hello!

Richard lowered a clawed hand to Damian’s stomach, digging his fingertips into all the correct pressure points to have Damian doubling over in a futile attempt at protection. Richard laughed above his head and twisted his hand ever-so-slightly, hitting that accursed “tickle spot” (as Richard called them) to the right of his navel. Damian swiftly lost the battle, his laughter bubbling out from between his lips in a horrendously childish display.

“There they are!” Richard crowed, doubling-down on his attack.

No matter which way Damian squirmed, Richard was easily able to follow. He bounced between Damian’s ticklish spots without rhyme or reason, drawing out surprised noises in between more of those horrendous giggles. He heard Richard cooing over his head and had the distinct urge to stab him, but he settled for jabbing an elbow hard back into Richard’s ribs. Not that it deterred him in any fashion. No, it just seemed to give him the idea to start crawling his other hand up Damian’s own ribs.

“You said– you said just a few!” Damian called out, his laughter garbling his words.

“Hm?”

“Just a few giggles!”

Richard laughed, slowing his attack. “Oh, alright, alright. I suppose that’ll have to be enough baby brother giggles to tide me over until my next visit.”

Damian scoffed. “I don’t delude myself into thinking you won’t attempt to attack me again before you leave.”

Richard grinned, wide and toothy. “Probably.”

Damian scowled – it was not a pout, no matter what his siblings said, it wasn’t his fault his cheeks were still plush with baby fat and puffed out when he frowned – and tried to get his clothing and hair back in order. “I do not understand why you insist on doing that so much.”

Richard scrubbed a hand on his head, ruining his attempts at straightening his hair. “You had fun – don’t deny it! You totally could have stabbed me if you weren’t.”

Damian said nothing. He kept scowling.

“Besides – that’s just what big brothers do! Tickle the snot out of their baby brothers.”

Forget stabbing. Damian was starting to feel the urge to bite. “I am not a baby.”

Richard tilted his head at him. “Jason’s my baby brother, too. Do you think he’s a baby?”

Damian tilted his head, considering, and it earned him another laugh from Richard. 

“Okay, maybe don’t answer that one. But – it’s just a way to have fun with your siblings, Damian. It’s alright to let loose and laugh and have a little fun here and there.” Richard’s grin turned mischievous as he raised two clawed hands. “Especially when the Tickle Monster’s involved.”

Damian would forever deny that he let Richard catch him. He just wasn’t able to gain enough speed to escape Richard’s game of chase, was all. He’d have to work on that in training later.

*     *     *

It’s just what big brother’s do! was a common insistence of Richard’s, every time Damian demanded an explanation for one of his (mortifyingly frequent) tickle attacks. There did seem to be some merit in the phrase. After all, Damian wasn’t Richard’s only target. Todd, Cain, Drake, Thomas, even Brown, and she wasn’t even related to them. Richard launched his surprise attacks against them all, tickling them to the floor and teasing them all the while. Todd did as well – pinning Drake or Brown to the training mats and tickling them until they tapped out or screamed loud enough that Father put an end to it. Cain was a bit harder to catch in the act, but he swore he saw her tickling the others at various times herself.

But the only one who targeted Damian was Richard himself (and sometimes Father – but he did not count, as he was not a “big brother” to any of them). Damian did not know why the others seemed disinclined to participate in this bonding activity with him. They seemed to engage with it plenty between each other, so why was Damian left out? Not that he wanted to be tickled, certainly not – it was humiliating. It would be remiss of him, however, to not participate in this so-called “family bonding.”

The only explanation Damian could come up with was that they were luring him into a false sense of security. They wanted his guard down, so that they could topple him with little resistance. Well, Damian wouldn’t let them get away with that. No – Damian would be ready, whenever they decided to strike. He would be hypervigilant, ready for their attack at any moment. He wouldn’t rest. He wouldn’t let his guard down. Todd and Drake would never make a fool out of him.

Except – well, the thing was, hypervigilance became tiring after a while. He grew weary of being on edge when around his brothers. With Richard he’d learned to know what to expect. Any playful moment – an unserious argument, a competition, a spar, anything – Richard had the possibility of taking advantage of. He didn’t know Todd and Drake’s habits surrounding this event, he didn’t know what to expect from them or when to expect it. As the days went on, the anticipation wreaked havoc on his nerves. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Todd and Drake were having a pre-patrol spar in the Cave. Damian observed as he completed his own warm-ups on the mats nearby. He swore he could feel their eyes flickering in his direction and it took all of his hard-learned self-control to not fidget under their watch. Finally, after toying with him for nearly five minutes, Todd pinned Drake under his weight until he tapped out.

“Come on Baby Bat, you want a match?”

Damian’s guard immediately went up. The training mats – this is where many tickle attacks had taken place, from any number of his family members. Even Father was known to participate, if he was in a particularly playful mood.

“I suppose.”

Drake shifted himself to the sidelines as Damian took his place. He could feel Drake’s eyes burning through his back.

“Damian, are you injured?”

A false injury check – he’d seen Todd and Richard (and even, on rare occasion, Father) use that ploy on Drake more than enough times. With ribs as sensitive as that, it made him an easy target. Was that method now to be used on Damian?

