ABRAÇOS GRÁTIS

The unexpected voice nearly had Tim turning around, but if he let himself get interrupted now, he’d lose his flow and it would be impossible to force himself back on track. 

“Working.” 

Tim could practically hear the pout in Dick’s voice. “Working? When I’m in Gotham? Timmy, I’m hurt.”

Tim rolled his eyes, taking a gulp of his energy drink – shit, almost empty. That was his last one, too. He might have to start in on the coffee, soon. Blegh.

“Didn’t know you’d be home this weekend.”

A body suddenly draped itself over the back of his chair, which was not helping with the ache in his shoulders and upper back, thank you very much. Tim grunted at the extra weight and allowed himself a brief glare at Dick, whose head was now resting on his shoulder.

“Do you mind?”

Dick hummed. “No, not at all. I mean, it’s not the most comfy, you are pretty bony, but I can make-do. I cuddle with Wally all the time, after all.”

Tim closed his eyes and counted out a few steady breaths. When he reopened them, he turned to face Dick again and found Dick already watching him. Thankfully, he’d backed away a bit, so they weren’t having to cross their eyes to see each other.

“Dick. I’m busy right now. We can catch up later, alright?”

Dick pouted, the manipulative jerk, and glanced towards Tim’s desk. He knew Dick was taking in the mess of paperwork and casework he’d snuck up from the Cave, the excess of drink cans that he’d yet to haul down to the recycling, the state of the current report he was working on, all in a few seconds.

“Looks like you’ve been working for a bit now…”

“It’s due soon.”

“How soon?” He should’ve known Dick would immediately latch onto the vague wording. 

“Soon enough that you should leave me alone.”

Dick hummed again, narrowing his eyes. “You can’t take even just a little break?”

“I’ll break you,” Tim grumbled under his breath, but Dick was too close not to overhear. 

“Timmy,” Dick sing-songed, drawing out his name. 

For some reason, Tim’s skin started prickling, his heart thumping with a surge of adrenaline. Tim shrugged his shoulders, even with Dick’s weight pressed against them, trying to dispel some of the anxious energy. Maybe he had had too many energy drinks.

“What?” 

“You have five seconds to save your document.” 

Tim startled, glancing back toward Dick again. “I— wait, what?”

“Five… four… three…”

Tim swore under his breath and saved his spreadsheet, then the few other documents he had open too. Dick was kind enough to slow down his counting a comical amount for Tim to do so, even adding some fractions into the mix. When the last document was saved and Dick reached zero, he reached out and flipped the laptop shut. Tim pulled his fingers back with a yelp, barely clearing the edge of the device before it closed.

Tim managed to shake Dick off his shoulders for real after that, spinning his desk chair around to glare up at him. “Satisfied?”

Dick smiled, slow and innocent, but there was a dangerous curl to the edge of it. Tim was too preoccupied to bother wondering why it made him so twitchy, already mentally adding up further spreadsheet edits he needed to make in his head. He’d get to it as soon as he got Dick out of his room. Ugh, this is why he rarely stayed at the Manor anymore — at least at his Nest, he could lock obnoxious brothers out. 

“Almost,” Dick said, drawing out the word again. “Just one more thing.” 

Tim rolled his eyes. “And what’s that?”

Dick slunk closer, Tim’s hackles raising with every step. He loomed over Tim and said, “Baby brother giggles.”

Tim barely had time to spit out a curse, trying to throw himself out of his chair in time to make a break for it. He knew it was futile — Dick had well and truly cornered him before he even realized the danger of the situation — but no self-respecting Wayne went down without a fight. Still, it was far too easy for Dick to lurch towards him, sweep an arm around his waist, and just fully yeet him onto his bed. Dick quickly bounced onto the mattress after him.

“No no no,” Tim babbled as he tried to kick out at Dick to keep him away. “Come on! Why me? You have a perfectly good babiest brother downstairs!” 

Dick laughed, fending off his feet. “Should’ve run when you had the chance, Timmy! I gave you plenty of warning.”

Dammit, and Tim’s body had already long figured it out, too. He was just too stupid to listen. 

A hand locked in a vice grip around his ankle, and Tim yelped as he was dragged across the bed. Dick wasted no time pinching into his knees and thighs as they came into range, leaving Tim gasping and kicking and swallowing snickers. He thrust his free foot into Dick’s forearm until Dick hissed and was forced to let him go. He immediately rolled onto his stomach then, getting his hands and knees underneath him to crawl away, cursing the bunched-up squishyness of his unmade bedding as it tripped him up and hampered his progress.

And then a lanky mass of limbs and fluffy hair landed on Tim’s back, knocking him flat to the bed again with a startled “oof!” Dick chuckled behind him, deep and slow, and Tim’s heart set off like a jackrabbit. Goosebumps prickled along his skin as the baby hairs of his neck stood on-end.

“You really think I was gonna let you get away that easy, kiddo?”

Tim tried to toss Dick off, bucking and twisting to no avail. He huffed out a breath, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “The hell have you been eating over in Blüd?”

“Timmy, Timmy, Timmy… I’d almost think you’re trying to make this worse for yourself.”

As if. Tim had been busy, thank you very much! He had the W.E. reports to finish, and after that he had several in-progress cases to be working on, and after that he had some online practice tests for the GED he was trying to get in secret, and—

He just had a lot to do, okay? And Dick interrupting him was not fitting smoothly into his projected schedule. So what if some older brother tickles might actually make his brain stop spinning for a few minutes? It’s not like he’d try to dig himself into a deeper hole just to ensure a moment of peace. Especially since he’d probably be too wiped-out to keep working after, and Dick would drag him downstairs for some dumb family time activity, and he’d probably force Tim into being his cuddle buddy for a movie night or something and lure Tim into actually sleeping when he needed to be working, and—

Look. Tim wasn’t that desperate or self-sabotaging, okay?

Shut up.

Tim scoffed, still squirming, but gasped and went still as Dick settled curled fingers against his ribs and sides. They twitched threateningly, and Tim twitched with them.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Tim asked, trying to keep the giddiness out of his tone. It just made his voice sound small.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Dick said conversationally. “You go ahead and talk. I’ll just be here.”

Tim craned his head to shoot a wary look at Dick over his shoulder. Dick, lounging over his back like it was the most comfortable place in the world, blinked at him innocently. Tim narrowed his eyes but opened his mouth to speak, not even sure what he was about to say. Dick, both confirming his suspicions and saving him from having to come up with something, immediately vibrated his fingertips into the sides of Tim’s torso.

“N-no! Wait!” Thank god for Tim’s unmade mess of blankets, now. The way they puddled around provided him with a thick layer of fabric to bury his face in and muffle all the embarrassing noises he made as he tried to hold his laughter at bay.

“Wait? What do you mean? I’m not doing anything. I’m waiting on you, Timmy.”

Tim was so getting Dick back for this. If his brain hadn’t instantly scrambled under the ticklish assault, he’d already be planning his revenge. As it was, it was all Tim could do to shake with barely-contained laughter. 

Dick’s vibrating fingers paused and slid lower down his sides, squeezing into the flesh and muscle and baby fat still clinging on there even though Tim was 18 now. The good news? Tim was way less ticklish down there. Now that half his ribcage wasn’t in Dick’s grip, it was way easier to breathe around his suppressed laughter. The bad news? Dick’s hands were ever-so-slowly crawling back upward, which Tim knew from experience promised a no-holds-barred attack on his ribs the moment Dick got there. Arms flailing backward, he managed to latch his hands around Dick’s wrists, hoping he still had the strength to push Dick away. He only realized his mistake when Dick cackled out a laugh, one that was eerily reminiscent of his Robin days, and shot his hands up into Tim’s now-exposed armpits. 

Far too late, Tim clamped his arms down against his sides — or, at least, tried to. Being pinned facedown didn’t leave him much maneuverability, and he couldn’t get his arms properly tucked to his sides for the life of him. Not that it would’ve deterred Dick, anyway. Still, Tim would have preferred the flimsy semblance of protection against Dick’s jolting scratching. He wheezed into the blankets before finally cracking, stuttering laughter forcing its way past his lips.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” Dick said, infuriatingly conversational. “Come on bud, I’m all ears. What was it you wanted to say?”

Tim shook his head, trying his best to wriggle out from under Dick’s weight to no avail.

“No, no, don’t clam up now! I’m your big brother Tim, I’ll always want to hear what you have to say.”

Asshole, Tim thought. Then he hunched his shoulders with a squeak as Dick blew a cool stream of air over his nape and ears. It wasn’t as effective on him as it would be for, say, Damian, but it was still enough to send gooseflesh racing up along his neck and arms and make a giggle sneak through before he pitched back up into full laughter. Dick broke character for a moment to coo at him.

Tim managed to flip Dick off with one of his utterly useless hands, turning his head to the side to speak through his laughter, “You’re a j-jerk!” 

Dick gasped, loud and melodramatic. Tim quickly reburied his face with a screech as Dick shifted his fingers slightly downwards, digging into his highest rib and the space between it and his underarm.

“Baby Bird, I can’t believe it! Here I am, holding space for you and your feelings, and you hurl such abuse at me?” 

Tim, ever one to dig his own grave, replied simply with, “Deserved!”

He doubted it was intelligible through his laughter and blanket shield, but Dick seemed to understand him anyway. The only warning Tim got was a muttered, “Well if that’s how it is,” before one hand slid out from under his arm and vibrated ruthlessly into one of the kill-spots on the back of his bottom ribs. 

With two of his absolute worst spots being targeted with the sort of ruthless efficiency only an eldest sibling can have, Tim could only let out a wordless laugh-scream as he tried to cope with the sensations. The following cackles were loud and frantic, pulled deep from his lungs, and Tim had to twist his face into the open to get the air to support them. He tried desperately to thrash, to do anything to dislodge those hands, but Dick had draped his torso near-parallel over Tim’s own, leaving him no leeway. Bucking up to try and throw Dick off only bounced the both of them on the mattress, making the tickles even worse by jostling Dick’s hands into his ribs. The most he could do was kick his feet frantically, drumming them against the bedding, as if that could somehow alleviate the incessant buzzy, tingling, ticklish feeling overtaking his entire body and mind. 

He could tap out. Tim knew he could tap out, and Dick would respect it here just the same as on the sparring mats. Tim’s hands spasmed against the bedsheets once, twice, before his fingers tangled themselves into the fuzzy blankets and gripped tight.

“Dick!” Tim cried out. “Dick!!”

