehouse being a piece of shit. Full up on greasy takeout with some mindless action movie on the TV, Jason was all but melted into the remarkably non-lumpy couch cushions. He wasn’t necessarily sleepy, but he could feel his eyes drooping with lazy contentment. Through his haze, he could hear Dick let out a quiet huff of a laugh right before a set of toes jabbed into his thigh.

“Someone’s comfortable.”

Jason shoved at Dick’s feet “Fuck off, man,” he said, though there was no heat in his voice. “You’ll ruin it.”

Dick laughed again, twisting his legs away from Jason’s swatting to poke at his legs again. “Come on, you can’t sleep yet! Movie night!”

“I’m not sleeping,” he groaned. “Quit kicking.”

Dick didn’t listen. In fact, he got even worse. Jason’s lax torso shook with the force of the constant prodding, mismatch-socked toes digging into his thigh and ribs and arm. He had fully slumped down the couch to reach, but even as stretched out as he was, he was too nimble for Jason to catch — especially when Jason’s limbs were still weighed down by drowsiness.

Well, two could play at that game — and Jason was taller and bulkier. He had this shit in the bag.

Jason swung his own legs up onto the couch, sitting with his back against the armrest. Dick’s eyes lit up with that mischievous twinkle of his, immediately engaging in this weird leg-war without giving Jason a moment to adjust. He didn’t even know what they were doing — just that he needed to be the one victorious and out-obnoxious Dick. Before too long, it turned into a fight over who could keep their legs on the inside, closest to the back of the couch — coveted for its defensibility. Jason was certain he was going to wake up with shins covered in bruises the next morning, but it didn’t matter. It still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Especially not when he finally got his legs tucked up against the back of the couch. 

“Take that, Dickface!” He crowed, and promptly used his new leverage to fully kick Dick off the couch.

“Ow, hey! You’re such a sore winner!”

Jason grinned at him over the edge of the couch, his chest lighting up at the playful scowl on Dick’s face. Somewhere, deep inside where he hadn’t even known he’d locked it away, some small fragment of the boy he’d once been was practically singing with joy. Maybe not every piece of that kid was lost.

“Shut up, you big baby,” he said. “That didn’t even hurt.”

Dick flipped him the bird. “I’ll show you hurt!”

He snatched up Jason by the ankles, yanking and managing to tug Jason about a foot down the couch. Jason yelped and reached up and behind himself to grab at the arm of the couch. When Dick just pulled harder, Jason started trying to kick him off.

“Such a cheater!” Dick said.

“Literally how in the fuck am I even cheating?”

“Come on, let go!”

Jason held on tighter. He tried to pull himself higher back onto the couch, but despite having the upper hand when it came to brute strength, Dick had the better leverage. They just got stuck in some fucked-up game of tug-of-war, Jason being the rope.

Dick suddenly started scratching at the bottom of his socked foot with his fingers. Despite what his initial, instinctive flinch suggested, Jason actually didn’t feel much of the sensation. He was more grateful than ever that he refused Steph’s constant invites to get pedicures with her and Dick (and sometimes Tim, when she forced him) – those were his callouses and dead skin, thank you very much, and they clearly left him well-armored.

“Come on,” Dick whined. “You used to be ticklish here!”

“Tough shit, Dickface. Some of us grow out of that.”

Dick narrowed his eyes and a thrill went down Jason’s spine. Then, like he had fucking telepathy or some shit, Dick grinned. Big and evil and full of big-brother-malice, the likes of which Jason hadn’t seen directed at himself in so many years.

“You’re such a shit liar.”

“I’m a fucking phenomenal liar, thank you very— Dick!”

Dick wasted no time in launching himself back onto the couch, fully on top of Jason, hands aiming for his torso. Jason barely managed to catch him by the wrists, grunting at the impact even as he tried to twist Dick’s arms to the side at a weird enough angle that he’d be forced to follow and fall off the couch. Unfortunately, Dick was made of overcooked noodles and silly string, so he could easily contort his body with Jason’s manipulations. Jason did the next best thing he could think of: he rolled them off the couch, fighting to land on top. If he could get Dick pinned under him, that was it, he would be safe. Hell, he might even be able to get revenge for all the tickle attacks from when he was a kid.

Dick laughed as they fell. “Nice try, Jay!”

They landed on the carpet with a loud thud, probably about to win the award for World’s Worst Upstairs Neighbors, and Jason was instantly confronted with the next fault in his plan.

Noodles and fucking silly string.

As much as Jason scrambled for the upper hand, twisting and shoving and grappling, Dick was too slippery. His years of experience, both in the circus and in the suit, outpaced Jason’s brute strength at every turn. No matter how Jason tried to pin him, Dick managed to slither out of his grip like a greased eel, laughing like a motherfucker all the while. It was almost like he was playing with Jason — which he confirmed when he twisted in some complicated, incomprehensible maneuver and pinned Jason on his stomach, wrists pressed into the carpet on either side of his head.

“Get your fat ass off of me!”

“My ass is a perfectly normal size, thank you very much!”

“Tell that to Twitter!” 

Dick tutted. “You’re only making this worse for yourself, baby brother.”

Jason glared at Dick over his shoulder. “Who are you calling a fucking baby, asshole?” 

“Overcompensating with swearing doesn’t make you not my baby brother, Jay.”

“Fuck you!”

“Alright, alright!” Dick laughed, settling himself more firmly over Jason’s thighs. “I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Jason’s wrists were freed, but before he could do anything about it, there were fingers prodding up under his arms, searching around his upper ribs and the soft spots in his armpits. He yelped, pinning his arms down against his sides in a classically futile defense, and prayed to any deity with their ears open that the Lazarus Pit fixed whatever part of his brain that made him completely useless when he was tickled.

“See! A liar!”

Jason grit his teeth, trying not to smile at the experimental prodding. “Cut it out, Dick!”

“No, no — see, I think you deserve this. You’ve been getting off way too easy since you got back. I mean, when’s the last time I even tickled the absolute snot out of you?”

Jason growled, ducking his head as his struggles continued to try and hide the heat gathering in his cheeks.

“Exactly! And see, I could just go right for your hips, quick and ruthless as the Red Hood himself, but where would the fun in that be?”

A wobbly grin started to form despite Jason’s best efforts. “I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

“So you can spend more time with me? Aww, Jay! That’s so sweet!”

Suddenly, the poking and prodding fingers wrapped around Jason’s upper ribs, some stretching up into his armpit. Then, they started pulsing. Jason’s nerves lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, the sensation shockingly nostalgic and starkly unfamiliar all at once. He wheezed once into the carpet, failing to hold back his laughter anymore, and cracked into low, raspy chuckles.

“Liar.” Dick said again, smug as hell.

Jason didn’t dare try to reply. He could feel the higher-pitched laughter filling his chest, and it was all he could do to keep the noises escaping him low and rough. If he tried to talk, he had no doubt he’d lose his grip on that control. 

Except — Dick’s hands started moving. The pulsing turned into wiggly squeezes as Dick’s hands started making their way down his ribs and sides. A giddy sort of panic filled Jason’s chest. Dick just said going right for his hips was too easy, but was that a fakeout? He started squirming even more, trying to wriggle his way out from under Dick’s weight.

“Ge-get away!” 

Dick laughed. “Why? Do my hands right here—“ he tazed his fingers into the meat of Jason’s sides, just above the hypersensitivity of his hips “—make you nervous?” 

Growling through laughter was a bit of a moot point, Jason quickly found out. It was all wavering and jittery and stuttering. Dick only cooed at him even more, the absolute asshole.

“Don’t worry, baby bro — I’ll save the best for last.”

The hands vanished from his sides, letting Jason gasp in a full breath, before materializing around his nape and ears. Jason squeaked — fucking squeaked, goddamnit — and nearly slammed his forehead against the ground as he flinched away. The fingers gave a particularly devastating scratch at the curves of his neck and shoulders for that.

“Careful!” Dick didn’t even have the decency to sound sorry. “Knocking yourself out just delays the tickles — and then they build up and up and up, and they’ll be even worse when they finally catch you again!”

“That doesn’t—“ dammit, there was the high-pitched, warbling voice, “doesn’t even make any sense!”

He sniggered into the carpet, shaking his head as he tried to dodge the finger tips and nails wreaking havoc on his skin, and if he got rug burn on his face, Dick was going to pay. His shoulders shrugged and shimmied around like some kind of deranged turtle tearing it up on the dance floor, and Jason couldn’t even dedicate the brain cells he needed to be properly embarrassed about that. Every cylinder was too busy firing on it tickles, it tickles, it tickles!! Well, all except the one sneaky little cylinder betraying Jason’s hard-earned image, giddy and happy and full of mushy-little-brother feelings that he didn’t want to touch with a fifteen foot pole.

For a split second, Dick’s fingers jumped down and wiggled at the edges of his shoulderblades before returning to his neck. Jason jolted like he’d been electrocuted, his shriek so ear-piercing that it hurt even his own hearing. Fuck — did that always tickle that bad? Dick cackled above him. 

“Careful, Little Wing! Those shoulders keep dancing and my fingers just might be tempted to join them.”

Oh, fuck no. No way. If that’s just how a quick tickle felt, his entire body lighting up with the sparks of it, there was no way that was happening again. And that was just his back! If Dick got to his hips? It was game over for Jason. His pride (and his vocal cords) would never recover. As much as that small little part of him was having fun, had made it so maybe he wasn’t trying to get away as best as he could, it was time Jason called it quits. He had a reputation to maintain, even if Dick had already shredded half of it to ribbons.

As unbearable as the tickles around his neck and ears were, it was far from being one of Jason’s worst spots. That meant, although he had to fight hard for those dregs of composure, he still had some control over his faculties. All he needed to do was to throw Dick off, and once the tingly tickles stopped, he could whip his metaphorical mask back on and be all surly and pissed and keep Dick from doing it again.

No matter how much this stupid torment felt like coming home.

Slow and trembling, Jason was able to get his arms braced against the floor. Still chuckling endlessly and swallowing back the giggles that wanted to burst forth, Jason counted to three in his head before finally pushing off the ground, his forearms grounded as his torso lifted.

“Oh — thanks, Jason!” Dick’s hands darted into the space between the floor and his body. “I was wondering how I was gonna get in there!”

The second Dick’s fingers touched down on his stomach, pinching and kneading and scratching and really just doing all of the most evil things possible to his nerves, Jason was a goner. The ticklish shock sent Jason right back to the ground, only pressing Dick’s hands deeper into his muscles. Though Jason’s initial squawk was in his usual deep register, the laughter that jumped out of him was nowhere close. It wasn’t giggles, thank fucking god, but the bright, bubbly laughter being forced out of him might’ve been just as bad.

“You— asshole!”

“Aww, listen to you! Did I find a good tickle spot?”

Fuck Dick, he knew that — and he knew rubbing it in only made it worse, too. The urge to curl up in a protective ball was all-consuming, but with Dick pinning him on his stomach, his legs could only scrabble uselessly at the floor as they tried to draw up to his chest. Jason’s arms, at the very least, still had freedom of movement. He glued his elbows to his sides while his forearms tucked up under his chest, his hands curled into fists. That bright, boyish laughter continued to tumble from his lips, and not even shoving his face into the carpet could muffle it.

“You always had the cutest reaction to tummy tickles, huh? I mean, Timmy does too, so you guys are tied now, but still! Maybe it’s just a baby brother thing.”

Dropping Tim’s ticklish secrets wouldn’t save Dick from getting murdered later, but Jason definitely tucked that one into the back of his mind. Well, he tried to. Hoped he did. It was kind of hard to think around the tickles and Dick’s teasing.

“You sound just like you did when you were a kiddie, though! All cute and bubbly and bright – I didn’t even know your voice could go this high anymore.”

Yeah, neither did Jason. “Shut the fuck up!”

Dick chuckled. “Really, Jay? Have you been reduced to nothing but curse words and posturing anger already? We need to get your tolerance back up!”

Oh god, Dick was going to do this again? His chest did that mortifyingly melty, gooey thing again and Jason shoved his face further into the carpet. He’d undoubtedly been pink since Dick had started, had probably blushed darker when his laughter turned all bubbly and borderline fucking sweet, but now? Jason could feel the heat flush down his neck and up into his ears – even the back of his neck burned. Based on the way he cooed above Jason, Dick had definitely noticed.

“Don’t worry – I’ll make sure you get plenty of tickles going forward. We have so many missed tickles to make up for, too! Say, when are you free next?”

“Never!”

Dick blew a sudden raspberry on the back of his neck. Jason squeaked and giggled and hunched his shoulders, drumming his feet against the carpet. 

“Don’t be a brat. I can always just break into your safehouses, Tickle Monster style.”

Motherfucker. Jason hadn’t thought about that in years – not even on his trips during memory lane the past weeks. Sometimes, on Dick’s rare Manor visits, he’d come by without letting anyone know and hide himself away. Usually, it was an area Jason frequented, like the library or den or even kitchen. Hallways weren’t off-limits, either. Hell, he even hid in Bruce’s study once, when the old man had already been downstairs. And then, when Jason would pass through the space, he’d get a surprise tickle attack from none other than Dick Grayson. He’d learned to check the front hall upon arriving home eventually, looking for Dick’s jacket or shoes or keys, but knowing the dumbass was there and avoiding his attacks were two very different things. It had led to some absolutely legendary chases through the Manor, though. Even if Alfred nearly had their hides for it a few times.

“Try it,” Jason hissed, miserably failing to sound as threatening as he wanted to. Laughing like a little kid tended to do that.

“Challenge accepted, JayJay.”

“Stop fucking babying me, you– NO!”

Jason was given absolutely no warning as Dick’s hands shot from his stomach down to his hips. He all but screamed before going limp against the floor, cackling madly. A thumb to the divot of his hip was bad enough, but being pinned face down meant Dick had four whole fingers to dig into the spot. 

“I think we oughta ease you back into the swing of things, huh Lil’ Wing? Figured I’d give you your grand finale now, before you got too tuckered out.”

“Dickie, no no nonono!”

Dick’s weight shifted, but he didn’t lift himself from Jason’s body. His voice was mortifyingly fond and thick when he spoke next. “Wanna know something, baby brother?” He leaned down again, putting his voice right next to Jason’s ear. “I missed spending time and playing around with you, too. You could’ve just asked.”

Jason scrubbed his head against the floor, only giving a fraction of his attention to trying not to rug burn himself. The rest of his mind was all warm fuzzies and ticklish screams.

Dick’s voice turned playful again, though the fondness remained. “I guess this is more fun though, huh?  Good thing you invited me over to do it again and again and again!”

“Dick– Dick, please!”

Jason can’t remember the last time he begged from tickles. Even as a kid, he was stubborn as all hell, but – the fondness, the emotions, the teasing dialing everything up to eleven? It was a lot. Jason’s pride would have to take the hit this time. Thankfully, Dick immediately drew his hands away and reseated himself next to Jason on the floor. Jason curled up his protective little ball, knees tucked up toward his chest and arms wrapped around them. It was more difficult than the last time he’d done it, his new bulk and musculature getting in the way, but he hadn’t lost all of his Robin-hood flexibility.

Dick snorted softly. “You always were a little pillbug.”

“Sh’dd’p.”

Dick chuckled again. His hand landed on Jason’s back, but even palm-flat, Jason instinctively flinched and yipped. Another laugh, and Dick’s hand was removed. Despite the assumption of tickles, Jason had to hold back a whine from the loss of contact.

“Alright, alright, sorry. Too ticklish, I know.”

Dick’s hand reappeared in his hair instead, dragging through the tangled curls, slow and steady. Jason hummed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Just take some time to recover. Then we’ll get back to the movie, all cuddled up on the couch now that you can’t pretend that you’re a big grump anymore, and you’ll get some good sleep. All snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Not a lil’ kid.”

“I know, Jason. But you’ll always be my little brother.”

Alfred sighed through his nose and Tim winced. “I would have hoped that a mandatory leave from patrol for your recovery would have discouraged you from continuing your regular workday too late into the evening, as well.”

Tim bit his lip, his eyes flicking toward his laptop. It wasn’t like he needed to be benched, Tim knew how to handle fear gas (expired at that – who knew where those wannabe-supervillains had found it. That formula hadn’t been used in years), but he knew better than to try and defend himself. Instead he sat there and waited, making his face the picture of innocence just like Dick taught him. Alfred was supposed to be running comms right now, with Barbara being on a well-deserved vacation, so if he had come all the way up to the second story to talk to Tim, something had to be going on.

“Perhaps if you cannot rest for yourself, you could at least set an example for your younger brother.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “What, Damian? What’s wrong with him?”

“He seems to share quite the work ethic with you and Master Bruce.”

Tim sighed, rubbing at his forehead. “Is he training, again?”

“No. In fact, he has decided that he will run comms tonight, instead.”

“Dick can’t talk him down?”

“Master Dick has been unsuccessful thus far.”

Tim scrubbed his hands over his whole face this time. “And you want me to go down there and talk to him. As if he’ll somehow listen to me better than he will to Dick.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

Tim groaned and let his face fall to his desk. The silence stretched for a few moments until Tim groaned again, forcing himself up and out of his chair with a wince. His back still ached from curling up inside the linen closet as he rode out the toxin. “Fine.”

“I will let you boys have some space to work it out. I expect you both back up in the Manor in a timely fashion.”

Tim gave Alfred a strained smile. “Sure thing, Alfred. We’ll be right up.”

“Quite so, Master Tim.”

Well, at least it seemed like he was in less trouble now.

Tim was careful not to drag his feet on his way to the Batcave, lest Alfred think he was being uncooperative. He could hear Damian arguing over the comms even as he descended the stairs and he sighed heavily while he was still out of earshot, bracing himself.

“Don’t you have school tomorrow?” Tim asked as he approached the Batcomputer.

Damian glared at him. “I don’t see why that is relevant.”

“Is that the Baby Bird?” Tim heard a tinny voice say.

Tim snatched the comm from Damian’s ear, dodging out of the way when Damian roared and lunged for him. He shoved it in his own ear.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the Brat-Whisperer,” Tim sniped into the comm.

“Wrong brother,” Red Hood said. “Nightwing’s tracking that target he followed from Blud, couldn’t convince the brat before the guy showed up.”

Tim sighed, dodging another attack from Damian. “Of course.”

“Handle it,” Batman rumbled over the comm line, his tone sharp. 

Tim rolled his eyes. He didn’t bother taking it personally. A Batman in-the-zone was not a Batman to test the patience of. They’d make brief, awkward, and emotionally stilted eye contact sometime in the next week and it would be water under the bridge.

“Yeah,” Tim grumbled. “On it.”

He switched off the comm, tossing it onto the desk as Damian lunged again. He’d gotten way better about the violence, the two of them coming to some kind of understanding, but that didn’t necessarily mean they got along. Tim was more than used to being tackled to the ground by tiny former-assassins by now, and rolled easily with the hit to prevent either of them from getting hurt. His back made its protests known, but he didn’t let it show on his face — as much as Damian postured, Tim knew he’d feel guilty if he thought he injured Tim. He was kinda like Jason in that way.

“Alfred says to go upstairs.”

Damian sneered at him, planting his body on Tim’s stomach. “I do not need to be coddled.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know who you think is coddling you, because it sure isn’t me.”

“Then there should be no issue with me running comms.”

“Robin has rules, brat. You wanted Robin? You gotta take all of it.”

“The rules are asinine! I should be out there right now, hunting down criminals with Batman!”

Tim sighed, tilting his head back to rest against the cool stone of the Cave floor. His voice came out tired and flat, “Damian, you know that school comes first.”

“It is a useless endeavor! They cannot teach me anything that I don’t already know, or cannot learn with much more ease without the rest of the students slowing me down.”

“And that is a conversation you can have with Bruce and Dick–”

“I was attempting to–”

“– when they get home from patrol.”

Damian scowled at Tim, looking scarily like Bruce for a moment, before roughly pushing off his body, forcing a grunt out of him. Damian stalked back over to the Batcomputer and sat haughtily in the chair, starting to pull up CCTV footage and case information while searching for where the comm landed. Tim laid there for a moment and counted his breathing, wondering why he had to be on babysitting duty tonight and mourning his days as an only-child, before finally hauling himself to his feet.

“Damian–”

“Do not disgrace yourself with further attempts to dissuade me. We both know it will not work.”

Was this what it was like trying to get Tim to rest? Was he this obnoxious when he was being stubborn? No, Tim thought. Surely not.

But maybe next time he’d be a little more willing to hear Dick or Bruce or Alfred out. Just in case.

And speaking of Dick…

Tim didn’t know how Dick had gotten through to Damian – he just had a way with people, he was the most charismatic asshole that Tim had ever met – but he did know how Dick got through to Tim. Sometimes he would start soft and soothing, but if Tim bristled under it, he would be calm and matter-of-fact. He often used Tim’s weakness for affectionate touch against him, lulling him into a false sense of security or even a drowsy state. Then he would whisk Tim away from his work, insist on a movie or even just some kind of parallel play, and by the end of it, Tim almost always wound up asleep.

That probably wouldn’t work with Damian, but, well… His usual dry disinterest hadn’t worked, and it wasn’t like he had any other ideas.

Tim counted out another set of breaths before approaching Damian again, placing a careful hand on the top of the Batcomputer’s chair. Damian bristled, but didn’t turn to look at Tim. Instead, it seemed he had given up on finding the comm Tim had tossed and was digging another one out of a desk drawer.

“Dames.” Tim tried to make his voice smooth and level, like Dick’s. It came out weirdly monotonous and at the wrong pitch. “If you want more patrol time, disobeying Bruce’s rules is not the way to get it.”

Damian shot him the most disdainful look Tim had ever seen – which was saying something, given their past issues. “Is that not how the rest of you got what you wanted? Going against Father’s rules and wishes?”

Tim opened his mouth to protest, then immediately snapped it closed again. He… didn’t really have a defense for that. 

“And stop trying to mimic Richard. It was an abysmal attempt.”

Tim scowled. “It was a perfectly decent attempt, thank you very much.”

“If you think that, perhaps you do belong in the circus after all. Richard will be so proud.”

Tim felt his shoulders rising toward his ears, his frustration rising along with them. No matter how much progress they made, something about Damian’s tone and words always managed to dig right under his skin–

Wait.

“You’re trying to make me angry.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Astute observation.”

“Well, it’s not gonna work.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah– because I’m Dick right now, remember? And Dick somehow has endless patience for your bullshit.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at him, looking away from the new comm he was trying to set up to make sure Tim knew just how unimpressed he was. “Yes, you sound so very patient right now.”

Tim resisted the urge to growl — he wasn’t Jason. The thing was, Tim had always wanted a little brother when he was a kid, but now that he had Damian, he couldn’t remember a single reason why. It didn’t help that Tim had spent his entire siblinghood, brief as it had been, as a little brother. He didn’t know how to do this older sibling thing like Dick and Babs and, hell, even Jason at this point.

But Damian was right, Tim wasn’t Dick. Tim was Tim, and Tim was too tired for bullshit tonight. He grabbed the edges of the BatComputer chair, wrenching it away from the desk and sending it rolling several feet away.

“Drake!”

Tim could do this voice-activated, he often had in the past, but with Damian’s vocal mimicry skills, he wasn’t too keen on letting his secrets slip. Instead, typing as fast as he could while Damian launched from the chair and raced toward him, Tim input a command he hadn’t used in years.

“Self-Care Protocol Engaged,” the BatComputer’s automated voice said. “Computer Lockdown Activated.”

Damian froze, only a few steps away from the desk. “What?! Why does that even exist?”

Tim shrugged, instinctively switching off the monitors. Alfred could deactivate the protocol when he came back downstairs — he and Tim were the only ones with the permissions to do so.