“No,” Damian said firmly. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re just all,” Drake waved his hand in the air, gesturing to Damian’s form, “stiff.”

Todd’s stance shifted as he eyed Damian up and down. “The Bird’s right – you sure you’re not injured, kid?”

“I am in perfect physical condition. Are we going to spar or not?”

Todd raised his hands in surrender, backing into place across the mats. “Alright, alright. Timmers, you referee.”

Not the injury check, then. The spar was still in question. This may finally be the moment. Damian could begin to learn their patterns and perhaps finally relax in their presence again. He hated being so tense any time they visited.

Drake called for the match to start and Todd immediately lunged for him. Damian was put on the defensive, dodging and weaving between his attacks. He managed a few good hits, but despite his bulk, Todd was fast, and Damian always had to back off quickly. He knew he couldn’t take Todd head-on, the man was twice his height and three times his weight, so he needed a strategy. Without his belt or any of his gadgets, it would be a difficult victory.

Unfortunately, Drake had been correct – Damian was stiff. Not from injury, but hypervigilance. And it certainly had a poor effect on his focus in a spar. Every lunge, jab, swat, Damian was convinced it would connect with a ticklish area and Todd would proceed to pin him to the mats until he was red-faced and cackling. 

It only took one failed swerve for Todd to tackle him down to the mats and pin him. Damian held his breath, watching Todd with wide eyes. After a moment to make sure Damian wasn’t going to try and break the hold, he was released and Todd maneuvered off him, wiping the sweat from his brow. The dam burst.

“That’s it?” Damian blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Todd and Drake both turned to him, frowns and furrowed brows in place.

“Damian?” Drake said.

“I grow tired of these games! Just do it, already!”

For the second time that evening, Todd raised his hands in surrender. Drake’s confused expression melted into concern. The jittery feeling in Damian’s stomach did not abate.

“Do… what, exactly, Dami?” Jason spoke to him like he was a child – the same voice he used on the young street rats of Crime Alley to try and build trust and rapport.

“Do not patronize me, Todd, I am no fool. Grayson made the rules of this game quite clear to me. Do you find me unworthy in some way? Too weak for such things? What is it?”

“Whoa – Damian, hold on,” Drake sat down on the mat, like he was trying to make himself smaller, and scooted closer. “We don’t even know what you’re talking about. Explain it to us first.”

“I told you not to–”

Todd cut him off. “We’re not patronizing you, Damian. Neither of us has any clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

Damian thinned his lips, shifting uncomfortably where he sat on the mat. He shoved his hands under his thighs so he wouldn’t be tempted to fidget with them. “Richard – he said older brothers tickle younger brothers. It’s ‘just what they do.’”

Drake let out an incredulous laugh, Todd pressed his lips together as if he was trying to avoid doing the same. Damian felt himself flush, starting in his neck and travelling all the way up to his forehead.

“Yeah,” Todd said, his voice trembling with withheld laughter. “I remember he used that line on me plenty, when I was as short as you.”

“Think he’s used it on all of us,” Drake said, still laughing. “Still uses it now, honestly.”

Todd plopped himself back down on the mat next to Damian. “It’s not a rule, kid – Dick’s just teasing you. Giving himself an excuse for why he tickles the snot out of you three times a day when he visits.”

Damian’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.” His face grew even warmer, travelling up his ears now.

Drake chuckled again, leaning forward with a sudden mischievous tilt to his mouth. “But, since you asked…”

Todd’s smirk took on the same quality. He wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders and Damian’s breath caught in his throat. He was torn – did he run? Did he stay and face the torment he asked for? The jittery feeling in his stomach grew stronger, almost ticklish in and of itself. He was paralyzed with indecision, but found himself fighting off a grin anyway.

Drake crawled closer. Todd’s clawed hand inched towards his neck. Damian shrank in on himself, making no move to flee and preserve his dignity.

“Boys!” Father called. “Suit up, let’s go!”

Drake and Todd snapped to attention, grumbling under their breaths. Damian felt like he was still trying to catch his own. When Drake reached out to squeeze his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He let out an unbecoming squeak when Todd’s hand jumped away from his neck to scrub at his hair.

“This isn’t over,” Todd said, heaving himself to his feet.

“We are so talking about this later.”

Damian was, as Todd would say, fucked.

*     *     *

They didn’t even have the decency to put him out of his misery immediately following patrol. Todd returned to his own apartment afterwards to lick his wounds, and since Father had incurred an injury of his own, Drake took straight to the Batcomputer to log the night’s events and plan their next moves. Damian was sent upstairs alone, ate the post-patrol snack laid out by Alfred alone, and went to bed alone.

They continued to not have the decency the next day, or the next, or anything for near a week. Oh certainly, when they would run into Damian on patrol they would give him those infuriatingly teasing smiles, perhaps wiggle some fingers in his general direction or give a quick verbal tease, but even they knew better than to start such nonsense on patrol. Still, it infuriated him to no end, all this buildup and no follow-through.

Damian had half a mind to stab them, the next time he saw one of them. No one could say they didn’t deserve it.

