If you’re lonely come be lonely with me

The anniversary of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s deaths never became any easier for their boy who they left behind. He was a man now, if you could call him that. He was a towering, ghostly-shadow-bat-thing. And today, The Batman would be even harsher on the eyes. All of those hideous feelings he internalized would make themselves very known.

Bruce had parental obligations. He was responsible for Dick. He was under oath to keep him safe and warm and happy. It was another one of those days where he couldn’t bring himself to leave his bedroom and face the city that corroded his humanity. He couldn’t shake the doubts in his mind about the decision he already could never go back on.

How was he supposed to care for a child? Batman was what children asked their parents to check for under the bed and in the closet. Dick never seemed afraid of him, but Bruce looked awful today. Because he was awful. This was terrible, awful, no good, very bad day.

It was wrong of him to act like he was doing this for Dick’s sake. Bruce knew he was hiding away because he was vain, and he felt sorry for himself. He was intimately familiar with such a feeling. Melancholy cradled him in its arms in this dark room for years and years. He would go so far as to say it substituted a parent, not for Alfred’s lack of trying. His life had ended the day he was turned into this… thing. He expected to spend the rest of his life standing idly by in the strange comfort of his own helplessness.

That wasn’t the type of person Bruce was. He would land himself in Arkham Asylum without a sense of purpose. He was fighting with Batman often these days because being a miserable lump wasn’t exactly an option anymore. There was a little boy, probably lingering right outside his bedroom door, who relied on him.

“Lemme in… please?” Came a child’s small voice. As always, his instincts rarely failed him. He got a few seconds to agonize in silence before Alfred pressed.

“He’s terribly worried about you, Master Bruce. It would be a lie to say I don’t feel the same… you shouldn’t be alone today.”

Dick was worried. Darling little Dick Grayson. Of course he was worried. Bruce shouldn’t hold out on them any longer.

A thick, dark smog poured out from inside his bedroom when he exposed himself to them, in all his ugliness and grief. Dick had to crane his neck all the way up to meet Bruce’s eyes, Bruce similarly had to turn to face the floor.

When he was experiencing feelings that he couldn’t compartmentalize and put away, they grew and grew. His pointed ears could touch the tall ceiling, spikes protruded from various angles on his cloak, he couldn’t maintain a featureless visage, and they were seeing what he really was. What he knew himself to be.

Alfred struggled to meet his eyes, wherever they were, and Dick’s response was awe. “Whoa…”

Maybe Bruce should have known. Kids saw the world so differently. Dick’s line of thinking didn’t go to supernatural, or a dangerous monster that needed to be contained. It went to storybooks and his favorite cartoon characters who might have looked similar.

“Dick.” His throat burned in protest. A bad day. Dick was gesturing urgently for Bruce to come down to eye level. Or at least as close as he would be able to get today. Bruce sat himself down on the floor with a small posture. The legs that typically never left the confines of his cloak crossed.

Dick skipped on over like he was approaching the open arms of the Easter Bunny rather than the hulking dark mass that was The Batman. The perky boy stopped in front of him, and after a few seconds of feeling around in the shadows, found Bruce’s temples. He cradled his head in his small, soft hands, and leaned forward to place a kiss to it.

“Don’t be sad, Batman. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Bruce felt his ears droop. He felt warm, Dick was too sweet. It made him emotional in a way that his son seemed to misconstrue. He puffed up, scrutinizing Bruce. Those ears perked back up questioningly.

“I mean it. Pinky promise.” Well, that sealed the deal. Things couldn’t possibly not be okay now.

Dick’s hand shed light on his, parting the shadows and exposing the human hand underneath. They locked pinkies. Satisfied, Dick began to bounce around the room and hang off of Bruce, expecting him to play their usual game of guiding him through flips or just holding him upside down. This zany child wasn’t brought up to have both feet on the ground, Bruce had a difficult time refusing him. Things were starting to feel a bit more normal, despite what today meant to him and Alfred.

“I do believe you heard the lad, sir. Let us try our hardest, and make it a good day.” It’s what they would want. Bruce had never been able to wrap his head around how Alfred could still give him those same eyes that he did when he was a human little boy. He wasn’t that anymore. Not at all. It never stopped feeling good, though.

Dick hanging off his neck, he stood to his full height. He’d shrunk from before, ears brushing just beneath the doorway. He found it in himself to burden Alfred with a small smile. A toothy, unsightly one. The old butler smiled back anyway.

* * *

Batman met Tim Drake around five months ago now. When Tim looked at him, Bruce didn’t think he was seeing what everyone else did. He spent more enough time lamenting his appearance, and when he first met Tim, you’d have thought he was a guardian angel. Bruce found himself selfishly thinking, “Gosh, maybe I should keep this kid around.”

He set those thoughts aside, they were immoral, and more than anything, Bruce was so drawn to Tim. Overwhelmingly curious. He didn’t act like a boy his age. He seemed to know all of the bus routes and train schedules in the city. He could wave down a taxi for himself and pay the driver. He spoke nothing of school, friends, his mother or father. All he wanted to talk about were spirits, urban legends, and the extensive research he did on them.

Tim had so much to say just that first night they met. He seemed so lonely, and he’d always deflate when you took a moment, had him stop, and shooed away the blinding fog of this fantasy land he was living in. Their first real conversation happened through a spirit box. It could pick up on the high frequency of the calls that unfortunately came more naturally to Bruce. To Batman.

“Your mother will worry if you don’t go home soon.”

“She’s not home right now.”

“Yes. You said that last time too.”

“Where is she, Tim?”

“She’s working…”

“Mr. Drake too?”

“Daddy’s with her. They work together. You don’t have to worry about me… I have you now, right?”

As sweet as that sentiment and Tim’s little smile was, Bruce wasn’t his father. Nor his mother. He was caught between a rock in a hard place. What good would leaving him behind do? What did it matter if he was Tim’s father or not? The Drake Residence was so cold and empty, Tim said he never fell asleep, it made him that restless.

Bruce caved. Of course he did. Their door was wide open, and Tim worked up the courage to start to visit sometimes after school. He was shy at first. He didn’t know how to talk to Alfred or the boys. He was a little hesitant with Bruce even, now being under his roof. With time Tim came around.

He’d left his mark on the manor by now. DVDs of all his favorite scary movies and TV shows were stacked on the TV stand on the den. Alfred fixed him up a ghost costume out of a soft, fleecy blanket, and Tim ran around in it sometimes. When he didn’t feel like being a person anymore. Bruce could understand, to some extent. That lay draped over the kitchen chair where Tim always sat when he joined them for dinner.

Tim, because of Dick’s bad influence, was climbing in through the first story window. Dick’s bedroom window. The one he did some tinkering with so he could take Jason out at night to be teenage hooligans. Punk kids.