“Yeah, Timmy? I’m here, what’s up, bud?”

Tim wailed again as Dick managed to seamlessly swap which side got which treatment, renewing the sensations tenfold. “Ti— tic— it tick—“

“Sorry, could you speak up? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Tim let out a sound of frustration, tinged with too much giddiness and mirth to really be taken seriously, and thumped his feet against the mattress extra hard. Dick huffed out a fond laugh.

“Yeah, I bet it does tickle, huh, bud?”

Tim shrieked as Dick briefly clawed at both spots before switching back to the digging vibration of before. He tugged at the blankets fisted in his fingers, trying to bury himself. 

“Ohhhh,” Dick said, drawing out the word in a dramatic moment of realization. “Is that what you wanted to talk about this whole time? How tickly-ticklish you are? Well, why didn’t you just say so!”

If Tim could’ve groaned through his guffaws, he would have. As it was, he barely had the wherewithal to flip Dick off a second time. Another foolish mistake on his part. Dick chuckled deep and low and evil right next to his ear. Too quickly for Tim to process, there was a rush of cold air against his back as Dick raised his body up and away from Tim’s. Then, the tickling hands were gone too. Tim had barely sucked in a full breath before his shirt was unceremoniously shoved up past his ribs and Dick was blowing a long raspberry right up against one of those bottom-rib kill-spots.

Another laugh-scream (or was it a scream-laugh? The screaming definitely felt like the main sound) escaped Tim as the ticklish vibration spread outward across all the nerves in his back. He felt like a live wire, twitching and frenzied. It didn’t help when Dick’s next breath was dedicated to a series of shorter raspberries up and down that same side, each one sending a shock through him. After everything Dick had already put him through, it took Tim an embarrassing amount of time for his brain to process his freedom of movement and load up his defense mechanisms. Long enough for Dick to get another scream-worthy raspberry against his lower ribs before Tim managed to roll onto that side to protect it. 

Of course, that left one side not only completely defenseless, but practically handed to Dick on a silver platter. Dick, living up to his name, took full advantage of it, sending Tim crashing back onto his front as he jolted away from the evil, evil raspberries. They did that song and dance for a while, Dick teasing with his laughter and wordless coos while Tim flopped from side-to-side like a particularly stupid fish. It took another embarrassing several minutes (and several rounds of this particular torture) for Tim’s brain to load up some less stupid defense mechanisms and finally roll into his back. Take that Dick! Can’t torment the death spots on the backs of his ribs now. But instead of being put-out, Dick immediately seated himself over Tim’s thighs with a bright grin.

“There you are, bud!” Dick gave a few sporadic pokes around his stomach and sides. “Was wondering if I’d ever get to see that sweet smile of yours!”

Tim immediately started giggling, hiding his face behind one hand and slapping at Dick’s fingers with the other. “Dickie,” he whined.

Tim watched Dick cock his head through his fingers. “What? I thought your tummy looked lonely, don’t you think it could use some giggles too?”

Tim shook his head and watched Dick melt in real time.

“No? Are you sure?”

Well, if it would keep his brain quiet for a bit longer…

“Maybe just a little,” Tim mumbled.

Dick melted even more, if that was even possible. He wiggled his fingers into Tim’s stomach, digging into all the spots that made Tim feel giggly and fizzy with his own ticklishness. Tim removed the hand from his face, latching both hands onto Dick’s wrists. Not pushing Dick away, just holding on while he threw his head back with giggles and laughter. Eventually, Dick’s fingers tapered off. A set of dry lips pressed against Tim’s temple, and he peeled his teary eyes open to give Dick an embarrassed smile.

“All tickled out, Baby Bird?”

Tim was too exhausted to be defensive, giving Dick a nod. He beamed at Tim before rolling off of him, settling next to Tim in the bed and pulling Tim into his side. Tim snuggled in with a sigh.

“We were missing you downstairs,” Dick said after a moment, his voice soft and quiet. “You work too hard.”

Tim shrugged. “It has to get done.”

Dick hummed and rubbed his arm. “Shouldn’t be at your expense. Don’t turn into Bruce.”

“Or you?” Tim gave Dick a look out of the corner of his eye.

“Or me,” he grumbled. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, brat. You coming down for movie night or what?”

Tim groaned and flopped more fully over Dick’s chest. “No,” he whined, drawing out the word. “Comfy. Naptime.”

Dick laughed. “Come on, bud. I didn’t turn you into a mushy little cuddle monster for nothing, I need my movie cuddle buddy.”

“Fine. But you’re carrying me.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

It took them a few minutes to get Tim settled onto Dick’s back, mostly because Tim decided to ragdoll and make Dick do all the work for his own amusement. They made their way down to the theater room where the rest of the family was already gathered, finishing up an argument on what they were going to watch that night. There was, of course, the teasing for the frantically ticklish sounds that had echoed down the stairs from Tim’s room, but it was almost worth it for the lingering drowsy, no-brain endorphins still running through his body. As it was, he just buried his blush in the crook of Dick’s neck, much to everyone’s clear amusement. 

Still, Tim could live with it. Especially when he got to doze off to some detective film, warm and cozy and under the watchful eye of his family. He could afford to take a break, just for a little bit.

The first time Dick called Tim ‘baby bird’ was on his sixth birthday, when Tim had hugged Dick as tightly as possible in thanks for his gift of Batman and Robin walkie-talkies. Tim had flustered under his big brother’s attention, a warmth in his chest pulling him to preen at how familial that nickname sounded.

Just over a year later, Tim feels he's outgrown the title. He's been seven for a few months now, and he thinks he's doing a pretty good job at being a big boy. Because that's what he is now, Dick had even said so himself, and Bruce had agreed! Seven seems to mark the transition from little kid to pretty grown up, even if Tim knew he wasn't quite an adult just yet.

He was pretty sure Dickie was an adult by now, though, considering how old he was. Tim couldn't wait to be sixteen too! Unfortunately, it just made the ‘baby bird’ moniker feel patronising, like Dick didn't really think Tim was a big boy since Dick was so much bigger. Ridiculous.

Not only did Tim get dressed for school all by himself now, but he also helped Alfred do the grocery shopping and even went to meetings with Bruce sometimes! In fact, he even had his own briefcase to take into work with Bruce. Plus, Tim knew for a fact he was at least the most responsible seven year old in his class–he’d asked-and it was like Dick didn't take any of that seriously.

It all came to a head while Tim and Jason were playing Minecraft in the games room. Dick had come in, laughing and joking, complimenting their Minecraft base, the usual. However, once it was day time in their game, Dick had asked to speak to Jason about something. This would be fine, except he asked to speak to him in private. When Tim protested, Dick chuckled and ruffled his hair, saying, “it's nothing you need to worry about, baby bird. I'll bring Jay back in a minute.”

‘Nothing you need to worry about,’ as if Tim was a baby who couldn't handle hearing important stuff. Tim was not a baby, bird or otherwise. And he could definitely handle grown up conversations, especially if even Jay could! He's obviously much more grown up than Jason is, even if Jason’s eleven now. The only logical explanation was that Jason got to know because he was Robin. Wait a minute, that meant that Dickie would realise that Tim was truly a big boy now if he was a cool vigilante too!

Which is what gave Tim the idea to make his own vigilante identity. He already had elbow and knee pads for skateboarding, and he could use his old red blanket as a cape, so that just left a mask. He knew how important a mask was, since it kept your identity secret, and was a little afraid to mess it up. Eventually, after a few dozen paper prototypes, Tim decided to give in and go to Alfred for some help. He was still a big boy, though, since even old grown ups like Bruce needed help from Alfred sometimes.

“Um, Alfie?” Tim rocked on his feet in the kitchen doorway, watching as the older man paused his food prep to turn to Tim. A polite but genuine smile graced his features and Tim couldn't help the little spark of pride that gave him.

“Ah, master Timothy, dinner’s not quite ready yet I'm afraid.”

“Oh, that's ok, I just wondered if you could help me with something,” Tim said, hastily following it up with, “when you're less busy, of course. It can be after dinner or whenever or never, it's fine-”

Alfred cut him off with a gentle chuckle, telling him to “take a breath, master Tim, you're practically turning blue.” Tim did as he was told and held out his final mask mock-up. Alfred was careful as he took it from Tim, cradling the paper like something precious.

“I need a mask,” Tim said, slower this time. “I can't do it on my own. Can you help me make it please?”

Alfred smiled down at Tim and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Certainly young man. Now, let's see what colours we have for you to choose from.”

------------------------------------------------------------

In the end, Tim chose a soft red fabric that matched his blanket-turned-cape pretty well. He'd pulled up a chair next to Alfred’s and watched as Alfred used his sewing machine to make the mask, talking Tim through the process.

Alfred, Tim reflected later, never made Tim feel small. The way he explained things was helpful and kind without feeling patronising, and it made Tim warm to think the oldest man in the house could see how grown up Tim was now too. Bruce usually wasn't too patronising either, it was just Dickie who seemed to think of Tim as a baby still. Well, aside from Jay, but he wasn't an adult yet, so his teasing bothered Tim less. Maybe it was a brother thing.

While he was thinking, Tim had been sitting on the sofa in his costume, red mask and cape soft against his skin, while the black knee and elbow pads were tight but comfortable. For the clothes themself, Tim wore one of Jason’s old blue t-shirts, while the shorts were just his pyjamas. Tim figured they'd be fine for now, though, since vigilantes like Batman, Nightwing and Robin upgraded their suits all the time.

Tim was so distracted waiting anxiously for his first patrol that he almost missed Dick entering the room. The man was in his Nightwing suit–sans mask–and looked positively delighted to see Tim. The boy smiled, pleased at that.

“Timmy, you look so cute,” Dick cooed at him and Tim’s smile fell a bit.

“I'm not supposed to be cute, Dickie,” Tim huffed. He stood up to give Dick a full look at his outfit, pulling the cape around him like Batman did to look more menacing. “I'm a vigilante, like you and Bruce and Jay. I'm supposed to look strong.”

Dick knelt to be eye level with Tim, smiling warmly and ruffling his hair. Tim couldn't help but huff again. “Sorry, Timmy, I didn't mean to upset you. You look very strong.” Dick’s tone sounded genuine, so Tim let it slide this time. “I like your mask.”

The smile was back again now, Tim proudly saying, “thanks! Alfie helped me make it.”

“It's very cool,” Dick hummed approvingly. Then he brought his hand to his chin in thought and asked, “do you have a hero name?”