That was, in fact, what wound up nearly happening the next time Drake stopped by the Manor for an extended period of time. Damian had been in his bedroom, perfecting a sketch of Titus as he sat at his desk. He had taken up listening to music as he worked, finding that it helped calm his mind and improve his focus, and that day he’d chosen to use earbuds to properly experience the full layers and mixing of all the sounds.

As such, he didn’t hear the knock on his door, nor did he hear Drake enter. He only became aware of Drake’s presence when a calloused hand ruffled his hair, startling him out of his hyperfocus and nearly making him ruin his sketch. Without thinking, Damian snatched a spare blade off his desk and made to stab his attacker. A hand grabbed his wrist, squeezing the pressure points just right to force him to drop the dagger.

“Damian!” 

Damian finally turned to face his intruder, then took a deep breath and tugged the earbuds out of his ears. “Perhaps you should learn not to sneak up on people.”

Drake scowled. “I didn’t even sneak! I knocked and everything!”

Damian scowled back, resenting the way his cheeks puffed up a little with the expression. It made him look far too childish.

“You know what,” Drake continued, tugging Damian out of his chair and over toward the bed, “I’m gonna make this even worse because of that.”

Damian’s face dropped in shock. “Wait, Drake–”

Drake gave him an absolutely devious smile. “Don’t stress, Dami. Just fulfilling my big brother duties.”

Damian resolutely did not yelp when Drake scooped him up underneath the arms and tossed him onto the bed, no matter what Drake claimed later. Damian scrambled against the sheets, trying to crawl off the bed, but Drake launched himself as well. The bed bounced under his sudden weight, knocking Damian off-balance just enough for Drake to snatch his ankle, tugging it to force him onto his back and quickly crowding into Damian’s space.

“Drake, no!” Damian’s voice had gone shrieky and shrill, embarrassingly childish and out of his control.

Drake, of course, laughed at him. Damian sealed his own lips shut to prevent any other incriminating sounds. Just in time, too, as Drake started squeezing at his sides. Damian made a protesting noise in his throat, but swallowed down any other sounds. 

“You know,” Drake said conversationally, “you’d think after making such a big deal about this, you’d be less stubborn about it.”

Damian’s ears grew hot, but he knew what Drake was doing. He kept his lips stubbornly sealed.

“I mean, you outright asked for it – were practically begging for it, actually.”

The heat in Damian’s ears spread to his cheeks. “I did no such thing!”

Curse him.

Drake grinned, digging into Damian’s stomach the moment he began his protest. Damian snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. Strained chuckles escaped through his sealed lips as he squirmed away from Drake’s hands. He fumbled for Drake’s hands trying to push them away, but Drake was unfortunately successful at tossing his hands off.

“I’ve seen Dick tickle you, you know.”

Damian tried to glare at him. He didn’t imagine he was very successful, what with the wavering smile on his lips. In fact, based on the way Drake paused his one-sided conversation and pressed his lips together in a tight smile, he was likely resisting the urge to coo at him like Richard often did. His face grew warmer.

“I know generally where to target, you can’t hide the tickle spots from me. Just takes a little effort to find just the right place.”

As if he timed it, Drake’s wildly skittering fingers passed over that accursed spot to the right of his navel. Damian squealed and tried to toss himself off the bed. Drake laughed, bright and open, and lunged after him, pulling Damian back in with an arm around his waist. Damian kept his face turned away from Drake, trying to hide just how bright his smile was. Drake would almost certainly know it wasn’t just from the tickling – he was infuriatingly insightful like that.

“Get back here!”

“No!”

Drake’s fingers found that spot again and Damian doubled over in giggles. He shoved fruitlessly at Drake’s arms, trying to free himself, or at least stop the ticklish feeling.

“What’s wrong, Dami? Ticklish tummy?”

Damian growled through his giggles. “I’ll kill you!”

Drake laughed again. “That’s fair.”

Thankfully, Drake moved away from that spot. Unfortunately, his next target was Damian’s neck. He scratched at the skin with short, blunt nails, occasionally skittering them behind Damian’s ears. Damian was lost to mortifying squeaks and snorts, shaking his head to try and throw Drake off.

“See, I get why Dick does this so much, now–”

“Shut up!”

“– you’re actually pretty adorable like this. Still got those murder-eyes, but they’re almost cute when you’re being tickled silly.”

Damian twisted around and flopped back onto his back, throwing himself away from Drake’s tickling fingers. Catching sight of Drake’s face again, he could see the bright, teasing grin splitting across his face. Based on the way Drake’s eyes brightened, he’d caught Damian’s smile as well and read into it much further than Damian wanted.

“Alright, I’ll quit with all the teasing. Let’s get on with the main event.”

Teasing? Main event? Damian’s heart thudded in his chest, that jittery, almost-ticklish feeling in his stomach taking over again. That hadn’t even been part of Drake’s true attack? Drake had just been toying with him?

“Wait, Drake–”

Damian held out a hand, as if that would do anything to hold Drake off once he lunged. Drake snatched his wrist and pinned it to the bed.