They didn’t know when Tim would arrive anymore. Without the click and draft of the front door in the foyer, there were no cues to indicate his arrival. He really did navigate the world like a little ghost.

Ultimately, he didn’t have many other paths to choose from. Tim was raised in high society around only adults with the suggestion put in his head to mimic them, an already small adult who had to make himself even smaller. Rumors in high society spread quickly, Bruce had heard; Tim was a special case. Something was fundamentally off, and his mother and father were at a loss.

They didn’t think that two things couldn’t be true at once. Tim could be innately very precocious for his age, and still be his age. They didn’t understand, and they hadn’t tried especially hard to. He stopped trying to make himself known, let alone understood. The only sign of life in that big empty house he haunted was his bedroom.

Hearing Dick’s chatter down the hallway, Bruce assumed that he’d thought about this hard enough to summon a spirit outside the open window. A few side steps, and he saw down the hall.

“Timmy, Timmy, Timmy~” Dick sang, guiding his honorary little brother through a twirl as he passed like they were dancers. Tim loved those small gestures, you could see it on his face. This was what the dreams of lonely latchkey kids were made of.

“Whoooaaa…” Tim drawled in a predominantly wry manner, feigning dizziness. Dick smiled and tugged him against his side, giving him a good natured little shake. Nobody knew what it was about Tim, but Dick adored him. He fell fast and he fell hard. Timmy fever.

They were discussing plans for the weekend, Tim was pretending like he had anything better to do. Like there was anywhere else he’d rather be.

Jason strolled up beside them, absentmindedly setting a hand on Tim’s head, then letting it fall back into the pocket of his jacket— Hi. I’m here too. He often wore jackets inside. He was cold, always. Jason had curated a nice collection over the years, it would feel like a bit of a shame if he didn’t wear them.

He smelled like fabric softener and cigarettes. Also a shame, it was even harder on his body now than before, but with all his anxiety, he needed something to take the edge off.

“Where’s Batman?” Tim always asked about him. He always circled back to Batman.

“Oh, he’s around here somewhere.” Dick huffed. “C’mon, do you even like us or are you just here for Batman?”

Tim stared. They’d learned one thing about him. He was pretty bad with confrontation and vulnerability, and his alarm bells were easy to trip. He had two options: drive himself insane about this until someone sits him down, and grills him about how not mad they are. About how much he isn’t in trouble. It feels counterintuitive, but it’s the only way he’ll listen.

Then there was the second option. Dodge or deflect the question, put off acknowledging whatever is troubling him for as long as he possibly can. That method felt just barely, slightly more sustainable.

Tim gave a crooked smile, he cartoonishly averted his gaze. “What? Nooo… of course not.”

Dick’s eyelid twitched. He exchanged glances with Jason. Is this kid being for real?

Tim was a nervous giggler. “I’m sorry, I’m teasing, I didn’t—“ when Jason grabbed at him, and he saw a small, playful smile on The Serious Brother’s face, something in his gut told him he was in a different kind of trouble. He tumbled back with an almost offended shout. His indignation melted away into giddiness when Jason continued to pursue him. A feeling you would imagine tasting like cotton candy melting on your tongue.

“H… Hey—! HEY!” Dick knew his ears perked up. That was probably the loudest he’d ever heard Tim be in the house. He minded his manners, regardless of how many times they told him they didn’t really care. He didn’t have to ask to sit on the couch.

“What’re you—“ Tim sputtered like an old train engine. He was having a real hard time over there, “jAY- Jason!”

Dick had a difficult time ignoring his instincts when they began to crawl in his stomach. He crept closer, trying to get a look over Jason’s shoulder. His breath caught in his throat for a moment at what he saw.

“WHY’RE YOu— nohoho tickling!” Dick smiled slightly, surveying Jason up and down. Breath released. Didn’t know he had it in him. Tim was laying on his front, legs kicking and hands slamming against the floor like he was pitching a fit. Not that the response was exactly unwarranted.

“What’re you, why’re you!” Jason echoed in a nasally tone of voice, “Say you’re sorry, and that you what you said isn’t true.”

“You know it isn’t!” Despite his groan, Tim said that too earnestly for Jason to not suddenly feel unbearably awkward. He expected his brother to keep being a little snark, earn his sentence a bit more. That was what brothers were supposed to do. The moment he hesitated, Tim was able to weasel away. He leaned against the back of the couch, opposite to the wall where he’d been cornered.

He didn’t seem too tarnished by the experience. Maybe a little rattled, pink in the cheeks and catching his breath. He didn’t do things like this before Dick and Jason came along.

“Looklooklook,” Dick was calling for him from the top of the sofa above. Tim obediently followed where his finger was pointed, “Y’see? He’s all starstruck.”

Tim smiled, a little hesitant and not wanting to get himself into any more trouble. That brought Jason out of his haze as he growled at Dick, who wrinkled his nose and playfully growled back. It was just… a Jason noise. The growling. Tim knew what he didn’t know. There was a story to Jason that they weren’t telling him.

But before he could put his second attack of the day into action, he was held back gently. A shadowy presence. It enveloped some of Jason as he was tugged back against Bruce’s chest.

“Jay.” He quietly warbled. Tim lit up. Batman had arrived, the man of the hour. Jason shuddered as the fingertips of a vaguely clawed hand travelled up the back of his neck to card through his hair. He was already half asleep by the time they got to the second part, though.

Bruce looked up from his sedated son to all eyes on him.

“…”

Pet me too! They say.

What had he gotten himself into.

* * * 

Damian coming into their lives was a rude awakening, and undeniably the conduit for all the disarray that followed. Bruce didn’t blame him, not at all. He felt that Damian had blessed him, if anything.

But—there had to be a but—going from beast to human, there was a learning curve there, and as much as he already treasured this boy for just… being his, it would be nice if he were a little friendlier.

Tensions were high for some time, but their youngest was finally beginning to settle into something of a role. Dick pushed Damian’s comfort zone the hardest, but was met with the fastest results.

Cass was a quiet, but steady presence. She and Damian talked about martial arts. Bruce was sure he’d seen the haughty boy call Cass by her first name. He couldn’t drop so much formality as to use her nickname, of course not. But according to her, he said it was a nice name. Cassandra. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone he said that.

Jason and Damian interacted through lingering stares. Some of the murder was beginning to leave their eyes, they appeared more curious.

Tim and Damian were extremely uncomfortable around one another in the beginning, things still weren’t perfect. But sometimes you’d find them watching nature documentaries together at night, usually when they’d both had a bad day. That had to be indicative of some semblance of trust. Maybe one would begrudgingly laugh at a joke the other made or give a high five.