“I had Babs help me install it back when I first became Robin, when Bruce was still… well, you know. It was after Jason.”

Damian shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve heard some stories. No one likes to discuss it much.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess we wouldn’t. It wasn’t a great time, Bruce wasn’t taking care of himself and— other stuff.” Tim snorted before continuing, “Babs wanted to call it the Baby-Lock Protocol when I asked for it, but I was pretty sure Bruce would’ve thrown me out on the spot if he heard that.”

“Tt. I wouldn’t blame him.” Explanation achieved, Damian started glaring at the monitors. “How do I turn it off?”

“You don’t. Only Alfred and I can, and neither of us is telling you the command.” He placed a hand at the base of Damian’s nape, applying a slight pressure to guide Damian toward the stairs. 

“No!” Damian tried to swat at Tim, but Tim easily dodged. “Unhand me, I’m not finished!”

“Yes, you are.”

Tim grunted as Damian slipped his grip. He swiped at the brat, trying to get it back and only managing to brush his fingers against Damian’s neck. He flinched away, a weirdly strangled noise wrenching up from his throat. Tim paused, processing. He bit back a grin.

He may not have been Dick Grayson, but that didn’t mean Tim couldn’t borrow some of his methods.

“Oh, Dames.” Tim tried to put some older-brother-tease into his voice. With how mischievous he suddenly felt, he actually got pretty close. “Big mistake.”

Kid or not, Damian was smart, and he knew when he was caught. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he schooled his expression, but Tim was smart too, he knew what to look for.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. We’ve all heard Dick tickle you to shrieks and begging—“

“I do not beg!”

“What’s the point in trying to hide it?”

Damian sputtered — a victory for Tim, considering how well-composed his speech usually was — and his ears darkened. “Well— What about you?”

“What about me?”

“We’ve all heard Richard tickle you, as well.”

Tim stood up straighter. “Yeah? Well, there’s one key difference here.”

“Which is?”

“I’m the big brother.”

Tim lunged, more to put Damian on edge than anything else, knowing the move was an easy dodge. Predictably, Damian lurched out of the way, choosing to retreat from Tim’s continued attempts than try to feint around him. God, this was actually kind of fun. Is this how Dick and Jason felt when they chased Tim down to tickle the snot out of him? He could kind of understand why they did it so often, now. Tim managed to corral Damian toward the training mats, looking to give them a softer surface for the ensuing scuffle. He had no doubts that Damian knew what he was doing, but they were both experienced enough to know that a tickle attack on the Cave floor was not worth the bruises. 

“I expected better than this childish behavior from you, Drake.”

Tim cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

Damian’s eyes flashed. “Because, as Todd would say, ‘you’ve got a stick up your ass.’”

“Okay, that’s it.”

Tim lunged, for real this time. Damian still managed a dodge, but just barely. They went back and forth for a few minutes, practically sparring, and even though it pulled uncomfortably at the tight muscles in his back, Tim couldn’t deny the rush of energy the playful roughhousing gave him. He used that to his advantage as he finally got an arm around Damian’s waist, taking them both to the ground as he pinched up and down the baby fat still clinging on to Damian’s muscles. Damian grunted at the sensation, squirming and kicking as they hit the mats.

“Cut it out, Drake!”

Tim snorted, wrapping his other arm around Damian’s torso and shoving it up into his armpit. “Make me.”

Damian screeched at the added sensation, more in faux-rage than ticklish reaction. Now that just wouldn’t do. He didn’t have the leverage yet to get Damian fully pinned to the mats; he was still holding up pretty well, so Tim needed to keep his arms fully wrapped around his torso. It didn’t give him much leeway in terms of tickle spots, so how was he meant to— Oh, right.

Tim sucked in a breath and clearly Damian knew what that meant. His struggles increased tenfold, as did his protests, and he tried to hunch his shoulders up for protection. With some forceful nudging, Tim got his face past the (frankly, kind of adorable) turtling and settled his mouth just below Damian’s ear. Damian was screeching before Tim had even blown the raspberry, and the resulting shriek and hysterical laughter nearly blew out Tim’s eardrums. The bats screeched back their displeasure at being disturbed and— 

“Man, maybe Dick was onto something with the whole ‘Baby Bat’ thing.”

“Cease your yammering!” Damian was clearly trying to sound stern, but now that Tim had broken the dam on his laughter, he didn’t seem to be able to quit. “Unhand me!”

Tim huffed a laugh from his place at Damian’s neck, finding immense satisfaction at the way Damian’s frantic giggling pitched up in response. “Nah. I think I’m finally figuring out why Dick does this so much.”

“You’ll regret this!”

“Oh no,” Tim said flatly. “I’m so scared.”

With him now weakened from laughter, Tim was able to pin a squirming Damian on his back and settle himself on Damian’s thighs. He dug both hands into Damian’s stomach once he was pinned, grinning as Damian spat insults through his varying laughter and giggles.

“See, I was gonna tell you that if you promised to go upstairs I’d stop. But keep that up, and maybe I’ll just keep going until you learn to be nice.” Okay, maybe he wasn’t just channeling Dick. Maybe he was channeling a little Jason, too.

“No!”

Tim found one spot just off to the side of Damian’s naval that had him sputtering out absolutely hysterical giggles. He honed in there with one hand, bouncing between pinching and scribbling in randomized cycles. His other hand started prodding around Damian’s torso, looking for any other possible sweet spots.

Somehow, in all of this, Tim forgot to take into account Damian’s hands. Maybe it was because he forgot about his own hands when he was getting tickled, flailing and grabbing and holding on at all the wrong times to expose his worst spots to his attacker(s). Maybe it was just his inexperience with being on this side of the equation. In any case, the haphazard squeeze to his sides took Tim completely off guard, leaving him to double over with a squeak. They both froze.

“Did you just—“

“Restore the computer, Drake.” Damian’s demand would’ve been a lot more threatening if he wasn’t still bubbling with residual giggles.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “No.”

Damian attempted a scowl (more of a pout, really) and squeezed again. Tim jerked and muffled his ticklish yip behind sealed lips. They froze again, staring each other down. Then, they sprung into motion. Tim could hear a distinctly Dick-like voice in his mind as the two of them rolled and tussled across the mats, trying to get the upper hand while delivering a random squeeze here or a quick taze there, comparing them to a pair of wrestling puppies. He dismissed it just as quickly — Dick didn’t get to tease him when he wasn’t even there, that was just beyond unfair. Instead he redoubled his efforts, focusing more on trying to break Damian’s concentration and resolve than actually pin him down again, doling out ticklish grasps at sides and ribs and legs. He latched onto the giddy shriek Damian’s knee garnered just as Damian’s own little fingers slipped up under his arm to his ribs. Tim’s shriek nearly matched Damian’s, and the two of them tumbled into hitching cackles together while continuing to clumsily tickle back.

“St-stop it, Drake!” 

Tim yelped as Damian’s short nails found a micro-sweet spot in their twitching. “Never! Not unless you go upstairs!” 

“I won’t give in to—to the likes of you!”

Tim wanted to reply, but Damian had gained enough coherence to hone in on that tickle-spot-within-a-tickle spot. He gasped between bouts of uncontrollable laughter, his body rapidly turning into overcooked pasta. That little brat — Tim was the older brother! He was supposed to be winning! Not losing control of his fingers while melting into a puddle of relentless laughter. That was Damian’s job. 

“Unlock the computer!”

“No!”

Tim squealed as Damian refocused his efforts, gaining more and more ground as Tim failed to consistently tickle back. Through squinted eyes, Tim could see the smug victory behind Damian’s childish smile. No, no, he wasn’t losing this! Dick and Jason could win, fine, they were older and that was kinda their job — which meant it was Tim’s job to put Damian back in his place. Correct the sibling hierarchy and all that.

Gathering up all his remaining willpower and summoning up all his torture training (which Tim didn’t usually bother to use in situations like these — he’d never admit it, but the goofing off was kinda fun and he didn’t exactly mind his brothers tickling him. He didn’t even mind it right now, but his pride was on the line, okay?), Tim managed to snap himself out of the ohgodohfuckthatticklessoBAD haze, just for a moment; but Tim was Bat-trained, and a moment was all he needed. A well-placed shove, with all the strength left in his jellied limbs, and Damian was knocked back from where he’d started to loom over Tim. Tim got in a solid breath and rocketed forward, sending Damian down to the mats completely with his own body weight. He flopped over Damian’s body, perpendicular, so one hand could shoot down for his knees and the other up to his neck. Damian shrieked out a strangled swear, barely intelligible through his fresh round of guffaws, and started kicking and twisting. Tim didn’t let him get very far.

“Are you done?” He asked, letting smugness creep into his own tone. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”

Damian gave him a wordless roar in response.

Tim shrugged. It’s not like he needed verbal confirmation — Damian’s hands were still free, and he knew how to tap out when he was ready to give in. He kept his right hand dancing back and forth around Damian’s neck and throat, tripping up to his ears when he wanted a squeak or a snort. His left jumped sporadically between Damian’s knees, and even more sporadically between methods (squeezing, skittering, pinching). He would have preferred to be more methodical, to gather data for the next time he needed to take Damian down a peg, but with his big-brother-cred on the line, he needed to keep Damian on his toes. And with Damian’s fingers scrabbling at his upper arm, trying to crawl down to his ribs, Tim knew he needed another destabilization technique — and fast. Lucky for him, Damian’s shirt had ridden up from all his squirming. Tim shimmied down, putting his face level with Damian’s stomach. 

“No!” Damian shouted, too well-versed in tickle-attacks to not notice. “Drake, don’t!”

“Hmm… Nah.” Tim said.

He blew a long raspberry against that giggle-spot near Damian’s belly button. Damian jolted like he’d been electrocuted, wailing out childish laughter. He didn’t tap out, though, so Tim did it again. And again. And—

“T-Timothy!”

“Coming upstairs?” Tim took another threatening breath.

“Yes!” He slapped his hands against the old vinyl.

Tim pulled back, satisfied with his victory. He rolled his shoulders a bit, trying not to outwardly wince at the now-aggravated soreness, and glanced down at his puddle of a little brother. A grin tugged at his mouth. Damian was half-curled, half-sprawled across the mats, a distinct red hue glowing from under his brown skin, and trembling with giggles. He was honestly kinda cute like this. Tim would have to do it more often — maybe ask Dick and Jason for some pointers, even. He reached down to ruffle Damian’s hair, and the touch was permitted with a posturing huff in between his trails of giggles.

Hauling Damian to his feet, the two of them turned toward the exit to the Cave, conveniently facing them toward the BatComputer at the same time. They both froze. Alfred sat there, computer out of lockdown-mode, muttering into a comm as he flipped through various CCTV on one screen and what seemed to be financial records on another. Just how long had he been there?

“If you young masters are finished,” Alfred’s voice rang out across the stone, “there are some snacks and other refreshments waiting for you in the lounge upstairs.” When they didn’t move right away, he glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “I suggest you get a move on.”

The two of them jumped into action, peeping out quiet “Yes, Alfred. Thank you, Alfred”s as they hurried to the stairs.

“What are the odds that the comm didn’t pick any of that up,” Tim asked as they made their way through the grandfather clock.

Damian clicked his tongue. “The noise suppression is good, but not that good.”

Tim’s voice was grim. “That’s what I thought.”

Meaning that for however long Alfred had been down there, their dad and at least one of their obnoxious older brothers heard them have the most ridiculous tickle fight of the century.

“And the odds that this will be overlooked?”

Tim pressed his lips into a thin line. “Bad. Jason’s gonna call us giggle brats. Dick’s gonna pull up the Cave footage to coo at us. Bruce will too, but just to do that emotionally constipated melty thing he does and not talk to anyone about it.”

Damian made a disgusted face. “Ugh.”

“I know.”

They reached the lounge, a charcuterie spread (with bonus popcorn and protein bars), water, and juice awaiting them. Tim checked his phone.

“It’s not that late… wanna watch a show or something?” 

Damian glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Like what?”

Tim shrugged. “Probably something inappropriate for your age.”

“This is satisfactory.”

So Tim flopped himself onto the couch and pulled up Murderbot, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth at the same time. Damian was gonna love that funky little autistic cyborg — and maybe Tim could start sneaking him the books, next. Maybe it would even do him some good, with Murderbot’s whole… everything.

But snacks only lasted so long, and a tickle fight for the ages could really take a lot out of someone. And Tim woke up sprawled out across the couch, Damian tucked up under his chin like a cat, with one of the fluffy spare blankets tossed over the two of them. He was sure there was already a photo of them in the family group chat, waiting for his mortified response.

Instead of bursting into the library, he paused at the threshold to lay eyes on his quarry, who predictably was sitting sideways in one of the armchairs with a sketchpad and a blanket. 

Tim knocked once on the doorframe to announce his presence. “Hey, Dami.”

“Drake.” Damian’s dark eyes flicked over to him in greeting. “What do you need?” 

“Hey,” Tim said, but he kept his tone light as he made his way over to plop down on the floor in front of Damian’s chair. “What makes you think I’m gonna ask you for something? Can’t I just chat with my favorite little brother?” 

Damian just gave him a flat stare. P“Your only…younger brother.” He emphasized younger, as opposed to little, and Tim bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. 

“True, true. I do have a proposition, though – hey, don’t roll your eyes at me, brat – but you can say no.” 

With a put-upon sigh, Damian flipped his sketchpad shut and turned fully to face Tim, one hand propping up his head. “What?” 

“Help me tickle Jason,” Tim said bluntly. He willed his face not to redden on the word tickle, and was probably only partially successful. “He’s gonna come after me today for the whole thing with Dick last night. I think between you and me, we can take him down.” 

Damian’s eyebrows practically tried to crawl into his hairline, and Tim allowed himself a quiet smile of satisfaction; Damian was ever so rarely rendered speechless. But he’d figured that the straightforward suggestion would be the easiest way to enlist the demon brat to his cause. Give Damian some clear parameters and an objective deliverable, and the kid was hell on wheels – in the field, and the few times they’d played team-based games. 

“Tt. Has your mind finally snapped?” 

“Oh, come on, Dames,” Tim wheedled. He knew that since Damian was still facing him, talking to him, he was at least intrigued. “Don’t you want some good-old-fashioned payback? Jason’s been on a roll lately – I know he’s gotten you a bunch.” 

A sullen flush appeared on Damian’s cheeks as he glowered. “He’s gotten you, too, Drake, we can all hear you.” 

“Which is exactly why we should team up! Little brothers have to stick together, y’know? It’s a rule.” 

“Please. If it’s anything like Richard’s so-called rules–”

“Hey, if he gets to make things up, we get to make things up,” Tim interrupted, holding up a hand. “And the first rule of being a little brother in this household is that you have to band together against the older brothers.” What Tim didn’t say was that, with the big brothering streak Jason had been on over the last several months, there was a chance that he’d let them win. But that couldn’t be counted on, and Damian would have no interest in being patronized. 

Damian pursed his lips, frowning, as he mulled over the suggestion. A few minutes ticked by, but Tim didn’t rush him. The whole concept of playfighting, which included tickling, was still new for his little brother.  

“I think,” Damian said at last. “That this is an asinine idea that we will live to regret.”

Hearing the we will, Tim sat forward. “But you’ll help me?” 

Damian nodded once, then his eyes flickered to the package sticking out of Tim’s pocket. “What is that?” 

“Oh, this?” Tim yanked out the charcoal pencils and tossed them over to him. “General.” 

“All four–”

“All four grades, yes.” 

After turning the packet over in his hands to examine the quality of the instruments, Damian glanced back at Tim with – well, if not exactly a smile, the hint of one. “Bribes, Drake? Surely your negotiating skills are better than that, unless you spend your time at the company like Father’s…other persona. Not that it would be a stretch, of course.”

Tim just rolled his eyes and grinned. “They’re yours either way, brat. Noticed yours were getting worn down.” He picked up the cans of Zesti, dangling them from two of his fingers. “I also have a caffeinated offering.” 

The reproach in Damian’s eyes was eerily similar to Alfred’s more withering looks, but he kept looking over at the soda even as he tried to stare Tim down. 

“It’s disgusting, artificial syrup with no flavor profile–”

“Yeah, and you want one.” 

“...if you’re insisting, as part of this…” Damian waved one of his hands in a gesture that absolutely wasn’t cute and Tim couldn’t say that or he’d get skewered. “Brother pact.”

“Great!” Tim yanked a can free and tossed it at Damian’s head, fully expecting him to catch it. “Our pact is sealed, then.” 

He waited until Damian had the chance to actually open his Zesti and drink some, then opened his notebook. 

“So, I’ve been taking notes on what Dick usually does when he’s got Jason pinned…” 

━━━━━━━━━━

It was a beautiful midafternoon and Jason headed towards the library with mischief in mind. Well, it wasn’t really mischief, it was correct and required revenge – balancing the scales, evening the playing field, whatever. He knew that Tim was in there, probably trying to hide from him. Too bad, kid. Jason couldn’t just let Tim tickle him like that, even if Dickwing had started it, with no retribution. 

And, come on, it’s not like the Baby Bird minded. He still melted into a mess of squeaky giggles and uselessly thrashing limbs every time Jason so much as poked him in the stomach. Tim was an incredibly competent fighter; he’d get away, or put up more of a struggle, if he really wanted to. He was still damn adorable, though, and Jason was beginning to realize that Tim would always, always hold a particular kind of baby brother trump card, especially when he bothered to unclench a bit and relax. Same for Damian.

Luckily, Jason was about to enforce some mandatory relaxation time. 

He found Tim in the library sprawled out on the beanbag – on Jason’s beanbag – looking at something on his phone. 

Jason took a heavy, threatening step into the library. 

Immediately, Tim’s eyes flicked over to him and widened almost comically in panic. “Jason!” 

“Hey, birdie,” Jason said, and he couldn’t resist letting out a bit of evil grin. “It’s time we had a talk.” 

Halfway through his sentence, Tim was already scrambling to his feet even though his ankle caught in beanbag fabric and he almost went sprawling forward onto his face. “Uh – I actually have somewhere to be! Like, anywhere. Right now.” As he shuffled a few inches forwards, his foot caught again and actually tripped him this time. 

“Oh – shit!” 

When Tim went plummeting towards the floor, arms flailing out in a miserably uncoordinated attempt to break his fall, Jason darted forwards and fell to his knees, barely managing to get his shoulder under Tim’s stomach to break his fall. Tim’s breath flew out of his lungs in a whoosh and he stayed there for a second, trying to catch his breath. 

“Christ, kid,” Jason grunted. “Can’t have you surviving the horrors of Gotham and beyond only to buy it on the goddamn hardwood floor.”

Tim snorted weakly. “I’m almost offended that you thought I couldn’t catch myself–NOW!” 

As Jason flinched away from the sudden volume, a dense weight slammed into his back and knocked him off balance while two arms wound around his neck in a facsimile of a chokehold. He went careening onto his side – fucking ouch – beneath the weight of one, no, two little brothers. Fuckshitsonofabitch. 

And he should have fucking known, because obviously Tim wouldn’t have had a fall that bad off of a beanbag, of all things, and also because if nothing else, Tim could be a tricksy little brat when he put his big ol’ brain to it. Honestly, Jason was kind of surprised this hadn’t happened earlier. 

“Hey, Damian,” he gritted out. 

“Todd,” Damian replied, tone clipped as he knelt on one of Jason’s arms, pulling the other back to join it. 

Jason had fallen on his side, knees bent in one direction, and Tim had gone for efficiency rather than elegance and chose to sit on his legs, right up above his knees. Damian, meanwhile, had grappled Jason’s wrists as they were falling, and was tugging them behind his torso. It was a bit of a strain, but nothing painful. 

The problem, though, was that Jason had absolutely no damn leverage. And his little brothers knew it.

“Hi!” Tim said brightly, smacking his hands together with a clap.

The rug itched against Jason’s face as he turned his head back just enough to be able to see Tim’s toothy grin. He wasn’t sneering or smirking – he genuinely looked pleased, it was his ‘successfully implemented an experiment and it worked’ smile, and…shit, Jason was going to have to pretend to be annoyed, wasn’t he? With all that had been going on lately, the kid needed a win. 

Damian did too, probably. 

Great. 

“Hey there, brat,” Jason said. His neck twinged, so he let his head thunk back to the carpet. “What’s new in Timbitland?” 

“Funny you should ask,” replied Tim, and suddenly someone’s slender fingers were nibbling little pinches into Jason’s exposed side. 

Yeah, he’d known this was coming, but that didn’t stop a strangled snicker from shoving out past his teeth before he clamped his mouth shut. 

“See,” Tim continued. “I figured you were gonna try and come after me today, so I enlisted Damian here to help me.” His ticklish pinches trailed back down Jason’s side, getting worryingly close to his hip. “It’s the perfect chance to try out my observations – see, I have notes. I’ve been paying attention to what Dick and B usually do to you…for self-defense purposes, of course.” 

Hm. Maybe sending Tim sprawling and kicking Damian off was actually a good idea – but no, no, that would probably injure them, and Jason wanted to avoid that. 

Of course the nerd had notes. He’d probably made a fuckin’ spreadsheet. 

“I’ll end you,” Jason said, yanking on his arms just to make Damian struggle a bit more to hold him down. “Both of you, Dames.” 

Damian, who’d been quiet up to that point, just tsked. “You would try, perhaps.”

God, Jason’s little brothers were growing up to be brats. 

“Aww,” said Tim. “It’s cute that you’re trying not to laugh.” 

“I–hey!” Jason yelped when Tim skittered over his lower ribs. He jerked, instinctively trying to curl his legs and arms in to protect his vulnerable torso. 

“So, Damian.” That was Tim’s briefing voice. “According to my extensive research, we all pretty much agree that Jason’s worst spot is his hips. Does that match what you’ve observed?” 

After a second, Damian grunted in the affirmative. 

“Pay attention, this is important for you to know. It’s your first lesson on Crimelord Anatomy. So, Dad usually does this–” 

Suddenly Jason’s mind blanked for a second when Tim abruptly squeezed his hip a few times in rapid succession. His whole body spasmed, trying to curl up again, as an absolutely mortifying shriek escaped his lungs. “Ti–HIM!” 

Ever committed to being an annoying little shit, Tim just laughed, and it sounded delighted. “Obviously, it works. Makes him all shrieky, like, right away.” The whole time he talked he kept squeezing and digging his thumb into Jason’s hipbone, and Jason cackled as ticklish shudders made him flinch and jerk.

“This seems effective,” Damian said in an impeccably neutral tone that was somehow worse than if he’d just teased Jason straight-out. 

“It totally is. But Dick usually doesn’t go for the squeezing and stuff, though – he just…here, hold on.” 

The accursed squeezing finally stopped and Jason gasped, sucking down fresh air in big gulps while he could. Suddenly someone – Tim, still –pushed up his shirt, and then – oh, fuck oh fuck oh fuck, then there were ten goddamned shitting fingers scribbling featherlight over his hip, and over the softer skin right above it, and Jason was actually going to die right there in the library. He couldn’t describe why this was so much worse, not being able to see who was tickling him and enduring the light skitters that somehow made his brain collapse into goo. There might not even be a word for how hard he was laughing, one side of his head pressed into the carpet as he twisted his shoulders, tried to drag his knees up to his chest, anything to make Tim’s fingers stop. 

“T-Tihihimmy,” he finally gasped. “Shi–shihit, cut it ouhohaha–out!” 

Tim didn’t take his hands away, but he stilled his fingers even though Jason’s skin was still crawling and he kept laughing into the rug. 

“Notice a difference?” Tim asked Damian. 