“Why? I’m just doing what you asked.” His smile turned evil and mischievous again. “Gotta prove that you’re not weak or unworthy, after all.”

“No–!”

Damian burst into loud, childish laughter as Drake attacked his exposed underarm, scratching and scritching away against the fabric of his t-shirt. Damian tugged at his arm, but unfortunately the tickling and laughter had weakened him, leaving him firmly trapped. Instead, Damian tried to pry at Drake’s fingers with his free hand, but he couldn’t quite get the coordination he needed.

Damian squealed as the tickling dipped below his underarm, fingers wiggling along the length of his ribs and delivering nibbling pinches between them. He kicked out at Drake, aiming for his midsection to push him off, but Drake dodged his uncoordinated attempts easily.

“Man, Dames, you’re so right – I should’ve been doing this the whole time.”

“Stoppit!”

“I really dropped the ball with my older brother duties before, but you have my word that I’m gonna rectify that.”

“Cut it out!”

Damian finally got a good amount of momentum and corrected his arm, landing a foot directly in Drake’s abdomen. Drake grunted, releasing Damian’s wrist and ceasing his tickling as he was pushed back. He let out a little “oof” as the air was forced out of him.

“Did you just kick me?”

Damian blinked at him. “Yes.”

Drake narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Damian didn’t have a chance to protest or even gasp before Drake had thrown himself over his calves, pinning them to the bed with his body weight. The only sound that left Damian for a while after that was hysterical, cackling laughter and wordless almost-screams as Drake attacked his knees with ruthless precision.

“Are you sorry, yet? Apologize, you brat!”

Even if he wanted to, Damian wasn’t sure he could. The only thing he could think about was how badly it tickled. Richard’s tickling was ruthless and impossible to beat, certainly, but Drake’s methods were their own special form of torture. Damian felt as though he were being studied as Drake cycled through different techniques.

He would pinch at the pressure points just above Damian’s knee, making Damian’s legs jump as he choked out yelps between his laughter. He clawed at Damian’s kneecaps, driving Damian into a full-bodied squirm as he laughed helplessly into a pillow he tugged over his face. After tugging said pillow away, he did an egg-cracking motion over Damian’s knees, and Damian squealed until his voice went out. When he traced designs on the backs of Damian’s knees, Damian hiccuped with frantic, high-pitched giggles, the likes of which he had never made before. 

Damian thought he might go insane.

“Drake! Timothy! No more!”

Drake’s hands faltered, but only for half a moment. Then the tickling started up again with a vengeance, combining all the most ticklish techniques he had found to make tears of mirth spring to Damian’s eyes.

“What was that, Dami? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh yeah? For what?”

“Kicking you!”

Drake released him, rolling off his legs to instead recline next to Damian. Damian did not move, lying boneless on his bed as he caught his breath and tried to get his residual giggling under control. He swore he could still feel Drake’s fingers on his skin, tickling away at his sanity.

“They’ll never find your body.”

Drake snorted. “You think that was bad? Just wait until Jason comes after you.”

The jittery feeling in Damian’s stomach came back with a vengeance. He smacked Drake in the face with a pillow for the crime.

*     *     *

Todd’s attack was almost predictable, after all the games of anticipation he had played. Damian had known Todd was in the Manor – his motorcycle was in the garage upon his and Thomas’s arrival home from school with Alfred – and he knew Drake’s warning would not have been without meaning. After all, he’d seen Todd take Drake to pieces many times in the past. Drake would know well the brutality he was capable of.

They entered the Manor through the side entrance, the door closest to the kitchen, and were accosted almost immediately by Todd. An apron hung around his neck, dusted in flour and some sticky-looking batter, which he began untying once he caught sight of them.

“Hey, Alfie,” he said, passing the apron off when Alfred reached out an open palm. “Cookies are in the oven, I’ve got a meeting.”

Before Damian could think of a snappish retort, Todd was yanking the backpack and school blazer from his shoulders and tossing them to Thomas.

“Hey!” He yelled.

Thomas stood there, slightly dumbfounded. “I didn’t realize I was a coat rack.”

“You are today, sunshine. I’ve got business to attend to.”

Damian yelped as his feet left the floor, and grunted as his stomach met Todd’s shoulder. He started squirming almost immediately, trying to break Todd’s grip.

“Unhand me, you imbecile!”

“Do try to keep it down, Master Jason.” Alfred seemed uninterested in the happenings of the mudroom as he entered the kitchen, taking in the state of it. “Master Bruce acquired a concussion last night and I’ve only just finally convinced him to get some rest.”

Todd scoffed, bouncing Damian’s writhing body on his shoulder a couple times. “Come on, Alf – you know those bedrooms are basically soundproof.”

Alfred leveled them both with a look, so flat that Damian even stopped squirming for a moment. “Do not disturb your father.”

Todd huffed, moving toward the door leading to the rest of the Manor. “Fine, we’ll keep it first-floor only.”

“Thank you, Master Jason.”

“Uh – should we not be, like, concerned?”

Damian scowled at Thomas. “Are you going to just stand there? Help me!”

