moody

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

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

“Wha—Alfred!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweet dreams, Little Wing!”

“Fuck you!”

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

*     *     *     *     *

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Tim started screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good book, Little Wing?”

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

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

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

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

“Jay, are you sure?”

“I said, I’m good.”

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

“What’s his problem?”

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

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

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

*     *     *     *     *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nightwing looked at both of them like they were insane. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So? I’m a teenager now.”

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

“He’s got you there, kid.”

“Hey, I’m on your side!”

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

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

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

“That’s it!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not your fault.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s good.”

“So? We’re better.”

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

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

Alright, maybe Hood would hear the kid out.

*     *     *     *     *

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

“Little Wing? I know you’re home!”

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

“Goddammit, Dick. I almost shot you.”

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

“I literally have.”

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

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

“Thanks! I think I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jay, come on.”

“You first.”

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

“I wanted to check on you.”

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

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

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

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

“Maybe it didn’t hit me right away.”

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

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

“I’ve been busy.”

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

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

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

“You’re as paranoid as Bruce is.”

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

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

“Don’t.”

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

“Dick, seriously. I’m warning you.”

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

“Fucking, stop! Just shut up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason huffed. “Duly noted.”

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

“... So?”

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

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

“I just, feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

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

Dick stood up straight. “All the time?”

Jason shook his head.

“When?”

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

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

Jason shrugged again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you getting at?”

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

“And, what, skip patrol?”

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

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

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

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

*     *     *     *     *

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

“Someone’s comfortable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ow, hey! You’re such a sore winner!”

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

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

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

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

“Such a cheater!” Dick said.

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

“Come on, let go!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re such a shit liar.”

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

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

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

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

Noodles and fucking silly string.

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

“Get your fat ass off of me!”

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

“Tell that to Twitter!” 

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

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

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

“Fuck you!”

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

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

“See! A liar!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ge-get away!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You— asshole!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never!”

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

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

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

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

“Challenge accepted, JayJay.”

“Stop fucking babying me, you– NO!”

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

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

“Dickie, no no nonono!”

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

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

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

“Dick– Dick, please!”

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

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

“Sh’dd’p.”

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

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

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

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

“Not a lil’ kid.”

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

Tissue paper rustled as Jason pawed through the bag’s contents. Tim kept his eyes focused on the carpet. It took most of his willpower to hold back the excited energy that made him want to grin and pace back and forth. 

Jason made a confused-sounding noise. “What the hell is this – oh, you little shit. Timothy fucking Drake-Wayne, you fucking did not –” 

At that, Tim finally looked over at him and instantly grinned when he saw the mixture of bafflement and embarrassment making Jason’s mouth twist up like that. Jason was sitting there, red-faced, trying to glare at Tim even though it kind of looked like he wanted to smile instead. In his hands, had a red, oblong stuffed toy that had a banana-like curve to it. 

“Wait,” Dick said suddenly, reaching out and making grabby hands for Jason’s gift. “No way. Is that a red pillbug plushie?” 

“It is,” Tim said, and he let himself laugh as Jason flipped him off. “And it’s not a prank! It’s true, it made me think of him, and his room here’s so boring now that he’s old and took down his posters–”

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, kid,” Jason growled as he lunged off the couch towards Tim’s perch on the coffee table. 

Tim let Jason tackle him into a headlock that came with enough hair ruffling to rattle his teeth. He squirmed and snickered and squeaked when Jason poked at some of his more ticklish ribs, and overall happily settled into the role of little brother who knows he’s being annoying and enjoys it. When Jason was satisfied with his vengeance, he hauled Tim up with him and plodded back over to the couch. 

Instead of going back to his spot on the table, Tim crawled onto the couch next to him and shoved his head under Jason’s arm, snuggling up against him. 

“You’re annoying,” Jason said with absolutely no heat in his voice. 

“You’re a plushie,” Tim retorted. He grinned, and his cheeks ached. It was going to be a great Christmas. 

━━━━━━━━━━

The first time it happened, Tim’s phone nearly vibrated off the nightstand when six texts from Dick came through at once. Ugh. Tim was barely awake, but he swiped his phone open just to be sure nothing horrible had happened.

DeeG: tim!! j’s roomNOW

DeeG: Tim. Tiiiiiiiiim!!! 

DeeG: image.png

DeeG: he’s sleeping w it

DeeG: im DYING

DeeG: timmy wake up u have to come see. 

The photo attachment – Tim squinted and had to hold his phone right up to his face to make out the blurry image without his glasses – oh, it was Jason. 

Jason who’d evidently crashed hard last night because he was sprawled over his comforter, the side of his face smashed into a pillow, one of his legs half-curled up towards his stomach. There was something red in his arms that looked like it was partially wedged under his head. 

Oh, it was the pillbug. 

Funnily enough, with that realization, Tim was much, much more awake. He scrambled out of bed and just barely avoided getting his feet stuck in his sheets, then scurried across the hall to where Dick was standing in Jason’s doorway. 