“Quite.”

“Okay, so that’s his hip. Well, hips, but you know what I mean. Going for his kill spot right away might seem strange, but it’s like...you gotta tenderize meat, yeah? Similar thing. Because he won’t giggle unless he’s already tired and out of it.” 

Jason felt his ears burn and hated that this was getting to him – his little brother, his easily flustered and often squeaky giggle brat, shouldn’t ever be able to get the upper hand on teasing. At least Damian wasn’t also joining in. 

“Crimelord Anatomy lesson number two, Dames,” Tim said, and Jason groaned. “His stomach.” 

Oh, Christ.

“He’s generally ticklish there.” One of Tim’s hands dug into Jason’s upper abs, wriggling into the muscles. “Light laughter, and such.”

“Fuhuhuck you!” Jason managed through his snickers, and he definitely didn’t snort. 

“But…” The tickling hand started making a swooping path down near Jason’s navel. He instinctively tried to suck in his stomach, and his legs twitched again. “He has a giggle spot here, too, it’s right under his belly button–” Tim wiggled a single finger into that soft spot, and indeed, Jason couldn’t stop the hiccupy giggles from pouring out of him. His cheeks burned, and he turned to smash his face into the carpet so his little brothers wouldn’t see him grinning like a snot-nosed toddler. 

Damian shifted his grip on Jason’s wrists, moving to pin them down under his knees instead. The change barely registered until a second hand joined Tim on that wretched spot and Jason wheezed into the floor, shuddering as his instincts desperately tried to pillbug. 

“Aww,” Tim cooed. “Isn’t it cute?” 

“It is…endearing,” said Damian after several seconds, and he sounded grumpy about it but he kept tickling, letting his fingers wander around Jason’s stomach. “In a childish manner, of course.”

“That’s the whole point,” Tim chirped. Chirped. “So, anatomy lesson two-point-five is that you have to pin his legs to tickle him here and make him all giggly and loopy, because this Gotham-native crimelord will attempt to disguise himself as a pillbug to throw off potential attackers.” 

Jason was maybe going to kill Tim for that one. When he tried to say as much, all that came out were more of those stupid fucking giggles, and he gave up. All he could do was laugh and accept the fact that any and all intimidation credit he’d built up was dissolving right before his eyes. 

“Alright, we’re nearing the end of the allotted time slot for today’s class.” Tim clapped his hands together again. “But there’s one more foundational piece of knowledge for you.” 

“Do share, Drake.” 

“This is, what, lesson three? Okay, so. This crimelord might not be representative of the species, but he’s like…squishier than putty for back tickles. He can’t function. It’s kind of hilarious.” Tim continued on with the cadence of someone giving a pitch to a room full of business executives, like he was attending a board meeting at Wayne Enterprises. 

“There’s here, on his lower back–” Tim shoved his hand under Jason’s shirt to run his nails over the small of his back, which was enough to have Jason spasming again as he shrieked into the floor and squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s like the nuclear launch codes for driving him crazy. That, plus – here, if you could just–”

And suddenly Damian’s slightly clumsier fingers were prodding at Jason’s hip. 

“S–shuhut up!” Jason screeched, trying to roll onto his front. “Dames, dohohon’t you dahahahhare!” 

“See?” Now Tim did sound a little smug. “RIP Jason’s brain cells. Anyways, so there’s that, but his spine is also good. And his shoulders. And basically everywhere. Kind of like playing chords on a piano.” He leaned forward, shifting in his spot on Jason’s legs to tickle over both of Jason’s shoulderblades while Damian kept tormenting his hip, now using both his hands – one to squeeze at the bone, the other to spider gently over the skin right above it, and Jason lost his everloving fucking mind and screamed. 

The laughter that erupted from the very bottom of his being echoed around the library, maybe even rattled the windows, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t even breathe, and his nerves sparked and stretched taut with ticklish input that overloaded his brain. He stopped trying to thrash away and just melted there into a heap of shrieking cackles beneath his clever, devious little brothers. They weren’t supposed to know how to get him this good, it wasn’t fair. In fact, it should be illegal. Jason was going to call the army, or the police, or the Justice League –

“Holy fucking hotdog.” 

Well, speaking of the police. 

Of course. Of course, his older brother was going to appear now, when Jason was being tickled into an incoherent mess by their younger brothers. Why should he get to retain any dignity?

“Dick!” Tim said, and he blessedly, mercifully stopped torturing Jason’s shoulders. Damian seemed to take that as his cue, too, and lightened up his own tickling, but kept his palms flat on Jason’s hip. It helped stamp out the leftover phantom tickles. 

“Is that – is that Jason?” Heavy footsteps came closer, but Jason didn’t have the energy to crane his head up to see his older brother.

“Surely your powers of deduction haven’t entirely eluded you, Richard,” Damian said, and holy shit, the kid was actually teasing Dick. 

Tim rolled off of Jason’s legs and landed on his back in Jason’s line of sight, hands folded over his stomach as he gave Dick a beatific grin. “We really got him.” 

Legs freed, Jason immediately curled up into a ball. Or, as close as he could get, with his arms still stuck under Damian. 

“I’m proud of you, Baby Bird,” Dick replied. He crouched near Jason’s head, ruffled Tim’s hair, then nudged his elbow into Jason’s shoulder to jostle him a little. “I’ve never heard you shriek that loudly, Jay, I thought one of the kids was hurt.” 

At ‘kids’, Damian clicked his tongue as he slid off of Jason’s wrists and hands, but he didn’t protest. Maybe he was finally learning that responding with ‘not a child’ didn’t help his case. 

Since Jason still didn’t have the capacity to use his words, he just grunted and closed his eyes again. 

“He got all blushy and giggly, too,” Tim said with a grin in his voice. “Just like when you get him.” 

Dick laughed. “You’re learning well, Timmy. You too, Dames. Hey, what’s that?” 

Something rustled, maybe the turning of a page. “Drake has been collecting evidence on Todd for several weeks, now, in preparation for this.” 

“Never change, Baby Bird. ‘Anatomy of a Crimelord’? …oh, this is good. Mind if I take a picture?” 

Jason’s eyes flew open and he scowled up at Dick, who was giving him a shit-eating grin. “Absolutely not, Dickface.”

In answer, Dick, who was holding Tim’s bullet journal, lightly thwacked it against Jason’s forehead. “I might not need it, you know. I’ve already got my own inventory for each of you.” 

Tim sputtered something, and Jason couldn’t hold back his own grin. It was sweet how quickly a little teasing could turn Tim back into that squishy little giggle brat, when he wasn’t being a ruthless menace to Jason’s sanity. 

“So, what prompted this? Damian, how’d Tim drag you into this?” As he voiced the question, Dick let himself fall sideways into a half-sitting, half-lounging position, propped up on one elbow while he reached out to smooth Jason’s hair out of his face. 

“Well, I knew Jason was going to come after me,” Tim said. “And of course Damian helped me, it’s part of the rules.” 

Smiling indulgently at him, Dick asked, “What rules?” 

“Little brothers have to stick together. It’s a pact.” 

The corners of Dick’s eyes crinkled with the hint of one of his mushier expressions, but he somehow held most of it back, probably to avoid embarrassing Damian. 

Speaking of the other brat that comprised Jason’s package deal of little bothers, Damian smoothly pushed himself up and stepped over Jason to settle crosslegged between Dick and Tim. 

And maybe it was a snowy day in hell, because Tim shuffled over to rest his head on Damian’s knee, and Damian, after a second’s consideration, rested his hand on top of Tim’s head. 

In a flash, Dick whipped out his phone to take a picture of the moment. 

Send it to me? Jason mouthed. His older brother winked and nodded as he pocketed his phone again. 

“You know,” Dick said. “There’s the other side of that little brother pact, guys.” 

Damian raised his eyebrows. “Surely there aren’t yet more of Father’s offspring to contend with.”

Jason snorted. He was pretty sure he knew where Dick was going. “Not that, demon brat, don’t worry.” 

“Maybe it’s more like the other side of the equation. Little brothers have to stick together, but so do big brothers.” 

Tim’s face visibly locked in a neutral expression as he stared into the middle distance, suddenly not willing to look at Jason or Dick. Damian, for his part, went entirely still. 

Now this, Jason could get behind. He shot Dick an exaggerated grin. “Whaddya think, Dickwing? How should we do it?”  

“Hmmm…” Dick did a very obvious sweep of both Tim and Damian, a mischievous grin playing over his face. “Maybe one of these movie nights, we stick Dami between us on the couch and each snag one of his knees. I bet we could get some really cute snorts and yelps out of him underneath all that sweet laughing.” 

A half-strangled noise came from Damian as he, in a rare display of surprise, just stared back at Dick with wide eyes. 

Jason smirked at him, then glanced back at Dick. “What about the Baby Bird?”

Tim scowled at him, squinting, but a faint pink flush was already coloring his face. His hands fidgeted where they were clasped over his stomach. 

“Good question,” Dick mused, but his eyes twinkled as he assessed Tim. “I feel like, between the two of us, his ribs do get counted pretty frequently.” 

Jason hummed in agreement. “Maybe we should try something new. Branch out, even.” 

“What about raspberries on his ribs? We could each take a side.” Dick winked at Tim, who squeaked and crossed his arms over his chest. “That leaves hands free to tickle his tummy, too.” 

It wasn’t often that Jason got to see Tim turn redder than a fire hydrant in less than a tenth of a second, but that did it. Tim flipped over to hide his face in his hands, still propped up on Damian’s leg. 

After watching them squirm for a few more seconds, Dick let out a long sigh and reached out to ruffle Damian’s hair. “Not today, though, obviously.” 

“Sure,” Jason agreed. “Not today.” 

Soon, though. And this time he wouldn’t be taken off guard again. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“He’s pushing himself way too hard.”

“But if he doesn’t wake up soon he’s gonna be up all night,” Tim said, concern edging into his words. “Then he’ll just start the cycle all over again, staying up all night and all day, then patrolling tomorrow night anyways.”

Dick padded around to the head of the bed and knelt down on the floor next to Jason’s head and shoulders. After a moment of hard staring, probably to make sure that Jason wasn’t just pretending to be asleep, he nodded and glanced over at Tim. 

Dick hummed his agreement, then flashed him a conspiratorial grin. “Well, there is one thing that might get him to wake up.”

“What is it?”

Dick nudged him towards Jason’s bed. “Go sit.”

Using all his years of training and practice, Tim tiptoed across the carpet and eased himself onto the bottom corner of Jason’s mattress. He couldn’t help the surface dipping when he settled down, but Jason must have been truly exhausted because he didn’t stir. 

“Okay, Baby Bird,” he whispered. “Here’s the deal. You ‘n’ me are gonna take turns trying to tickle him, but whoever wakes him up loses.” 

“Except it’s not a tower of blocks falling,” Tim whispered, widening his eyes for effect. “It’s Jason getting pissed off.” 

What? That sounded like a recipe for getting punched directly in the face, and Tim enjoyed having all his teeth, thank you very much. Plus, he was still recovering from the last time he’d provoked Jason into a full-blown tactical tickle attack – he couldn’t even think about it without wanting to burrow under a pile of blankets to hide how flustered it made him. So, he gave Dick a skeptical look.

Dick held up his hands. “Hey, me and Roy did it all the time. It’s fun! Like Jenga, sort of.” 

“Ohh,” Dick said, a knowing smile breaking out over his face. “Are you afraid of him calling you a – what was it? A squishy and blushy little giggle brat who’s just begging for tickles?” 

Tim’s face blazed with heat as soon as Dick said that accursed sentence, and he tried to glare at his oldest brother. “No.” Yes. 

“Then play! C’mon, you can go first.” 

Tim briefly considered sticking his tongue out and escaping back out into the hallway, but he wasn’t a coward. “Fine.” 

After a few more seconds’ thought, he leaned forward and scribbled his fingers over the back of Jason’s nearest knee. 

Jason didn’t even twitch. Okay, maybe this would be easier than Tim had feared.

“Attaboy, Timmy,” Dick said. He grinned and ran his index finger up and down Jason’s exposed side, pausing to scratch over his ribs. 

Dick froze. 

Still nothing.

His next turn, Tim squeezed the back of Jason’s thigh. That got him a twitch, but it was more of a reflex than anything else.

Dick, living dangerously as always, started tracing his fingers up and down Jason’s spine in slow, wide sweeps. After a couple seconds, Jason’s shoulders twitched like he was trying to shrug off the sensation. 

Tim just stared, he could practically hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest. Oh, this was such a bad idea – 

But Jason settled back down, his shoulders falling, and let out a heavy sigh. 

And Tim couldn’t let Dick outdo him, so he stretched as far as he could to tickle over the small of Jason’s back, skittering into the hollow at the base of his spine. Before he could retract his hand, Dick joined in, prodding up and down one of Jason’s sides. 

A sleepy, confused-sounding giggle slipped out of Jason as he stiffened, turning his head in Dick’s direction. Tim had been trying to work on his younger sibling survival instincts, so when Jason’s head started moving he instantly snatched his hand back and sat frozen in place. Maybe if he was still enough, Jason wouldn’t notice…? 

“Wakey wakey, Jaybird,” Dick cooed, truly impressive amounts of affection dripping from the words. “Hey, bud, you’ve been asleep for at least fourteen hours.” 

Jason groaned and pressed his head back into his pillow. “Lemme sleep, ya idiot. ‘M’ tired.” 

Dick just pinched his side again. “No can do, or you’re gonna be all cranky and grumpy.” 

With a startled noise, Jason clamped his arm down to his side. “Fuck off, Dickwing.” 

“C’mon, Little Wing,” Dick said in a sing-song voice. “Timmy and I can help tickle you awake, if you need some help.” He winked at Tim. 

Upon seeing his sleepy brother grouch and grumble, Tim was starting to feel less afraid of immediate retaliation. Plus, he, like, never got the drop on Jason like this. So, he fluttered his fingers over the back of Jason’s knee again. “Yeah, Jay, happy to help ya.” 

While he kept that up, Dick switched to tickling up and down Jason’s spine again, randomly darting his fingers to the backs of Jason’s ribs, or to the edge of his armpit.  

Jason absolutely dissolved into sleepy, helpless giggles, all hiccupy and high-pitched. He tried to shift around or reach his hands back to stop them. Having just woken up from the depths of slumber had taken a toll on his coordination, though, and he finally gave up when Dick leaned down to raspberry at the back of his neck. Jason shrieked at that, but it was still a relatively quiet protest, and he finally rolled onto his side and pulled his legs up. 

“Gu-guhihihuys, sto-stahap!” he snickered, burying his face in his knees. 

Tim obediently made no more attempts to tickle him, but Dick kept at it. He crowded Jason in and scribbled all over Jason’s calves and sides, sometimes even darting his fingers in to tickle at Jason’s stomach. The most diabolical part was the teasing, which even Tim could hear. 

“See, I think our pillbug might enjoy being tickled awake,” Dick murmured. “You’re so loopy and giggly today.”  

Jason’s giggles instantly got more shrieky and he tried to wrap his arms around his head as some kind of shield. That unfortunately just opened up his ribs and hips to Dick’s nefarious tickling.  

“I think he doesn’t mind,” Tim said. “He’s a – a squishy and blushy little giggle pillbug.” There, take that, Jason. 

Dick beamed at him. “He is, isn’t he?” 

“I’m –” Jason tried, but had to stop to titter when Dick squeezed his side. “Shut uhuhup!” 

“Aw, he isn’t even denying it.” 

The tips of Jason’s ears were bright red. With another, strangled laugh, he reached out and smacked Dick on the shoulder twice. 

If only Tim had his camera with him – Jason almost never tapped out. He just settled for grinning as Dick obeyed the rules of surrender and backed off, giving Jason space to catch his breath and calm down. 

After a few moments, Jason pushed himself up and glared at both of them. He was still blushing, though, so that negatively modified his intimidation check. Tim grinned hesitantly and lifted his hand in a small wave.  

“Hi.” 

Jason stared at him for a second that felt eternal, then snorted. “Hey, Timbit. You’re off the hook, kid, I know Dickface pulled you in.” 

Tim wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t. He schooled his expression as best he could. 

But Jason must’ve noticed whatever his face had managed to do before, because he got a glint in his eye that usually meant Tim was about to be squeaking and giggling like a madman.  

“Or,” Jason mused. “Maybe we can have a talk later.” 

The butterflies in Tim’s stomach all took flight at once, and he couldn’t help but throw Dick under the bus with him. “It was all Dick’s idea!” 

Jason let out a battlecry and threw all of his weight against Dick, who went tumbling over and took Jason down to the floor with him. As they wrestled, laughing and hurling insults at each other, Tim slipped off the bed and out into the hallway. His older brothers would be busy for a while; there was plenty of time to find a good hiding spot to weather Jason’s coming revenge. 

Dick laughed at the attempt, though, and just kept spidering his fingers up and down Jason’s sides. “Nice try, Little Wing. Do you yield, or….?”

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“B!” Jason shrieked into the gross, sweaty wrestling mat below him. He tried to jab his elbow back to knock Dick off of him, but his stupid fucking older brother wasn’t budging.

Ugh. After being knocked off his feet by Dick twice before, Jason had been determined to figure out how to escape this pin. He just hadn’t counted on Dick flipping him facedown and tickling the everloving shit out of him.

“Fuck you!” Jason hissed, but he couldn’t help the cackles that forced their way into his voice. He shrugged his shoulders, attempted to twist or rock or something, but no matter what, Dick’s larger mass rendered him damn near immovable.

Dick laughed again, but this time it was a low chuckle that set the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck crawling. “Adorable. Still gonna regret that, though.”

Before Jason could suck down enough air to reply, Dick slid his fingers under Jason’s t-shirt and started scribbling at the bare skin around his hips. Fuck him for knowing exactly where Jason’s worst ticklish spot was.

Jason screamed out a wordless laugh and convulsed, shoving both his hands back like he even had a prayer of grabbing Dick’s wrists. It was like his body forgot how to move the instant someone tickled him, but especially there.

“Someone’s ticklish, hm?” Dick teased.

“BRUCE!” Jason shrieked again. “He–hehehelp!” His forehead pressed against the mat below him.

Dick switched from scribbles to pinching and poking at his hip bones. At that point, the teeny tiny corner of Jason’s brain that still held Thoughts resigned itself to laughing until he couldn’t breathe and was forced to tap out. The snorts and hiccups that each poke drew out of him really broke up his normal shrieking laugher, which just made Jason’s face heat up more. He probably sounded so incredibly stupid.

Then, suddenly, Dick made a startled squawking sound and his weight abruptly vanished. As weird as that was, Jason was too busy curling into a tight ball to giggle off the leftover ticklish feelings that buzzed around his hips and sides to really pay attention.

A large, warm hand settled on top of his head. “Still with us, Jaylad?”

“Y-yeah,” he managed, craning his neck back to look up at Bruce. The fond amusement on his dad’s face made him want to squirm and curl back up. “He’s bullying me, B.”

“I am not!” Dick’s voice rang out from somewhere behind Bruce. “He wouldn’t yield!”

“It’s not fair,” Jason insisted even as he felt the wide grin tugging his mouth upwards. “I don’t even know how to - how to get ‘im back!”

Bruce hummed, a low rumble. His fingers gently carded through Jason’s curls, tugging at some of the snarls there, until he rose back to his feet. “I suppose that’s a fair point, son.”

Noticeably, Dick was silent.

As Bruce stepped back, Jason pushed himself up to a sitting position just in time to watch him tackle Dick to the same mat as Dick started screeching and cursing. Some of Jason’s newly-acquired younger brother instincts perked up at seeing the tables turned on his older brother.

“Jaylad,” Bruce called, grunting as he wrestled Dick’s arms over his head. “Care to learn?”

“Obviously,” Jasion said. He got to his feet and hurried over, grinning down at Dick’s piss-poor attempt to glare at him. “Hi, Dickhead.”

“Jason,” Dick began. “If you help him, you won’t be able to breathe when I’m done with you.” But even as he spoke, he was entirely relaxed. No twitching or testing Bruce’s grip, or trying to swing his legs up to kick their Dad in the head – and Jason knew that Dick was still flexible enough to pull that off, even though he was eighteen and ancient. Strands of hair from his new floppy haircut fell into his eyes, but he didn’t seem distressed.

These observations got filed away into his memory for future consideration as Jason turned to Bruce. “How can I help?”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at Jason. “Here, do you think you can pin his hands down?”

“Absolutely.” To keep Dick from pulling some crazy acrobat move and getting his wrists free, Jason shoved Dick’s hands under his knees while also pressing on his forearms. This way, he could anchor his slippery older brother in two places, instead of one.

Meanwhile, Bruce shifted around to sit on Dick’s hips, effectively pinning his lower body to the ground.

Dick huffed in annoyance that Jason was 80 percent sure he was faking. “You’re getting fat.”

Bruce retaliated by pinching right under his lower ribs on both sides, which instantly made Dick screech and throw his head back.

“So, Jason,” Bruce said, looking up to meet Jason’s eyes. “I’m sure you’ve observed that Dickie here is wildly ticklish around his ribs and legs.” This was true, based on Jason’s limited observations of the times Bruce had tickled Dick.

Jason nodded.

“Today, I’d like to show you a different way of tickling him that will hopefully even out your capability to retaliate when you eventually beat him in a spar.” Bruce’s mouth quirked up in a quick grin when Dick gasped and started tugging on his arms.

“B,” Dick said, wriggling around as much as he could. “Not – not that–”

“Are you yielding?” Jason asked with as much obnoxiousness as he had in him.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Nothing to yield to, dumbass.”

“Well,” said Bruce, evidently taking that as a cue. “Let me give you something.”

When Bruce leaned over him, Dick had to bite his lip to hide the smile that was already trying to break out. It wasn’t his fault, he always felt a hundred times more ticklish whenever B loomed like that, and B knew.

“Wait,” he said. Somehow he already had to try not to giggle, too. “B–”

“I thought the waiting makes it worse, chum,” B replied. He was smiling in that squishy way that somehow always made Dick feel shy, as if he didn’t have bigger impending problems to worry about.

Just as he was going to say something else, Bruce tapped the inside of his right elbow and dragged a single finger down the inside of Dick’s arm.

The feeling instantly made Dick want to crawl out of his skin. Panicky giggles exploded out of his lungs before he really had the chance to fight them, and he tried to pull that arm down from Jason’s grip. “B–Bruhuhuce!”

“Whoa,” Jason breathed. “No way.”

Dick’s face blazed with heat as he tugged on his arm again, while Bruce just reversed his path, this time making a zig zag line. “It’s not–”

“Oh,” Bruce cut him off with another one of those smiles. “It is.”

Dick blinked as Bruce brought his other hand up and immediately started scribbling on Dick’s other arm, right above the hollow of his armpit. More fingers joined the hand that had already been tracing up and down Dick’s right tricep.

Dick screeched. He shook his head even though that was undoubtedly making a mess of his hair and laughed, hysterical bouts of giggles interspersed with the occasional squeal that made him certain he was blushing all the way down his neck. “NOHO–B, nahat thehehehre!”

“Yes there,” Jason muttered above him. “I don’t believe it.”

He tried to yank his arms down, to do anything to make the insanely electric tickles stop, but his little brother had managed to hold him still. Between Jason’s shock at hearing Dick giggle and the affection radiating from their dad, Dick couldn’t stop the giant grin bunching up his face as he jolted from side to side. Bruce switched up what side got what method, scribbling near Dick’s right armpit while tracing featherlight lines on Dick’s left arm, and Dick snorted as more of those ridiculous giggles bubbled out of him.

“He has tickle spots,” Bruce said. He was probably speaking for Jason’s benefit. “But this is his giggle spot.”