Oh. How could he forget a name? How had he overlooked such an important step in becoming a vigilante? Tim felt his shoulders droop and looked away from Dick, letting his eyes study the patterns of the hardwood floor beneath them.

“Hey, it's ok,” Dick said. He rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder and when Tim looked up, Dick was giving him a winning smile. It was hard to stay sad when Dick was here. “Let's figure it out together.”

Tim nodded and Dick smiled, moving to sit on the sofa. Tim followed and sat down next to him, fiddling with his hands to keep from tucking himself into Dick’s side; Tim was seven now, he was too old for that.

“Hmm, I know,” Dick grinned and Tim waited while Dick paused for dramatic effect. “Your hero name can be Baby Bird!”

Tim’s heart dropped a bit. Call him over dramatic, but Dick wasn't taking this seriously at all. He was still treating Tim like a baby, even after Tim had put all this effort into making his own hero costume so that Dickie would finally see that Tim was mature now. That he could handle important conversations and keep secrets and do hard work. Dick still thought of Tim as small, and Tim couldn't help but internalize that feeling.

He realised with a cold rush of horror that he was tearing up, which definitely wouldn't help him show Dick he was grown up. If Dick noticed he'd absolutely dote on Tim, cuddling him and cooing at him like an infant. And Tim didn't want that. He didn't.

“Maybe,” Tim choked out in a quiet voice, before hurrying out of the room as quickly as possible without it seeming suspicious. He's pretty sure he failed at that but it's fine, he failed at proving to Dick that he wasn't a baby, that he was a big boy now, so what was one more thing.

Once he finally reached his room, Tim slammed the door shut and face planted his bed, curling into a fetal position around a pillow. Great, now he really was acting like a baby. A stupid, overgrown baby who couldn't do anything right. No wonder Dick didn't treat him like everyone else. Tim might have tricked Bruce and Alfred, but Dick knew he wasn't really mature or grown up or anything Tim was supposed to be now.

Tim curled tighter around his pillow, sobbing into the fabric.

It wasn't long before there was a knock on the door, followed by Dick’s voice calling out, “Tim? I'm coming in bud.” The click of the door opening sounded, repeating itself as it closed. A weight settled by Tim’s feet on the bed.

“What happened, baby bird? Did I upset you?”

Between Dick’s calm, coaxing tone, his hand settling on Tim’s back and of course that damn nickname, Tim snapped. He sat up, eyes alight with frustration as he shook his hands out. “Just stop it!” Tim fumed, and between his anger and tears, he almost missed that Dick had changed into sweats. The realisation that Dick had avoided patrol in order to watch over Tim just further fanned the flames of Tim’s frustration. He refused to keep feeling small.

“I'm not a baby bird! I'm not a baby! I'm seven now and you have to start treating me like it already! Even Bruce and Alfred see I'm grown up now, so you should too!” The tears kept running down Tim’s cheeks at a steady pace as he spoke and Tim rushed to wipe them away once he was done shouting. He knew he was acting like a little kid right now and that it really didn't help his case, but he was too upset to even care.

Once Tim finally looked properly at Dick’s face, he wasn't sure he could place the emotion on his brother's face. It was a mix of shock and… devastation, maybe? Almost like he'd been slapped. Guilt was a very cold bucket of water putting out the leftover flames of his anger. “Sorry,” Tim murmured, pulling his legs up to his chest and burying his face in them. He never wanted to see that look on Dick’s face again. He was supposed to be sunshine, and Tim had made him seem more like a downpour.

“Hey, hey," Dick comforted, arms wrapping around Tim in comfort. The fact that Dick was still trying to look after Tim made him feel worse. “Just breathe, Timmy, it's okay. It's all okay.”

As Tim’s crying slowly came to an end, Tim fell into Dick's side, giving into his exhaustion. A hand moved to run through his hair. He was too wrung out to care about doing what a big boy would do right now.

Tim let himself stay like that for a while, taking an embarrassing amount of solace in his big brother’s kind warmth. When he finally looked up, Dick was smiling softly down at him with a sort of sad look in his eyes. Guilt continued to stir uncomfortably in Tim’s stomach.

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick chuckled and Tim let out a peep of acknowledgement. The older boy sighed, continuing to hug Tim and comb fingers through his hair while he spoke again. “I'm so sorry, Tim. I didn't realise I was making you feel that way.”

Tim hummed, turning his face into Dick’s side. His brother breathed out an airy laugh. “I guess I sometimes still see you as the tiny toddler you were when I first met you. That's not fair to you and I'm sorry. But Tim–” Tim looked up at that and his cheeks warmed when Dick pressed a kiss to one of them– “seven is still so little. I know you like being grown up and you're definitely very clever, but it's okay to let yourself just be a kid sometimes.”

Before Tim could protest or cry again or anything really, Dick continued, saying, “I'm still sorry for patronising you and maybe treating you as younger than you are sometimes. I just want you to know that there's nothing wrong with being a kid, Timmy. Trust me, growing up isn't as fun as I make it look.” Dick let out a self-depricating little snort and Tim curled further into his side in comfort. Maybe there were some perks to being small, if Dick’s loving little smile was what it earnt him.

“You're growing up so fast, Tim–You and Jay both–and I guess I need to adjust better. But Tim,” Dick moved the hand in Tim’s hair to his chin, tipping his head up to make eye contact. When their eyes met, Dick smiled again, warm and loving and happy. It was nice. “You and Jay will always, always, be my baby brothers, no matter how big or old or tall you get. No matter what, even when you're an adult, you'll still be babies to me.”

Tim thinks he should've been upset about that, should've drawn from his earlier anger to argue, to tell Dick that he's not a baby, and he definitely won't be one when he's older. Instead, he nods, dropping his head back into Dick’s side and sighing contently. He thinks he understands, now, what Dick means. Maybe it was just what older brothers did; they wanted to protect their little brothers, no matter how much they grew. Tim supposed he could live with that.

They sat like that for a while, Dick eventually pulling Tim into his lap and cuddling him. Tim found he didn't mind, maybe even appreciated the extra comfort. Dick seemed like he felt the same.

After an unknown amount of time (it could've been minutes or it could've been hours, Tim wasn't sure) Tim felt Dick relax, pressing a kiss to Tim’s head. Tim hadn't even realised how stiffly Dick was sitting until he wasn't anymore.

“So,” Dick started, turning Tim so that he was sitting sideways in Dick’s lap, his side tucked against Dick’s front. “Is that why you made your hero costume? To show me you're grown up?”

Tim flushed at having it said so plainly like that. He felt a little ridiculous hearing it from Dick, but it was the truth. “Yeah, I guess,” Tim said, feeling his cheeks get warm with embarrassment. “Maybe I felt a little left out too. You and Jay and B spend a lot of time together kicking butt on a night. I think I kinda miss you all sometimes.” It felt mortifying to admit, but deep down Tim knew it was definitely at least part of it.

“Oh, Timmy,” Dick hummed, brushing Tim’s fringe back. “I'm sorry you've been feeling left out. You should've told me! While I don't think B will be too eager to let you join us fighting crime before you're at least ten, the three of us could always take turns off patrol to spend time with you sometimes.”

Admittedly, Tim was a little shocked he'd be willing to do that. He wasn't quite sure Jason and Bruce would be okay with the idea though. “It's okay, your night time work is important.”

“So are you,” Dick said, so simply and calmly that it felt true. Tim felt so loved. “No matter how big or small you are, no matter how much you can do or how much help you need, we love you. So much. You know that, right, Timmy?”

“Yeah. I love you too, Dickie,” Tim smiled, because what else could he say to that? No matter what, even if he was overprotective and maybe a little patronising sometimes, Dick had only ever been honest with Tim.

Dick smiled, squeezing Tim close until he squeaked. “Now, let's brainstorm some facts about your hero identity.”

“We don't have to,” Tim assured, kind of embarrassed again. It felt a little silly now, especially since he knew, logically, that he never would've been allowed to help fight crime yet anyway.

“I want to,” Dick said, kind and earnest and sunny again. Tim settled against his chest and hummed. "So, first is the name. Since Baby Bird is out, I was thinking-”

“Actually,” Tim cut in, “I think I like Baby Bird. It's a good name.”

The smile Dick gave him for that was so bright that it was almost blinding and Tim felt happy and warm all over.

Dick cleared his throat after a minute, cheeks a little pink. “Well then, I guess next would be to decide on your weakness,” he said.

“Don't worry, Dickie,” Tim said, straightening to look up at his big brother properly again. “I don't have any weaknesses!”

Tim isn't sure what response he expected, but coming face to face with the grin Dick wore when he was about to mess with him wasn't it. “Oh really, no weaknesses at all?” Dick’s tone was all mischief and before Tim could process what was happening, there were hands crawling up his shirt and clawing at his tummy. Tim squealed before falling into admittedly giddy giggles.

“Hmm I dunno Baby Bird, this tummy of yours seems awfully ticklish for someone claiming to have no weaknesses." Tim shook his head against Dick’s ribs, curling in on himself in a shockingly terrible attempt at self-defense. “No? I think it is, Timmy, look.” Dick switched to swiping the pointer finger of each of his hands up and down the sides of Tim’s stomach, while his other fingers skittered along next to them.

“Nooohohoho, Di-Dihickie,” Tim giggled out, squirming in his brother's lap in nervous excitement, butterflies filling his stomach and heat rushing to his cheeks at the teasing. Nothing made him feel as silly and small as when his family tickled him, but he couldn't say he minded it. Maybe it was even part of the fun. Huh.

“What's the matter, Baby Bird?” Dick asked with a playful smile on his face, his expression so fond and mushy that Tim had to bury his face in Dick’s neck to escape it. “I thought you didn't have any weaknesses. A little tickly tickling should be no problem for you.”

As Tim took a deep breath to answer, Dick shot his hands to the spots at Tim’s waistline, just above his hips, and skritched his fingers gently against them. Tim’s giggles raised a good few pitches, and if that wasn't enough to make Tim’s face burn, Dick lovingly laughing along with him certainly was.

“I think tickling might be your kryptonite, Timmy,” Dick muttered in a quiet, soothing voice. It made Tim’s insides twist with excitement and he couldn't help how his smile widened.

“You're so mehehehean," Tim gasped out, cuddling Dick’s arms against himself. The older boy chuckled above him and Tim was pretty sure that if he turned any redder he might explode.

“I'm helping you practice, kiddo. Bad guys won't be as nice as I am.”