“Is it real?” he asked, then yawned. 

Dick turned sideways so Tim could see past him. “Sure is, Baby Bird. See for yourself.” 

Just like in the picture, Jason was indeed sleeping with the stuffed pillbug Tim had gifted him for Christmas. He was practically curled up around it. 

Thinking about Jason and sweet in the same sentence didn’t feel entirely natural, even though Tim had had plenty of opportunities to see the softer, mushier side of Jason’s personality bleed through here and there. Maybe it was because Jason was built out like a fridge and an NFL linebacker had a baby that spawned fully-formed. Yeah, that was probably it. 

“Aww,” Tim whispered, leaning against Dick’s arm. 

Dick adjusted his stance to wrap said arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him into a sideways hug. “Yeah. I got a picture to send to Wally, it’ll put me at least ten points up.” 

Ah, yes. Dick and Wally had been embattled in a contest over who had the cutest little siblings for over a month. The scoring system made absolutely no sense, but they stuck to it fastidiously. All that Tim and Bart had learned was that the instant those two started bickering, the topic would eventually come around to that, and it was best to not be in the room unless they wanted a double-barreled helping of older brother teasing. 

Tim hummed in acknowledgement.

Dick pocketed his phone. “Think we should wake him up?” 

“No!” To make sure Dick understood that this was important, Tim looked up at him with the best wide-eyed, earnest expression he could muster while still waking up. “If he knows you saw, he’ll stop.”

The way Dick’s mouth twitched at the corners was eerily similar to Bruce, but instead of saying anything, he just leaned down to plant a soft kiss on Tim’s forehead. When he leaned back, it was to give Tim the mushiest, sappiest smile in his repertoire, and it was too early for Tim to know what to do with that so he just turned to his long-reliable move of hiding his face in Dick’s shoulder. 

“Alright, Tim, let’s let him sleep.” 

“Yeah,” Tim mumbled. “If you stare at him for too long he senses it and wakes up.”

Dick’s answering chuckle rumbled through his chest. He steered Tim backwards into the hallway, then closed Jason’s door. By then, Tim had shifted away, ready to be perceived again. 

“Is that what all the yelling and squeaking was on Christmas?” 

Or maybe being perceived was a bad idea. The heat spreading up Tim’s cheeks certainly thought so. 

“Maybe,” he said, hedging. On Christmas, he’d originally gone into Jason’s room to wake him up but ended up wondering if Jason could sense eyes on him, even in his sleep. The answer had turned out to be yes, but the price for that knowledge was being dragged down into a headlock and tickled silly.

For once, Dick didn’t press. He just ruffled Tim’s hair and started for the stairs, motioning for Tim to follow. “You’re probably right that he should sleep,” the casual lilt to the words immediately set Tim’s teeth on edge, “but I was going to tickle him. Sleeping with the pillbug is basically an open invitation. Plus I’m heading back to Blud today, so I need another hit for the road.” 

Since Tim was still a little tired and a lot out of it, he didn’t sense the trap. Instead, he just stifled a yawn and asked, “Hit of what?” 

“Little brother giggles, obviously,” Dick replied, shooting him a smirk. He jumped the last six stairs and pivoted midair so he landed facing Tim and spread his arms out like he wanted a hug. “Luckily, you’re right here.” 

Tim couldn’t halt his momentum in time to keep out of reach, so he just yelped when Dick grabbed him in a bear hug and threw him over his shoulder as he marched towards the kitchen. 

“Dick!” he cried, cut off by a wave of uncontrollable giggles when Dick wormed one hand free to dig into his stomach. “He-hehey, it’s too earlyhehe!”  

He could hear the smile in Dick’s voice when his older brother replied with, “Sorry, Timmy, can’t hear you. Could you try not to giggle? Unless you’re super tickly ticklish, I guess – oh, sounds like it.” Dick, evil genius that he was, followed that statement up by spidering his fingers across one of those soft spots next to Tim’s navel that sent him into peal after peal of helpless giggles, no matter how much he kicked and thrashed. 

Oh, Jason was going to owe him big, huge, gigantic for this one. 

“Tim,” Jason growled, but he didn’t seem too intimidating as he jabbed his elbow back to knock Tim’s hand away from his side. 

“Hey, I convinced Dick to let you sleep,” Tim said.  He clumsily patted the top of Jason’s head. “And he got me instead. Ergo, you owe me.” 

Once Dick was safely off to Bludhaven, Tim had gone right back upstairs and threw himself onto Jason’s bed, working off of the rickety logic that since Tim had spared Jason from Dick’s mischief, Jason had to put up with some of Tim’s own shenanigans. 

The bedframe cracked as Jason shifted on his side to smirk at him over his shoulder. “So that’s what all the racket was earlier. I could hear you from up here, giggle brat.”

Heat exploded in Tim’s cheeks as he tried to glare at his dumb older brother. “I took one for team little brother, okay? I’m entitled to some recompense.” 