Thomas hesitated. Todd shot him a look over his free shoulder. “You intervene, you get your own big brother treatment. Where was it that got you shrieking, last time? Your feet? Or maybe it was your armpits? Eh, my arms are pretty long. I’m sure I could get both at the same time.”

Thomas cleared his throat and took a step away from them. “No, yeah – I’m good. I’ve got, like, homework and shit.”

Todd hummed. “Better get to it.”

“Yup.”

Thomas, the coward, fled via the kitchen.

“Thomas, you get back here and help me! Thomas! Duke!”

Todd snorted and made his way through the door of the mudroom, stalking through the halls as Damian fruitlessly kicked his legs and pounded on Todd’s back. “Resorting to first names, kid? Damn, you must be ticklish.”

Damian growled and twisted his hips in Todd’s grip, aiming to knee him in the face. Todd grabbed his ankle before he could, holding it fast as the rest of him continued to wriggle.

“Damn – ex-Boy Wonder was right, you’re a real squirmer. Dick ever call you a wiggly worm?”

Damian let out an enraged shout, punching at Todd’s back even harder. Richard had, in fact, called him a wriggly, wiggly worm before. Damian had bit him in response.

“Let me down, you brute! You bumbling beast! You–”

Damian yelped as he was unceremoniously dumped onto a plush couch. He scrambled upright, barely getting a glance of his surroundings – the library, he should’ve known – before Todd was upon him, properly wrestling him down against the cushions. A dangerous smile crossed his face.

“See, Dickie? He would’ve used that little comment to play some silly tickle monster game with you, really play into the whole ‘beast’ thing.” He effortlessly caught Damian’s wrist in his hand before Damian could punch him in the midsection. “Me? I’m just gonna make you regret it.”

“Todd, wait–!”

Todd cocked his head to the side. “Why wait any longer? Thought you would’ve had enough of that, by now.” His grin widened. “Timmers said you were practically crawling out of your skin. Don’t think I didn’t notice too, on patrols.”

Damian gasped as his other wrist was captured, feeling the heat flood his face at Todd’s words. His heart thumped in his chest and he stared up at Todd’s face helplessly.

Todd’s grin twisted into a diabolical smirk. “Giving up already, baby assassin?”

Damian could just accept his fate. He could give in, let his nervous system have a rest from the hypervigilance, allow Todd to tickle all of that out of him… But when had Damian ever endeavored to make things easy for his brothers.

Damian wiggled, half-trapped under Todd’s bulk as he leaned over him, and managed to squeeze his legs underneath Todd’s arm and up into his own chest. Then, he shot them out towards Todd’s chest, putting all the power behind the kick that he could manage. Todd laughed, deep and low, and darted backwards. It was almost like he had been anticipating the attack.

He snatched up Damian’s legs, bringing them to a tight hold against his chest with one arm as he stood from the sofa. Damian growled as his world titled upside-down, trying to kick out of Todd’s grasp and finding it near unmoveable. Only his head and shoulders still rested against the cushions, the rest of his body dangling in the air from the anchor point of his calves.

“Todd!”

Todd chuckled. “You know – maybe you should be eating more. You feel way too light for a baby vigilante.”

Damian threw a punch at Todd’s thigh, though he didn’t even flinch. “I am in peak physical condition!”

Instead of answering, Todd latched his free hand onto one of Damian’s knees, sending him into immediately hysterical laughter. Being held in the air like this, his legs so securely pinned, Damian had nowhere to squirm. All he could do was twist his body back and forth and bounce his knees – though as he quickly lost strength due to his laughter, he lost the ability to do even that effectively, as bouncing his knees meant raising his whole body along with them. After what felt like an eternity (but likely wasn’t more than a minute), Todd stopped and let him breathe. 

“See, I could stay there all afternoon – make you beg and cry. I think it would end too quickly if we did that, though.”

Damian groaned and uselessly tried to kick out again. It was no use, Todd’s grip was inescapable.

“I mean, I made you wait more than a week. It would be pretty shitty of me to tickle you out so fast, huh?”

Damian bared his teeth. “I will make you regret ever being born.”

Todd mimicked his expression, though his version was far more gleeful. “Wanna bet?”

Damian inhaled, opening his mouth to speak, and all the air immediately left him in a giggly yelp as Todd began clawing at his stomach – right in that spot next to his navel. In the privacy of his own mind, Damian let out a slew of curses. Did everyone know about that accursed “giggle spot?” He blamed Richard’s repeated exploitation of it.

“See, I do my research, kiddo. I know all the best places to tickle already – and we might even find more along the way. And I’m not going easy on you like Timerbly did.”

Damian shot a wide-eyed look up at Todd, trying to pry his fingers off his stomach. Todd smirked.

“Good thing you’re already having fun, then, right?”

“Screw you,” Damian hissed through his giggling.

“How viscous,” Todd said, voice flat. “Like a truly fearsome kitten, really.”

He switched to clawing his hand up and down Damian’s ribcage, jumping back and forth between his left and right. Damian screeched, trying to leverage his shoulders against the cushions to twist away from Todd’s hand. Todd grumbled something in response and hitched Damian up even higher, lifting him away from the cushions, and stepped away from the couch. Damian dangled freely now, hanging uselessly in the air. Every squirm sent him swinging, making it even harder to control his movements despite the fact that Todd was able to follow his momentum easily.