They got along better when placed in a crowd. Under those circumstances, them being the youngest members of the family brought them together rather than dividing them. Maybe they’d get excited and find themselves in much higher spirits and closer proximity than normal. And maybe they’d be okay with that.

In the end, Bruce just wanted Damian to be happy here. He was a lot like Tim when he was younger. So much worse, actually. He didn’t doubt that Talia was doing what she thought was best, but kids need friends, they need to make happy memories. They don’t need to learn seven different languages. They don’t need to know how to write in beautiful Shakespearean cursive or the ruthless means of survival in a capitalist society. God, they don’t need to know that—

“Damian!” Bruce lifted his head. Dick greeting the boy. You could tell because he’d always make a strong effort to sound so happy to see you. Damian could benefit from that sort of treatment. It was followed by the sounds of a skirmish. Dick was trying to desensitize Damian to just how handsy this family could be in comparison to what he was used to.

This could escalate quickly. Bruce idled nearby. Just in case.

“Keep your filthy hands off of me!” Damian didn’t often speak unless spoken to. He had a judging stare, but he wouldn’t pick a fight unless he perceived that somebody else started it first. Dick was just trying to give him one of those big bear hugs of his. He was a lover, not a fighter. Damian couldn’t fully understand that yet.

Dick puffed out a pitchy, girlish scoff. Drama queen. “Filthy?”

“Yes. And so touchy…” Damian was ready to retreat up the stairs. Then Jason passed.

“What did you just call me?”

Jason had earbuds in. He took one out and stared.

“‘So slutty.’ I can’t be the only one who heard that, right? B, what do you think?”

Damian looked mortified. He would never be so improper, so vulgar. Especially not in front of his father. Dick’s smile indicated that he almost felt bad, but it was a little cute, seeing Damian go all beet red like that.

Jason coughed something that might have been a laugh and continued swiftly onwards. Don’t drag me into this.

“How could you say that?? I… I would never! Father, you can’t possibly believe—“ One moment, there was a boy standing at the bottom landing of the stairs. Bruce and Talia’s boy. The next, at Damian’s height, a foggy, bat-shaped mass of darkness. Mass may have been unfitting, as that was something it really lacked. It looked like something much larger than them had taken a charcoal pencil and scribbled out a creature that could fit in the palm of your hand.

It landed on the third to last stair with a dull thud. Assuming that Damian didn’t disappear into the ether and leave this in his wake, that was him. Dick was stunned. Bruce hurried forward to bundle up in his palms what he guessed was his son. Wow. He looks just like me.

He was rewarded with a cacophony of angry clicking, chittering noises for his urgency. In the same way a tiny mouse couldn’t project its voice, Damian wasn’t as stern as he may have liked.

Holding this tiny thing in delicate hands so much less likely to hurt him, it was a feeling you wouldn’t realized you’d missed. Bruce couldn’t stop what came next, a stupid smile and an, “Oh… Damian.” Look at you! And he did not especially like that, but he was also very small right now.

Taking a chance, Bruce gave him a little scratch under the chin. He expected that one of two things would happen: Damian would bite him, absolutely looking to draw blood. Damian wouldn’t be able to stave off the touch starvation he suffered from, and he’d tell himself to indulge. Just this once.

It wasn’t just once if there was a recognizable pattern. Bruce wasn’t complaining by any means. He lucked out when a tiny head limply fell against his finger, eyes squinted shut.

When an awed breath pushed past Dick’s lips and he scampered forward for a closer look, Bruce tucked Damian into the pocket of his blazer. You could vaguely hear his muffled tantrum from the inside. He would just have to trust Bruce, he was better off in there. Dick was looking much too exuberant about this for safe dusty bat lump handling.

“B!” He protested. He was so wiggly, much harder to keep at bay than he should have been.

“Not right now, chum.” A hand settled against the pocket sheltering Damian. If he wasn’t cradled, the tussling wouldn’t feel like anything short of an earthquake.

Dick stood on his toes to peer over Bruce’s shoulder.

“Come on, Jay. Don’t be shy.” He beckoned his hand invitingly. Jason awkwardly shuffled over. He thought he was being subtle as he tried to get a look in Bruce’s pocket. He was not. It was about as subtle as what he was undoubtedly doing just before: staring at the back of their heads and waiting to be noticed because he never wanted to be the one approach first.

“I know the little prince is in there. What even happened to him? Lemme see.” Jason was budging up closer. Bruce stared tiredly ahead. Darkness bloomed from his human arm, leaving a significantly stronger, much longer appendage to hold Jason back with. His son pointedly turned away.

“Jason…” Bruce coaxed, releasing him.

“I won’t force Damian. If he wants to come out and see you, he can.”

Jason’s gaze briefly flicked back down to that pocket.

“He doesn’t sound very happy in there.”

Bruce quietly sighed. Maybe he was being rash. Damian was just so small like this. He held the pocket open with his pointer finger, Damian clumsily fluttered out.

Jason had to wince back, not expecting him so close to his face. His back cautiously straightened.

“…He’s like a little butterfly.” He mused, head following Damian’s jerky movements in the air.

It almost made the second eldest’s superiors want to shudder, when glimpses of childlike innocence brought some life back into Jason’s features.

To his delight, the tiny… thing that his younger brother had turned into landed atop his head with a soft whump. His hair, silver and feathery soft, was seemingly the perfect place for the overwhelmed Damian to lay his head down.

“I think he likes you.” Dick said with a small smile.

“Stay right there. Don’t move.”

* * *

Bart liked hugs. Talking to him, you’d think he liked just about everything, but he especially liked hugs. In theory, his friends didn’t mind. After running some trials, he’d found that some definitely minded less than others.

Kon undeniably was just the best, it wasn’t even close. He was all big and warm, it didn’t matter how fast Bart ran at him because of his Kryptonian durability, and he didn’t get uncomfortable when Bart didn’t wanna let go. Kon would let him hang on as long as he wanted, the speedster was very pleasantly surprised at this patience he was shown.

With this having fully registered in Bart’s mind, they’d fallen into a rhythm as of late. Admittedly, this was the first time he’d run across the country and scoured the rural outskirts of Metropolis to find his hug buddy. He was dying of boredom.

It was autumn, dreary and nearing the end of the season. Kon was the only sign of life in the gray, derelict cornfield where he was sparring with nobody, probably talking to himself. He hit the ground fast when Bart barreled into him from behind at, like, mach bazillion.

“Owh— oh god, fuhuhuck…“ He rasped, rolling over onto his back and holding his stomach like it would knock the wind back into him. The first thing he saw was Bart beaming down at him.

“An angel?” Kon gasped dumbly.