Tim couldn't even hope to reply as Dick’s hands met up at the center of his tummy, spidering at the skin there, tauntingly close to his belly button. Tim squealed out again, kicking his legs out in happy, giddy little bursts of energy. “Not nihihice,” Tim tried to speak through his giggles, only managing to get the most important words out. “Mehehehean.”

Dick gasped in mock offense and Tim knew he was screwed. He couldn't help how giddy that thought made him. “Oh, you've done it now, hero,” Dick teased in a ridiculous voice, making Tim laugh for a different reason. “It's time for my final trick.”

There was no time to think as Dick started scribbling at Tim’s lowest ribs,thoroughly exploring every inch of them. “Let's see how many ribs you have, Baby Bird. It's important that all heroes have a full set.”

“NAH-NAHA-NOOOOO,” Tim cackled, barely able to whine, let alone remind Dick that he was playing a villain a moment ago.

“Yeeeesss~” Dick sing-songed and Tim curled closer into his big brother’s embrace. “Okay, this is one, right, Tim?”

It took Tim a minute to realise Dick wanted an answer, too busy collapsing into hysterics to think properly. Once he did realise, though, he was quick to shout out, “YEHES.”

Dick’s hands slowly skittered their way up to Tim’s next pair of ribs, just as efficient with these as the set before them. “Good,” Dick hummed, pleased. “Counting is an important skill for heroes too. What number are these, Timmy?”

Tim could only laugh and laugh and laugh, the anticipation at the idea of Dick moving higher and higher up his ribs making him dizzy. “TUH-TUHUH-” no matter how hard Tim tried, he couldn't get the word out between his cackles, and Dick seemed to take pity.

“Okay, baby bird, okay. I think that's enough for today.” Dick brought his hands out from under Tim’s top and settled them around his waist, holding him close and rocking slightly from side to side.

“Twohoho. It- it wahas two,” Tim giggled out after a while, looking up at Dick with exhausted tears in his eyes. Dick’s whole face softened, and he carefully brought a hand up to wipe the tears from Tim’s cheeks.

“Good job, baby bird, you beat me,” Dick smiled. Tim didn't really know what Dick meant by that, since Tim was the one who was tickled within an inch of his life and cut the game short by not being able to count, but he'd take the win. “Let's watch a movie, huh? I'll let you pick.”

Tim nodded with a yawn so large it cracked his jaw and Dick huffed out a little laugh before moving them both back against Tim’s bed’s headrest. Tim shifted in Dick’s lap so his back was to Dick’s front and pulled Dick’s arms up to wrap around his middle. Dick obliged with a soft chuckle and a kiss to the back of Tim’s head and Tim was far too content to complain.

Dick handed Tim the remote and he scrolled for a while before putting Dumbo on, knowing how much Dick loved the movie. Judging by how Dick hugged him a little closer, he knew why Tim had chosen the movie.

Settling into Dick’s hold, Tim wrapped his arms around his brother's, and realised that the childish position didn't make him feel small or patronised or useless. He felt safe in his big brother’s arms, and realised that maybe being a baby brother wasn't so bad after all. Maybe he could be a baby brother and a big boy at the same time.

------------------------------------------------------------

Dick smiled down at the little head that had fallen still against his chest, happily squeezing his baby brother against him. Tim had fallen asleep about 15 minutes into the movie, undoubtedly tired out by the tickling.

Dick knew Tim could be a bit hard on himself sometimes, and that he liked to act a bit more grown up than he actually was, but he'd figured it was just a normal kid thing. He remembers how Jason used to puff up his cheeks and square his jaw when anyone suggested he was incapable of something, just as he remembered how Jason would sometimes crawl into his bed at night, seeking his older brother’s comfort after a nightmare.

He hadn't realised just how much it upset Tim, though. Where Jason’s protests were mostly just to save face, Tim seemed to be genuinely offended by the idea that he was still just a little kid. That big head of his really was his worst enemy sometimes, Dick mused.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a quiet knock at the door, before it was being opened and Dick was met with the perpetually worried eyes of his dad. “Is he okay?" Bruce wasted no time in asking. Dick knew he'd been worried when Dick had told him he'd be skipping patrol to check on Tim, had seen the twitchiness of his closed fists, but there’d been no time to reassure him then; his little brother had needed him. Now, though, they had all the time in the world.

Dick motioned for Bruce to join them on the bed and Bruce dropped down next to them, perched on the edge of the bed next to Dick’s knees. He turned to face them. “He's okay,” Dick said, smiling at the relief in Bruce’s expression. He'd never understand what people meant when they said that Bruce hid. emotions too well; to Dick, he was an open book. “He was upset that I was treating him like a baby. Made his own vigilante costume to prove how grown up he is.”

Bruce chuckled at that and Dick couldn't help but do the same. He felt so calm, with his littlest brother in his lap and his dad at his side. He felt so safe.

“He's growing up too fast,” Bruce lamented, settling a hand on Dick’s knee. “Did you know he brings a briefcase when I take him to work with me?” That startled a snort out of Dick, and he was worried he might've woken Tim before looking down and seeing the boy’s content expression, brow lightly furrowed with sleep.

“Doesn't surprise me,” Dick smiled, mischief working its way back into his voice. “But don't worry, I tickled him silly to remind him that he's still a little baby to me.”

Bruce hummed at that, breaking Dick’s peace with a pinch to his knee. Dick reflexively pulled his leg up with a squeak, shooting a glare at Bruce’s satisfied smirk. “Just don't forget that you're still my baby too, chum.” He squeezed Dick’s knee a few more times for good measure and Dick couldn't help the squeaky laughs he let out in response, no matter how hard he tried to keep quiet.

“Okay, okahahay, don't wahake him up,” Dick complained, trying to keep from moving too much and stirring Tim from his sleep. He determinedly ignored the heat crawling up his neck.

“I'm afraid that you'd be the one waking him, not me,” Bruce teased but let up, patting Dick’s knee as a kind of sign of truce. “I think Jaylad will want to join you tonight,” Bruce warned, knees clicking as he stood. “He was worried about Tim all through patrol.”

“Sorry,” Dick murmured, feeling a little guilty. He didn't mean to scare or distract Jason.

“Don't be,” Bruce smiled. The act made Dick feel eight again, young and afraid, yet so safe under his dad’s watch. "I'm glad you all look out for one another, no matter how old each of you get. Good night, Dick. I love you.”

“Night dad. Love you too,” Dick smiled, teary eyed and a little breathless.

Just as Bruce left, Jason arrived, pyjamas on and extra blankets in his arms. “I heard we're having a sleepover.”

Dick grinned, letting one arm leave its place around Tim to lay open for Jason. Jay immediately jumped into his arm, curling against Dick’s side and laying the blankets over the three of them. “He okay?” Jason asked, nodding at Tim.

He was so sweet. He spent so long trying to seem tough and rough around the edges, but deep down he was one of the most caring boys Dick knew. Dick supposed he truly was quite similar to Tim in that way, both of them desperate to be stronger and older than they truly were. That was okay, though, they had Dick to look out for them.

“Yeah, Jay, he's okay," Dick smiled, kissing his first baby brother’s head and politely ignoring the eyeroll he got in response. There’d be time to even out Tim and Jason’s tickle tally in the morning, for now he settled down against Tim’s mattress, his baby brothers held close to him.

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.

It was the end of the night. Not your best night, and you didn’t have any reason to excuse it. You didn’t work any harder than the rest of them. What you did have was the right to be frustrated.

It stung; being dropped off outside the clock tower on the way home to “cool off.” You felt like Batman was putting you in timeout or something. You found yourself wanting to step on his cape as he readied himself to grapple away, but thought better of it.

“Oracle.” You muttered into your comm.

“I know.” Of course she knew. Babs knows everything. It didn’t take long before you heard the latch to the hidden entrance slide out of its holding spot.

You let yourself inside. It always smelled very clean in the clocktower. You, however, reeked of failure. That sort of ruined it for you. You didn’t bother to take off your boots or mask, instead hurling yourself at the nearest chair.

It was a rolling chair. Your weight sent it catapulting across the room with you still in it. You very obnoxiously crashed into the wall. Babs slowly turned her head.

You weren’t red because you were embarrassed. Certainly not. You were furious, frighteningly so. You saw Babs’ lip twitch.

“Don’t talk to me.” You hissed, clumsily kicking the chair away and pressing your back to the wall. You would sit on the floor, you didn’t need a chair anyway.

“I… kid—“ Babs attempted, already sounding tired.

Your shoulders scrunched up to your ears as you leered at her from behind your curled up legs.

“You’ve had a long night. Why don’t you go check the cabinet?” That felt like a step back from being lectured. That cabinet was where she kept a small supply of snacks with a long shelf life, a mini fridge resided right next to it, and she was right. You were hungry and thirsty.

Your sour mood wasn’t Babs’ fault. She’d been patient with you all night when others struggled to hide their exasperation. The least you could do was not be hangry in her clocktower.

You were soon kneeling down by the cabinet, rummaging around. There were a variety of crackers to choose from: graham crackers, the plain salty ones, savory flavors, and a box of the limited edition Batman themed ones for kids that she’d bought in bulk.

Batman wasn’t trying to market himself to anyone, that was a Brucie thing. He wasn’t some sort of Gotham City tourist attraction. He didn’t like it, and that was precisely why Babs bought them. Bat-crackers sounded okay right now. She had sweet tea in the fridge like usual. You poured two plastic cups of it.

“You wanna try sitting like a normal person?” Your discarded chair had ended up near where she was working.

Your brow and nose wrinkled at her smart mouth, but you didn’t want to eat on the floor.

You rolled the chair closer, organizing the refreshments on the far end of the counter before you sat as prettily as you could.

“I do sit like a normal person.” You said pointedly. Babs only hummed at you.

* * *

You’d finished the snack that had been offered to you, and were, admittedly, slightly pacified. Which was embarrassing, but you guessed it was better than being as agitated as you’d been.

Your chin was resting in your arms. Quietly, politely watching Babs work was starting to put you to sleep, and you didn’t really want to do that.

“I kinda feel like I’m in school or summer camp or something.”

Babs spared you a glance.

“All you’ve got are these plastic dishes… that’s what they always give you snacks in at school and stuff.”

“Well, the clocktower doesn’t have a sink or a dishwasher. You’ll have to bear with me.”

Yes, duh, Babs. You were only joking. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m just saying.”