Dick blinked hard as tears of laughter blurred in his eyes, but he could still see Jason’s serious nod like this was some kind of school lesson. Okay, that was adorable. Almost worth getting pinned down and reduced to a heap of giggles and titters.

For a momentary reprieve, Bruce stilled his hands. “You can try different methods, too. Up here,” he quickly scrabbled his fingers near one of Dick’s elbows. Dick jerked, startled, but giggled. “Gets the sweet giggles. He’s had those since he was little–”

“Dad,” Dick protested as another wave of heat rose to his face.

“But down here,” Bruce ignored him, the bastard, and traced light circles with the same hand in that infernal spot right above Dick’s armpit. This time, Dick tried to hold in his laughter, but one amused smirk from Bruce sent him into a fit of screechy giggles. “He’s going to get a little more screechy. Still giggles, though. And this spot on both arms–” He added his other hand again, tracing matching light circles on the identical place on Dick’s other arm.

It was maddening. Dick’s head lolled to the side as he gave up on struggling or going anywhere and just laughed, fits and sputters of snickering giggles that sounded like they belonged to a much younger child. Usually Bruce didn’t get him this bad when he went for Dick’s inner arms. Usually Bruce didn’t get him this bad, period, not when they’d been fighting lately.

But here, laughing his head off as his Dad tickled the sanity out of him, things almost felt all the way normal. Something warm and fuzzy curled around the ticklish butterflies in Dick’s stomach, and he knew he wasn’t just smiling from the tickles. Even if it meant getting obliterated in front of his younger brother, it was good to know that Bruce still wanted to mess around like this, that Bruce was still going to be his dad and tickle him into a puddle.

“Wow, Dickie, you’re gonna giggle yourself to death,” Jason teased. It shouldn’t have been so effective.

Dick groaned – or, tried to – only to immediately yelp when Bruce switched it up again, this time swirling looping patterns up and down both his arms. “B! Ple–plehease, it’s so – it’s soho bahaha–had!” Some part of his brain just shut off like there wasn’t time anymore, only tickles that felt like they’d never stop. He squeezed his eyes shut but immediately opened them again when Bruce – when Bruce blew a fucking rasperry on his inner elbow and Dick’s laughter pitched up into rapidfire, shrieky giggles.

“Hey,” Jason said. “If you can get your arms free, you can make him stop.”

Dick tugged on his arms again, but he really was stuck fast. He tried to scowl up at Jason’s angelic, beaming smile, and probably failed miserably. “Jackass!”

Jason smirked at him. “You could give him some incentive, B.”

Incentive –?

But one of Bruce’s hands disappeared and an instant later, was pinching and poking at that infernal soft spot right under Dick’s lowest ribs. Dick shouted, cackling, and spasmed, arching his back like he could somehow get away from Bruce’s fingers. “B! Fu–huhuck you!”

Bruce responded to that by using his other hand to torment the matching tickle spot on Dick’s other side.

“HEY!” Dick screeched. He cackled, full-on belly laughter, and tried to twist. Oh god it tickled it tickled it tickled, he was going to die–

And then Jason’s smaller, colder fingers were tickling lightly on his inner arms, right above his armpits, and Dick cracked.

His laughter went silent, coming out in wheezy gasps as he tossed his head back, barely able to catch his breath. He couldn’t – he couldn’t think, it was too much, he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin onto the ceiling and finally, he cried, “Okay! I – I yiehehHEELD or wha–whahate-eve-evehehr!”

All the sets of evil, tickling fingers disappeared, and Jason shuffled sideways to free his wrists. Dick immediately pulled his arms down and hugged himself, rubbing his arms to try and banish the leftover prickles. He barely registered it when Bruce got off him, but was definitely aware of his dad’s strong arms scooping him up like he was a little kid again and settling Dick against his chest.

“That was incredible,” Jason was saying. “Thanks for showing me, B.”

Dick didn’t even have the energy to flip him off.

“Who’s adorable now, huh, Dickwing?” his little brother continued, and Dick just huffed out a tired laugh.

“He is, isn’t he?” Bruce murmured. The words rumbled through his chest and buzzed pleasantly against Dick’s ears. Dick felt a gentle kiss pressed to his hair. “Underneath all that screeching.”

Oh, he was so going to get Jason for this.

Dick wasn’t sure if he was blushing again or if he’d just never stopped. Either way, he turned to press his face into Bruce’s chest. “Dad.”

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“I could get out of this easy,” Dick said.

And, yeah, Jason knew damn well that Dick could get away if he really wanted to. He pushed Dick’s hands back behind his head and held them there so Dick was stuck like that facedown on the couch.

“Yeah, but you won’t.”

Dick gave a put-upon sigh. “I have to indulge my adorable baby brothers every now and then, otherwise they take my big brother card.”

Jason snorted, but he was internally relishing in Dick’s desire to allow them to mess with him like this. Apparently there were some parts of being a little brother that you just didn’t grow out of.

He looked up at Tim, who was awaiting instructions while he perched on Dick’s calves, where’d he’d been sitting while they watched old Buffy reruns.

“Alright, Timbit, listen up.”

Tim nodded, tilting his head in earnest curiosity. “Listening.”

Excellent. He’d be a quick study. Jason winked at him and poked the index finger of his free hand against one of Dick’s elbows. “So, the other day, I told you that this sends Dickiebird damn near into outer space, yeah?”

“Do not,” Dick growled, even though he couldn’t lean his head up to glare at either of them. “Timmy, don’t listen to him.”

Tim’s eyebrows quirked up, but he grinned. “Why not?”

“Because if you do, I’m going to throw you onto the carpet and give that ticklish tummy of yours raspberries until you pass out, you little terror.” Despite his grumbling, Dick’s words lacked the heat of real irritation.

The threat still rattled Tim enough for him to protectively wrap his arms around his middle, flustered.

“Ah, don’t let him scare you,” Jason said. He poked Dick’s elbow again, then started tracing swirling lines from his inner elbow to his armpit. “He won’t seem all that intimidating in a couple minutes.”

A half-strangled sound burst out of Dick before he shoved his face deeper into the couch to muffle any further laughter. Well, that just wasn’t fair.

Jason briefly dug his fingers into Dick’s underarm so that Dick’s shout of laughter would break down into giggles as soon as Jason went back to his upper arm.

“Ja–hay!” Dick’s voice cracked as he protested. “Do–do not–”

But Jason did. And oh, did he ever. He pulled out all the stops from another lifetime’s memories of Dick giggling and shrieking beneath Bruce, and replicated most of their father’s techniques now. Scribbling near his elbow still sent Dick into fits of giggles, while digging in right above his armpit had him screeching into the upholstery.

“He has a giggle spot,” Tim said. He grinned at Jason like this was the best thing he’d ever learned. “I just thought he was screechy everywhere."

Jason smiled back at him. “It literally sends him into orbit. The outerest of spaces.”

The look that appeared on his baby brother’s face meant imminent mischief, so Jason wasn’t too surprised when Tim reached out to skitter his fingers across the back of one of Dick’s knees. It was a brilliant move.

Dick almost choked on the panicked snickers that burst out of his lungs. “Tim–Tihihimmy! No!”

“Good work, Timbo,” Jason said. “Keep it up.”

As Dick went plummeting into peal after peal of high-pitched, desperate giggles, Jason leaned down far enough to speak directly into his ear. “Who’s adorable now, huh, Dickhead?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is why you’re banned from here, old man,” Jason snorted, but he was grinning. 

Bruce stared down at the fresh coating of flour on his black button-down, then at the half-torn-open bag in his hands. In his defense, he hadn’t meant to pull that hard when he went to open it. “I…” He stared helplessly for a few more seconds, then started laughing, letting his head tip back. It felt good.

Jason paused in rolling out the first round of piecrust to cackle alongside him, evidently delighted that Bruce’s culinary misadventures were continuing. In retaliation, Bruce swiped one of his hands through the mess on his shirt and reached out, under the guise of smoothing Jason’s curls out of his eyes, to leave a streak of flour on his forehead. It almost matched the one in his hair. 

“Hey!” Jason yelped. He ducked out of reach and glanced at his reflection in the microwave door. “What the fuck, Saruman?” 

Bruce snorted. “Laugh all you want, Jaylad, there’s plenty to go around.” 

“I could take you,” Jason muttered, swiping his arm across his forehead, which only served to smear the flour around. “There’s more flour in the pantry.” 

“I’m sure you could,” Bruce said, flicking another handful at him. It landed mostly in Jason’s hair and he squawked, but his eyes were glinting with amusement. 

“I let you into my kitchen –” 

“Alfred’s kitchen.” 

“– into my kitchen, and this is how you repay me?” Jason clasped his hands together over his chest. “My heart is turned to stone, I strike it, and it hurts my hand!” 

Shaking his head, Bruce smiled at his son’s dramatics and returned to the recipe card that was safely taped to one of the cabinet doors. “Alright, son, I’ll leave you in peace. How many pies are you making?” 

Jason wiped his hands on his apron and came to stand beside him, also squinting at Alfred’s precise, loopy handwriting. “Oh, Alf said four should be fine. If you want to do something useful for once, you can measure out twelve cups of flour into that bowl.” He pointed to a large, stainless steel bowl on the island. “And dice frozen butter. If that’s too much for you to handle, you can…fuck, I dunno, sit at the table and drink coffee.” 

Someone else might have been offended, but Bruce just grabbed Jason by the shoulder and tugged him close enough to plant a kiss on the top of his head as Jason gagged and sputtered and pretended that he wasn’t leaning into Bruce’s side. “I’ll measure the flour, but all this is more your area of knowledge than mine. Would company distract you, if I brought some work down to the table?” 

A small, pleased grin flashed across Jason’s face before he quickly schooled his expression and nodded. “S’fine, I don’t mind.” 

Watching Jason in the kitchen was like watching an artist at work. Even though Bruce did bring some reading that he needed to catch up on, he glanced over at Jason periodically, watching him move through the steps of making piecrust and a variety of fillings with ease. It never failed to strike Bruce at how careful Jason’s touch was, softer and more delicate here than in any other part of his life. 

Pride, he thought, was the word for how he felt. It burned behind his sternum as Jason deftly wove an intricate latticework out of dough, then carefully brought the plate over. 

“Incredible,” Bruce murmured. “How did you come up with that?”

“”S’just something I saw in the window of one of the bakeries downtown,” Jason said, trying to shrug off the compliment, but the pleased flush on his cheeks belied his efforts. 

Bruce deliberately didn’t smile until he knew Jason wasn’t looking. He knew that by permitting Bruce to be in his space, Jason was sharing a part of himself that most others never got to see. It was a fragile trust exercise, one they’d never gotten to do before – before. Baking was usually a Jason and Alfred activity, back when Jason was younger. And for the first couple years after he came back, Jason avoided the Manor like the plague. That he was here now, baking for Thanksgiving, and allowing Bruce to be in the room while he did, was a miracle that Bruce would spend the rest of his life deeply, desperately grateful for.  

“Does Timbo like cherries?” Jason asked suddenly, spinning around and leaning back against the counter. 

“Yes,” Bruce replied as a memory from a gala several years ago rose vividly to his mind. “He once ate an entire cherry pie at the Firefighter’s Ball. Snuck off into one of the conference rooms.” 

Jason barked out a laugh, wiping his hands on his apron. “Tracks.” 

“Hey,” Bruce said impulsively. The word settled awkwardly on his tongue, but he soldiered onwards. “Would you – if there’s time – mind…showing me how to make that?” 

The look on Jason’s face was somewhere between startled and shy. Seeing it reminded Bruce yet again how young Jason still was – as much as Jason wanted, even needed, to be out on his own, he was only twenty, and twenty was young. Barely removed from being a teenager. 

Jason blinked at Bruce a couple times, then shrugged, scuffing one of his feet along the tile. “...Yeah, sure.” His voice came out softer, until he cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “Just don’t light anything on fire.”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t too difficult. Bruce quickly found that his fingers lacked the dexterity to weave strips of dough together quickly, but under Jason’s guidance he put together a respectable imitation of a top crust. Maybe some of the strips were half-squashed and uneven, but it held together. 

Jason had been surprisingly patient despite his blustering. Every so often he’d nudge Bruce’s hands out of the way to fix a mistake and Bruce let him, every time, quietly thrilled. When Bruce finished, Jason quickly shooed him away to finish the other necessary components. Bruce went back to his reading but he still stole glances at his son more often than not. Once, Jason caught him and flipped him off with a wide grin. Bruce rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too – it was hard not to, when Jason’s grin lit up his whole face. 

After a couple hours, Jason managed to get everything in the oven, set the timer, and pile a truly ridiculous amount of bowls and wooden spoons in the dishwasher. He fell into the chair across from Bruce with a heavy sigh, pulling the towel off his shoulder and tossing it onto the table. 

“God, it’s exhausting.” 

“I can believe it,” Bruce said. He was skimming a printed-out copy of the preliminary tests for a few items in WE”s R&D labs.  

“Oh, there is one more thing,” Jason said as if talking to himself. His chair screeched against the tile as he pushed it back and stood up. “Hey, old man, reading anything important?”

“Hm?” Bruce said absently. “No, I’m –” 

Floof! 

A cascade of white powder – of flour – fell in an avalanche over his head and shoulders. Bruce froze, hardly believing that his broodiest child had found it in himself to – to prank him? As he finally raised a hand to flick the flour out of his eyes, Jason started laughing a full, belly-laugh cackle. 

Bruce slowly stood, pushing his chair back, absolutely shedding flour everywhere, and turned towards his son. 

Halfway to actual hysterics, Jason was slumped against the island, holding an empty bowl in his lap as he slid closer and closer to the floor. His head thunked against the cabinet wood and he looked at Bruce with mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“Revenge,” he gasped through gulping snickers. “For earlier.” 

Bruce took that in while he brushed off his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair. By the time he finished, Jason had started to calm down. He watched Bruce with vague trepidation. 

“You have two seconds to run,” Bruce said, pitching his voice somewhere close to his ‘Batman’ tenor. 

Jason’s eyes widened as he scrambled back to his feet and flung his hands out in a pacifying gesture. “Hey - Hey, old man, we can talk about this–”

“One.” 

Jason gulped. He glanced down at Bruce’s hands, then back up at his face, and squared his shoulders. Of course he wasn’t going to run away. 

“Two,” Bruce said, and he lunged. 

Of all his sons, Jason was the closest to him in height and weight. So, when Bruce went in for a grapple, Jason managed to hold him off without ceding ground, though he had to strain hard to do so. 

“Shit, what have you been eating?” Jason groaned, his fingers digging into Bruce’s arm to keep him at bay. “M’gonna have to talk to Alfie.” 

“Keep digging,” Bruce replied as he shifted another fraction of his weight forward. “You aren’t making this better for yourself.” 

Before Jason could retort, Bruce suddenly backed off, pulling his arms back. The sudden lack of force sent Jason stumbling forward – he caught himself after a single step, but it was enough for Bruce to duck under his outstretched arms and seize Jason by the waist, hauling him over his shoulder.  

“Hey!” Jason squawked. He tried to kick his legs out, but Bruce wrapped an arm around the backs of his knees to hold him steady as he made for the hallway to the living room. “Wha-you can’t– The timer!” 

“I’m tracking it,” Bruce replied. As Jason continued to mutter under his breath about being covered in flour now, Bruce used his free hand to squeeze at the back of Jason’s thighs, right above his knees. He was expecting the ear-splitting shriek, but still winced. 

“That’s new,” he murmured, knowing Jason would hear. “I didn’t think you were so ticklish there.” 

“Fuck you,” Jason hissed. He pounded a fist against Bruce’s back to no avail. “I’m not.” 

“Oh?” Bruce repeated the squeeze and got a choked-off wheeze for his troubles. “That’s what I thought, too.” He did it again, then stretched around to scrabble at the small of Jason’s back. “See, I know you’re ticklish here–” Jason shrieked again in half-protest, half-laughter. “But – oh, right. I forgot.” 

He hadn’t.  

Ever since he was a child, Jason had the unfortunate luck of becoming significantly more ticklish whenever someone plucked him off the ground. Something about not having a grounding point, or the feeling of extra helplessness, sent him instantly squirming and writhing into gales of laughter that normally took a while to pull out of him. 

“Don’t!” Jason was gasping through high-pitched waves of laughter. 

“Hmm,” Bruce hummed. With a little maneuvering, he managed to pull Jason down into his arms and keep walking, now cradling his middle child. Despite scowling, Jason was flushed a shade of crimson that Bruce hadn’t seen on him in a while.  

“You motherfucker–” Jason started. 

Bruce cut him off by stretching his arm under Jason’s shoulders out so he could poke and wriggle his fingers into Jason’s side and ribs, while reaching around with his other hand to squeeze at his kneecap. With a startled sound, Jason burst into helpless laughter as he thrashed and tried to slap Bruce’s hands away. It was only thanks to decades of vigilante training that Bruce was able to hold onto him. 

“Aw, that bad?” he asked with false sympathy, as if Jason laughing and wriggling in his arms wasn’t one of the best sights he’d ever seen. 

The question made Jason toss his head back with a mortified groan that was broken up by snickers when Bruce fluttered his fingers closer to his underarm. 

Now finally in the living room, Bruce dropped Jason unceremoniously down onto the couch. Jason huffed out a small breath as he landed, bouncing slightly, only to give Bruce a wide-eyed look when he sat next to him, boxing Jason in against the back of the couch. 

“You did it first,” Jason complained. 

“You used more,” Bruce replied, squeezing one of Jason’s hips. 

Jason yelped and flipped onto that side, which just exposed his other hip for Bruce to poke at, which made Jason yelp again and instinctively try to roll over onto that side. It was endearing how all of his reflexes immediately abandoned him when faced with the possibility of tickles. Bruce knew that he could just grab Jason by the hips and drill his thumbs into the bones until Jason was hoarse from shrieking, but watching him toss and turn with a big, helplessly ticklish smile was almost better. 

“What’s the matter, Jaylad?” he asked, switching up the pattern to a line of pinches and pokes up one of Jason’s sides. “Ticklish?” 

“No,” Jason gritted out even though he tried to slap Bruce’s hand away. He certainly didn’t try very hard, though. “Not.” 

Bruce hummed and pulled back, considering what to do next. As he thought, Jason watched him with wary anticipation…instead of scrambling to get away, which made him realize that Jason wanted this. He wanted to provoke Bruce, to - to goof off, like when he was younger.

Well, Bruce could work with that. 

He surprised Jason by darting his hands to Jason’s stomach, wriggling his fingers into the muscles there as Jason yelped, then dissolved into high-pitched, frantic laughter.  

“Fuhuck ohahaff!” Jason cried, squeezing his eyes shut. His own hands frantically smacked at Bruce’s fingers but were easy enough to dodge, especially when Bruce found that spot under his belly button that sent Jason into a fit of bubbly giggles. 

“Oh, good spot?” 

“You – you knohow tha-thahat!” Jason gasped. He clapped his hands over his face to hide. 

“Maybe I do,” Bruce said, shrugging. “But since I’m an old man, maybe I’m forgetting.” He shoved Jason’s t-shirt up just enough to expose that soft spot and, before Jason could say anything, ducked down and blew a raspberry right underneath his navel. 

Jason shrieked like he was dying. He convulsed, trying to rock away from Bruce, but the frantic giggles pouring out of him tugged on Bruce’s heartstrings, so of course he had to do it again. And again. And maybe one more time. 

(And the turnabout was fair play – Bruce had it on good authority that this was one of Jason’s favorite ways to torment Tim. Not that Tim minded particularly, but still.) 

“Shit–shihit, B!” Jason giggled – giggled! – as he blinked watery eyes up at Bruce. 

“There you are,” Bruce murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss on Jason’s hair. “I knew you were somewhere under all the giggling.” 

The teasing made Jason’s face flare scarlet as he quickly looked away. “Shut up!” 

“Oh? First you dump baking flour on me, now you tell me to shut up?” Bruce tsked, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “You’re really making this hard for yourself, Jaybird.”

He sat back and patted Jason’s stomach, then pinched one of his sides, just above his hip. Jason spasmed, his legs jerking. Bruce scrabbled at the sensitive spot with his nails, making Jason’s eyes widen as he threw back his head with a wild laugh. 

“I know you’re ticklish here,” Bruce said. “But we haven’t tested it in a while. What tickles more, nails?” he scribbled his fingers again. “Squeezing?” he squeezed Jason’s hip, vibrating his thumb into the hollow right underneath the bone. Jason shrieked. “What about a combination?” he used his free hand to squeeze at Jason’s other hip, still using his nails to tickle at the first one. 

“BRUCE!” Jason shouted before succumbing to belly laughter that sounded like it was being ripped from the bottom of his lungs. He shook his head against the couch cushions, no doubt scrubbing his hair into a knot as he did. Every few seconds Bruce switched up which method he was doing with which hand, and the change always made Jason snort. 

When Jason was thoroughly red-faced and laughing, Bruce went in for the kill, leaning down to give him another raspberry in the middle of his stomach. 

Jason’s laughter went silent as he instinctively yanked his knees up to his stomach - or, as close as they could get with all his muscle and wrapped his arms around his chest like he was hugging himself. Bruce ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being kneed in the head, and he let go of Jason’s hips after a few more, quick squeezes. 

Shoulders still shaking from laughter, Jason shuffled onto one of his sides so he could curl up all the way into a ball. There was flour smeared into his shirt and across his forehead, and Bruce reached out to brush some off his back. 

With a startled yip, Jason flinched forwards. 

“Sorry, lad,” Bruce said immediately, placing his hand firmly on Jason’s back. “That was an accident.” 

Him fluttering his fingers under Jason’s right shoulder, however, was not. Jason actually squeaked at that, somehow curling up even tighter as if that could protect his back. 

“How on earth do you get any work done, being this ticklish?” Bruce teased, tracing up Jason’s spine to scrabble over the back of his neck. “Do your men know?” 

Jason tried to tilt his head back to squash Bruce’s hand, but choked on a yelp when Bruce just tickled under his chin instead. “Stoho-hop tahalking!” 

“Does it make the tickles worse?” Bruce asked gently, smiling as he used his other hand to tickle over Jason’s lower back while he kept scribbling around Jason’s neck and shoulders. He kept the touches light so as to not overwhelm Jason, who seemed rather committed to a new life as a giggly pillbug made of two-hundred-and-sixty pounds of muscle. 

Jason nodded jerkily. “Yehehes!” 

“And we can’t have that, can we?” Bruce switched to Jason’s shoulderblades, tracing their outlines with wiggling fingers. “Then everyone will know that the Red Hood is secretly a giggly little pillbug underneath all that armor, hm?” 

“Dad!” Jason wailed, letting go of his knees to cover his face with his hands. “Fu-fuhucking dohohon’t!” 

“Okay, okay,” Bruce said, chuckling as he left Jason’s back alone. He squeezed one of Jason’s arms and rubbed up and down, matching his movements to the pace of Jason’s breaths as they evened out.  

After a few moments, Bruce patted his shoulder. “Your timer’s about to go off, Jaylad.” 

“Ugh.” Jason groaned into the couch cushions. But he pulled himself together and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He was still red up to his ears when he looked at Bruce and rolled his eyes. “You’re such a sap, old man, it’s gross.” 

Bruce slung an arm over Jason’s shoulders and pulled him into a sideways hug, kissing the top of his head again. “I’m allowed to be. It’s my prerogative, as your father. Besides,” he tightened his arm for a second. “How else would I be able to say how proud I am of you, and how deeply, ridiculously, desperately happy I am that you’re here?” 

Jason was quiet for a few seconds before he said, in a choked voice, “‘m’glad I’m here too.”