Bart laughed and threw himself down across his teammate. They made a wonky plus sign. It seemed innocent enough, but knocked about half of the wind Kon regained right out. His next choked sound was exaggerated purposefully.

“Did you call or anything, Imp?” He carefully began. Bart wasn’t unwanted here, but he was unexpected.

“Nuh-uh.” You could hear him smiling.

“So… you just ran all the way here to say hi?” Kon continued.

“Uh-huh! It’s no big deal for me, y’know.” That was a fair point. It probably took Bart less than three minutes, and that’s with the delay of trying to track his friend down. He wasn’t the most careful with his civilian identity, Tim would have an aneurism, but who was going to catch him anyway? He moved faster than almost all of the population could perceive.

“Alright, well… hi.” Kon sat himself up, stretching. He was bulletproof, he didn’t really get sore, but it made him look all cool and casual.

Bart grinned. “Hi.”

He stared for a moment before parting his arms expectantly. Kon huffed a laugh.

“There it is. That’s why you came here.” He simply snagged Bart up on his way to his feet. They began to chatter.

“I’ve just been thinking… why are you so small?”

“I prefer vertically challenged.” Bart quipped.

“You’re horizontally challenged too. You’re spatially challenged.” Kon rebuked.

“You’re talkin’ like you’re mad at me!” Bart scoffed. It wasn’t his fault! He’s known it for years, he won’t be getting much bigger.

“I’m not! It’s just… kinda funny, I don’t know.”

Kon pulled back for a demonstration, taking Bart’s wrist. “Like, look at this thing.”

His hand flopped back and forth when Kon shook it about. “It’s adorable.”

Bart didn’t know how to respond. For his own peace of mind, he had to stop getting all ruffled at short jokes a long time ago. He never didn’t have something to say for long at all, though. He made a hand puppet. It turned away and dipped its head.

A smirk was slowly crossing his friend’s face. “What are you doing?”

“It’s shy.” The speedster informed him.

Kon couldn’t help breaking out into a grin. He released Bart’s wrist. “…You’re so stupid.”

“If I don’t get un-bored I’m going to do something stupid.” Bart moaned, crossing his arms.

Kon refused to be held liable for that. The kind of stupid Bart’s mind could conjure was otherworldly. “I’ll give you a three second headstart. I’m it.”

It was sweet, how he lit up. Nobody ever wanted to play tag with a speedster, but of course they wanted to play tag with you.

He didn’t need to be told twice, and with Bart already almost out of view, Kon counted down from one instead before starting his pursuit.

The cornfield was perfect for a game of chase, all wide open space and flat ground. Flying, Kon could get within about five feet of Bart. It wasn’t his strongest skill, he wasn’t as elegant as Clark or Kara. Flying was practical, at least when he wasn’t this close to the ground. He was going to snag one wrong twig and eat shit.

That might not be the worst idea.

Hearing what could only be described as major damage over his shoulder, Bart skidded to a stop. He caught the tail end of it: Kon’s hideous fall. It looked like it hurt, but that wasn’t how he was supposed to work.

He wasn’t laughing, cursing, he wasn’t responsive. “Uh…” And he may have twitched like a crushed bug just then.

Bart, so pure of heart, wasn’t going to come to the conclusion that he was being tricked on his own. A little shameful, but Kon had no real bad intentions. He knew better than to rough up anyone who he had over four weight classes on.

The ginger crouched down, arms settling loosely around his legs. “You okay?”

“Mmmnnghhh…”

He frowned, glancing up towards the distant house. “Should I go get someone…?”

Kon’s pathetic groaning morphed into a battle cry as he sprung up, grabbing at Bart who tumbled over with an indignant, but giddy yell.

“You’re such a cheater!” His voice was shrill.

“Cut me some slack, I would’ve never caught you.” Kon huffed, an affectionate smile growing on his face. “Besides, I know another game.”

Though Bart was eyeing him with a bit more caution now, his eyes were still curious.

“You probably know this one, I do it with Tim all the time.” That didn’t bode well.

He explained the rules fast, knowing it would take Bart’s brain some time to catch up. “So you just lay there, I’m gonna tickle you. If you get away, you win and I stop.”

“Make sense?”

Kon was squinted at for a few seconds. Processing data…

A belated squeal tore from Bart’s throat, his arms wrapping around his middle. He did know this game, he’d probably played along with the winning side, teasing and prodding at their high strung team leader. Tim could hardly stand just one person, it was brutal.

Maybe it was a blessing that Bart didn’t get any more time to dwell on that, Kon pinching and scribbling at any opening that his curling, flailing limbs couldn’t protect.

If nothing else, Tim wasn’t a meta-human. If the speedster decided he really wanted out, he had that luxury. His friend wasn’t a mind reader, but if Kon thought he really wasn’t in the mood, they wouldn’t have gotten this far anyway.

His hands were buzzing where they’d latched onto Kon’s wrists. Bart was surprised at the sound of startled laughter that wasn’t his own.

Kon pulled back, a little shy. “Thahat feels funny…”

“I’m gonna have to get creative with you.” He huffed. “I’ve been meaning to test this out anyway. I’m… just a little sorry, in advance. This is probably gonna be awful for you.”

Bart wasn’t sure why Kon was getting so focused. Squaring his shoulders and shutting his eyes.

Something was starting to prickle on his test subject’s lower tummy. A small chill ran through him. That prickling was quick to pick up into something that Bart knew only Kon was horrible enough to come up with: Tactile telekinesis phantom tickling.

He nearly jumped out of his skin, immediately hysterical. His back arched up off of the ground, Bart was probably going to stretch out his hoodie with how violently he was pawing at the fabric, fruitlessly trying to rub the feeling away.

“Is it working??” He would have been more annoyed if Kon didn’t sound so genuinely excited about it.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK??” Bart snapped through his cackles, his hand clenching into a fist and pounding against what Superboy shaped thing the found first, which happened to be his thigh.

His wrist was quickly seized. Not because Kon was hurt, but because Bart would undeniably end up hurting himself at this rate. Kon had some thick skin.

It was easier to make the feeling fizzle out than it was to get going. Bart fell limp, stomach rising and falling as he collected himself. He was all blissed out, giggling and staring up at the sky. Every so often, he would think he felt something. His squeaking and writhing would momentarily start over again before he came to his senses.

They sat like that for a while. Kon couldn’t help thinking how fun Bart was to watch, his grin never leaving his face.

“I’ve gotta try one more thing.” He spoke casually, but wasn’t as sneaky, nor clever as he could be.

Bart’s breathless laughter picked up again. “No you dohon’t…” He didn’t mean a word of it, Kon knew him well enough to see that.

If anyone was going to be willing to let him run these ridiculous tests, it was Bart. Of anyone Kon had ever met, he tried the least hard to even pretend he didn’t like tickling. He always wanted to be close and touchy and all over you, you could joke that you were going to rub his belly like a little puppy and Bart would probably roll over.