“You’re always ‘just saying.’ Always something to say. Just like your big brother!” She put on an overly cheery display, cooing at you and ruffling up your hair so much it made your mask slip from your face.

You scowled and sunk down in your chair, shimmying around until Babs decided you’d had enough. She stared down at your disgruntled state, affectionately teasing. “There you are.”

You eyed her cautiously as you sat yourself back up, as if it was really Babs’ fault that made you all warm and fuzzy. “Uh. Here I am.” You agreed, playing aloof.

Babs wore a wry, closed mouth smile. “Stop trying to act like you’re cool. I’ve known you since you were, like, eleven.”

She didn’t let you get a single word in. “Whenever I’d come to the manor to see Dick, you’d always pop up and be all over me until I played with you.”

“Even if we had somewhere to be, he didn’t have the heart to shoo you away.” Her smile had grown. It made the corners of her eyes wrinkle and her irises shine.

“Okay, sure, I was the cutest. What does that even have to do with anything…” You grumbled.

“It wasn’t that long ago.” Babs followed up, her voice even. “You’re still just a kid. Nobody is expecting you to be perfect.”

You opened your mouth. You were promptly interrupted.

“Not even Bruce.”

“You aren’t the sole reason we had a bad night. Black Mask has been very active. He’s a dangerous man, and we suspect he’s forming connections with even people who have even more control over the city than he does.”

She quietly sighed, lifting her glasses from her face and folding them on the counter. “We’re all anxious. If I had to guess, Bruce was having second thoughts about getting you involved in this, and it started to trickle down. You know how protective everyone can be.”

You went quiet. Unlike some of your siblings, you weren’t a total self sacrificing idiot. Some things were going to be out of your hands, and even if you did think it was unfair, Bruce’s word was final. He’d have heart failure if you went behind his back, they all would. You shouldn’t do that to the people you love.

You felt the blood all rushing to your head yet again, but you weren’t humiliated, you weren’t upset. You found yourself having a hard time doubting what Babs told you, and if anything, it made you emotional. You were flattered.

“Try to let it go for the night, alright? You’re not being disowned or bringing shame to our legacy or whatever, Bruce just knows you’re safe here in my fortress.”

“You got it?” She turned her wheelchair to face you.

“Mmh…”

“Is… that a yes?”

“Mhm…” You slowly nodded your head.

“Go sit, and for the love of god, take off all your tactical gear already. Just looking at you is making me feel sore.” Babs tilted her head in the direction of the set of armchairs and one small loveseat that were the closest thing she had to a living room in her fortress.

“We’ll both stop thinking about work for the night.” You were surprised when she closed her laptop and began to shut down all her monitors.

“Shoo.” She flapped her hand at you.

You shooed.

* * *

You were able to curl up on the loveseat now that you had left all your bulky armor, gadgets, and gizmos in a neat pile near the door. As per usual, Babs was right, the stretchy athletic wear you wore underneath your costume was so much more comfortable. It wasn’t long before she joined you.

“No major bumps or bruises tonight?” You couldn’t help the way you preened when Babs took you carefully by the chin to tilt your head around for her inspection.

“Nope.” You chirped. Your expression was starting to shift to suspicion as she stared for just a little too long.

“…What?”

You squawked when she pinched at your hip. Babs knew just how to do it. It was enough to be a problem, but not something you could tune out as just being grabbed, you couldn’t pretend it hurt either. She did it more often when you were younger, almost every single time you passed her and were within arms reach. Anything to keep you smiling.

“I— I didn’t even do anything!” You backpedaled, in a complete frenzy. One short burst of pinches and squishes later, you had been thoroughly incapacitated. Getting away felt futile, you had a feeling your legs would fail you. All nerves, no muscle in there. Not right now.

Your startled laughter and the thrill pulsing in your abdomen also was not helping.

“You’ve been brooding since you got here, I’ve been waiting to do this all night.” Babs’ hand began to travel, spidering up and down, up and down the left side of your torso that she was closest to.

A girlish squeal escaped from your lips, your back arching in a way that made it hard to tell whether you were trying to squirm away or were giddy for her to keep going. It was crazy that this was all it took, a singular hand and a dream. More like a motive. A plot.

It couldn’t be helped; the way she got to you. It was another trait that you and Dick had in common.

You sunk in your seat, and missed the chance to wrap your arms around yourself before both of Babs’ hands convened on your tummy. They stayed there. The tickling was embarrassing enough, the way she was so smitten about the fact that “she could still squish you” was devastating.

You probably weren’t cool when you got here. You definitely weren’t now.

You whined in protest through your giggling, nudging at Babs hands and twisting around.

“Well, fine. Since you’re just so tough…” She was teasing and trying to scare you, but the way she couldn’t hide the mirth in her own voice dampened the intimidation factor.

Your entire body jolted when the sound reached your ears.

“Tktktktk!” The tickle clicks. Babs spidered up your shoulders, into the crook of your neck— anywhere that went unprotected because of all your squirming became an immediate target, and there was always going to be somewhere.

She couldn’t contain herself any longer when you limply rolled off of the loveseat and onto the floor, still gasping with laughter. Neither could you when Babs started to snort.

It was an entire conniption, but you were able to collect yourselves. All of Bruce’s preaching about practicing meditation maybe wasn’t another one of those just-a-him-thing’s.

Your cheek pressed up against the cushions of the loveseat, and your forehead just reached Babs’ thigh. She rubbed tenderly at your hair. Nobody had done this for you in a while, it momentarily made your eyes water when you realized how much you’d missed it.

But you had it, you had her, and you’d be okay. Even if Babs didn’t return the little looks you gave her when you tilted your head to stare up, she didn’t have to.

She was right, you were safe in the clocktower, her fortress. You were sure that everyone else had to feel the same way. The amount of trust a family of jaded cynics placed in her spoke for itself.

Batman was… he was Batman. Oracle, she oversaw everything that happened in this city like a guardian angel. She took good care of all of you, and continued to dote on you to put a smile on your face no matter how many times you acted too old for it.

You met Jason Todd on an online book review forum. You thought he was much more well informed than you at first, a lot of his critiques were scathing.

While some were valid, you came to find out that Jason was also just very, very angry at the world. He’d tried to make people hear him in both of the lives he lived. It was never as rewarding as he hoped it would be.

So… he instead took to snarking vaguely on the people who wronged him in these book reviews. It was no wonder they were so reverent.

You sent emails back and forth for a couple weeks. It was awkward with an air of, “Surely this meager online friendship won’t go anywhere. That wouldn’t be safe.”

Wrong, and actually very ironic. On a whim, after saying he was going to be passing through Tricorner, you met in the park at eight o’ clock at night. Looking back, you couldn’t believe how desperate for a friend you were at the time, that was practically a death sentence in this city.

You were meeker than Jason expected. He was bigger than you ever could have predicted. Despite him looking like, for lack of a better word, a thug, you didn’t become part of a statistic.

It was a nice night. You walked around the city with no destination in mind, and you just talked. You both had your guard up, but there was something magnetic behind those walls that drew you together regardless.

Seeing each other once most weekends turned into two or three days out of the week, always preplanned and cordial. That formality began to fall after a few months, and you started seeing each other every free night you had. It was just a given that if you didn’t need to be anywhere else, you wanted to spend that time together.

After a miserable night driving home from out of state, you turned on the lights in your apartment to find Jason sitting on your living room floor, folding the now clean pile of laundry that had started to build up because of just how much he was in and out of your place.

If that wasn’t “a sign” you didn’t know what was.

You remember asking him if he’d been here while you were gone, not at all accusingly. You also remember the look on his face despite that, Jason was so embarrassed.

Getting to know him better, it made sense. Jason didn’t like people very much, and the way you shared your spaces, it served a unique purpose. Regardless of whether or not he was home, going to Jason’s place felt like him, and sometimes that was more than enough.

* * *

You haven’t been living together. You didn’t think you were ready, but for nearly a week now you’ve been staying with him.

Jason pushed himself harder than any person should. It came in peaks and valleys, he’d make himself sick, and even then he would keep going because there was almost no one who could reason with him.

You would consider yourself a non-confrontational person. You weren’t very strong willed, much unlike Jason, you didn’t like to push. You almost couldn’t. He continued to absently acknowledge your suggestions to take care of himself, you escalated to telling him you were worried, nothing changed.

You were so frustrated, but it couldn’t even entirely be with Jason. It was with the situation, and that you weren’t being heard. It didn’t take long for him to notice how dejected you were when you came to see him, you weren’t answering the phone either.

He quietly adjusted his behavior, begrudgingly allowing himself to rest. For your sake, he tried to hide the begrudging part.

You didn’t want to be ignorant in any way, you understood the importance of what he did, and where he did it. It wasn’t wrong for him to take a break, especially when he was burning out like this, and that had to mean it wasn’t wrong of you to press him on it.

The shame weighed heavy on you, and you were starting to have a hard time rationalizing it. The impoverished families in Crime Alley needed Jason, and shouldn’t suffer just because you’re worried. Jason shouldn’t suffer either, though—

“You’re quieter than usual.” He prompted.

You were sitting on the ottoman at the foot of his bed. You came in with something to say, but couldn’t remember what anymore.

“I think I just spaced out. Sorry.” Your vision refocused.

“No, uh… it’s fine.” Neither of you were any good at this. You knew that he probably knew how in your head you were getting. The problem: where do you start with that?

Jason quietly sighed and placed the book he’d been struggling to pay attention to on the nightstand. “C’mere, sit with me.”

You did. When you didn’t have the words to say, naturally, actions came next. You propped up a pillow to support your back and leaned against the headboard, nestling into his side. He pulled you closer with a delicate hand, cheek falling to rest atop your head.

Jason could be so tentative about touch. A delicate hand was something that he’d spent years and years having no use for. He was afraid he might be a little unpracticed, and didn’t want to scare you, not when you were already so skittish.

But you liked that better anyway, and you both regularly reaped the benefits of the fact that you had been and continued to take your time.

He cleared his throat. “What’s on your mind?” That was easy enough.

“Just anxious.” You were telling the truth. That was the big picture.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Jason wasn’t letting you get away with it. While what he said was funny, that was a little too true.

You gave him a look. He grinned and squeezed you against him, jostling you about. An awkward smile twitched on your features.

“Omigod, stawp…” You slurred under your breath. He loosened his grip.

“If you don’t want to tell me, I’m not gonna make you. But, uh… whatever you’re thinking, let it go. I’m sure you came up with some very imaginative what-if scenarios, but none of that is real.”