Bruce bumped his head against Jason’s. “Love you, Jay.”

In the kitchen, the timer rang. 

“Loveyoutoo,Dad,” Jason blurted as he leapt to his feet and ran for the oven. 

He spun away from the training area where he’d been trying to focus on stretching and flung his arms out, rolling his shoulders back. There was always the Batcomputer – case research – but Tim’s brain was churning away at a hundred miles per hour and he didn’t think he could lock on to any one train of thought right now to focus. He needed to move. Or to drink Zesti. Something that would calm him down. 

But every time he threw a strike against the punching bag, the muscles in his neck twinged, threatening to let the headache loose. Same when he tried to do a handstand and his jelly elbows betrayed him, sending him sprawling onto the ground with an oof. 

(Okay, Bruce maybe had a point about not letting him out.) 

Eventually, Tim started wandering around the cave, pacing aimlessly back and forth as his thoughts bounced from music to all the homework that had piled up to leads on the case he’d been working to ways that he could get back at Jason for ratting his Zesti hoarding out to Alfred – 

And Tim found himself standing next to the garage bay doors, where Jason’s bike sat unassumingly beside Dick’s, and his own.  

A brilliant, horrible idea nudged at the back of his mind. 

Oh, it would be so funny. Full circle. Karma, even, or chiastic structure – and they said he’d never apply AP lit in real life, take that. 

Jason would, of course, kill him. But it would be worth it. And Jason, even though he still sucked more than a vacuum in a black hole, could usually be counted on to get Tim a drink of his choice after absolutely obliterating him. 

And even if Jason refused to bring him Zesti, well. Tim might be finally, blessedly, tired enough later to forgive him for it. 

So, really, it was a win-win situation. Jason got punished for being a snitch and Tim would get something to shut his brain up for a bit, plus the satisfaction of pulling off an objectively hilarious prank on his older brother, which was everlasting. 

He nodded to himself and went searching around the disorganized stash of vehicular repair equipment for a tire iron. 

*** 

“TIMOTHY FUCKING WAYNE!” 

Tim jumped about ten feet in the air from where he was sitting on his bed, laptop carefully balanced on his knees, a small blast radius of homework sheets and notes surrounding his work station. 

Loud, menacing footsteps came stomping down the hall. Tim bit back a grin as he tucked two wired earbuds into his ears and barely managed to turn his attention back to his laptop screen by the time his bedroom door slammed open. 

He thought he did a pretty convincing job of flinching as though he was startled half to death. “Christ, Jason, what the fu–”

“Where are they?” Jason demanded. He loomed in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, still in his Red Hood armor sans helmet. His eyes glittered teal as he narrowed them at Tim, who was suddenly much more understanding of the petty Crime Alley criminals who took one look at his older brother and fled. Jason did cut an intimidating silhouette. Especially when he was worked up like this. 

“Where are what?” he asked, trying to sound irritated. It was hard when that stupid smile kept tugging at his mouth. 

Jason snorted in exasperation. Then, before Tim could blink, Jason was right there and he was being hauled off of his own bed, flung over Jason’s shoulder. “Wha–hey!” “Don’t fuckin’ pretend you don’t know,” Jason growled, digging his fingers in where his hand laid on Tim’s waist. “You’re such a little bitch, you know that?” 

“I–Ihihi–have no idea what you’re talking about!” Tim spluttered back. “Where are you going?!” 

Instead of answering, Jason kicked open the door to his own bedroom and flung Tim down onto his bed, rather unceremoniously. Tim thrashed and kicked even as Jason grabbed his wrists in one of his unfairly big hands and pinned them over his head. 

“Last chance, kiddie,” Jason said, looming over Tim with a wicked smirk. “Where the fuck are my tires?”

That broke most of Tim’s resolve and he started snickering, still delighted that he managed to pull that one off. “I’m not telling you, snitch. You suck.” 

“Oh, is that what this is about? Sorry I care about your wellbeing, brat.” Jason clicked his tongue, then raised his free hand and hovered it over Tim’s side, wiggling his fingers. “I’m sure I can convince you to share, Timmers.” 

Tim couldn’t stop himself from letting out a quiet shriek and trying to wriggle away, the anticipation always got to him and Jason knew that, so by the time his brother actually started poking at his lower ribs, Tim was halfway to hysterics. 

“You know,” Jason said. “You have a lot of audacity for someone so ticklish.” He pulsed squeezes into Tim’s lowest rib, the pads of his fingers tapping against the awfully ticklish spot on the backs of his ribs. 

Tim shrieked again as wild laughter tore out of his lungs. “Nohot thehehere! Jase–JAHASE!” 

“What was that? More, you say?” 

“No!” 

But it was too late. Jason had already started clawing his hand up and down Tim’s side and ribs, scratching fingers in his underarm then slowly walking them back down, making Tim’s laughter jump back and forth from shrieks to titters. 

Tim tried to shake his head but the laughing was taking up most of his energy. “Not – not tehelling!” 

“Oh, Baby Bird.” Jason adjusted his own position so he could lean down and press his forehead to Tim’s, which always made giddy squeaks well up in the back of Tim’s throat. “Wrong answer.” He dug his fingers into Tim’s stomach and Tim let out a burst of panicked laughter. Whenever one of his brothers boxed him in like that and called him some sweet dumb nickname and tickled him it wound him up tighter than a boxspring mattress. Tim scrunched his eyes shut as he tried to bite his lower lip to keep the laughter in before he ended up giggling, because then Jason would tease him about it and then he might actually die. 

“Aww, c’mon, don’t hold out on me,” Jason teased, his voice so close that Tim cringed away, trying to muffle the giggles that kept escaping. Then, suddenly, Jason blew a raspberry into the junction of Tim’s neck and shoulder and Tim shouted before bursting into startled giggles. 

Jason laughed and sounded almost fond when he said, “There’s the giggle brat.” 

“Nooo,” Tim whined as he felt his cheeks flame. “Dohohon’t – don’t saythat!” The last words pitched up into a screech when Jason dug his hand back into Tim’s lower ribs, switching sides at random. 

“Oh, right,” Jason said, and he let Tim’s wrists go long enough to grab him by the waist and flip him over onto his stomach. Already tiring from the laughter, Tim let himself be manhandled with little resistance as Jason kept him pinned with pressure on his lower back.

Because he was tired. Not because he was enjoying himself. 

(And so what if his brain was finally quiet now?) 

“You need to be able to burrow, don’t you?” Jason continued, and Tim suddenly regretted not shredding his motorcycle tires with a box knife because this was unfair. “Well, you can hide in the blankets while you think about telling me, and I’m going to make you regret ever touching that fucking tire iron, ‘kay?” 

He shoved Tim’s compression shirt up to his ribs and leaned down towards him. “If you tell me, I’ll go easy on you.” 

“You suck,” Tim replied. “You suck big, floppy, donkey dic–SHIHIHIT!” 

Jason blew a raspberry onto the soft spot where his lower rib met his back. It was the one place that anyone could shoot to kill, and have Tim folding in half or collapsing to the ground in seconds. “You were saying?”

“Don’t–JAY!” Tim shrieked into the blankets as Jason did it again, the buzzing sensation sending ticklish prickles singing through his nerve endings. “It–shit, ihit tihi–it–ack!”  He flailed back with one of his arms, trying to knock Jason’s head with it, but his coordination had apparently abandoned him. 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, giving him another raspberry and shaking his head so that his day-old stubble would drag against Tim’s skin to make it tickle so much worse. “I bet it does tickle, huh?” 

Tim let out a cry that ended in a long, wheezing laugh, grabbing fistfuls of Jason’s quilt to ground himself. “It’s–you’re–”

“Anything you wanna tell me?” Jason asked. 

For a couple seconds, Tim sucked down big gulps of air as he tried to quell any leftover giggles. He could either make this worse for himself, or cave and tell Jason where he’d stashed the tires. Since he was pathologically incapable of taking the easy way out, like, ever, he took a deep breath and said, “Your treads are almost worn down.”

Jason snorted. “Oh my God, you’re insufferable.” But he patted Tim’s back twice before leaning in for another raspberry. 

Tim tried to muffle his squeaking laughter in Jason’s quilt as best he could. It was a somewhat successful effort until Jason fucking nibbled after another raspberry and Tim spasmed like he was being electrocuted, letting out a wordless laugh-scream. 

Meanwhile, Jason used his free hand to narrow down on the mirroring spot on Tim’s other side, exploring it with scritches, pokes, and scrabbling until Tim’s laughing started bordering on the hysterical. The lighter tickling combined with ruthless raspberries on his other rib had Tim slamming his face into the blankets, tears of laughter streaming down his cheeks. 

“Okay!” he finally shrieked, cackling as Jason drilled each of his index fingers into the matching death spots for about ten seconds. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” 

Jason immediately let up and sat back on his heels to give Tim a couple seconds to catch his breath. 

Residual giggles still escaped Tim whenever he exhaled – it felt like he’d never not feel Jason’s fingers vibrating into his sides like that, he was going to walk around half-giggling for the rest of his life. 

“They’re–” he took a shaky breath and rolled back over, squinting up at Jason through watery eyes. The tears must have been distorting his vision because the look Jason was giving him was so soft. “They’re under your bed.” 

“They’re fucking –” Jason blinked a couple times, then rolled down to the floor and peered under his bed. He snorted. “You’re such a little shit sometimes, you know that?” 

When Jason reappeared, Tim just grinned innocently at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, giggle brat.” Jason’s hand darted out to poke at the squishy spots near Tim’s bellybutton and Tim was suddenly dragged into another peal of giggles. “Alright, you want some water?” 

Tim blinked a couple times to clear his eyes before staring up at Jason. “Zesti?” That made Jason laugh out loud. “I don’t know why I bothered checking. Of course that’s what you want.” He reached out, offering Tim his hand. 

When Tim took it, Jason pulled him to his feet where he wobbled for a few seconds before finding his footing to follow his older brother. They went down to the kitchen, where Jason opened the pantry doors and went for a box of Coke cans. Tim was about to correct him when Jason withdrew a single can of Zesti and tossed it at him. 

Tim grinned and popped the tab. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” Jason clapped his back. “Now, c’mon. I’m going to show you how to put the tires back on a bike.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A few times, he called over his shoulder for his brothers to pipe down, belatedly realizing he sounded a bit too much like Bruce. Of all the times the man had to be away on a WE trip, it had to be when the trio of vigilanties were butting heads. Typical. Only once was Dick’s request for quiet actually acknowledged: his other attempts had been drowned out by their heated discussion. 

“Look, we apologized for going into your territory, Jason. The point is that Riddler’s escape was tied to a larger crime, and taking him down was a higher priority-”

“Apology accepted, whatever, but I called dibs for a beat down on that guy last month. The Baby Assassin does not get to overrule that claim cause he got there first!”

“Imbellic and irrelevant, Todd, I handled it much more effectively than you could’ve hoped to.”

“Have both of you forgotten that I invoked ‘Call Dibs’ three months ago on Mr. Freeze, and you two teamed up to take him down before I could, just to spite me?”

A loud scoff. “I hardly needed Todd’s assistance in a matter so trivial, Drake. He was lucky I didn’t impale him as well just for getting in my way.”

“Oh, bite me, Demon Brat-”

The sudden flurry of rolling wheels scrapes against the floor as Dick stands. He shouts quite abruptly, “One!” 

Jason and Tim freeze immediately. Damian’s mouth has parted, a retort loaded in the barrel and waiting to be fired, but the sudden bellow and locked-up state of his brothers give him pause. He turns to where the twin pairs of wide eyes have locked onto the Bat Computer. Dick’s form is silhouetted in blue light. He’s hauntingly still. The sudden lack of voices echoing through the cave makes for a horror-esque scene, serendaded by the muffled squeaking of bats from deeper into the enclaves of the rocky space. 

“Dick, we’re sorry.” Tim quickly starts bargaining. Goosebumps prickle along his skin as a nervous flutter starts up in his gut, the feeling tugging his lips up into a weak grin. “We’ll pipe down, it was a dumb argument anyway. S-So, just go back to your work, yeah? There's no need for this-” 

The fool. 

Instinctual fight or flight having Jason and Tim’s feet backing up, arms beginning to raise to their sides defensively. As if that would save them from the monster they've created. Damian stares, completely baffled, as the two boys edge towards the elevator while Tim rambles endlessly like an auctioneer on crack cocaine. In hindsight, he should’ve immediately followed their lead with the slow retreat.

“Two.” Dick turns off the computer, still facing away from his brothers but holding an unfathomable amount of power. 

Jason is cussing under his breath now. His stomach is in knots with little jolts of nerves heightening his anticipation for what's to come. He hates how easily this game can make him go from a fully grown adult to thirteen again in seconds. He growls for Dick to “Cut it with the freaky shit”, but the wobbly smile trying to take over his face is winning this battle. 

Hearing Jason sound so highly strung finally makes Damian take a few wary steps back from the computer. Grayson had never laid a hand on him with the intention to hurt, even when sparring, he heavily pulled his punches. This menacing aura protruding from his still form raises the hairs on the back of Damian’s neck, a small thrill zinging through his stomach. Was this to be similar to Grandfather’s tests? A training exercise? Or was it more akin to a punishment? Drake and Todd seemed jumpy, but not fearful, instead giddy for some bizarre reason. What on earth-?

Finally, Dick turns, an evil grin on his face. “Three.” 

“SACRIFICE THE CHILD!” Tim shrieks, abandoning the elevator in a mad dash and instead flies up the stairwell. Without question, Jason grabs Damian and throws him at Dick, scrambling after his younger brother a half step later. 

Damian barely gets out an undignified yell before arms are encircling him like an octopus, and he’s staring up at the predatory gleam of Dick Grayson’s eyes. “The first victim,” he hums, something menacing in his voice that Damian can’t place. The pounding of footsteps fades up the stairs. No help is coming.

“What the hell is happening?” He demands, gripping onto the arm that’s swept him against Grayson’s chest and mentally running through all the ways he can break the limb should he have to. 

Grayson chuckles, and Damian can feel it with how closely pressed he is to his brother. He looms over the boy as he says, “Karma”, with a toothy smile.

Fingers delve into the exposed flank not tucked against Grayson’s torso, wriggling around the skin with careful precision. Despite his arm being looped under Damian’s legs to keep him close, his hand doesn't falter in its path to tickle him to bits. Damian gasps sharply, a leg kicking out on reflex as he scrunches further into Grayson’s arms, trying to curl into himself as his nervous system goes haywire. 

“GRAHahahaysohohon!” He’s giggling. Giggling. Like some helpless child, as the older boy scopes out his torso for places to tickle with an inane accuracy. Grayson has tickled him before - one does not gain Dick Grayson as an older sibling and expect to evade his playful mannerisms - but this time, it feels more intentional than just messing around. Grayson’s nails are scuttling over his neck with a speed that has the boy squeaking with laughter, trained hands reduced to smacking at the spidering digits. His method is usually to just jump his hands around, lean into the silliness of this bonding activity, but this is precise. Honing in on the spots that send Damian up the wall. 

Grayson proves Damian’s hunch when he starts speaking, something resigned yet amused about his tone. “Five times I asked you guys to pipe down, or move to a different area of the house, or godforbid stop arguing entirely, but did you listen? No, of course not. So now I have to leave my very important work to teach you all a lesson.” 

Damian tries to argue his case. “Thehey wehehere beheing peheverse!”

Grayson apparently took that as a challenge. 

Fingers slip from his neck to under his shirt suddenly, spidering around Damian’s bellybutton and causing the kid to toss his head back with the force of his cackles. He tries to remove the offending digits from his sensitive skin, but Grayson is annoyingly good at this and uses a dirty tactic of blowing in Damian’s ears to make him scrunch away with a giggly whine - a hand pawing at his ears to ward off the feeling.

“Stohohopihihit!” 

Grayson flashes his canines in a grin, though thankfully, he relents the attack on Damian’s ears. He settles for tracing patterns across Damian’s abdomen, letting the kid calm down from the sensations buzzing through his nervous system.

“This is a generational game, Dami,” Grayson says conversationally, like there isn’t a snickering child being held prisoner in his unrelenting arms. “Jason and Tim have both been subjected to it through Bruce and me over the years. You push enough buttons, and you’ll earn yourself a Countdown, and if you’re caught, you’re tickled. Those traitors had the right instinct in bolting, but assuming I’ll be slowed down or swayed off by giving me the youngest first? Poor judgment on their part. Their punishment is gonna be twice as bad for that little act of cowardice.”

Despite giggling his head off, Damian felt a wave of satisfaction knowing Grayson also saw the injustice of throwing him to the lions. Those two royally screwed themselves over with that play. 

Grayson hums, contemplative. “Seeing as it’s your first time with this game, it’s probably fair to keep your sentence short and hunt down the other two. But first…”

The hold around Damian’s thighs tighten, keeping his legs pinned as Grayson removes his arm from the boy’s back. Damian yelps, swinging from being upright to being a victim of gravity, dangling from an unfairly strong grip. He doesn't even get a chance to growl a half-hearted threat before his knees are being scratched and spidered over by light fingernails, completely free to torment him now that they aren’t holding precious cargo. 

“RIHIHICHARD! NOHOHOHO!” Damian’s shriek echoes through the cavern, youthful laughter flowing freely from his lungs in unstoppable waves. He twists around from his upside-down position as he cackles, wrapping his arms around his stomach when a few fingers slink down to skitter over his stretched torso. It wasn’t long before he was snorting.

“There we go,” Dick chuckles, “was wondering when my favourite sound was gonna make an appearance tonight. Thank you for joining us, Piglet.”

Damian didn’t have the brain capacity, nor the air to protest the nickname; his voice had disappeared within his tumbling cackles. He’s stuck in a loop of tensing and untensing his knees in quick succession as Dick’s fingers scribble behind them. Occasionally, they’ll skitter to the boy’s calves before swiping back to their original target, a pattern Dick kept up until Damian’s cheeks were flushed pink. He wasn’t sure he could plead with his brother, the air in his lungs too busy keeping his laughter running a mile a minute.

Thankfully, Dick has other victims to claim this night. 

Damian feels his centre of gravity shift again, swinging him upright and tucked into a pair of strong arms once more. He tenses instinctively, hands covering his stomach and knees as he whines out, “Rihihihichard.”

“I’m not tickling anymore, Dames,” Dick chuckles warmly, watching Damian giggle himself silly. He firmly rubs at the boy’s arm, patting his knee and suppressing an amused snort when the boy squeaks in giddy panic. 

Cute, he thinks, shifting Damian to one arm so he could rub the boy’s back unimpeded. The kid really needed to eat more; he was way too easy to just pick up and hold. That, or Dick and the rest of his family were vigilantes with Herculean strength, that was also an option. 

“Learned your lesson, then?” Dick raises a brow, shifting to tame the wild bird's nest that’s become of Damian’s hair throughout the ordeal.

“Yehes… I apologize for disruhuhupting you, Rihihichard." Damian hates that giggles still demand to intertwine with his voice, but the endeared look sent his way makes up for the embarrassment a bit. 

“It’s alright, I kind of needed the break anyway.” As he speaks, Dick walks through the cave and enters the elevator. 

Hitting some buttons and ascending to the manor, his mind begins mapping out the possible hiding places or routes his brothers may have taken in hopes of evading their retribution. Those muppets. Did they forget who they’d been messing with? The elevator dings suddenly, and Dick steps out into the warmer air with Damian still in his arms. Alfred wanders around the corner with a glass, a placid yet amused quirk to his lips. 

“Is there a reason, Master Dick, that your two brothers almost shattered four antiques while rampaging the halls like a pair of hooligans?” He asks, handing the cup of water in his hands to Damian, who takes it with a surprised, yet grateful smile. 

Dick snickers, setting the boy down and gently ruffling his hair. “They invoked the Countdown.” 

Alfred’s eyebrows raise as his smile widens. “Ah, I see.” He tilts his head slightly behind him. “The drawing rooms might require your attention then, Master Dick.”

Damian watches Dick’s grin expose more teeth and tries to ignore the giddy, nervous swoop his stomach gives, despite it not being directed towards him. 

“Thanks, Alfie. If you hear screaming, everything’s probably fine.” He’s off like a rocket in half a second, footsteps practically silent despite the flat-out sprint he’s broken into.

Damian feels absolutely no remorse for what is barreling his brothers’ way. He sips his water. “How did you know what the Countdown was, Pennyworth?” He asks curiously, looking to the butler who’s straighening a rug that was scuffed up - Drake’s clumsiness probably. That boy could never keep his feet when he was panicking. 

“Who do you think invented it?” Alfred’s eyes twinkle with a conspiratorial gleam, taking pride in the floored look Damian sends him. He chuckles. “It may have been passed down the generations, but it had to start somewhere, Master Damian. Afterall, I needed to keep young Master Bruce in line somehow.” 

Jason’s feet pound against the carpet of the manor, wheezing for breath. Look, he’s fit, but he’s also psyched out of his mind right now, and not being able to catch his breath seems fair considering the position he’s in. Tim isn’t doing much better, but he’s got a case of the giggles hindering his air capacity, sending glances over his shoulder, and almost slamming into walls because of it. They’ve been running the halls of the manor like some kind of horror house maze, hoping to either escape Dick entirely or confuse the man so much he spends the rest of his days trailing the halls looking for his brothers like some kind of ghost story. That works out in their favour in the end. 

Suddenly, an unmistakable, gleeful cackle echoes through the halls of the manor.

It’s almost comedic how Jason and Tim stop dead in their tracks, twisting their heads left and right down the halls in thinly veiled panic. They’d been moving nonstop for ages. How the hell did their oldest brother catch up so fast?!

“This way,” Jason yanks Tim’s arm away from the drawing rooms as they’d planned, and instead speed through an adjacent door that leads to Bruce’s study. They only make it down two more corridors before that same eerie cackle rings out, somehow sounding closer. 

“Oh god, he’s hunting us. He’s actually hunting us,” Tim hisses somewhat hysterically, turning in place to locate the sound. 

“Shut up, Timmers,” Jason growls, though he’d be lying if he says that sound isn’t making him nervous. He suddenly feels bad for the criminals Dick pursued as a kid. It was everywhere, completely surrounding them. He backs up a few steps, then motions hurriedly down the hall. “We should be able to make it to the bedrooms; there are locks on those doors.” 

Jason shoots down the hall again with a sputtering Tim right behind him. Fucking Giggles Mcgee back there, unable to control the nervous titters spilling out. It made Jason’s lips subconsciously twitch into a grin of his own. They’re so close, just a few more halls, a flight of stairs, and they’re home free-

Dick suddenly skids around the end of the hall with a loud, victorious crow.

Tim yelps, backpedaling on his heels straight into Jason. He darts to the side, aiming to use his brother as a human shield, when an arm suddenly slings around his middle. 

“Sorry Timbit, it’s every man for himself.” Jason hoists him up, and the teenager immediately knows how Damian felt hurtling towards certain doom. 

“JASON!” Tim shrieks, intercepted by Dick’s arms in a reliable catch, but he feels anything but safe right now. He twists to face his traitorous brother, a hand outstretched like some melodramatic horror movie. 

The man is already sprinting down the halls, not looking back once. The bastard.

Tim doesn't even get the chance to use his silver tongue before Dick’s fingers are skittering and spidering inside that unprotected hollow, making the boy slam his arm down, but it’s too late. 

“Dihihihick! Ohohoho gohohod- plehehease! Nohohot thehehere!” Tim squirms, and though it's a valiant effort, this isn’t Dick’s first rodeo in dealing with wriggly brothers. 