“I do, though! You still haven’t technically won the game you know, all you’ve gotta do is get away. Why’re you just sitting there taking it?” Kon probed.

Bart just smiled at him. “I forgot.”

How someone hadn’t gone and eaten this little shrimp right up yet was beyond him.

“Well, now you know. Are you ready? One, two…”

The poor speedster got maybe three steps through a stumble, and about two through his mad dash before crumpling to the ground. “NONONONONO— Not thehehere!”

“I’ve gotta test the places I can’t normally reach.” Kon spoke with feigned earnestness like that was the real reason why he’d concentrated the phantom tickles at Bart’s feet, and the real reason was obvious. Without control of them, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re so mean!” He cried out. He laid on his front, legs kicking so fast that they were essentially an intangible blur.

He hadn’t gone far, but Kon stood to kneel down next to Bart, as close as he could without being in the danger zone. He smiled, chewing on his lip and failing to hold back a snort.

“You’re gonna put a hole in the ground, Thumper.” He cooed, eyeing the cloud of dust Bart was rapidly kicking up.

The nickname brought a cheerier cadence to his giggles, and he rolled over to meet Kon’s eyes. His lashes were starting to look a little wet, and the cold weather in combination with his racing heart had Bart’s cheeks and nose a deep shade of pink.

“O… Okay, okay— you’ve gotta stop…” He breathed out. His legs were growing tired.

Kon obliged. He’d given him a pretty serious workout.

Bart was experiencing some symptoms he’d never seen before. Anyone would need a little time to come down from all of that, but it seemed that no matter how long they sat there, Bart couldn’t shake all the giggles and jitters.

“I… are you alright? How do you feel?” Kon was really hoping he hadn’t cast some kind of permanent tickle spell.

“Tingly…” Bart managed, wiping his sleeve over his eyes.

“I’m fine, don’t worry, don’t cry.” He put on a sweet smile. What would have been an affectionate pat on the cheek, if Bart was normal, was instead Kon’s face being mindlessly groped and nudged.

“Thank you, thank you, I feel so much bette—“ He sputtered, leaning away. “Get out of my mouth, you little shit! Jesus…”

Bart was giving him a lopsided grin.

“You’re being weird again, so I’m gonna assume you’re fine.”

“Mm.” The ginger nodded, stretching tall as he sat up. He glanced up, uncharacteristically sheepish. “Thanks for keeping me busy.”

Internally, Kon rolled his eyes. He would have sat around bored in a cornfield all day too if not for this. Bart had nothing to feel awkward about.

Raising an eyebrow, “Aren’t you thirsty?” was all he said.

Bruce could only not think anything of it for so long until he had to intervene. “It” being the fact that Dick decided he was feeling playful in the middle of a debrief with the commissioner. A debrief about potential signs of activity from Victor Zsaz. Serial murderer, criminally insane, all around bad news.

The moment a little gloved hand snuck around into his peripheral vision, he carefully stopped its path. Only for Dick’s other hand to shoot around and attempt to wiggle its way under his cowl.

Bruce’s shoulder twitched up towards his ear. Jim was never going to let him live this down.

“Robin—“

An entirely unapologetic snicker came from overhead, where he was carrying his son on his shoulders.

“Alright, alright… you just lost shoulder privileges.” He set Dick back on his feet. He didn’t look too distraught about it, at least.

It was astonishing how much of a dad he had become in the, objectively, small amount of time he’d had the acrobat under his care. He regularly pulled out all the stops. Now, he was kneeling down to meet Dick’s eyes. He was only restless, Bruce could tell. He must have wanted to go home. There were significantly more safeguards set in place for Robin than usual because of the climate in the city’s criminal underbelly.

It was understandable that a kid would get bored, and Dick was high energy by kid standards.

“The night’s almost over, hang in there.” He stood to his full height.

That little frown… pulling back his cape, Dick appeared happier to scuttle into the offered place of sanctuary.

Bruce exhaled a long, suffering sigh, slowly lifting his head to meet the commissioner’s eyes. He was sure he hadn’t experienced this much dread since the last time Arkham Asylum security breach rumors began to circulate.

Jim’s expression gave nothing away. Bruce attempted to mirror that.

“…I—“

“You know that I have a little girl. Just keep talking.” He more than understood. Chances were, he knew understood than Bruce did, and was a much more respectable father.

“Right…”

* * *

Bruce was tired. Both Batman and Robin were out of any armor, having changed into something more comfortable. When he realized that Dick always seemed to get a second wind after patrol, he’d started keeping more practical activewear in the training deck. Tonight was no different.

Did his aching muscles want to play chase? No, not exactly, but he wasn’t going to be as spry as he was now forever. Those aches would one day sink into his bones, and he hardly ever afforded himself any time to waste.

So, around and around they went, vaulting over and ducking under scattered equipment. Dick’s talent really shined in moments like this.

“You know I’m gonna catch you.” Eventually.

“No!” He squeaked.

Ironically, after taking a second to peer over his shoulder, Dick didn’t see the gym mat he was rapidly approaching. It came up to about his calves, he’d been running so fast that when they collided, he went head over heels.

The fact that it was a big rectangle of soft foam with the express purpose of cushioning falls marginally soothed Bruce’s spiking blood pressure.

He crashed down onto the mat next to Dick, setting a hand on the squirmy boy’s shoulder to roll him over onto his back.

“Well… I caught you. Now what should I do with you?”

The only response he got was frantic, boyish laughter.

“That’s not an answer.” Bruce was trying to keep his tone flat, but a smile was creeping onto his face.

“Okay, okahay, umm…”

“You should let me stay home from school next week— no, forever. You should let me stay home from school forever.”

Dick was starting to giggle in the following silence, but didn’t break eye contact as Bruce stared him down, who eventually huffed and let his smile take over.

“Nice try.” Prodding lightly into Dick’s tummy already had him squealing.

Taking notice of this, Bruce solemnly hummed. “Oh, Dickie, you’re in trouble.”

He hovered overhead, his little Robin free to wriggle around, though he never strayed far. He’d rolled onto his side, arms outstretched, pawing at the mat below. Bruce spidered a hand up his side to sneak under his arm. The fallout was instant.

“gEHIT out of there!” Dick squeaked. He was surprised when, shortly after, Bruce listened.

He was then caught by the calf, legs pulled into his father’s lap where he sat cross legged.

“We’ll go under your knees instead.” He spoke like he was being charitable, the facade cracking with a chuff when Dick, as he’d predicted, began to babble incoherently. His following shriek had Bruce worrying about the potential for falling stalactites.