You frantically nodded along. Jason bit back a smile. Little too much all at once.

“I… didn’t know how to say it before, I’m bad at this. I had to think about it. It’s… it’s special that you kept showing up for me, even if it was hard for you. I knew you were nervous, and I should have said something earlier, I was just… exhausted and not really thinking.” He filled your silence with an awkward cough.

“Wow… fanks.” You said it with a certain cadence, feigning bashfulness. Making a stupid joke felt like the only right answer in that moment. Admittedly, you wanted to stick to your guns. You’d spent long enough being sad.

Jason’s expression was primarily wry as he side eyed you, but there was a twinkle of fondness in those eyes. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Your posture straightened, your closed mouth smile now self assured.

“You look so proud of yourself.” He said with a chuckle in his voice.

“Shouldn’t I be? I, like… domesticated you.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I— Domesticated me??” Jason sounded genuinely caught off guard.

“Like that corny, ‘I’m only soft for you’ bullshit?”

Your silence was telling.

“Well I— I dunno, it’s like that one saying: ‘if the shoe fits…’” You knew you were pushing your luck right now, but every time he’d tried to play-wrestle you in the past, you just laid there. That kind of defeats the purpose, therefore defeating Jason. He would get so worked up about it, it was great.

You failed to consider that he had any other options, and made a garbled yipping noise when he started to poke at you at random. Naturally, you went to poke back, and nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound Jason made, the way he jolted.

You weren’t sure if he was being serious. “…You gonna let me win?” You asked with a small smile.

Jason scoffed, sliding his jacket down his arms and tossing it to the side. He had better mobility in his t-shirt. This was getting serious. You reached out to tweak his side before he could ready himself, and couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He choked out another little squeak, collapsing onto that side.

You were able to draw your hand back before he squished it beneath him. You didn’t waste any time. You couldn’t see yourself scoring an opportunity like this again any time soon. Both your hands jumped around his upper body, you scuttled your fingers across whatever surface you could reach.

With the thought that he was being tickled put into Jason’s head, everything was making him laugh. You weren’t the most experienced play fighter, but felt like you were going through this on easy mode.

“Noho!” He whined, shaking his head about when your fingers found his neck. His hair got all puffy as it created static on the blankets.

“Is this real? Why are you so ticklish?” It was a genuine question.

Jason momentarily lifted his face from the covers to give you an incredulous look. “I don’t know??”

“Aw… why not?” The touch trickled down his shoulders, to his arms, until they eventually reached his hands. You weaved your fingers together, playfully dancing Jason’s hands about with yours while he caught his breath.

You chose to be merciful, he looked so sweet like that. Occasionally something you’d said would catch him by surprise just enough to hear him laugh like that, but it wasn’t often. He always tried to stop himself, like he thought he was being obnoxious.

Objectively, he wasn’t. It was a cute and dainty sounding laugh, especially when compared to Jason being so imposing. Even if it were to be noisy, you still thought the world should get to hear it more. At the very least, you wanted to hear it.

Your swooning was swiftly interrupted. You should have known better, he could be so competitive. He wasn’t going to manhandle you the same way he would with family or a friend, but you weren’t exempt. Jason was still himself.

“…Ah.” Your right hand was pressed beneath his knee, the left held captive over your head on a pillow. He’d settled his weight over your hips. In layman’s terms, your life was over.

“Yeah. Ah.” Jason let out an amused huff.

“Okay, um… you can let me go now.” You put on a polite smile, attempting to sit up. Your lower back didn’t even lift from the bed.

It was worth a try.

“Jason.” You muttered, the closest you could get to scolding him. You were at a bit of a loss, you’d gotten used to him not being able to bring himself to retaliate against you. You didn’t provoke him often to begin with.

Jason smiled down at you. “What?” His pointer finger began to trace a path, starting at your right wrist and moving up. The feeling left goosebumps in its wake, and the corners of your lips twitched.

All the fizzling breaker box in your brain managed to put out was a panicked “buh” sound.

The squint in Jason’s eyes told you he found that funny. “I see.”

His journey continued as it reached your shoulder. Down your side, across your lower tummy, up the other side, then coming to a stop under your arm. He didn’t lift his finger, he just left it there.

You writhed and twisted uncomfortably as anticipation began to pulse throughout your body.

“Wh… Why are you literally strategizing this?? Are you insane?” You breathed out.

“I definitely used to be. Criminally.” Jason tapped his finger twice. You winced, but were mostly snickering at his commentary.

When he decided to stop psychologically torturing you, he took to the tapping again, slowly moving up and making goofy sounds like he was dialing a phone or something. Your face went right into your shoulder, your eyes squeezing shut. It wasn’t at all enough to keep you from laughing, but you could live with that.

Your knees battered against Jason’s back, you scooted up and down on the mattress, trying to dislodge his grip on your wrist. It wasn’t working. You may just die here.

“I can’t, I cahan’t—“ You wheezed through your giggles. You let out a mirthful cry and slammed your face back into your shoulder when he finally cut to the chase, fluttering his fingers against your very much trapped armpit.

It ended as soon as it began, Jason pulling back with a grin.

“You’re an actual supervillain! Just tickle me like a normal person!” You said that with more passion than you thought you would.

Jason sat back with a huff. “Fine.” He scanned you. His eyes landed on where your shirt had ridden up.

“D’aww~ your little belly’s quivering…” He cooed.

Your head jerked down. It was? You properly short circuited, burning in the face. You didn’t, couldn’t, think to defend yourself when he let go of your wrist. Both of his hands slid up your shirt, repeating that same unbearable fluttery motion.

You were starting to think you could lose your voice if this went on too long. You didn’t laugh like this, or at least you didn’t think you did. It must have been in there somewhere, all things considered.

Your hands went to grab at Jason’s wrists. A squeak strained past your lips when he leveraged that to lift your arms again. Just when you didn’t think he could be any worse, his head lowered.

“You—!“

You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him, but your voice cracked and it broke off into a loud whine when he placed a flurry of kisses against your stomach.

Your knees shot up, once again colliding with Jason’s back. You were running out of ideas, which meant it was time to pull out what always worked from your toolbox: playing dead. You were getting tired, it was easy enough to give into him even with your mind all in a tizzy, pushing you to squirm.

Jason was being a pain, but you were safe here.

“I give uhuhup… no more, pretty plehease…” You giggled out.

Jason lifted his head. “Well… since you asked so nicely.” If you’d known it was as simple as a “pretty please,” you would have tried that earlier, but nothing was ever that simple with him.

You clumsily rolled over onto your front once he was off of you, face pressed against the blankets. Somehow, you could sense Jason grinning.

“Am I picking on you? I’m sorry.” He crooned, not meaning a word of it. But his hand came up to card through your hair, you’d accept that as a peace offering.

“You’re too good at that…” You rolled over onto your back to look at him, still a bit winded. Jason tilted his head.

“Do you tickle your siblings a lot or something? I know you have so many of them.”

Jason scoffed. “You think I’m that nice to them?”

The truth was that he was victimized to much more tickling than he could keep up with doling out, but he was going to hide that from you for as long as he could. He had the time between now and until you met Dick, if he had to guess.

“Look, I’m not one of those people that, like… hates being tickled.” You didn’t want Jason to think he did something wrong.

“But that wasn’t nice.” You pressed, your face as stern as it could get.

“You…” He exhaled. “You don’t know how they are. I think the only person you could put me in a room with who I wouldn’t start a fight with is my sister.” She would beat my ass either way.

You took that in. “Oh…”

“It’s better than it used to be.” Jason quietly followed up. “I made some friends and picked you up off the street.”

You smiled when he squished up your face between his hand. He snorted at how silly that made you look.

“Well… yay.” You weren’t the best at being exuberant.

“Yay.” Jason echoed teasingly.

“You’re such a bully today.” You mumbled, aimlessly tugging his arm around in retaliation.

“I am, aren’t I? I normally treat you like a little princess.”

You grimaced at him, and he caved, his voice wobbly with mirth. “Poor baby.”

Your blood pressure began to lower as Jason pulled you against him. The side of your face landed against his chest, a large hand cradling your head. You exhaled and melted into the embrace. You could only handle teasing for so long before you started to overthink it.

Dick shook his head, looking absolutely wretched. He blinked hard twice then seemed to give up, his shoulder slumping forwards as a couple tears trailed down his face. 

“Bad fight,” he said, voice hoarse. “With Bruce. Can’t be there.” 

Okay, so no cosmic world-ending alien invasion. Clark rubbed his eyes as Dick’s words finished processing through his newly-awake brain, and…uh oh.

Oh, Dickie. The poor kid - well, not a kid anymore. He’d gotten even taller over the last couple months and was going to be eighteen in a couple weeks.

“Come on in,” Clark said. He stepped back and used his foot to shove the door open, wrapping an arm around Dick to usher him inside. “I’m so sorry, Dick.” 

A tiny, choked noise escaped Dick’s tightly-sealed lips, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and stared blankly ahead. 

The stairs creaked and Lois appeared, clad in pajama pants and one of Clark’s Daily Planet t-shirts. 

“Everything okay?” she asked, brow furrowing when she saw Dick. 

“It sounds like Dick and Bruce got into it,” Clark said, choosing his words carefully. Everything about Dick’s body language read the same as an easily-spooked horse. “So Dick is here for a little bit.” 

She hummed sympathetically and, stifling a yawn, came all the way downstairs. When she got closer to Dick, her face fell. 

“What happened, Dickie?” 

The duffle bag fell to the floor as Dick practically launched himself into her open arms and absolutely broke down into heaving sobs that shook his entire body. She hugged him tightly, murmuring soothing words against his hair, and Clark zipped upstairs to get his phone. Alarm and concern twisted together behind his sternum – Dick hadn’t broken down like this in years, even with the recent tensions between him and Bruce. What the hell had happened in Gotham? 

His phone screen lit up with an incoming call from Bruce – the third one, apparently. Clark immediately answered. 

“Clark.” Bruce sounded destroyed, wrecked. “Dick’s missing. I can’t find him, his tracker’s offline–” 

Normally Clark would hesitate to cut him off, but this time it was a mercy. “He’s here. In Kansas. Wally dropped him off.”  

After a couple seconds’ stunned silence, Bruce’s sigh crackled through the phone line, equal parts relieved and aching. “At the farm.”

“Ma and Pa are gone for a couple days,” Clark said. “Me and Lois are watching the animals. What happened?” 