Easily enough for his hand to crawl all the way up into Damian’s underarm, massaging deep into the muscle.

“No!” Damian cried out before losing himself to bubbly, boyish laughter and humiliating snorts.

Todd chuckled along. “No? No, what? Is something wrong down there, little demon? Something bugging you?”

Damian barely caught the sound of jingling through his own laughter, tilting his head up (or was it down, considering his flipped position?) to see Titus trotting into the room at the sound of his torment. Damian reached an arm out for him – the one not currently glued to his side from ticklish shock – which quickly turned out to be a mistake, as Todd switched to tickling that underarm instead. His arm snapped back to his side, but the brief movement had still caught Titus’s attention and he approached.

“Titus, help me!”

Todd laughed above him. “What’s the dog gonna do, you little snot? Take me down? Doubt it.”

Damian made his voice as commanding as he could despite the laughter. “Titus, attack! Bite him!”

Unfortunately, childish guffaws did not a commanding voice make. Titus tilted his head to the side at the unintelligible words before lowering himself down into a bow. Damian gasped as he realized what was about to happen, bringing his free arm up for protection, but it was too late.

Damian had learned early on that Titus loved the sound of laughter. He seemed to recognize what it meant – a happy, joyful human – and it always put him in a playful mood. Damian’s laughter in particular seemed to excite him more than most, likely due to the close bond they shared.

Low in his bow, Titus barked twice, before bouncing back up and prancing a bit on his front paws. Then, he shoved his cold noise right into the crook of Damian’s neck, snuffling away against the skin.

Damian squealed, then shrieked, then flapped his hands uselessly at the overwhelming ticklish feelings flooding through his body. Todd laughed again, thankfully pulling his own hand back, but doing nothing to deter Titus. Damian waved his hands around in the air, disoriented from hanging upside down and not certain how to even push Titus away with his lack of leverage. Titus, spurred on by Damian’s happy noises, continued to nuzzle away in his neck and at his ears.

“Titus, no! Down!” Damian shrieked again at a particularly breathy snuffle to his ear, trying to swing his body away from Titus unsuccessfully. “Todd! Todd!”

“What?” Todd’s voice was heavy with his own laughter, low and fond in a rare way that made Damian feel even more bashful. “I’m not even doing anything, Dames. That’s all Titus.”

“He’s– it’s– No!” Damian cut himself off with another squeal.

“Aw, what? Does it tickle? See, look, you’re so ticklish that even Titus knows what to do. Didn’t realize your neck was that bad, though. Reminds me of the one time I was able to get Bruce.”

Damian put his hands on either side of Titus’s head, trying to push him away. The touch only excited Titus even more, his licking and sniffing getting even quicker.

“Like father like son, I guess.”

Damian slapped at Todd’s thigh. Normally when Titus started this game, Damian would have been able to redirect him by now. The longer Titus stayed in his neck, the more hyper-sensitive he seemed to get. He knew it wasn’t his most ticklish spot, that curse lay firmly in his knees, but he didn’t think he’d ever been tickled so unbearably in this spot before. Todd seemed to get the message, shooing Titus off towards the dog toys in the dog bed in the corner of the library.

“Alright, go to bed, boy. Don’t want you tiring him out and stealing all my fun.”

Titus huffed, but trotted obediently off towards his bed, his tail wagging wildly at Damian’s continued giggles.

“How do you get anything done when you’re this ticklish, huh? I bet your clothes even tickle.”

“They do not,” Damian said, though the vehemence of his protest was lessened by how breathless and giggly he still was. The slight wooziness from the blood rushing to his head made the laughter even harder to stop. “I’m not that ticklish!”

“Really, you’re not?”

“No!”

“Hm. Are you sure? Why don’t you tell me how much this tickles.”

Todd’s hand shot towards his side, and Damian shrieked and swung his body the opposite way. All that did was get him swaying like a pendulum, practically swinging his body into Todd’s wiggling fingers and away again. Todd hummed out another chuckle, rocking to add a little more sway to Damian’s body to keep him rocking into and away from his tickling hand. It was a horrible tease that had Damian whimpering and giggling in equal measure, trying to shove at Todd’s hand every time he grew close.

“You’re doing it to yourself at this point, kid.”

“Stop talking!”

“Mm, nah. It’s pretty funny when you go all red. Especially since you’re the most uptight preteen I’ve ever fucking met.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“Been there, done that. Get some original material.”

Damian tried to growl, but the sound was interrupted as Todd targeted his giggle spot again as the pendulum swinging slowed. Damian clutched at his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut. After Titus’s attack seeming to set his nervous system alight, everything seemed to tickle even worse than before.

“Jason! Cut it out!”

Todd whistled, low and impressed. “I get a first name shoutout? Damn, maybe it’s time for the grand finale before your brain turns to mush.”

Damian’s eyes snapped wide open. His hands started flailing to try and catch Todd’s before he could up his attack. It was a pitiful attempt, and Todd’s hands connected with the muscle above his knee in moments, massaging away at the pressure points.