“Inside voices, chum.” He coaxed, a quiet chuckle lacing his tone.

He shouted like this meant life or death. “sUPERMAN! SUPERMAN! Clark! Rescue meeEHEHE!”

Bruce slowly pulled back, releasing Dick’s leg as the words registered. As sweet as the bond between the two most upstanding, pure of heart individuals he knew was, it was late.

“I told you to only use that for emergencies.”

“Maybe this is an emergency…” The boy looked petulant. He probably knew that may not have been the best call, but he was stubborn, and wasn’t changing his mind now. “Clark said I can call for him whenever I want.”

That’s because he’s Clark. He would give up his life for you in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, because he sees your little face and melts.” The teasing smile on Bruce’s lips was a rare sighting. He reached out a hand to pinch at his son’s cheek, earning a wrinkled nose and a snort.

“Well that’s not my fault—“ The strong gust of wind that swept Dick away would have knocked Bruce into his back, had he not braced the ground with his hands.

“You came!” Dick rejoiced. With Clark already holding him, he couldn’t run up and glomp him to blow off steam. He instead looked to be squeezing as tight as he could manage.

“I— Y… Yeah… yeah. Of course I did.”

Bruce didn’t know if Kryptonians actually got winded, but Clark was ruffled, scanning the cave for any signs of imminent danger. He began to slowly collect himself. He did tell Dick that there wasn’t ever a bad time, whatever he needed, Clark would get there as soon as he could.

He hadn’t been in another galaxy on a suicide mission. Making himself look slightly more presentable and flying to Gotham wasn’t a big deal. He would rather be called upon for something mundane than so much as imagine Dick in Bruce’s definition of an “emergency.”

Seeing how excitable the boy was, Clark was able to come down from most of his panic.

“So, what am I rescuing you from, buddy?” He asked with a quiet smile. Dick pointed, and it had him raising an eyebrow.

“Oh really?” He cocked his head.

Bruce had stood up by now. He was eyeing them from a few feet away, arms crossed, probably brooding.

“Hey, Bruce, uh… late night, huh?”

Clark was too nice. It gave him the jitters. “I— yes, crime doesn’t sleep. I’m sorry about… he—“

“He has nothing to apologize for.” Clark hiked Dick up in his arms. Jitters.

“I’m glad you think so, I guess.” Bruce’s voice softened in a variety of ways, his gaze averting.

“Dickie said I’m rescuing him from you. What do you think about that?”

This was so stupid.

“I was teasing him.” Bruce’s frown was slowly starting to look less frown-like.

“He was tickling me! On purpose!” Dick was set back down on the ground to take his stance, once again pointing in accusation.

“Because you were pushing my buttons on patrol.” Bruce bent at the waist to better meet his son’s eyes, unable to keep himself from smiling for any longer.

“Yeah, well… I’m a kid. It’s okay when I do it.” The aforementioned kid overruled.

The adults in the room exchanged delighted glances. Cute.

Dick wasn’t going to be a kid forever. That was the next best talking point, but Bruce wasn’t sure he was any more ready to face that than his little Robin.

He quietly sighed. “You really couldn’t have called for Alfred?”

“Alfred needs his sleep, B.” Dick almost sounded chiding.

“What abou—“

Clark chimed in. “I don’t need sleep in the same way a human does, let alone a man his age who hasn’t retired.” He sounded very pleased with the fact that he was invulnerable to insomnia just like nearly everything else.

Alfred couldn’t simply retire from being a father figure. He wouldn’t know how. “Butler” was nothing but a formality, he acted like a mother hen because that’s what he was.

But that was personal. Bruce rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, I’ve learned my lesson, Superman. You can go home now.”

“That’s not justice and you know it.”

He did not like that smile on Clark’s face, and that was saying something.

“Say what you mean.” He said it with more intensity than he would normally allow to rear its ugly head around Dick.

“Well… I’m pretty sure the game goes, you tickle, you get tickled back.” Clark’s body language painted a vivid picture. He was this close to getting one of his closest friends to let down one of the many walls he kept up. You would think Clark had toppled more of them by now. He hadn’t.

“Is that what you think?” Bruce had donned his punchable billionaire smile.

“Why would I be ticklish?”

Dick squinted at him. Even the little one could see that he’s bluffing.

“You’re human, Bruce.” The phrase rolled off Clark’s tongue with a sarcastic smile, like it was just so obvious.

He would never, ever get to know how that momentarily touched Bruce’s heart. But it did. It often didn’t occur to Bruce that trying to be near superhuman was supposed to be out of his reach. It stripped him of his humanity.

Depressing, honestly. He shouldn’t have to be reminded.

“Most people are at least a little ticklish.”

He had to come down from cloud nine. “I’m not like most people…” a pathetic, mumbly excuse of a counterpoint.

“You’re stalling.” Another thing that Clark saw as a very normal observation, another thing that rocked Bruce’s world.

“I’ve got a job to do, can’t leave justice waiting all night.”

Absolutely awed, Dick trotted along behind him like a fawn following a big buck. It took a moment for Bruce to conduct a thorough enough analysis of just what he’d gotten himself into.

Even if he were to have been honest, he couldn’t have given Clark a concrete answer. People didn’t tickle him. That was an insane, alien concept to most. Although, Clark did technically fall into a gray area on that front. More well adjusted than most of the human population, not necessarily human.

Bruce stood his ground as they crept closer. “You’re not invincible, Clark.”

“You’re going to resort to kryptonite because I threatened to tickle you?” That was a little too good of a point. The dark knight’s stomach turned.

“You’re being ridiculous…” He muttered, turning tail to approach the Batcomputer. Because what did Bruce always do when he was faced with something he didn’t want to have to deal with? He threw himself into work.

Even if he was ticklish, if he somehow wouldn’t be able to keep a hold of himself, then he’d clearly failed as an individual and needed to go for another round of global apprenticeship under the best of the best.

Bruce didn’t foresee that happening. Sitting himself down, he began to boot up the various monitors looming over him.

“Are you hiding?” He could hear the smile in Clark’s voice, who came up from behind to lean rest his arms over the back of the rolling chair.

Bruce was, if anything, entirely too visible for his liking. He momentarily tensed when fingertips tapped ever so gently against his side. As he’d suspected, he was able to gather himself with little trouble.

“We can do this all night, you’re wasting your time.” A bold claim.

One that Clark took as an offer. “Maybe we will.” He hummed.

“Yeah, Bruce, maybe we will.” Dick puffed up. So big and strong.

Bruce shook his head, remaining stone faced. It was, admittedly, difficult to focus on work. He couldn’t so much as remember what it was that took priority. A very low bar.

He exhaled as the nagging feeling against his waist crawled upwards. Bruce was sure this would be a lot easier if he felt he could so much as move, but that was showing a sign of weakness.