As Bruce filled him in on the details of a particularly nasty blowout argument, Clark was glad he didn’t have to conceal his wincing. That was…bad. Really bad. Normally Dick didn’t go for the ‘you’re not my father!’ line, and Bruce… 

Had spectacularly dropped the ball by sending Dick away after that. 

For two of the smartest people in the world, Bruce and Dick were…well, a kind phrase might be emotionally illiterate. At least when it came to each other. 

Then again, most families were like that. 

“You need to come out here,” Clark said at last. “Give him tomorrow to rest and process, but get here in the evening.” 

“I can be there in three hours.” 

Clark took a second to translate “no, you need some time to regulate” into Bat-speak, then said, “I think Dick would respond better after he’s had some rest and some time to process.” 

Bruce’s silence somehow conveyed his frustration and his own grief, but eventually he grunted in the affirmative. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Clark said, going for calm and soothing. “It’ll be fine.”

The next evening, Bruce arrived looking like he’d spent forty days wandering in the wilderness, with dark circles under his eyes and two days’ worth of unshaven scruff, his hair messy. He’d brought his own duffle bag, one that was styled similarly to Dick’s – the two were clearly part of a matching set. 

Dick had spent the better part of the day pacing around, chock full of nervous energy even after talking things out with Clark and Lois, until he disappeared into his guest room upstairs shortly before Bruce was due to arrive. 

Bruce had barely stepped foot across the threshold when suddenly Dick flew down the stairs and tackled him into a hug. Had Clark not been there, Bruce would’ve gone sprawling backwards across the porch. 

“See?” Clark said to no one in particular. “It’s all fine.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bruce slept fitfully through the night. He woke up around seven and rather than trying to return to sleep, he got up, dressed in jeans and a button-down flannel – look, keeping an unremarkable  profile was important. Bruce Wayne being instantly spotted in Kansas at the same time Batman missed a night in Gotham felt like inviting trouble, which was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Despite the overwhelming distraught-fear-grief from realizing that Dick had vanished, Bruce had managed to put a little thought into packing. Sort of. 

He should have realized earlier that part of Dick’s behavior could be explained by his approaching eighteenth birthday. Waiting for Dick to come to him with his problems clearly hadn’t worked, and Bruce was endlessly frustrated with himself for not being more proactive. Of course Dick was his son in every possible way, legally and otherwise. He hadn’t understood that the looming threshold of adulthood was making Dick increasingly insecure about his place in Bruce’s household – in Bruce’s family. 

God. Lois had been right to call him a moron the night before. 

The scent of coffee drifted up from the kitchen downstairs, and plus the (perhaps) irrational urge to lay eyes on Dick spurred him out of his guest room. Across the hall, the door to the room that Dick had slept in was wide open, the bed empty. 

As much as Bruce wanted to tell himself that this wasn’t a problem, he hurried down the stairs. No one was in the living room, but the kitchen lights were on, so he checked there next. Lois was sitting at the round table with her laptop, an external harddrive, and an open copy of the day’s newspaper. A steaming mug of coffee sat precariously close to her elbow but she looked up at Bruce when he got to the doorway. Or, as Dick would say, when he loomed in the doorway.

“They’re both awake. I sent them outside to get apples,” Lois said before he could ask. The newspaper rustled as she yanked out a section and tossed it in his direction. “Clark’s making pie. There’s more coffee.” 

Okay. The apple trees were out front. That was fine. Really. 

Bruce picked up the sheaf of paper – ha ha, the comics – and, tucking it beneath his arm, moved on to pour himself a mug of plain black coffee. Rather than joining Lois at the kitchen table, he headed towards the living room and settled in one of the well-worn armchairs beside the couch. 

It just so happened that the chair faced one of the windows overlooking the front yard, where the Kents had a couple modest apple trees, and where Clark and Dick were busy collecting fruit. As soon as Bruce saw Dick to confirm that he was still there, that persistent pinched feeling near his lungs began to loosen. He couldn’t hear anything that they were saying out there, but Dick threw his head back and laughed at something Clark told him. 

That was a good sign, then. Dick seemed happy. At ease, even, in a way he hadn’t been in ages.

For a brief instant, the desire to stay here out in the middle of the country, away from Gotham and all its problems and griefs, hit Bruce like a locomotive. He’d do anything, go anywhere, to give Dick the kind of life that would let him look like that, comfortable and relaxed and content, all the time. Usually, the thought of giving up the cowl seemed like an impossible scenario. Like a fever dream, like the cowl and the cape had melted so deeply into Bruce’s nerves that it would always cling to him, shadowing his every move, seeping through his pores. But here, in the early morning light, with coffee and apple trees and Dick climbing up on Clark’s shoulders to reach a higher branch…

Giving it up seemed like the easiest thing in the world. 

Dick, of course, would riot. Forget running away from home, he’d probably figure out a way to kick Bruce off the damn planet. The kid who’d taught Bruce more about duty and responsibility than a decade in Gotham’s seedy underground could never stand by when there was something he could do to help the people around him.

Bruce smiled to himself and opened the funnies section of the paper. He’d just begun reading when a commotion at the front door heralded Clark and Dick’s loud, chaotic return – Dick was still on Clark’s shoulders and the doorframes were not tall enough to accommodate that much height, so they’d compromised. Instead of just hopping down, because that would be too easy, Dick leaned back, nearly folding himself in half in a stretch that made Bruce’s lower vertebrae ache from watching, while Clark ducked down. 

“Morning, B!” Clark said, too loudly and too cheerfully. He brandished a plastic bag full to bursting. “Got an early start.” 

He kicked his slides off and nudged them over towards the doormat. 

Dick effortlessly swung himself back up to a normal sitting position, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He toed off his own shoes and they fell to the floor with twin thunking sounds. When he looked up, he was grinning, face flushed from exertion. He saw Bruce, though, and sudden uncertainty flashed across his expression. He started to say something but stopped and tugged his lower lip between his teeth. 

Bruce’s first urge was to reassure him that everything was fine between them and drag Dick down into a hug, but he wasn’t sure Dick would appreciate that level of acknowledged emotional vulnerability in front of Clark and Lois. But clearly waiting for Dick to come to him hadn’t worked either, so…hm. Words had never been Bruce’s strong suit, but for Dick, he’d learned and would keep learning. 

“I can see,” Bruce replied, creasing his section of the paper and setting it aside. “Have you pressed my son into indentured service, or did he volunteer?” 

At ‘son’, Dick’s face pinkened a little further and he ducked his head, a faint, pleased smile playing at his mouth. God, he looked so young. How was he somehow both older than Bruce could believe and still young enough to seem like he should be bundled away in a bunker forever? Well, maybe, he’d never outgrow the latter one. 

“Hey, he volunteered,” Clark replied. He raised his eyebrows. “Only paid workers here, Corporate. And he was an excellent help.” To punctuate his point, Clark reached up and squeezed Dick’s knee in what was intended to be an affectionate gesture. 

In uniform and on the training mats, Dick’s reflexes were nearly preternatural. During moments like these, however…

“Tha-ANks!” Dick flinched, voice cracking halfway through the word. 

The facetiously innocent smirk that Clark pasted on bespoke imminent future mayhem – honestly, he was no better than Dick sometimes – so instead of intervening, Bruce silently took the bag of apples from him and delivered them to Lois. 

“Thank you, page boy,” she muttered absently, laser-focused on an article. That expression usually meant that she’d found an investigative puzzle to unravel, and interrupting her would be a task undertaken in only the direst of circumstances. Since she was too distracted to smack his hand away, he rustled around for a good-sized apple and returned to see what Dick had gotten himself into.

Meanwhile, Dick’s startled laughter echoed around the living room as he tried to bargain with Clark. 

“You don’t have to do this! U-Uncle Clahahark! Wai-wai-waihaihait–” any other protests disappeared into a familiar screech of sheer ticklish panic that made Bruce smile as he wandered back to the doorway, purloined snack in hand. 

Dick was somehow still on Clark’s shoulders despite his best efforts to escape, which seemed to mainly consist of winding his fingers through Clark’s hair and crumpling forwards, helpless with laughter as Clark squeezed at his knees and lower thighs. 

When he saw Bruce, Dick flailed out in his general direction, as much as he could while jerking and wriggling. “B! He’s killing mehehe!” 

“I almost forgot about this,” Clark said. 

Bullshit, but Bruce wouldn’t call him on it this time. “Oh no. Whatever shall we do, Dickie?” 

Despite his protesting, Dick’s giant grin looked positively gleeful even as he sputtered with feigned indignance. 

Clark winked. “You could help him.” 

“I could.” Bruce took a bite of his apple. He wandered a couple steps closer, intending to grab one of Dick’s outstretched hands and pull him back down to earth. 

Whatever Clark did, though, got a strangled snort out of Dick before his right leg flew out, apparently on sheer reflex, and though Bruce guessed what was coming and tried to duck, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting a socked foot straight to the jaw. 

Ouch. 

Sparking pain shot through his jawline and chin, not enough to indicate a serious injury but enough that Bruce hissed through his teeth before he could stop himself. 

Dick had gone entirely still and was staring in frozen horror. Instead of stepping back, Bruce deliberately set his half-eaten apple down on the coffee table and set about rolling up his sleeves. He didn’t look directly at Dick as he did so, but Clark was quick on the uptake. He flashed Bruce an encouraging grin and Bruce very heroically did not roll his eyes, focusing instead on pushing his sleeves above his elbows. 

Dick hadn’t said anything yet. He’d gone still like maybe that would hide him. Nice try.

Bruce finished securing his sleeves, taking some extra time just to wind Dick up further even though his son wasn’t saying anything. Then, cracking his knuckles, he held his hands out towards Clark. 

 “Alright, Give me my kid.” 

That shocked Dick into action as a relieved grin broke out across his face and he panicked, trying to successfully wriggle away. 

“Nononono!” he protested, his voice tightening with barely-suppressed laughter. He twisted his torso in an attempt to evade Bruce's outstretched arms, fruitlessly pushing at Clark's head and shoulders. “It was an accident, I didn't mean to!” 

Clark leaned down. The movement toppled Dick forwards and Bruce seized him by the waist, yanked hard, and successfully wrestled a squirming bundle of seventeen-year-old into his grasp. He adjusted his grip to cradle Dick like he was a much smaller child, arms braced under his back and knees. 