“No, no, I think I will actually,” Dick tuts, his arms like iron bands around his little brother, who’s a mess of shrieks and snorts. 

“Ihihi sahahaid sohohorry!” 

“Yes, but you also said ‘sacrifice the child.’” Dick echoes the earlier statement, removing his hand from the sensitive hollow. “‘Sacrifice the child’, Tim? Really? That was uncalled for; it’s Damian’s first Countdown. The little guy had no idea what he was in for.” 

Dick drops the boy’s legs and leaves him dangling from one arm that’s tightly wrapped around his ribs, his toes just barely brushing the floor. He felt like some overgrown, misbehaving cat from this undignified position. The free hand takes advantage of the stretched out torso and crawls across Tim’s ribs, relishing in the wild squeal that’s let out. 

“NOHOHOT THAHAT!”

“‘Not there’, ‘not that’, if you didn’t want to be tickled, you shouldn’t have annoyed me and gotten caught.” Dick hikes Tim up further to properly stretch out his ribcage and scribbles into the sensitive grooves, amused when Tim’s legs fling around, but he couldn’t seem to coordinate them in an effective way to escape. 

Tim’s hands hung on to the one encircling his chest, gripping the limb as a lifeline while he lost himself to unbridled hysterics. It was no secret his ribcage was ticklish - Bruce even messed around sometimes during injury checks just to see if Tim still squeaks, spoiler, he does - but having his upperbody stretched like this made the tickling so much worse. He felt every wiggle, scratch, and jab Dick mercilessly piled onto his nervous system, sending his stomach swooping with giddiness and laughter pouring free. 

“DIHIHICK IHIHIM SOHOHORRY!” 

“Heard your apology the first time, bud, you know the rules though. You pushed my buttons, so I’m pushing yours.” As he spoke, he prodded up and down Tim’s ribs, drilling into the bottom set and earning himself a high-pitched yelp. “It’s only fair afterall.”

“NOHOHO IHIHIT IHIHISN’T!”

Dick chuckles. “Argue with the guy who made this up, I’m just following the set regulations, Timmy. If the rules get updated, please let me know.”

“DIHIHIHICK! Dihihihick- wahahait, hahahang ohohon- nononononohohoho- dohOHOhon’t! Cuhuhut thahat shihihit ohout!” 

Those devilish fingers have finally abandoned his lower ribs, only to begin crawling upwards agonizingly slow. Tim giggles and stammers out half-baked protests as his nerves tingle at the intentionally leisurely movement, only making his brain even more keyed up. The octaves of his voice mirror the climbing digits, as it only becomes higher the closer they get to that accursed spot on his upper ribs. He’s stumbling over his words so much that it doesn't even sound like English anymore. When those fingers are a single set of bones away, they pause, tapping idly on them. Tim holds his breath, chest stuttering with flustered, anticipatory giggles. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Timmy,” Dick purrs gleefully, sending the boy cringing away as his breath curls at his ear, a stray snicker leaking through. “But did you just say, ‘don’t cut that shit out?’”

Tim scrabbles at the arm clinging tight to him. He’s giggling like mad, and Dick hasn’t even begun. “Nohohoho! No- Ihihihi dihihidn’t!”

“I think you did~” Dick singsongs gleefully, “And who am I to refuse my baby brother?”

He wraps both arms around Tim and hoists him up higher, his forearms now coiled around the boy’s stomach. Ducking around the arm that’s flailing in a panic, Dick plants his lips on the side of his ribs and blows the biggest raspberry he could into that damning spot.

You’d think the boy was being murdered. The scream Tim let out was shrill and panicked, laughter chasing the sound in endless waves. He goes slack in Dick’s grip, gasping and wheezing while his eyes squint with the size of his exhilarated grin. Dick has the good grace to let Tim gain his breath back before plunging his head in once more and blowing another raspberry. 

Tim’s stuck there, shrieking, cackling, and hiccuping with laughter. The fight is gone from his body, snatched away by the relentless ticklish buzzing flying through his nervous system. His stomach feels filled with that fizzy energy, expecting another wave of merciless tickling on his upper ribs. That expectancy keeps his giggles constant despite Dick giving him a break.

The older boy chuckles, squeezing Tim in more of a hug than a restrictive hold. “You still with me, Baby Bird?” He asks.

“Mehehean,” Tim presses out, completely spent as he becomes dead weight in the embrace. “Thahat was a mehean tactic.”

“I know, I’m gonna do the same to Jason.”

Tim snorts. “Good. Bastard gave me up.” 

“That he did.” Dick gently lowers Tim’s feet down to the ground, though his hands stay on the boy’s shoulders when he sways. “Tired?”

“What do you think?” Tim snarks, only to immediately cringe and giggle helplessly, bracing into a feeble defense.

The Pavlovian response causes a bark of laughter to leave Dick. “I’m done,” he promises, gently mussing up Tim’s hair. “Any idea where your brother was heading?” 

“Aiming for the bedrooms, but he might try and play it smarter after abandoning me,” Tim answers immediately, feeling no guilt. “Go get his ass.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” 

He gives an exaggerated salute, Tim blinks, and suddenly Dick is gone. A gust of wind teases at Tim’s bangs, and he scoffs a laugh. Definitely Batman’s kid, he’s mastered that disappearing trick perfectly.

Jason knows he’s fucked. 

He sacrificed both brothers to this tyrannical nightmare, and he knows it doesn't matter where he hides, or runs, or prays to. He’s fucked, with a capital F. 

Hearing Tim’s faint screams minutes ago only doubled the butterflies in his stomach, doubtless Dick would find a way to do the same to him. There wasn’t a way out of this that didn’t leave him gasping with laughter and entirely at his older brother’s mercy. Unless…

Jason pauses his jog towards his bedroom. The bedroom. That’s what Dick would expect, the same tactic Jason used when he was thirteen and didn’t think things through. Hiding under the covers and muffling his giggles, only for Dick to pounce on him and tickle him to tears. 

Jason spins on his heel and hauls ass towards the library. He never hid here when he was a kid - the quiet in the library was to never be forsaken, he’d been icily resolute on that when he was a kid - so Dick would never look here, cause Jason would never break his own rules. Perfect. 

He pokes his head through a crack in the door, but the room is silent. No sign of his brothers anywhere, older or otherwise. He approaches the closest couch facing from the door and slumps down the back of it, taking in deep heaves of air to recover from the laps he’s been doing around the manor. Having to double back and take the long way to the bedrooms after Dick intercepted him and Tim had wasted time and energy. For now, though, he was safe, if only to think of a better strategy and recover the oxygen lost on this wild goose chase. 

“This is a good hiding spot, he’ll never find us in here.”

Jason freezes. Oh, no. Please, no. 

Dick’s wide grin pops up from the couch Jason’s hiding behind, something chaotic and menacing. “Scream and run.” He assumes, tilting his head. 

Jason bolts with a yelled curse, but Dick’s been an older brother for years and practically predicted that move. He tackles Jason to the floor, rolling across the plush rugs and pinning him face down to the carpet. 

“Now, Jason. Jason, Jason, Jason,” Dick leers, tutting like a disappointed mother. His fingers tap idly on the man’s wrists, sending jolts through his nerves and having him fight not to curl in on himself. “Sacrificing, what was it, both of your brothers today? Not even fifteen minutes apart, either. That is low, Little Wing.”

“It was Tim’s idea!” Jason argues, trying to ignore the wobbly grin spreading over his face as he pushes his feet into the rug to get some leverage. No such luck.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve made sure he’s learned not to suggest that again. But you… You actually threw them, so I think I’ve got to make this lesson stick. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll- I’ll kihill you.”

“Say that without laughing, and maybe I’ll believe you.” 

Jason opens his mouth, and Dick’s fingers drop his wrists to claw at his hips, sending the boy into fits of loud laughter and wildly scrabbling for purchase on the library floor. It was very reminiscent of Jason’s reaction as a kid. All the years passed, changes came and went, and yet some things stayed the same. It pulled a smile from Dick despite the ‘menacing, evil older brother’ shtick he was trying to create. He probably looked like a Wish version of a villainous fiend. 

The problem was, he loved his brothers too much to really act minacious, even when they were being annoying. “Having fun?” He asks Jason, just to be annoying right back.

“Gehehehet fUHUhuhucked!” 

“Kori handles that, don’t you worry.” 

Before Jason can roll his eyes or fake-gag at the joke, Dick is jabbing and prodding along the back of his ribcage, putting his attention towards not hitting the ceiling with how hard he jolts. “GOHOHohod, Dihihick!”

“Still ticklish on your back then?” Dick hums merrily, knowing all too well the extent of his little brother’s sensitivities. Seeing Bruce do back scratches on Jason when he was a kid was absolutely golden. Arguments or not at the time, they could both agree it was cute as hell. 

Jason tries to swing an arm backwards to hit Dick, but the guy simply weaves around it and jams his fingers into the newly exposed area, delighting in the garbled shriek Jason gives and crumpling of his body as he gives in to the sensations. All tumbling giggles and wheezes galore. 

“Right, so I want a couple of apologies from you, Mister,” Dick says conversationally, using the hand not crushed in an armpit to spider delicately along Jason’s shoulder blades. He has to stifle his own giggle as Jason whines through his laughter, shifting around to dislodge the pesky little digits with no success. “One for throwing Damian. One for throwing Tim. One for disrupting me when I asked you to be quiet. And one for flipping me the bird when I asked you guys to be quiet- don’t think I didn’t see that, Little Wing. You’re not slick.” 

“Thohought yohou’d appreheheciate a bihird, Nihihightwing,” Jason snarks through his titters. Well, his mouth always did work faster than his brain. 

Dick doesn't even give him a response, simply slips his hand free from the hollow and scribbles down Jason’s back in its entirety. His nails skip and jump across bones and delve into the gaps between ribs, skittering down to the next target with a keen eye for Jason’s reactions. And boy, did he react. 

“DIHIHIHIHIHICK! FUHUHU- OHOHO MIIHIHIY GOHOHOHOD! WAIT, WAIT, WAHAHAHAIT!” 

Jason’s fist slams against the carpet as he buries his face into the crook of his free arm, red face warm against his skin and muffling the boisterous cackles he was sure could be heard throughout the whole manor. Lazarus pit or not, it seems his body reacted the exact same to tickling as when he was a boy, sapping his strength and making him useless. He isn’t sure how long he lies there, testing the range of his voice box under Dick’s fingers which wouldn’t give his damn back a break, but when they did eventually lift from his skin, his nerves were shot to hell. The giggling stuck around despite nothing touching him, fizzing and sparking throughout his body from his clothes shifting around was enough to keep him in a delirious state of mirth. 

Dick’s hands return to his back, but instead of scribbling, they press firmly and rub down his spine. “Easy there, Snickerdoodle,” he says gently, but no less playful. “I forget how ticklish your back is.” The guy probably deserved a break from the tickling. Dick wanted his apologies, but he wasn’t a monster. 

Jason does take a minute to calm down, and then turns his head to look up at his big brother, flushed cheeks and hair mussed. “Get bent,” he wheezes out, his grin voluntary and goading. 

Dick’s hands pause in their soothing ministrations, and his eye twitches. 

Ah. Damn. Jason may have made a miscalculation on that onE- OH JESUS CHRIST STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP-

Jason’s screams of laughter may have included his mental chant, but he has no idea, too caught up in his shrieking as Dick presses a raspberry into his shoulder blades. And he didn’t stop at one. Or two. Three. Four. Five. Jason was going to leave a dent in the floor if this kept up, coping with the incessant buzzing in his skin by slamming his fist down. 

“Four apologies, Little Wing.” God, you could hear the smirk in that smug bastard’s voice. “Better hop to before I start again.” 

Part of Jason wanted to keep being defiant, but the other, younger, wiser part of himself was strangling that thought and shouting to just give up. “Alrihihihihihight,” Jason conceded, wiping a stray tear from his eye as he sat up on his forearms. “I’m sor-EHEHEHEHE! DIHIHIHICK!” He body slams into the carpet once more and kicks out.

“Hm?” Dick pops his head back up from where he’d been buzzing another raspberry into Jason’s shoulder blades, “Were you saying something, Little Wing?”

“YOU FUCKWIT!” Jason roars through his lingering cackles, desperately trying to turn over to block that horribly ticklish spot. Dick has him firmly pinned with his thighs, and his strength is just gone; there’s nowhere to hide.

“Not hearing my apologies, Jason,” Dick smirks, poking incessantly at his spine with merry little taps, causing the boy to flinch and groan his annoyance through his giggling. 

“Ihihi trihihihied!”

“Try harder.”

God, Jason was going to kill this man. 

He does attempt though, yet every time he gets out one syllable, Dick’s either blowing another raspberry or raking his fingers across those hypersensitive shoulder bones. Jason is lost in laughter, cheeks flushed brightly, and a smile starting to ache on his face. He didn’t think he’d laughed like this since… well, since before everything went to shit. 

It felt weirdly nice, though a little overwhelming. 

It was when Dick blew three mini rasberries across his ribcage that he finally worked up the air capacity to shriek. “I’M SOHOHOHORRY! DIHIHICK PLEHEHEASE!” He slaps the carpet twice, a little desperate as he crumbles into a ball of laughter. He wasn’t sure if he preferred dying to this or a crowbar; at least the latter wasn’t embarrassing.  

A firm pressure immediately rubs down his back, hard enough to avoid tickling and getting rid of those ghastly aftershocks. Jason slumps to the floor, muffling his titters into the carpet and trying to remember what it’s like to breathe properly. The second Dick’s weight leaves his hips, he’s rolling into a ball. A hand touches his head, and he can’t stop the preemptive jolt and small hiccup of laughter. 

There’s a soft laugh above him. “No more, Little Wing. You’ve had enough.” A hand deftly shifts through his messy hair, correcting the little floof of white back into a dignified state. Jason allows it. Not cause he can’t move or he enjoys the feeling, but as a way for Dick to make up for the torture he put him through. He lets his eyes slip closed, going boneless into the floor.

“Did you break him?” 

Glee is evident in Tim’s voice, footsteps shuffling over to where Jason is doing his best impression of a blob fish. Jason rolls his eyes at Dick’s prideful chuckle. 

“F’ck off, Timbit,” Jason grumbles, shoving his face into his arms and willing away the pink he knew was still staining his cheeks. 

“Tt, you deserved that, Todd. After giving up not only myself, but Drake as well?” Damian’s playfully haughty remark made the vigilante look up with a glare. The kid looked far too smug. Dick mustn’t have gone very hard on him. That would need to change in the future.

Alfred walks over with three water bottles in hand, passing one to Tim, to Dick, and setting the third by Jason’s side. “Are you alright, Master Jason?” He asks, and the look he’s giving the boys is nothing short of amused.

Jason can’t help the fond twitch of his lips despite his embarrassment, giving a small nod to the butler. “I’m good.” He fumbles with the chilled water and drags himself up to uncap it. “Bruce raised a monster.”

Dick, who’s chugging his water after having to hunt down three brothers, grins around the neck of the bottle. “I learned from the best,” he claims after swallowing. “It’s a generational game.”

“It’s generational trauma,” Jason mutters. 

Dick raises one hand and wiggles his fingers, utterly delighted and wheezing with laughter when all three brothers leap away from him with wide eyes. 

“I believe you are quite right, Master Jason,” Alfred hums, though the small chuckle he lets out escapes none of them. “Master Bruce will be delighted that something of his family was passed down.”

“Happy to carry on the tradition,” Dick grins, taking another victorious swig of his water. His brothers shoot him identical glares, but Dick notes that each of them is still flushed with smiles on their faces. The boys all looked content, tired of course, but happy. 

It always came down to the same things with Bruce. Jason was reckless, dangerous, out of control and, as always, it was Bruce’s responsibility to curb, calm, and corral him. Bruce’s responsibility to rehabilitate him, as if Jason needed to be rehabilitated at all. He’d dropped the crime lord thing almost as soon as his plan for Bruce to kill the Joker blew up in his face (literally), and it wasn’t like the bodies he’d been dropping since were without merit. No one would miss those scum – abusers, pedophiles, serial murderers. Batman needed to learn that not everyone was capable of being saved.

“Are you sure?” Robin asked, creeping up to crouch beside him on the ledge. “Agent A misses you.”

The we miss you went unsaid. Hood knew he’d dropped the ball with his brothers since that dinner. Avoiding that Batcave (and the Manor) meant avoiding them by extension, since he was too wary of Bruce stalking their lines of communication to give them directions to any of his safehouses. Not to mention the fact that he moved between them so frequently that it would be difficult for them to keep up with where he was staying, anyways. He’d just started becoming family to Tim, and he almost immediately left the kid high and dry. Some big brother he was.

“Tell him I’ll try to come by soon.”

Robin hummed noncommittally, clearly seeing through Hood’s attempt to placate him. This time, Hood did sigh, the helmet translating it into static, and reached over to ruffle Robin’s hair. He resisted the urge to dig his fingers into one of the softer joints of Robin’s armor – his targets would absolutely hear that squeaking laughter.

“Tell you what, kid – I could use some help, here. Wanna help me take this group down?”

Robin perked up, sending a grin in his direction.

“Just make sure to leave one awake – we need to know where their boss is.”

“You got it.”

“On three. One, two–”

*     *     *

Nightwing didn’t even try to be stealthy as he landed behind the Red Hood, practically skipping across the rooftop to plop himself on the edge next to him. Hood didn’t spare him a glance, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the clouds above, as if he could see beyond them to the stars above. Though Gotham was his home, he couldn’t help but feel a bit homesick for the shine of the stars. He’d seen so many when he was with Talia and the LoA, but between Gotham’s constantly shit weather and all the light pollution, he hadn’t seen a single one since he returned.

“If you’re here about dinner,” Hood said, “I already told the little bird ‘no.’”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nightwing shrug. “Figured. I’m not going to try and convince you.”

“Really?” He said flatly.

In his peripheral, he saw Nightwing turn to stare at him. Hood kept his gaze forward. He’d taken his helmet off for a breath of fresh air, and having little more than a domino mask to protect his expressions made him feel far too exposed at the moment. At least the profile view added some sort of barrier to reading him.

“When I was close to your age, I didn’t exactly want to be around B most of the time either. There was a reason I moved out, and there was a reason I always made myself so busy with the Titans.”

Hood let out a long breath. “You’re around a lot more now than you used to be”

Nightwing finally turned away, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. “It’s one of my biggest regrets, letting my shit relationship with B affect my relationship with you. When I did come by, it was mostly to see you – steal you away, teach you to be Robin, sneak out for train-hopping.”

Hood didn’t know what to say. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“With Robin, it still took me a while to get over myself, but I didn’t want to make the same mistakes twice. I overcompensated for a while before finding my balance.” He chuckled. “It drove Robin crazy sometimes. I was just so scared to lose another brother, especially without him knowing how much I cared about him. Me and B… we came to an understanding – at least, for the most part – over time, with me being around so often again.”

Guilt churned deep in Hood’s stomach. “Nightwing–”

Nightwing shook his head. “I’m not saying you have to come around. Honestly, stay away for as long as you need. Sometimes I still can’t even stand to be around him, no matter how much we’ve grown or how much I care about him. That’s probably why it hurts so much.” Nightwing turned to stare at him again, and this time Hood couldn’t keep himself from looking in Nightwing’s direction. “But don’t lock us out too just because B can’t get his righteous head out of his ass.”

Don’t make my mistakes, Hood heard underneath.

“Yeah,” was all Hood could manage.

They sat in silence for a bit longer before Hood heard the tell-tale buzz of a distant comm line. Nightwing raised his hand to his ear, likely for Hood’s benefit because Hood knew that’s not how the Bat-comms operated, and said, “I’m on my way.”

“Duty calls?”

Nightwing shot him a strained grin. “When doesn’t it?” His smile became a bit more natural as he scrubbed his hand over Hood’s head, making his helmet-hair even worse. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Red Hood didn’t have a chance to reply as Nightwing dove off the building, shooting out his grapnel line halfway through his fall. He waited until Nightwing disappeared in the smog before shoving his helmet back on. The Bats could handle the rest of the city, but Crime Alley wasn’t going to protect itself.

*     *     *

Jason got himself a phone.

He had plenty of phones, honestly – enough burners to cover all his bases and then some, and he frequently dumped and replaced them. This phone though, it was his first personal phone since he came back. He made sure to pass it off to Barbara first, get it souped up with all the Bat-grade protections it could possibly need, and with her sincere promise that Bruce himself wouldn’t have any way into the device despite that.

When she returned it, she’d done more than just upgrade his security. Where his contacts before had been a blank slate, there was now a neat list of five names. He flipped through them, changing four of the contact names to be much less formal. Opening the final contact, he hovered his thumb over the “Delete” button for several long minutes before letting out a slew of swears and closing out of the contacts app, leaving that final contact untouched.

He shot off quick texts to Dick and Tim, nothing more than a “Hey, it’s Jason.” and got a set of responses back almost immediately. Dick was a spam-texter, it seemed, cheering through his messages and telling Jason it was “about damn time” he got a phone. Tim sent him only two messages in reply. A brief “ew” and a follow-up of “you text with proper grammar??”

From that day on, there was not a single moment where Jason was free of his brothers. Dick started sending him dozens of TikToks a day (where he found the time to scroll TikTok so much in-between his day job and the vigilantism, Jason had no idea), practically forcing Jason to download the app just to keep up, as much as he despised social media. He was loathe to admit it, but every once in a while, some of the videos Dick sent him were actually kind of funny. 

Tim, on the other hand, seemed to get a kick out of sending Jason memes that he either wasn’t alive to see come about, or he was stuck with the League at the time with no knowledge of the current popular culture. He communicated almost exclusively through them, and Jason knew it was intentional to get under his nerves. It felt like he was trying to translate hieroglyphics at times, and whenever he asked Dick or Barbara for help, they just laughed at him.

And then, a few weeks in, the invites started coming through. 

A new coffee shop just opened up in the Bowery, you in? Jason was never getting coffee with Tim again after that, because holy shit, was his order horrific. 

There’s this adult arcade downtown — you in? Jason knew that they were the heirs to a billionaire, but he still couldn’t fathom the amount of money Dick spent on goddamn claw games. And somehow, he won every time. Jason didn’t even know where to put all the plushies Dick forced on him after that trip. 

Bowling?? Steph said this place is actually only marginally sketchy. Jason and his brothers were now banned from the bowling alley.

Okay so bowling was a bust — roller-skating? Jason and Tim were now banned from the skating rink. Dick somehow got off scott-free. Jason blamed the puppy-dog eyes.

*     *     *

Even once he and Bruce were on speaking terms again, the invites didn’t stop – which was how Jason found himself making the drive to Bludhaven one evening. Dick decided that they were due for a movie night, and since Jason was still avoiding the Manor itself, he’d decided that the next best place would be his own apartment.

They ordered some absolute monstrosities from the nearby pizza joint (Dick’s pineapple and andouille pizza was always horrifying, but at least Jason had been prepared for it – Tim’s Canadian bacon pizza with onions and artichoke hearts, Jason never wanted to see again), and Dick left the two of them to pick the movie while he went to pick up the pizza.

Of course, the little snot was nothing if not an absolute nerd, and most of his suggestions were weird sci-fi shit. As if they didn’t get enough of that with their gallery of doctorate-wielding Rogues and their insane fucking inventions. Then again – Jason had the perfect solution to get what he wanted out of the kid.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Tim shrieked in-between frantice giggling, trying to pry Jason’s hands off his sides.

Jason hummed. “Dick would be very disappointed in you when he got back if you did.”

Tim managed to twist out of his grip, throwing himself across the rug to create distance between them. “What’s wrong with Interstellar anyways?”