“Somebody’s getting a little tense.” Clark remarked with a smile.

He just couldn’t win. Paralyzed wasn’t the way to go, but that was how he stayed as a hand cupped his bicep, and lifted his arm.

“Down here, maybe?” It was mind boggling how a man with strength that neared godhood could be so gentle. Bruce was helpless to stop how he twitched at the fingers fluttering under his arm.

“Yeah? Maybe?”

“I’ll kill you—“ His threat broke off into a soft, mirthful gasp, a quiver running through his body. He didn’t have a contingency for this.

“St— ugh…” He bit his tongue, twisting uncomfortably in his chair.

A second hand began to cautiously pinch at his waist. Bruce didn’t know what to do with himself, not a single part. His arm wasn’t stuck, Clark wouldn’t do that unless he wanted Bruce to wake up with bruised knuckles— men of steel didn’t get bloody noses.

He couldn’t commit to any sudden movements regardless. Seeing stars, he just stayed there, shuffling about in his seat like an idiot. The sharp huffs he’d been letting out through his nose were getting dangerously close to resembling laughter.

“You’re not used to this.” Clark was sympathetic. Endeared, in a way.

No, of course he wasn’t. Before Dick came into Bruce’s life, the extent of physicality he engaged in was a hand on the shoulder from Alfred, and Brucie Wayne sleeping with bachelorettes who he didn’t care about. That wasn’t counting the combat Batman engaged in most nights.

“I… I dohon’t—“ You laughed, is what you did. He turned down to face his lap. He was sure he was burning up. A neuron finally decided it wanted to fire, and one arm came down to wrap around his torso.

That did little to stop “justice.” The rush Bruce got trying to protect himself from something that wouldn’t hurt momentarily might have put some of the light back into his eyes. He breathed out something resembling “oh my god,” posture hunching further.

Clark was the only thing keeping their fugitive from rolling away when Dick suddenly bounced up onto Bruce’s lap. A collective oof came with the impact.

When little fingers wriggled into the crook of his neck, Bruce’s nervous system flared in a way he could only remember from his early childhood. His shoulder jerked up with much more force than he would have liked. It was less a matter of sparing his pride by this point and more about not crushing Dick’s hand like a bug.

A surprised laugh followed, one that he was grateful was significantly louder and more boisterous than his own. He’d lost their game a while ago now, he felt it in the hitch (and warmth) of his chest.

“Is that the spot, Robin?”

The goofy grin Dick directed towards Clark told him everything he needed to know.

He wasn’t sure what he should expect. He scratched a pointer finger against the nape of Bruce’s neck, the quiet “tickle, tickle” that he gave was mostly ironic. He too wasn’t sure he could have prepared himself for the way his friend, the hardass who still occasionally tried to insist they were only coworkers, responded.

Bruce tossed his head back, his smile was wide, but simultaneously timid. His eyes were squeezed shut, and the sound of what would have been a laugh muffled through his teeth.

Clark never had that conversation with Ma or Pa Kent, he didn’t think he had to, all things considered, but he knew a beautiful man when he saw one. He didn’t see much of Bruce without his cowl, and Batman rarely smiles. He couldn’t imagine why, it was so charming. He was starting to think that needed to change.

“I… hah, um…” Bruce’s voice was lacking its usual sternness.

“I think you’ve humiliated me enough for one night.” He settled for sarcasm.

Dick squealed when he was swept up and draped over his broad shoulders like some kind of scarf.

“And I think you’ve caused plenty of trouble.” He murmured in a voice that let the boy know he was off the hook because it was bedtime. All of that yipping and yowling settled into quieter, content titters.

Clark eyed them, wearing the small smile that he didn’t think had left him since he started this. Dynamic duo.

“Get out of my cave.”

He blinked. “Well… alright. Are you gonna be nice while I’m gone?”

Bruce flushed, his lips twitching. “Out.”

Clark grinned. He left with a kiss to Dick’s forehead and a “sleep tight.”

* * *

Bruce had been tucking Dick in for about half an hour now. It wasn’t meant to be this long of a process, but Dick wouldn’t stop raving about the night’s events.

“Chum. Enough.” He smoothed back his son’s hair, whose wide eyes made him resemble a cat whose forehead got pet a little too hard.

“But B…” Dick whined, shaking his hair back into place. “I like when you laugh.”

Bruce’s mind went quiet for a moment. Such an outlandish concept.

“Now you tell me ‘thank you.’” A sidekick always had a smart remark.

“Oh, where are my manners?” That drew a giggle from the boy. He let a smile cross his face, as real as he knew how.

“Thank you… you’re very sweet.” He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a second chance at a family after the path of vengeance he’d gone down. Bruce needed Dick just as badly as Dick needed him.

“You’re such a good kid, you know that?” He didn’t say it nearly as much as he should.

Dick preened, his dimples deep in his cheeks. He was happy.

“You want me to stay with you for a bit?” They didn’t do it every night. It was normally Dick seeking Bruce out if he couldn’t fall asleep. They would end up back in his bedroom, Bruce would sit with him and stroke his hair until he knew Dick was off in dreamland.

Gotham had changed since the inception of “The Batman.” “The Dark Knight.” “The Caped Crusader.”

Once given your first part time job, you were also given a choice. Day or night?

You were of the potentially unpopular belief that Gotham was a shithole regardless of whether or not the sun hung in the sky. You still wanted to have a life. If you worked during the day, you’d be spending all night trying to make up for lost time. That was a horrible cycle to find yourself in.

This part time job at the pharmacy that you landed years ago was still your job. You weren’t a real standup employee or especially close to any of your coworkers, a lot of your shifts were run by only you and an overworked supervisor who had to be passed out in the breakroom. You couldn’t even fault them for it.

The pharmacy had to keep you on, they weren’t just a pharmacy. All the actual pharmacists worked days. At night, all it acted as was a convenience store. But at night in Gotham, a convenience store wasn’t just a convenience store. It was a beacon.

Nobody else was going to be willing to work the second shift. At the end of the week, a paycheck was a paycheck. It wasn’t all bad, you met some very interesting people. The regulars were very friendly with you by this point.

When he really started to command Gotham’s nightlife with an iron fist, that was when you’d punch in feeling all aflurry.

* * *

Your first encounter with Batman was jarring, but customer service came first. You remember smiling wearily and avoiding touching his gauntlets when you handed over his change.

Batman didn't say much. He seemed very tired. Your jobs couldn’t be anymore different, but amen. This city has a way of breaking you down. He was more soft spoken than you’d expected. He mumbled, you forced a lot of polite chuckles that night to save face. Sometimes, it didn’t even seem like it was talking to you, like he had somebody in his ear. People came in with earbuds all the time, whatever, but you couldn’t see any indication of it anywhere.