“An accident,” Bruce repeated. He let his voice drop to a deeper rumble that usually sent Dick into fits of anticipatory snickers. “Are you sure about that?” 

Dick's head flopped to the side, thunking against Bruce's shoulder. He grinned giddily up at Bruce, eyes watery from laughing. “Ye-yehes! Promise!” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dick squirmed as currents of restless energy raced through his limbs. He wasn’t actually trying to get away, but there was too much fizzy feeling – the butterflies in his stomach, the humming in his arms and legs – for him to stay still. Plus, letting Bruce cart him around like a little kid was too close to admitting that he was having fun, and surely seventeen was too old to be flustered into a mess of giggles and wriggling by the looming threat of tickles from his dad. 

(His dad. His dad, no matter what.) 

So, as Bruce started towards the couch, Dick shouted for help again. “Help! Lois, they’re ganging up on me!” 

He heard her snort from the kitchen table and grinned. 

“Sorry, Boy Wonder,” she called back, dry amusement in her tone. “You’re on your own.”  

“Betrayal!” 

Bruce’s chuckle rumbled through his chest and Dick found himself leaning into him, some part of his mind instinctively soothed. As always, Bruce smelled like pine and vetiver, and the familiarity of it made Dick want to burrow into his arms for a nap. He resisted. Barely. 

“Don’t,” he said, kicking his feet. “B. I’m too old for this–” 

Ignoring his protests, Bruce dropped his legs to wrap both of his arms around Dick’s torso, pinning him to his chest in a backwards hug as he sat down on the couch, leaving Dick firmly trapped. 

Before Dick could really appreciate how screwed he was, Bruce prodded at his left side, right under his ribs, and Dick screeched out a startled bark of laughter. When his dad didn’t let up, Dick squirmed, trying to fold sideways or summon enough focus to get that evil hand away, but the jolts of electric ticklish feeling kept him in distracting fits of cackles. 

“Too old,” Bruce said, repeating Dick’s most recent protesting words. He’d leaned down to crowd up close to Dick’s ear.  “Somehow, Dickie, I don’t think that’s the case. You’re not too old…” 

Suddenly, both his hands were pinching and digging into those insanely sensitive spots right below Dick’s ribs. Dick shrieked, the adrenaline making him kick both his legs out as he tried to thrash or squirm or flail or find some kind of outlet for all the giddy ticklishness that was taking over his mind. 

“...I think you’re too ticklish,” Bruce finished. Even the vibrations of his voice tickled. Damn it. 

Dick shook his head, scrunching up his whole face as he tried to cringe away. His lungs burned when he managed to suck in another breath. “Gehehet – get out of thehere, you–BRUCE!” 

Those stupid butterflies returned to Dick’s stomach with a vengeance and he tried to wipe the stupid grin off his face but he couldn’t because – because Bruce started nuzzling raspberries and nibbles around his neck, and his scruff made it tickle so much worse, and no matter how many times this happened it still sent Dick into waves of helpless, screechy giggles. Plus, Bruce was still tickling at his lower ribs, having switched to crawling his hands slowly up each set, one at a time. Writhing, Dick tried to smack Bruce’s hands or wrists or reach up and whack him in the head – that got him a tasering poke to the underarm, so he changed strategies and pretended that he hadn’t just screamed. His arms were useless noodles by now; all he could do was hug himself for the illusion of protection.

Dick knew he probably sounded ridiculous with all the snorts, giggles, and screechy laughter that was bubbling out of him, but he didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed just yet. He flinched upwards when Bruce’s hands shot into his armpits. 

“Bruce!” he gasped. “Bruce, waihaihait! NONononoOHOHO!”  He threw himself forward in a desperate escape attempt, only to feel one of his dad’s strong arms wind around his waist and haul him back. Dick tried to clamp his elbows down but that was useless at this point; Bruce’s fingers were already there, and keeping his arms pinned to his ribs just meant that any and all wheedling fingers would also nudge at his biceps and inner arms, and, well. Dick wasn’t sure he could deal with the high-pitched, shrieky giggles that would elicit. It wasn’t like Bruce and Clark and even Lois would be surprised, or anything, but he – he wasn’t a screechy little kid anymore, he was almost an adult – 

An almost-adult who did, unfortunately, spasm and sputter out a few of those giggles anyway because Bruce took a brief detour to skitter over his triceps. Rats.

“Careful, chum,” Bruce rumbled, staying in that tickly lower range. 

The sheer fondness oozing from his words made Dick feel like he was melting into a blushy, giggly marshmallow because that was his dad, the Batman, the  Dark Knight of Gotham who terrified humans and Metahumans and aliens alike, and – and all it took to make him soften was letting himself be hugged and tickled, because…because Bruce loved him. 

Because that was his Dad. 

Before Dick could dwell too much on that realization, Bruce continued on to tease him. “You wouldn’t want to get away, right?” 

Oh, right. Because his dad was also evil. Actually, real-life evil. Dick felt himself flushing a deep, mortifying shade of red, and he caught a glimpse of Clark watching him with an indulgent smile as if he knew exactly what Dick had just been thinking about. 

That made him duck his head to hide. “Fuck off!” 

A second pair of hands grabbed his ankles – Oh, so everyone was betraying him to the Tickle Monst-uh, to Bruce, okay – as Clark reached out and steadied his thrashing legs. 

“Thank you,” Bruce said. As if he hadn’t just switched to spidering his fingers across Dick’s stomach and sides. He clawed into Dick’s upper abs, vibrating his hand, and Dick strained to curl his legs up for protection. Unfortunately, no amount of ticklish desperation could overcome Kryptonian strength. 

“Of course,” Clark replied. For a grown man, he managed to pull off the ‘picture of innocence’ shtick disturbingly well. Maybe that was how he’d gotten so many good stories as a reporter. “For the record, I think the kick was on purpose.” 

“Shut up!” Dick squeaked. Squeaked. God, he might as well just bury himself underneath the Kent’s floorboards because he was never coming back from that one. “Don’t listen to him, Dad, he’s shit-stirring–” 

Bruce cut him off with a raspberry just under his chin that sent Dick tumbling into a puddle of hiccupy giggles. Trying to wriggle forward and out of reach just meant that he leaned further into the hands that were scrabbling all over his torso, and he was rapidly running out of energy to do more than just flop around. 

So, really, he wasn’t letting Bruce keep tickling him, he was just…saving his energy. Yeah. 

Clark tsked and, faster than Dick could follow, darted a hand up to squeeze at his knees again. “Language, Dickie.” 

“Nohohot that!” Dick cried, fruitlessly trying to squirm his legs free. He yelped when Clark did it again, then had the nerve to reach around and scribble at the backs of his knees. 

Bruce made an approving sound as he finally stopped his search for every single ticklish centimeter on Dick’s stomach, only to take up sporadic, alternating pokes into each of the tickle spots underneath his ribs again. The unpredictable frequency kept Dick jolting from side to side while Clark tickled behind his knees.    

“He’s wriggly,” Clark commented, a casual observation. 

Dick still felt himself blush even darker. 

“He is,” Bruce replied, his smile audible in his words. “He’s always squirmed around like a wriggly, ticklish worm.” 

Not fair! “I do nohot!” Dick tried to defend himself. It was a rookie mistake because that just made Bruce stop tickling him entirely, only to hover his hands above Dick’s stomach, wiggling his fingers without touching him.

“Hey!” Dick yelped. Seeing those fingers so close to him just made the desire to squirm worse, and he couldn’t even try to keep still. 

“I thought you didn’t squirm, honey,” said Bruce. “What’s got you all worked up?” 

Groaning, Dick whacked his head against Bruce a couple times, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the threatening hands. “Don’t!” 

“Don’t what? Tickle you?” Bruce poked his stomach once, twice, then switched to nibbling little pinches up and down Dick’s sides. “Tickle you here, where it makes you giggle?” 

Wheezing around a fit of helpless giggles, Dick squirmed in and tossed his head back against Bruce’s shoulder, smiling up at his dad like a dork. “You suck!” 

He wasn’t expecting Bruce to lean down and kiss his forehead, but that only added to the endorphin high coursing through his bloodstream. All the laughing, combined with the onset adrenaline crash and the dopamine high from goofing off with Bruce and Clark – and the rush of relief that everything was okay, he hadn’t messed it all up irrevocably – made his head swim. 

Honestly, he didn’t know when the tickling had stopped for good, because the leftover ticklish shudders kept him in periodic fits of snickering laughter. He rolled over halfway onto his stomach and Bruce adjusted his hold, then tightened his arms again when Dick settled. Clark was still holding him by the legs, now more to keep him from sliding onto the floor than to hold him steady. 

“Hey,” Lois said. It sounded like she was standing in the doorway. How long had she been there? “My nephew is still alive, right?” 

The sudden rush of shyness was unexpected, but Dick was too tired to do anything except smash his face into Bruce’s shirt and groan. 

Apparently that was answer enough, and the three adults chuckled. 

“Jesus,” Lois moved closer, her slippers scuffing against the floor. She reached down to card her fingers through Dick’s hair and he leaned into the touch, practically purring. “He’s red to his ears. Haven’t seen him that tickled-out in a while.” 

“Oh,” Clark said. “Remember – gosh, was it the first or second time Bruce had us for dinner, with the chandelier and the stair rail?” 

“The first,” Lois replied immediately with a ruffle of Dick’s hair. “That was the first time I got to see Dick Grayson in action.”

Bruce’s torso rumbled as he laughed at the memory and, yeah, there was no way Dick was moving now. He wasn’t a little kid, but hiding in his dad’s hug seemed like the marginally less-embarrassing option if everyone was going to talk about the time he (successfully!) swung out of a handstand on the railing to the foyer chandelier. No one had told him when Clark and Lois would be there, and he hadn’t meant to startle Alfred, but… 

Well, it had been an eventful start to the evening. 

“Sorry, honey,” Bruce murmured. This time it was his hand that came up to rest against Dick’s head, all warm and solid and safe. “Are we embarrassing you?” 

“Yes,” Dick muttered, the words muffled by flannel. He didn’t really mind and he had the feeling that Bruce knew that. “I want a whole pie. For myself. Rec’mpn’s.”

Clark squeezed his ankles once before gently letting them go, presumably so he could stand up and get to work processing the pounds of apples into pie. Before Dick’s legs hit the floor, Bruce was already scooping him up into a better position. Someone nestled a throw pillow under between Dick’s head and Bruce’s lap, so Dick could comfortably lay on his side with his legs stretched out across the rest of the couch.