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Don’t we deal with enough dimension-travel and time-travel shit enough in our night jobs?” He launched himself forward after Tim, ignoring the kid’s squeals as he dragged him close again. “Besides, letting you win the movie pick means I don’t get to do this.”

Jason wasted no time on this second attack, immediately digging his fingers into Tim’s highest ribs. Tim almost choked on his laughter, shrieking out a few curse words, and Jason had little doubt that Dick would have a noise complaint by the end of the night. Whatever – it wasn’t like it was Jason’s problem. No, the only thing Jason needed to worry about right now was what method made Tim laugh the hardest. Fingernails or fingertips? Wiggling or squeezing? Vibrating fingers or fast skittering? He just couldn’t decide.

Tim was practically in tears by the time he finally conceded to Jason’s movie choice, having laughed himself nearly hoarse. Just in time, too, because Dick just texted their group chat (also new – and the incessant spam of notifications that often burst from it annoyed Jason to no end) that he was on the way up.

“Just you wait,” Tim said, chest heaving and face cherry-red. “I’m gonna sic Dick on you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

Jason snorted, making himself comfortable on Dick’s lumpy-ass sofa. “Good luck with that kid. I already told you both – the Pit took care of that. I’m immune.” He gave a playfully malicious grin. “Leaves me with plenty of chances to torture you, though, don’t worry.”

The front door to the apartment banged open. “Hey – does anyone know why my neighbor just cussed me out in the hallway? I swear, he’s never looked that– Timmy? What the hell happened?”

Jason laughed.

*     *     *

Bruce was out of town for a few days – an actual business trip this time, no JL covers – and he took Alfred with him. Which meant that someone needed to cover Gotham for the week. Which meant that Dick was in town for an extended period of time. All of this also meant that Dick and Tim were left in the Manor unsupervised with no Alfred to keep them from burning down the kitchen.

That’s how Jason found himself being guilt-tripped into spending the week at the Manor with them, if only to ensure they didn’t survive solely off of cereal, microwave meals, and caffeine. Dick, of course, was thrilled at their “Brother Sleepover,” and promptly spent the week kicking their ass at Mario Kart. Not even Tim, in all his nerdy, geeky glory could beat him, and death had done Jason no favors with his own virtual racing skills.

Overall, despite the constant skin-crawling feelings Jason had for half the week, his stay at the Manor didn’t go horribly. Plus, it was kind of nice cooking for more than just one person. He might have to establish a more permanent safehouse so he could have his brothers (and Barbie – he’d have to make sure the elevator was actually working in whatever building he chose) over for dinner. Or maybe he’d finally try coming to another family dinner, just for the excuse of helping Alfred cook.

Either way, by the end of the week, Dick was adamant that it was about time for another brothers’ movie night. Jason rolled his eyes and put up the expected complaints (it was a familiar song and dance now – even if he didn’t mean it), but still found himself at the grocery store while Dick picked Tim up from school, picking out ingredients to make them a special dinner for the last night of their “Brother Sleepover.” He was shoving everything into the kitchen when Dick and Tim got home, Tim groaning as he entered the kitchen for a snack.

“Jason – your food is amazing and all, but can we please just get takeout tonight?”

Jason turned around, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“We can just order pizza instead – I won’t even get anything weird on it!”

“You’d rather have greasy takeout pizza than a home-cooked meal?” Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen island. “You’d give Alfred a heart-attack.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve never begged Alfred for takeout instead of something from home.”

Jason pursed his lips. He couldn’t exactly argue that – they all had at some point. Still, “I already got the shit, we’re eating here.”

Jason pinpointed the exact moment when Tim went from normal vigilante teenager to horribly obnoxious piece of shit. He narrowed his eyes for a moment before his expression turned to an exaggerated pout. He slumped his shoulders and gazed up at Jason with his little wounded-baby-bird eyes. 

“Come on, Jay, please? We can make it another night – can’t we have pizza?”

Jason huffed and pushed himself away from the counter. “Alright you little shit – get over here.”

He made a swipe for Tim, who shrieked and immediately launched himself out of reach when Jason’s fingers grazed his ribs. When he looked up at Jason this time, gone was the faux-pout. Instead, his eyes were wide with surprise and anticipation, the twitch of his mouth almost giddy as he eyed Jason’s hands warily. Jason grinned and took a heavy step forward, drawing out the game. Then, suddenly, Tim’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Without warning, he bolted from the kitchen.

“Wha– get back here! Face your sentence like a man, TimTam!”

Jason raced after him, winding through the labyrinthian halls of the Manor. As they got closer to the front side of the mansion, Tim started shouting.

“Dick! Dick, help me!”

Jason’s jaw dropped. “You fucking– running to Dick for help, as if you don’t deserve this!”

“Dick, he’s doing it again!”

As they approached the den, Jason put on a burst of speed. Unfortunately, it seemed as though Tim was holding back as well, breaking into a dead sprint to reach the den first. The two of them crashed through the entryway, knocking down a whole stack of pillows and blankets that someone had piled by the door. Dick stood in the middle of the room, clearly having been rearranging furniture for the “ideal movie night positioning,” looking absolutely flabbergasted.

Tim, still with that young Robin springiness, was able to extricate himself from the avalanche of comfy items easily. He bounced out of the pile and darted behind Dick, using him as a human shield. Jason, while highly trained, was now all bulky muscle instead of flexible springiness, and had a harder time wading out of the mess.

“What on earth is going on, here?” Dick asked, gaze darting between Jason and Tim behind his back.

“He’s trying to kill me!”

Jason scoffed. “Please – you were being a little shit, you can’t tell me you didn’t deserve it.”

Tim peeked around Dick’s torso to stick his tongue out at Jason, before ducking back behind Dick as Jason finally got his foot free of the last blanket and began to approach.

Dick had a look on his face, that constipated one he made when he wanted to laugh but was still trying to take them seriously for the sake of their pride. “And how, exactly, was Jason going to kill you?” Dick tilted slightly to the side to look at Tim, exposing him to Jason’s sight.

The apples of Tim’s cheeks went pink as he scowled at them both. “Tickle me,” he mumbled.

Jason clicked his tongue, advancing on them both. “You heard the kid – he said to tickle him, let’s get to it Goldie.”

Dick broke, laughing as Tim yelped and ducked fully behind him again. He laughed even harder as Jason tried to reach around him and snatch Tim, doing nothing to help.

“You know, Jay – you’ve turned into quite the tickle monster over the past few months.”

Jason grunted, barely paying attention. “Yeah? He’s getting the full little brother experience, I remember what you were like when I was a kid.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed. Before Jason had even fully processed the change in expression, his hackles had raised. He backed out of Dick’s space quickly, eyeing him with suspicion. Tim perked up, picking up on the change in vibes. Jason was no longer the most dominant personality in the room. 

Dick’s mouth twisted into a smirk. One that Jason remembered all too well. “Maybe a little payback is in order, Little Wing. What do you think?

Jason crossed his arms, raising to his full height to try and cut a more intimidating figure. Dick’s eyes twinkled, and he could practically imagine Dick cooing at the posturing inside his own head.

“I’ve already told you both, the Pit got rid of all that.”

Dick looked him up and down. “Really? Why are you all the way over there, then?”

“Muscle memory.”

“Right, right. You know, you never have let us prove that theory of yours.”

Jason widened his stance as subtly as he could, preparing to run. “What would be the point of that?”

Dick bared his teeth, a facsimile of a friendly smile. Jason turned tail to bolt, but a body suddenly latched onto his back. Knocked off balance, Jason found himself tumbling face-first into the mountain of pillows and blankets. Seriously – why had Dick brought so many? He tossed the body off his back, hearing Tim’s laughter filled oof as he got swallowed by the plush pile as well. He barely managed to roll over in time to catch Dick’s hands as he dove towards Jason’s prone form.

“I think someone’s been lying,” Dick sing-songed, trying to twist his hands out of Jason’s grip

“I think you’re full of shit – let me up, Dick.”

Dick pulled out his most innocent expression. “But Little Wing – you’re the one holding onto me.”

“Yeah because you’re going to– be a jerk!”

Dick laughed, his own grip on Jason’s hands flexing. “Yeah? How am I gonna be a jerk?”

“I’m not falling for that.”

Dick shrugged. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Tim popped up from the bedding, hair sticking every which way from being mussed against the fabrics. “You do kinda deserve it.”

“Shut your trap, snotface.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “Rude.”

Jason pursed his lips, running through every escape plan in his mind. He was trapped in this comfy avalanche, sinking deeper with every struggle – even if Dick wasn’t hovering overtop him, it would take him way too long to crawl his way out. The second he let go of Dick’s hands to try and get away, he was a goner – Dick knew all his worst spots, and exactly how to target them. Dick was like a shark who smelled blood, there was almost no getting out of this now.

Unless he took Dick down first.

Jason tossed Dick’s hands to the sides as hard as he could. He heard Tim yelp and collapse back into the blankets to avoid a flying limb, but he figured the kid was fine – Robins had quick reflexes. Before Dick could recover, Jason dove his own hands toward Dick’s knees and thighs, squeezing away the moment he found muscle. Dick cried out, immediately bursting into cackles. After a few seconds, he wavered and collapsed sideways into the blanket pile next to Jason.

“Fucking jerk!”

Jason grinned. “Don’t forget Dickie – I’m bigger than you now.”

Despite laughing his head off and failing to squirm away from Jason’s hands, Dick still had that devious twinkle in his eyes. He fought to speak through his laughter, “You may be bigger, but we have numbers.”

“We–?”

For the second time in as many minutes, a small body barrelled into Jason’s back. Overbalancing, Jason was forced to take one hand off of Dick and plant it into the blankets to compensate for the new weight.

“I still don’t get why you had to throw me at him like a ragdoll the first time,” Tim piped up from behind him.

Dick twisted and contorted in ways only he could and suddenly Jason found himself swallowed by the blankets and cushions once more. Tim yelped and barely scrambled off in time to avoid getting crushed.

“You threw him?” Jason asked incredulously.

Dick shrugged. “Enrichment for baby birds. They love flying.”

Tim popped back up, his hair even worse than before. “That’s fair.”

While Jason was distracted by the absolute robin’s nest on Tim’s head, Dick lunged again. They entered into a grapple, one that Jason quickly lost at the unexpected flutter of Tim’s fingers in the crook of his neck. He yelped at an embarrassing pitch as one hand darted up to snatch the offending fingers.

“You are still ticklish!” Dick crowed.

“Liar!” Tim shouted at the same time.

Dick took full advantage of the moment of distraction, grabbing onto the wrist of Jason’s raised hand with both of his and pinning it in the pile of fluff. His torso wound up draped diagonally over Jason’s chest to do it, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“Get him!”

Small, precise fingers slipped under Jason’s leather jacket, scribbling against the hoodie underneath. It was thick enough to provide protection from the hesitant touch, but Jason still couldn’t stop the instinctive flinch from fingers just existing that close to his underarms.

“Fuck you!” He yelled, struggling under Dick’s weight. He had Jason’s arm well-pinned, he had far better leverage and the angle was awkward from the shifting of the blankets. Jason reached to pry the fingers away with his free arm, but Dick’s body blocked his arm from being able to reach.

“Harder, Timmy! He’s got layers–”

“I’m not fucking Shrek–”

“Are you sure?” Tim, that little snot.

“You’re such a fucking– No!”

Two hands delivered a series of nibbling pinches up and down Jason’s exposed side and ribs, the sensation cutting through his hoodie like it was nothing. He tossed his head back with laughter, hating how bubbly it sounded. His legs lurched up, bending at the knees.

“Wow,” Tim said over his laughter. “I didn’t know you could laugh and it actually sound happy.”

Dick chuckled. “You should’ve heard him when he was younger – all shrieky and giggly. I’m glad he didn’t grow out of it.”

“I’m right here, assholes!”

Dick clicked his tongue. “That you are, Jay. Are we not paying enough attention to you? Here, I’ll help.”

“Dick, no!”

Obviously, Dick did not listen. With Jason already growing weaker from the laughter and tickling, Dick could easily keep him pinned with just one hand. With his newly freed fingers, he reached down and clawed into Jason’s stomach. Jason shrieked, his legs lurching up again as he instinctively tried to curl around the weak point and was halted by Dick being in the way.

“Wow,” Tim said. “Dick really wasn’t joking, you are freakishly ticklish.”

Jason tried to bare his teeth. With how wide his smile was, he wasn’t sure the threat came across. “Not as ticklish as you.”

Tim only smirked at him. “Well, I’m not the one pinned down, am I?”

Little shit. Jason was absolutely going to get him later. And Dick, too.

“Might as well get revenge while I can, right?” Tim continued. “What’s that thing you like to do to me? Rib counting?”

Dick laughed again, leaning his weight more heavily on Jason’s torso. He took his own tickling fingers away, using that hand to try and shove Jason’s legs down instead.

“Diabolical, Baby Bird. Count away, I’ll try to keep our little pill-bug here from messing you up.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Tim’s voice was the epitome of innocence. “If he messes me up, it just means I have to start over again. I mean, that’s what you taught me, right, Jay?”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

Tim hummed. “Yeah, it pays to be thorough.”

Jason’s ribs were far from his most ticklish spot, but when Tim’s hands slipped underneath his hoodie, leaving him only with a threadbare t-shirt as his last layer of defense, Jason thought he was going to die. He always knew he was ticklish as all hell, but going without the feeling for so long, every sensation felt electric. He couldn’t even keep track of his own laughter, and he tried his damndest to tune out Tim’s count because he was not about to let his baby brother get the upper hand in teasing, too. 

The most infuriating part? The fact that he couldn’t stop the warm, melty feeling in his chest, hearing Tim giggle along or seeing Dick beaming down at him. He was the goddamned Red Hood. He should not be having this much fun in a one-sided tickle fight with his brothers – especially not on the losing side.

Jason’s legs jumped up again, and this time Jason put a little more control into it. He tried to ram his knees into Dick’s side – jostle him, knock him off Jason’s torso, or hell, even just annoy him. Jason didn’t care, so long as he landed a hit. Unfortunately, Dick’s free hand was still poised to ward off any attacks, shoving his legs away every time they got too close. When he finally slipped a knee past Dick’s defenses, he called out an affronted “hey” and reached out to grab the joint.

The squawking little yip that Jason let out as the joint was squeezed may have been the most embarrassing noise that he’d ever made in his life. Both Dick and Tim tumbled into laughter, pausing their attack.

“Let me go,” Jason demanded as he regained his breath. His voice didn’t quite carry the heat he had been looking for.

Dick turned to give him that creepy stare-down that made it feel like he was tearing Jason’s soul open to look inside. Satisfied with whatever he found, his mouth twisted back into his patented “tickle monster” smirk.

“I don’t think so, Little Wing. I mean, a few rounds of rib counting is hardly revenge.”

Jason started squirming and kicking, making a show out of trying to get away despite knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Dick gave him a few squeezes to the kneecap for the trouble, sending Jason into mortifying titters. 

“Where’s his tickle spot?” Tim asked eagerly, raising up on his knees to scan over Jason’s torso. “That’ll show him.”

Dick pressed his lips together on a smile. Apparently, laughing at Jason was fair game, but laughing at the adorable menace that was Tim Drake was not allowed.

“Dick—“

“I think it’s cheating to tell, Timmy.” Dick cut off Jason’s protest before he could even get started. Jason nearly let out a sigh of relief, but Dick wasn’t done. “I think you’re just gonna have to keep going until you find it.”

“What—“

Tim let out an evil laugh, far more menacing than any 15 year old had the right to be — let alone one that looked so much like a wet cat.

Too quickly for Jason to take advantage of, Dick raised off his body and slid into place behind his head. Jason tried to go for Tim with his newfound reach, but Dick snatched his wrist out of the air and easily pinned it down. After a brief struggle, Jason gave up and just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

“I hate you both.”

“Sure you do, Jay.”

Tim waddled up to Jason, wading through the blankets and pillows surrounding them on his knees. He hovered over Jason for a moment, uncertainty flashing through his eyes.

Aw, hell.

“Well, Timbo? Do your worst. I know you won’t find it.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, the uncertainty vanishing as Tim was confronted with a competition.

“Oh, yeah? And what if I do?”

Jason hummed, pretending to consider. “You might earn yourself a pizza.”

Tim lit up like a Christmas tree. His hands shot out to Jason’s ribs, provoking that bubbly laughter once more.

“Well, we already know it’s not here.”

“So why are you tickling there?!”

Dick laughed at them.

Tim stuck his tongue out at him. “‘Cause it’s funny.”

But he did move his hands, crawling them up into Jason’s armpits like two devious little spiders. Jason jolted, snorts intermingling with his laughter.

“Get out!”

Tim perked up. “Did I find it?”

“Sorry, Baby Bird,” Dick said. “Not just yet.”

Tim frowned and furrowed his brow — his thinking face looked uncannily like Bruce’s — and scanned Jason’s torso. His hands flitted down to Jason’s stomach and sides, his laughter dying down the slightest bit but thankfully not at giggles quite yet. The Red Hood did not giggle.

“Dick got you here, so it’s not here.”

Jason’s legs bounced up as he instinctively tried to curl around the hands. Tim took a page out of Dick’s book, squeezing Jason’s kneecap until it jumped out of his grasp.

“Or here, but you sound ridiculous right now.”

Jason tried to growl through his laughter, but Tim wasn’t exactly wrong. Jumping between the light laughter from his stomach and the high pitched tittering from his knees, Jason was making an absolute fool of himself. His only saving grace was that Bruce wasn’t home to witness it. He’d never live that down.

Tim gave Jason a break, lifting his hands to run them through his messy hair. “Am I completely off track, is it your feet or something?”

“Not. Telling.” 

Tim glared at Jason for a moment before flicking his eyes up to Dick’s, giving him that puppy-gaze. Jason looked up too, trying to burn holes through Dick’s skull with his eyes. Dick smirked, his eyes darting down to Jason’s torso and back up to Tim’s face again. Tim got that constipated look again, his own eyes darting back down to Jason’s abdomen.

“But—?”

Then Tim made The Face. The same face he made when he’d solved a tough case that he’d been working for a while. The wide eyes, the slightly parted lips, as if he was surprised at his own success, the relaxing of his ever-scrunched-up eyebrows. A jolt of giddy panic sparked up Jason’s chest.

“You already lost,” he said quickly. “You asked Dick for help. You cheated.”

Tim met his eyes. “Well then, I guess I have nothing else to lose.”

Giving Jason no time to prepare, Tim started squeezing away at Jason’s hips. It wasn’t as bad as his memories of Bruce or Dick attacking him, but they’d had the benefit of practice. A lot of practice. As it was, it still tickled like hell. Jason’s mind went blank as he practically screamed out cackles. He tried to curl himself into a ball again, and this time, his brothers let him. Dick released his arms and Tim let his legs shoot up, and Jason curled himself into the tightest ball that he could around all the bulky muscle he had now.

That didn’t mean Tim had stopped tickling though. No, even as Jason rolled onto his side in a feeble defense, Tim just targeted both hands on the hip that was still accessible.

“Aw, little pill-bug Jay is alive and well,” Dick cooed.

I’ll kill you here and now, Jason wanted to say. Unfortunately, all his breath was currently being directed to support his laughter. Thankfully, Dick only let Tim go on for a couple more minutes before pulling him back, leaving Jason to heave in breaths as he recovered.

“Next time,” Dick stage-whispered. “I’ll show you how ticklish his back is.”

“Next time,” Jason grumbled. “I’ll cut off your damn hands.”

Tim snorted. Dick patted him on the back. 

“Sure you will, buddy.”

“So,” Tim said, drawing out the word, “since you’re so tired from that and all – maybe you wanna get pizza instead of cooking?”

Jason took a deep breath before heaving himself up to a sitting position, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Nope.”

Tim groaned as well, flopping back into the mess they made of Dick’s pile of bedding.

Shaking off the last of the ghost tickles, Jason gave Dick a heated glare as he pushed himself to his feet. Dick blinked back innocently. His brothers were such goddamned liars.

“I already bought the ingredients,” Jason said. “I’m cooking and you’re going to like it.”

Tim levelled him with a challenging look. “And what if I don’t.”

“Then you’ll suck it up and eat it anyway.”

Jason tromped out of the room, heading back toward the kitchen. Dick and Tim could handle the den setup without him – they were much pickier about blanket nests than he was. Where Jason would just slap together a blanket fort with some kitchen chairs and sheets, Tim preferred to engineer a structurally sound blanket castle when he had the chance. Leaving Tim with free reign of the den furniture and half the Manor’s worth of bedding to accomplish this task gave Jason more than enough time to finish up dinner with the prep he’d done earlier that day.

Seeing Tim’s face light up as Jason personally delivered his monstrosity of a pizza order, made from scratch, almost made the whole meaningless argument that led to his torture worth it. 

Almost.

Jason didn’t necessarily enjoy his visits to the Cave, but there were things that Bruce’s money could buy that Jason had difficulty getting his hands on. For instance, the state-of-the-art lab that was hooked up to the Batcomputer and all its insane processing speed. 

With Batman publicly off on a JL mission and no risk of running into Bruce, Jason didn’t hesitate breaking into the Batcave (was it really breaking in if they never deactivated Jason’s codes in the first place? Jason liked to think so) to study a concoction from his latest Scarecrow copy-cat that thought Crime Alley made a great testing ground. It was just his luck that the little replacement Robin happened to be down in the Cave at the same time, drowning in an oversized hoodie and staring down one of the Batcomputer’s monitors with bloodshot eyes. One of his arms was in a sling, but Jason didn’t keep track of the Bats’ cases enough to know what had caused the injury. He was more wilted than the oregano plant Jason had forgotten at one of his lesser-used safehouses. And, more importantly, he was in Jason’s way.

“Pretty sure little birdies are meant to be resting when their wings get clipped,” Jason called out as he walked up the steps toward the Batcomputer.

The line of Tim’s shoulders went taught as his head snapped around to glare at Jason. “I’m pretty sure zombie crime lords are supposed to stick to Crime Alley.”

Jason held up his sample of knock-off toxin, shaking the liquid inside. “Wouldn’t exactly be here if I didn’t have to.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line as he huffed a breath out through his nose. “Fine.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he turned toward the mass spectrometer, fumbling a bit to set it up properly. It’d been a while since he’d had to use one, and the one in the Cave was a lot newer than the one he’d used as Robin. It didn’t help that the back of his neck burned from the eyes boring into it.

“Don’t need a babysitter, y’know.”

“Like I’m leaving you in the Cave unsupervised.”

Jason scoffed. “What am I gonna do, poison your juice boxes?” The machine finally started running rounds of analysis, so Jason spun around to lean against it, locking his eyes onto Tim. And the stack of soda cans next to him. “Or your Zesti, apparently. Alfred lets you drink all that shit?”

Tim stayed silent, narrowing his eyes.

Jason lit up. “He doesn’t, does he?” He laughed, eyeing the pile of empty cans again. “Maybe we should call him down right now, what do you say?”

Jason started towards Tim and the Batcomputer, only meaning to ruffle his hair, maybe tease him a bit more about his serious sugar addiction, but he came up short as Tim slipped a hand against the underside of the Batcomputer’s desk, fingers subtly searching. Jason knew there was a panic button under there, even though he’d never had to use it during his time as Robin. It would send alerts to Alfred, to Dick, to every device of Bruce’s – hell, it might even send alerts to Clark or Diana at this point. Jason really didn’t need Superman busting in with a disgruntled Batman in his arms while he was trying to get work done.

So he backed off, raising his hands in mocking surrender as he leaned back against the machinery behind him, playing it off with a sarcastic, “Damn then, Boy Wonder, keep your secrets.”