You never did find it. There were some patterns you started to pick up on, though. He bought the same things: a water bottle or sometimes an energy drink, the ones that you imagined tasted like petrol.

Disinfectant, sometimes some form of gauze or wrap. You started to keep a box of tissues on the counter after that, he came in looking very grimy some nights. The detective extraordinaire picked up on this, and lowered his guard the slightest bit. A double agent wouldn’t be so thoughtful.

Candy. Your fancier candy was kept in its designated aisle instead of near the front, he would buy dark chocolate covered almonds. At the register, he would always awkwardly pluck the same flavor of lollipop from the rotating stand. Bubblegum.

They were certainly distinct choices. You worked up the courage to comment on it once. You thought you may have seen him smile, and he told you it wasn’t for him. He must’ve had family at home. Batman… family. How sweet.

* * *

It was cyclical, these bat-people came and went. You saw them too often to not try and fill in some of the gaps where you could. You didn’t think you would ever be able to determine if it was the same group of people who had grown up together or if it was rotating. With everything they went through, you imagined they retired like ballerinas.

Recently, you were beginning to effectively put monikers to emblems. There was a consistent, recognizable group of eight or nine of them, and for the past few months, they operated like a well oiled machine. They were calling themselves the Batfamily, it was cute.

It made you feel special and like you were a part of something. Your work place hosted regulars that were superheroes. They got annoyed when you called them that instead of vigilantes, and while they were no Justice League, they were Gotham’s superheroes.

* * *

“I distinctly remember you saying you were going to spot us.”

The blue one, the red one, the smaller red one, and the purple one.

Red Hood continued. “So… what are you waiting for?”

“For you to put those away, I am not buying you cigarettes, Hood!” Nightwing spat. The pack hit the counter with a mildly pathetic thump. He could have hit it harder, he should have to make his point. You guessed he didn’t want to startle you.

Nightwing continued to stare up at the tank of a man standing across from him. He didn’t look especially scary, but he was certainly fearless. “You thought you were just gonna sneak that past me, huh?”

“It’s one pack.” Red Hood grumbled.

“You said that six months ago.” Red Robin’s dry jab momentarily silenced them.

“Surely you can stop whenever you want. Surely.”

Spoiler cackled and threw herself at him. Something in the way they interacted felt familiar, but you had a hard time placing it. The way they all bantered felt familiar, you’d functioned as essentially a voyeur in their lives for months and months. You weren’t sure what you’d done that made them this comfortable being themselves, or maybe they were always like this? You didn’t often watch the news. You had a few horror films you liked on DVD that served a nearly indistinguishable purpose. None of what they put on the news was true.

The chances of you making sense of any of this were slim, you weren’t going to start asking questions now. It was funny, wacky hijinks at what would usually be a miserable job. You’ve found that you can justify a whole lot of nonsense to yourself if it’s funny.

You noticed more than they thought you did. They were just so interesting, and you got lonely. You soaked it all up.

What threat could the employee at West Side Gotham Pharmacy possibly pose to them? Even if you did know anything noteworthy, giving it away only meant destroying the vague sense of order they’d laid brick by brick.

It was an unfathomably stupid idea regardless of what they may do to you.

Your eyes refocused as you winced at the sound of a girlish shriek.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it! Don’t touch me you weirdo!” Nightwing was shouting, his outrage didn’t fully hide the laugh in his voice.

You stared. He was flushed under his mask, curled up awkwardly, dancing away from Red Hood, who didn’t appear to be doing anything, but was very smug. Red Robin was biting his lip, grinning. Big Red had to stick out his arm as a barricade when Little Red jumped to reach for Nightwing. Spoiler was pretending she found them embarrassing.

“Are… you ready to pay?” You managed a polite smile.

Nightwing always had an heir of leadership about him. The other three were eyeing him like they were his kids or something, eagerly awaiting his answer. He threw his shoulder into Red Hood, they all went flying.

“Yes.” He growled. Then proceeded to flash you a blinding smile. Whiplash.

The remainder of the transaction went smoothly. Nightwing gave you the same big smile he always did, saying how he’d see you next time. Spoiler caught up with him first, waving her arms like she couldn’t wait to see you again, till next time. She always did, it never failed to make your day.

Red Robin didn’t always say goodbye, but if you managed to catch his eye, he’d wave. Red Hood had taken to giving you a little fist bump, having noticed how rugged it seemed to make you feel. You couldn’t tell if he was patronizing you or not.

They weren’t really your friends, you didn’t think they were—even if they’d jokingly call you their best friend to antagonize one another—and if they weren’t, you shouldn’t have been as attached to this as you were.

Out of sight, out of mind. You get to go home and sleep in twenty five minutes.

bruce wayne

thighs— 4/10

knees— 6/10

foots— 0/10

hips— 5/10

sides— 4/10

tumby— 6/10

ribs— 2/10

underarms— 7/10

neck/ears— 9/10

back— 8/10

overall ticklishness— 4/10, more ticklish than you would ever expect batman to be, but nothing major

dick grayson

thighs— 10/10

knees— 9/10

foots— 8/10

hips— 6/10

sides— 3/10

tumby- 4/10

ribs— 6/10

underarms— 7/10

neck/ears— 3/10

back— 5/10

overall ticklishness— 7/10, you’ve kinda gotta wear him down first hbshd

cassie.. I feel like in a lot of places she’s just not really feeling it so I’m just gonna put the spots that I do think would be tklish hbss

foots— 3/10

sides— 5/10

tummy— 7/10

neck/ears— 6/10

back— 8/10

overall ticklishness— 5 or 6/10, she enjoys it in a soothing way or as a bonding thing. :’) cass doesn’t want to fight you HBSHS

garf of shayeris

thighs— 4/10

knees— 4/10

foots— 0/10

hips— 9/10

sides— 7/10

tumby— 10/10

ribs— 3/10

underarms— 6/10

neck/ears— 5/10

back— 4/10

overall ticklishness— garth is one of the characters who I headcanon grew out of being so ticklish when he was younger it was dire.. but as an adult like 6/10

jon kent

thighs— 5/10

knees— 7/10

foots— 9/10

hips— 5/10

sides— 8/10

tumby— 10/10

ribs— 6/10

underarms— 8/10

neck/ears— 5/10

back— 4/10

overall ticklishness: lord have mercy on your soul/10

timmby

thighs— 6/10

knees— 7/10

foots— 7/10

hips— depends on where you target he will die at lower tummy tks but otherwise 6/10

sides— 10/10

tumby— 9/10

ribs— 6/10

underarms— 7/10

neck/ears— 8/10

back— 5/10