Damian practically screamed, and he hoped beyond hope that they were far enough from the stairs to the family wing to avoid waking Father. No doubt he would join in, seeing Damian red-faced and cackling. He was as bad as Richard when it came to his childishly named “tickle monster” tendencies, and if he decided to join in, Damian doubted he would see mercy for a long while yet.

And as much fun as Damian refused to admit he was having, adding in another set of tickling hands when he was already so consumed by the ticklish feelings with just one of Todd’s? He might truly die from it.

Todd jumped around, exploring around his knees as Damian cackled and snivelled and screamed in laughter. Clawing at his kneecaps, skittering at the thin skin behind his knees, jumping down to his claves or up to his thighs when Damian started to run out of air to give him some semblance of a break. He wasn’t methodical like Drake, but he was still precise. Every minute weak point was found and targeted with single-minded focus, until Damian thought he was going to die from tickles from just one hand.

Then, just when Damian was beginning to think he couldn’t take anymore, just when he was debating swallowing his pride and begin begging, Todd stopped. Damian gasped in a deep breath and it left him in a whoosh as he was dropped unceremoniously back onto the couch. His head swam from how long he’d been upside down and Damian allowed himself the luxury of going boneless, sinking into the plush cushions. He could see why Todd spent so much time in the library when he came by the Manor – this was exceedingly comfortable. He could fall asleep right there.

“Still with us, Baby Bat?”

Damian debated kicking Todd as he plopped on the couch next to him, but decided that it was ultimately too much effort to move that much. 

“Your days are numbered,” he mumbled instead.

Todd let out a humming chuckle deep in his throat, reaching over to ruffle Damian’s hair. If Damian leaned into the touch, it was entirely because his neck was too tired to support his head. It was absolutely not because he enjoyed the affectionate touch.

“Me ‘n Alfie’s cookies are probably cooled enough to eat, by now. Want one?”

This time, Damian did kick at Todd, just lightly against his hip. “I deserve at least three.”

Todd ruffled his hair even more. It was probably sticking up in every direction, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, probably. You got it, kid. Three cookies and a glass of water coming right up. If your limbs start working again, pick a book out. I’ll read you something.”

If Damian wound up cuddled up to Todd’s side under a fluffy blanket, munching on cookies as Todd read to him aloud, no one needed to know. Especially not the fact that he dozed off only a few minutes after finishing his snack, Todd’s deep rumble soothing him into slumber before he even realized what was happening.

*     *     *

“Heard you had quite the eventful couple weeks,” Richard said as he practically bounded into the training area.

Damian refused to look at him. “We will not speak of it.

Richard slipped behind the punching bag Damian was attacking, forcing his cheery grin into Damian’s sight. “Aww, Dami – it’s okay! You wanted some more big brother tickles. No one will blame you for that!”

Damian delivered a particularly vicious punch to the bag, but Richard was unphased, only smiling brighter.

“I think Jay and Timmy had fun, too. Better look out though, kiddo – now that they know you’re tickle-able, you won’t be escaping them anytime soon.”

Damian’s ears grew hot. “I know,” he grumbled. “They’ve already proved as such.”

Now that whatever unspoken wall protecting Damian had come down, it seemed as though he couldn’t go more than two days without Drake or Todd deciding he deserved another round. Damian didn’t think he’d laughed this much even when Richard was in town, tickle-attacking him at least twice a day. He would likely never have a day's peace again.

Richard smirked, releasing the bag and leaning down so they were closer to eye-level. “Something tells me you don’t mind as much as you pretend to.”

Damian bared his teeth, aiming his next punch for Richard’s nose, overly telegraphing the movement. Richard laughed, snatching the wrist up and using it to spin Damian around, pulling him into a backwards hug to dig his fingers into Damian’s sides and ribs. He immediately burst into bubbly laughter.

“That’s okay, though, kiddo. Those are just the privileges of being a little brother.”

Someday, Damian vowed, he would be bigger and stronger than all of them. He would exact his revenge ruthlessly and without mercy, and as frequently as possible. Someday, they would fear his “tickle monster” prowess.

One. Two. One. Two. One. Two. Of course Damian is above jabs and crosses. It’s strength training. Repetitive motion, building callouses, burning the old muscle. That’s what he keeps reminding himself. His father’s way of training was so much more… gentle. Sometimes it made him feel inadequate. Like he wasn’t doing enough if it didn’t look flashy, if it wasn’t backbreaking or risky. He decides to add a couple different types of punch to his routine. That won’t hurt, right?

He really does try to stick to simple strengthening punch combinations, but once he goes in with an uppercut, muscle memory starts kicking in. His grandfather’s disapproving face. The sound of a kick when it pushes into flesh. Muscle versus fat versus bone.

Eyes on your surroundings—

Hand on his shoulder—

Grab flip jump… get flipped? …Grayson.

He slowly comes back from his memory-induced state, lying on his back. In his trance, he’d grabbed Dick, who had placed his hand on his shoulder, and attempted to flip him over his shoulder, only to get himself flipped in turn. And of COURSE Damian was good enough to recover from that. He just… chose not to for the time being.