The rest of Jason’s visit to the Cave was spent in tense silence, only broken in brief intervals to discuss the specifics of Jason’s case and the results of the toxin analysis. Turns out it was developed from an older strain of Crane’s – the most current fear toxin antidote could wipe it out no problem.

It didn’t leave him as satisfied as it should have, feeling all off-kilter as he mounted his motorcycle and started his drive back to Crime Alley. He couldn’t shake the hard look in Tim’s eyes as his fingers searched the bottom of the desk. It was fucking infuriating. What should he care if the newest little Robin was scared of him, after all? He and the Bats weren’t a team, and Robin certainly wasn’t his responsibility.

Maybe Jason had inhaled a little of the toxin when running the analysis. That was all.

*     *     *

Scared wasn’t really the right word, Jason realized over time. Because Tim was very obviously not afraid of him. He would poke and prod at Jason, even outright mock him sometimes. His glares were fierce and intense, his tone short and snappy. At times, he almost seemed to be seeking out a fight, like he wanted a rematch, to prove the words he said back at Titan’s Tower.

“Do you think you’re that good now? Do you really, Tim?”

“Yes.”

Wary seemed more accurate. He wasn’t frightened of Jason, but he was mostly certainly on edge. Even more so when Jason started visiting the Manor itself, finally giving in to Alfred and Dick’s invitations (though he still staunchly refused the invitations for family dinners – no way in hell he was being civil with Bruce for that long.). Tim would eye Jason like one would a particularly reactive dog – cautious and ready to act, but without any outright fear or anxiety.

And Jason… he could live with that. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but it’s not like they were family or anything. Just because Bruce took in the kid didn’t make them brothers – and it wasn’t like Bruce was his father anymore, anyway. The itch that grew under Jason’s skin when Tim would look at him like that was purely from having eyes on him, that was all. And he didn’t feel guilty for making the kid feel like that, thank you very much – that lingering weight in his chest was just a perfectly normal reaction to Dick’s puppy-dog eyes every time he and Tim sniped at each other. 

Seriously. No grown man should be able to make that expression. It was unnatural. 

He was so used to Tim’s cold shoulders that when he arrived at the Cave one afternoon, he almost fell off his motorcycle at the bright, cackling laugh that echoed across the stone once he cut his engine. It was boyish, childish, happy – all the things Robin should be. For a moment, it made old bitterness crawl up the back of his throat like bile, but he just as quickly swallowed it back down. He’d already taken out enough on the kid.

The laughter grew louder as he climbed the stairs up to the Batcave’s main platform, growing squeakier or snortier or gigglier in various intervals. By the time he made it up the stairs, Jason had a pretty good idea of what was happening. Turning away from the Batcomputer and towards the training mats easily confirmed it.

Because there was the Boy Wonder, in all his red-faced glory, cackling up a storm as Dick tickled the absolute shit out of him. 

At least Dick had someone besides Jason to take all that tickle-monster energy out on, now.

Dick’s head shot up as Jason’s boot scuffed across the stone, and he shot Jason a grin. “Hey, Little Wing!” Tim’s laughter lightened, growing more giggly. Probably Dick lightening up his attack in case he wanted to participate in the conversation. “What brings you here?”

“Came by to hack into the computer.” Jason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Got some CCTV to look into, and the setup is better here than in any of my safehouses.”

Dick nodded, and Tim’s laughter jumped in pitch again.

“Jesus,” Jason said. “You trying to kill the kid?”

Dick laughed himself and finally let up, leaving Tim to roll onto his side and catch his breath. 

“Nah – but I think I might’ve finally found someone more ticklish than you, Jay.” He gave Jason a meaningful look, winking when he was sure Tim wasn’t looking.

Jason scoffed. He would not be filing that information away for later, thank you very much, because Tim was not his baby brother. “Yeah, whatever. I grew out of that – Lazarus Pits and all.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, a disarming smile on his lips. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, then, if I–”

Jason swiftly backed away from the mats. “Yeah, no. I’m busy – came here to work and all. Try to keep it down, will you?” He managed to catch Tim’s eye for a second. “Try his thighs,” he advised. “Or just under his ribs. Makes for great revenge.”

“Wha– Jason!”

Jason turned his back on them, not wanting to unpack the narrow-eyed look Tim gave him. Not even moments later he heard Dick yelp.

“Oh, no you don’t – you’ll regret that!”

And the Cave was quickly filled with laughter once more, two sets of it this time. Not exactly the quiet environment Jason had hoped for when he came by to work, but he would deal. The Batcomputer had high-quality headphones for a reason.

And, privately, Jason thought those two could use more opportunities to smile.

*     *     *

Over time, the uneasy truce settled into something more comfortable. There were times it still chafed, itching at Jason’s skin until he felt he needed to claw it off, but things were rarely so tense anymore that Jason expected to be cut off like a necrotic limb. Hood still handled Crime Alley, the Bats tackled the rest of Gotham, and sometimes, if the cards fell right, they were able to work cases together without any casualties.

Cases like this new up-and-coming gang. They’d spread outside of the Alley, maneuvering in areas where Hood didn’t have as much reach or authority, but they were still spreading through his own territory like slow-acting poison. There was only so much he could do, and so when Dick offered the Bats up to help, Jason agreed with only minimal bitching. 

Which led him to this warehouse rooftop, going on three hours crouched uncomfortably next to Robin, the irritation of a failed stakeout grating against his ribs and skull. The established gang these newbies were trying to ally with hadn’t even shown, and even the newbies were starting to pack up shop, wanting to get back to base before dawn broke. The newest little Robin, however, didn’t seem to be getting the memo that this was a bust.

“Kid,” Hood all but growled. “Let’s go, there’s nothing more for us here.”

Robin scoffed, still laying on his stomach and not bothering to drop the binoculars to have a conversation with Hood. “Something might still happen. I’m not going to drop this just because you’re getting impatient.”

A flash of irritation bubbled up in Hood’s chest, frustration coiling hot in his stomach. The gang was leaving, Hood was starving, his knees ached from crouching on this roof all night, and he really should’ve told Dick no when Robin was offered up to help with the stakeout. But of course, the Bat himself was too busy with some last-minute JL business, and Nightwing had his own problems in Bludhaven to deal with. The worst part was that Robin was right, something could still happen, but Hood sincerely doubted it. They hadn’t gotten any new or relevant info in the past two hours, and Hood was ready to stuff his face with some greasy fast food and pass out for the next six hours.

And so as the newbies finished loading up their vehicles and driving off, Hood reached over to snatch the binoculars from Robin. Somehow, even with his face buried behind the plastic, he knew Hood was coming and shifted out of the way, thrusting a foot into Hood’s chest to try and hold him back. Hood’s height was an advantage here, but Robin still refused to let go of the binoculars, staring after the newbies’ vehicles as if they held the answers to the universe. 

And Hood, overtired and ready to be out of all this goddamned armor and in bed, let his instincts take over again. He jabbed one hand up under Robin’s arm, poking and prodding at the softer spot in the armor designed for mobility. Robin made an awkward squawking sound, his arm shooting down to protect the vulnerable spot and cutting the grip he had on the binoculars by half. Hood easily wrenched them from his hand after that, tucking them into an inner pocket in his leather jacket.

“Come on,” Hood said, standing and brushing himself off like nothing happened. “Batburger, I’m buying.”

Robin scowled at him, eyes unreadable behind the white-out lenses of the domino, and slowly rose to his feet. “Fine. But I want Jokerized fries, and I don’t care how you feel about it.”

*     *     *

Jason had to wonder if the kid ever slept. Every time he came by the Cave, Tim was there too – training, running samples, working cases on the Batcomputer – no matter what absurd hour he arrived. Jason let out a loud, long, obnoxious sigh as he cleared the stairs to the main platform of the Batcave, and Tim immediately whipped around and glared at him over the back of the desk chair.

“Can I help you?” Tim snapped.

“I need the computer.” Jason kicked the base of the desk chair as he approached, propelling it several inches to the left. 

Tim’s scowl deepened, and he rolled the chair back into position. “Well you can wait. I’m busy with a case.”

Instead of arguing further, Jason opted for the quickest route of success. He grabbed the back of the desk chair, spun it around so Tim was no longer facing the desk, and unceremoniously dumped him out of the seat. Tim squawked as he stumbled out of the chair, but regained his footing quickly and immediately trying to bolt back into the seat. Jason smirked and yanked it away, sending it rolling a few feet behind him.

“Whoops.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Real mature.”

Jason laid a hand over his heart and cocked his head to the side. “Ouch. You wound me. Truly.”

Tim glared at him, but his eyes flicked towards the desk chair behind Jason. They burst into motion at the same time – Tim lunging towards the chair, and Jason lunging towards Tim. After a brief tussle, Jason yanked Tim into a headlock, and for a brief second the two of them went eerily still. Jason loosened his grip, making the hold easy to break, but didn’t let go. Tim stayed frozen for a moment longer before tilting his head up, giving Jason a challenging look.

Jason’s mind warred with itself for a few moments. Not my little brother, one side of his brain said. Isn’t he, though? another replied. He had, unfortunately, filed away that information Dick had given him, as much as he tried to ignore it. And, well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? He didn’t think he’d even given Tim back his Bat-noculars.

A moment passed, and Jason suddenly lunged, latching his free hand onto Tim’s side and squeezing away. Tim jerked in his grip, squealing as a smile forced its way onto his face. One hand went towards prying Jason’s off his side, while the other came and clutched at the forearm around his throat for stability. Jason grinned and allowed the hand to crawl up Tim’s side, carefully keeping his headlock loose so that Tim wouldn’t really feel trapped. The second Jason’s fingers touched his ribs and a real laugh jumped out from Tim’s throat, he was out of Jason’s grip in seconds. Tim stood across from him, giving him another one of those uncomfortably calculating looks, though the blush rushing to his cheeks diminished it slightly.

“Fine,” Tim said eventually. “I should head up and get a snack anyways.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. 

“But I’m coming back down in two hours, and I will be getting back to my case. Whether you’re done on the computer or not.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, sure thing, Timberly. Whatever you say.”

*     *     *

Jason was at the Manor for family dinner.

His skin itched at the thought as he sped into the Cave on his motorcycle – he never entered through the Manor proper, not in all these months, something about that just made it too real, too raw – and threw his riding gear off. Bruce was going to be there – not Batman, Bruce, and he hadn’t really interacted with the man outside the mask since he came back – but so were Dick and Alfred. And so was Tim.

Bit by bit, the kid had been relaxing around him. They worked cases together (and with Nightwing) when Hood needed a Bat, or when the birds needed his help instead. He didn’t tense whenever Jason came through the Cave anymore, didn’t eye Jason with suspicion when they crossed paths on patrol. He still stared a lot, but it’s not like Jason could blame him. He had attacked the kid, and even if he didn’t leave him with more than a concussion and some bruises (and Jason with a grudging sense of respect for the brat, as he walked away with his own array of bruising and a busted nose), the kid was well within his rights to keep his eyes on Jason’s movements.

But still, the progress they had made was, well, nice.

Speak of the devil — the Cave wasn’t empty. Tim was in the training area, dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running his bo staff drills with a single-minded focus that could rival even Bruce. Jason almost would’ve thought that Tim didn’t realize he was there, but Tim’s eyes flicked his direction as he approached the edge of the training mats. Tim ran through the move he was doing a few more times, making minute posture changes each time until his form was perfect, before dropping out of his stance and facing Jason.

“Not bad,” Jason said.

Tim ticked up an eyebrow. “Thanks.” His gaze trailed over to the stairs. “Alfred’s still making dinner, and Bruce is up there brooding and fussing over everything until it’s perfect. You probably wanna stay down here until the food’s ready.”

The skin around Jason’s eyes tightened as he suppressed a wince. “Yeah, thanks. Where’s Golden Boy?”

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitched up. “He got saddled with ‘distract Bruce’ duty.”

Jason matched Tim’s half-smile. They lapsed into an awkward silence. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to fidget. Tim stared.

“Let’s spar,” Tim said suddenly, turning on his heel to set aside his bo staff.

Jason stared at him, incredulous. “What?”

“Spar. You and me.”

“Are you sure about that, kid?”

Tim shot him one of those calculating looks over his shoulder. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Jason pursed his lips. “No.”

“Then let’s spar.”

Palms sweating, Jason kicked off his boots, shucked his leather jacket, and set aside the weapons he’d hidden on his person. He set himself up opposite of Tim, lowering his body into a fighting stance.

“Ready?” Tim asked.

“Yup.”

The word was barely out of Jason’s mouth before Tim lunged, immediately going in for a grapple. Jason almost laughed — he far outclassed the little Robin in both weight and strength — and quickly sent the kid sprawling to the mats before backing away. Tim was scowling when he stood up.

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“Don’t worry, Boy Wonder. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Tim lunged first again, feinting left before trying to circle around to Jason’s back on the right. Jason whipped around and blocked the incoming blows, jabs that would’ve left his arms numb and tingling for hours had they landed. On one block, he snagged Tim’s wrist and used it to twirl him halfway around. He shoved Tim forward, harder than he meant to, and let him stumble a few feet as he retreated again.

The spar went on like this for a while, Tim attacking and Jason blocking and retreating. Tim’s scowl got deeper and deeper, and the careful control he usually held in his movements started slipping more and more. After the tenth time Jason knocked Tim’s attack away and retreated, Tim finally snapped.

“Stop babying me! I can take it!”

“Tim—“

“No.” Tim fell back into a ready stance, face red and splotchy from frustration and exertion. “I know what it looks like when you’re fighting for real. So fight me.”

Jason pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine.”

Jason rushed first this time, and Tim met him in the middle. They exchanged a series of blows (though Jason pulled his punches — this was a spar not a brawl, and he kinda thought Tim had enough of Jason punching his lights out by now), and Tim held his own well. He’d gotten some good hits in during their confrontation at Titan’s Tower, but it was clear he had improved since losing to Jason back then. If Tim had been in a better state, he might’ve been able to hold out against Jason’s onslaught for a while.

As it was, Tim had clearly been training for a while before Jason had come in and had already been fatigued, and his lingering frustration from Jason’s kid-gloves was obviously making him sloppy. With Jason’s bulk and sheer strength, he had Tim pinned to the ground in minutes. Tim grunted and growled and struggled under him, trying to free himself, but Jason had both his arms pinned above his head and had settled his bulk over Tim’s thighs so he couldn’t flip their positions or kick Jason off.

“Satisfied?” Jason asked dryly.

Tim didn’t reply, twisting his wrists to test Jason’s grip.

“Ready to hit the showers? Alfred probably won’t be happy if we come to dinner all drenched in sweat.”

Tim twisted his hips, trying to throw Jason off but unable to get the leverage to move his considerable weight. “No, fuck you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Timber, you kiss Alfred with that mouth?”

Tim paid him no mind, continuing to hiss and spit under him. Honestly, it reminded Jason a lot of when he was Robin. Whenever Dick beat him in a spar, he would hiss and spit and carry on, trying to break the hold until Dick got sick of his whining and—

Ah. So that was why Dick had been tickling the kid to tears the other month. 

Jason gave Tim a considering look. For a moment, he wondered if he really had the right. Tim wasn’t his little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. He’d been telling himself so for months, even if there were moments of doubt. But, well, wasn’t Tim his little brother? They snarked and tussled over the computer and helped each other on cases, and Jason was here to eat family dinner with him for God’s sake.

And hey, maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

Amidst Tim’s struggling, Jason managed to wrangle both his wrists into one hand and pin them firmly above his head. Then, making sure Tim was watching, he hovered a hand over Tim’s stomach and slowly started wiggling his fingers.

Tim gasped and froze. Then, just as quickly, his struggles started up again with a new desperation.

“You wouldn’t.”

Jason grinned, lowering his wiggling fingers another inch. “Say uncle, Timmy.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, dragging his eyes away from the ticklish threat to meet Jason’s own. “Do your worst.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut tight just as Jason’s lowered his hand and touched down on Tim’s stomach. Tim squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed, going pink in the face as he tried not to laugh.

Jason laughed for him. “Come on, TimTam, we both know you’re ticklish as shit. No point in not laughing.”

Tim shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to worm away to the left as Jason’s hand traveled to his right side.

“No, it doesn’t tickle? Are you sure?”

Even though his eyes were still closed, Tim turned his face away from Jason, trying to hide behind one of his biceps. Jason grinned wider and jumped his hand over to Tim’s other side, delivering a series of nibbling pinches without warning. Tim squeaked, like the little baby bird he was, and jolted to the right to try and get away.

“I dunno, Baby Bird. Seems like it might tickle.”

Tim made a growling noise in the back of his throat, and Jason couldn’t help but laugh again.

“No? Maybe we should make sure all your nerves are working right, then.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open at that, glassy and watery from the effort of holding back his laughter. Jason made sure to grin at him, smug and toothy and all evil-big-brother, just like Dick used to do to him.

“Tell me, can you feel this?”

His hand shot up and skittered calloused fingertips and blunt fingernails against the exposed side of Tim’s neck. Tim’s head snapped to that side with a muffled squeal, his smile fighting to become open-mouthed and toothy, forcing Tim to bite down on his lip to keep his reactions at bay.

“Hmm, seems promising. How ‘bout here, can you feel that?”

Jason shot back down and vibrated his hand into the center of Tim’s belly. Tim tried to jackknife to protect himself, but with his wrists firmly pinned and Jason’s considerable weight on his thighs, he was forced to stay flat against the mats. He chose to toss his head back against the mats instead, shaking it back and forth furiously.

“No?” Jason asked, voice dripping with faux-concern. “You can’t feel it?”

Tim let an annoyed little groan, but quickly cut it off as it started to take on a giggly tone. Jason was being deliberately unhelpful in the matter, poking his index finger into various spots of Tim’s stomach and vibrating it.

“Right here, can you feel this? What about over here? And here? Come on Timbit, work with me here.”

Tim flinched and twitched at every prod, trembling with suppressed giggles. Jason’s own cheeks hurt from smiling — he could definitely see why Dick tickled the snot out of him so often when he was a kid. This was adorable and hilarious. But he still had yet to make the kid break, which was kinda annoying. Like, hello, how was Jason supposed to tickle the snot out of him if he wouldn’t even laugh? Jason paused for a moment, letting Tim catch his breath as he planned his next attack. Now where was it that made Tim shoot out of his arms the other week…

Oh, that’s right.

Jason put on a mournful look, shaking his head. “Starting to get real concerned here, Timbourine. Maybe we oughtta do a full injury check.” Jason rested his fingers on Tim’s lower ribs. “What do you say?”

Tim gasped, shuffling as far away from Jason’s hand as he could, but Jason followed the movement easily.

“Jason—“ Tim started, but cut himself off, pressing his lips together again.

“What is it you said to me, again? Do my worst, was that it?”

“Jason, I’ll— I’ll buffer Bruce for you tonight. I’ll take on your caseload. I’ll clean your motorcycle, I—“

“As tempting as that all sounds,” Jason had to raise his voice to be heard over Tim’s rambling. “You know what I wanna hear. Admit you lost.” 

Tim’s mouth clamped shut. Of course. How could the latest model not come with that patented stubborn Robin pride?

Jason shrugged, tapping his fingers threateningly against Tim’s ribs, making him squirm. “Suit yourself.”

Jason wasn’t the greatest at picking apart Tim’s expressions, but he’d say the smile forcing its way across Tim’s face was almost giddy.

He started off with a typical injury-check touch, a light press and slide against the individual ribs, just to really play into the game he had set up. Tim’s face scrunched up instantly, obviously trying to hold back his reactions, and his body started squirming with a new fervor. 

“Nerves working here, Timmers?” Jason tickled his middle ribs a bit more deliberately, making Tim’s face spasm. “Seems to me like you might be feeling something. Does it tickle?”

Tim shook his head. Jason sighed.

“You leave me no choice.”

Jason released Tim’s wrists and latched onto either side of his ribs with both hands, tickling mercilessly. Tim’s eyes bugged out of his head as he let out a laugh bordering on a scream. His legs scrambled on the mats behind Jason, searching for leverage or freedom. As Tim’s laughter fell into desperate cackles, Jason couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Jason! Jay!”

“You know how to make it stop, Timmy.”

Even with his hands free, Jason was discovering that Tim was absolutely useless when he was tickled. Jason attacked lower on his ribcage and Tim’s hands latched onto Jason’s wrists in a feeble, laughter-weakened attempt to pry him off. That only opened up the rest of his ribcage and armpits to attack, which Jason took great advantage of. Tim’s laughter would get more panicky, more shrill, the higher Jason went, but his brain didn’t seem to know how to defend itself — seeing as his hands stayed latched onto Jason’s to try and pull him off.

“Jesus Christ, Baby Bird — how do you even live when you’re this ticklish?”

“Asshole!”

Jason raised an eyebrow, though he wasn’t sure Tim could see it through his squinted, teary eyes. “Be nice. I could make this so much worse.”

“No, no!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Of course, Jason still made it worse anyway. There was a particular spot towards the back of Tim’s ribs, right between the top two on either side, that sent Tim spasming like he’d been electrocuted. Jason laughed as he prodded at the weak points one at a time, watching Tim toss himself in the opposite direction of the ticklish jolts. Finally, he gave Tim a breather, resting his fingers against those spots on his ribs just to keep him giggly and twitchy.

“Last chance for mercy,” Jason said, just barely twitching his fingers to watch Tim jump. “Alfred’ll send someone down soon.”

Tim’s teary eyes went wide. “Wait, Jason, come on–”

“Damn stubborn little Robin.”

Jason dug his fingers in, torturing those little tickle spots as best he could.

“Fuck!” Tim practically screamed before breaking into laughter that would give even the Joker a run for his money. Surprisingly, the hysterical tone of it didn’t even make Jason’s skin crawl. “Uncle!” Tim cried out, and his laughter went silent.

Jason eased up, redirecting his attack lower on Tim’s ribs, though still vibrating his fingers into the nerves mercilessly. “Hm? What was that?”

“You win! Uncle, you win! Jason, come on!”

With a chuckle, Jason heaved himself off of Tim to sit on the mats next to him, ruffling his hair as he caught his breath.

“Fuck you,” Tim said, closing his eyes and relaxing bonelessly into the mats.

“Hey.” Jason raised his hands in surrender. “You could’ve stopped that at any time. Not my fault you’re a stubborn little bitch.”

“I’ll get you for this.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got, like, a hundred pounds on you and I’m twice your height. How do you think you’re accomplishing that, shrimp?”

Tim peeled one eye open to glare at him. “I’ve got Dick.”

Jason froze. Oh, shit.

“That he does,” a cheerful voice chimed in from the direction of the stairs. Dick strode towards them, a slightly feral smile on his face. “And I would be more than happy to help. We never did test your claim about the Lazarus Pit taking away your ticklishness.”

Oh, fuck, actually. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Tim about Dick’s thighs that one time.

Dick’s smile shifted from feral to innocent in the blink of an eye. “But maybe later. Alfred sent me to get you for dinner – and I know he wouldn’t appreciate your B.O. stinking up the dinner table. Hit the showers.”

Jason groaned as he got up, pretending to crack his back even though he wasn’t the slightest bit sore from their sparring or impromptu tickle attack. Then, he reached down and hauled Tim to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the Cave’s locker room ahead of himself. Just as he went to follow, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Good job, big brother,” Dick said, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel through the echoing cave. He gave Jason’s shoulder a squeeze.

Jason looked away and scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Little shit was asking for it.”

Dick laughed and dropped his hand, shoving Jason toward the locker room much like Jason had shoved Tim. He tried not to think about it too hard, instead focusing on how carefully he’d have to watch his back in the future.