“Hey little wing,” Dick smiles widely, amused at the position. However, his eyes carry a hint of concern. His brother had been more in the zone than usual, which was saying something.

Damian scoffs at the childish nickname. “What do you want Grayson?” he glowers. Here it comes— the big long Dick Grayson spiel of how he’s concerned, how Damian needs a break, how if he ever wants to talk-

“Nothing, just bored,” Dick smiles. His carefree Dick Grayson smile. Not a lecture or concern in sight. This is a relief to Damian. Or… it should be a relief. Not having to sit through another infantilizing, obnoxious session of worry. A silly talk of… affection and care and love.

He can’t help but feel a little… disappointed? Dick always had something to say when he was upset. He brushed it off and cleared his throat. “Right,” Damian agreed and nodded.

Dick nods nonchalantly and goes to sit on the bench, pulling out his phone. This continues to confuse Damian. He huffs and goes back to hitting the bag.

His jabs and crosses start to feel like thoughts and feelings. One. Two. One. Two. Grayson doesn’t care. One. Two. Why would he? One. Two. One. There’s nothing to care about anyways. One. Two. Chafing knuckles, fraying wood. One, two, two one five one two— Hands around his body, staying him… hugging him.

That’s when Damian realizes why he’s so aggravated. Dick’s arms feel like warm water on aching, freezing muscles. His irritation melts like butter in the sun. It only lasts a second though, before he squirms out, saving his pride.

“What are you doing, Grayson?” he questions reproachfully. Dick just smiles. “You were getting kind of intense,” he says gently. Damian tries to ignore the way his care makes him feel soft.

“I am training, Grayson, it’s meant to be intense-“ Damian is cut off by the slightest gasp when Dick reaches for his side, trying to wrangle him into another hug. The touch sets Damian’s nerves on fire, sending heat to his face. He flinches away on instinct.

This makes Dick furrow his brows. “Are you hurt there? I thought you were supposed to be off duty this week,” Dick crosses his arms. Damian huffs out a breath. “I am not hurt,” he scoffs. Dick doesn’t take that answer, of course. He quickly grabs Damian’s arm, holding it up, pulling Damian against him gently with his leg. His fingers tenderly prod into the spot he’d grabbed, feeling for bruising or fractures.

Damian lets in a sharp breath and jerks away, unable to hide a small smile. Damn his sides. “Don’t touch me, Grayson,” he growls, trying (and failing) to sound threatening with a nervous smile making its way onto his features.

Dick finally comes to the same revelation that Damian had had minutes prior: The boy wants touch, but he wouldn’t be caught dead allowing it. When he flashes that stupid, evil grin, Damian’s stomach flutters with anticipation.

“Grayson,” he starts, backing up. “Yes, wing?” Dick asks innocently, stalking him slowly. “Grayson, you’re being unreasonable,” Damian pleads halfheartedly. “I haven’t done anything yet,” Dick smirks. “RICHARD—“

Dick tackles Damian to the mat. Damian would never admit it, but he absolutely let it happen.

During his half-hearted struggles, Dick has managed to seat his stupid bodyweight on Damian’s hips. That sets a new wave of dread through Damian, who has no time to protest before he feels ten fingers pinching and wiggling in his lower sides.

The screech Damian let out was unholy. “Wahahait WAIT Grahayson nonononoHO STOHOP!!” he squealed. This was utterly undignified. And both of them reveled in it.

“What’s wrong, baby bird? Does it ticke?” he asks, using the t-word without a second thought. Dick keeps his tickles consistently rough. He smiles down, sparing the boy the humiliation of having to say he likes the torment. The thought of coherently allowing soft tickles is like drinking acid to the poor boy’s mind.

“GRAHAYSON” Damian gasps and giggles, his face increasingly warm. “Uh oh… I think it might be time to move up a spot,” Dick smiles affectionately. His fingers wander up to Damian’s muscular ribs.

Damian’s hands, which had been loosely resting on Dick’s wrists, came up to cover his face. This was nice. It felt… normal. Caring. But so embarrassing. His snickers from the fingers in his ribs were muffled against his arms.

“Are you hiding from me?” Dick teased. Damian felt so silly, but he couldn’t do anything but nod and squirm. His raised arms were his downfall.

“I love you, little wing,” Dick cooed, and wiggled his fingers into his armpits.

“PFFFFNHNHN YOHOU ARE HOHOOOORIBLEHEHEHE!” Damian cackled, feeling very much the opposite.

Dick’s fingers are too nimble, too fast, too mean. Damian can’t think. He snorts and screams and twists and giggles. Dick just smiles affectionately.

His fingers continue to bully the boy for a while, until his laughs become silent. Quickly, the older boy lets up. Damian quickly crawls himself away, curling up on the mat and giggling with aftershocks. Dick crawls over to him. Damian remains in a defensive pose, but Dick just pulls him into his lap, stroking the tickles off of him.

He’s too tired to protest. He lays into his big brother’s chest. They sit like that for a while, just letting themselves calm down.

“I love you, wing.”

“Screw you, Grayson.