“You’re entitled to jack-fuckin’-shit, you little – hey.” Jason’s voice carried a warning note as Tim poked him in the side again, but he didn’t actually move to uncurl. 

“Besides, you’ve been all growly and boring lately.” Tim poked him another time, grinning as Jason’s attempt at a growl came out more like a strangled shriek. “You should lighten up a bit.” 

This time, instead of going for Jason’s side, Tim decided to try something he’d caught Bruce doing a couple times – only Bruce, though, never Dick, which made it seem like Dick might not even know… 

Tim prodded into the edge of Jason’s shoulderblade, right next to his armpit, and Jason jerked like a wild horse. 

“Timmy!” 

Oh god, his voice cracked. Tim almost cackled, but restrained himself at the last minute. 

“I’ve only seen B do that,” he said, and he thought he managed to keep most of the laughter out of his voice. “Does Dick even know about this spot?” 

Jason – Jason tightened his grip on the pillbug, pressing his forehead against it with a muffled, “I will end your life.” 

“Nah. I’m your perfect baby brother,” Tim said as he used his thumb and index finger to make a light series of pinches in that spot, right at the top of the crease where Jason was trying to keep his arm clamped to his side. “You don’t want to kill me, you – oh, that bad, huh? In this teeny tiny spot? No wonder Dick has no clue.” 

One of Jason’s legs had spasmed outwards as he started giggling, sounding almost hysterical. “Cu-cuhut it out!” 

“Oh.” Tim pulled out his best impression of Jason’s own sarcastic deadpan. “Oh no. I’m terrified.” 

He switched from pinches to wriggling, vibrating pokes, switching fingers. As that kept Jason in a fit of hiccupy giggles, Tim used his other hand to worm down to Jason’s stomach and dig in. 

“Aww, you’ve got a soft pillbug underbelly.” 

Jason shrieked something unintelligible into the stuffed pillbug. His ears had gone bright red, and he tried to curl up tighter – as if pinning Tim’s hand there would actually stop him. Nice try, Red Hood. 

“Ohh, I see why Dick does this all the time. I think you’re actually, like, adorable? Damn. Surprises every day, I guess.”  

Jason’s shoulders shook as he tried to muffle his laughter in his pillow. It was an unsuccessful effort, but it’s not like Tim had any ground to judge him for it. 

“I’m–I–fuhuck off!” Jason finally managed to get a couple words out around his snickering. 

Tim smirked down at him. The rush of having the upper hand – and yes, he was fully aware that he was being delusional about it, since Jason never let anyone make him do anything he didn’t already want to – gave him some extra confidence, since he was usually on the other side of this particular equation. 

“Why would I do that, Jase? I’m learning so many new things about you.” He used the hand that was currently digging into Jason’s abdominals to skitter up over his side, then reached over to squeeze at his kneecap. 

Jason’s whole body jerked as he snorted, still giggling as Tim kept poking around the edge of his shoulder blade, too. Most of his face was hidden between the stuffed pillbug and his pillows, but what Tim could see of his face and neck were flushed crimson. For a hardened, League-trained vigilante, it was surprisingly easy to make Jason blush if you knew how to get under his skin. 

“Just be glad it’s me, not Dick,” Tim teased, snickering at Jason’s resulting groan. “You know it’d be so much worse for you, right?” 

The next part of his plan required taking advantage of his older brother’s spastic reflexes, so Tim jammed his hand between Jason’s other side and the mattress to prod at that hip. As he’d predicted during his long strategy session (read: blearily eating a bowl of cereal after Dick finished tickling him into a puddle), Jason swore and tried to flip onto his front. That actually made it easier for Tim to lean forward and wrap his arms around Jason’s torso so he could use both hands to tickle his stomach. 

“Shit!” Jason yelped, and he was starting to sound a little hoarse from all the giggling and whining he’d been doing. “You goddamn brat–heyheyhehehey!” 

Tim just grinned and kept pulsing his fingers into the lower part of Jason’s stomach, focusing on the section near his bellybutton that drew some reluctant giggles from his big brother. 

“Do you pillbug to hide this? Or is that what all your kevlar’s really for? Gotta protect the squishy, tickly parts, I guess.” Tim’s face muscles were starting to ache from how much he’d been smiling, but he couldn’t help it. He so so so rarely got to be the one tickling either of his older brothers, and he had to make the most of it. And, sure, he was practically digging his own grave and jumping in feet-first, but it was worth it.

 “Literally no one would take you seriously if they knew how easy it was to make you giggle, like, even though I know you’re gonna kill me for doing this, I physically can’t be intimidated by you right now.” 

Instead of flipping over and tackling Tim off the bed to show him just how intimidated he should be, Jason just kicked one foot out against the mattress with an embarrassed-sounding groan. And more giggles, of course. 

Since this whole thing was still a trust exercise – Jason willingly letting Tim at his softer underbelly…literally and metaphorically…, Tim pushing back but not too far – it shouldn’t go on for too much longer. 

With that thought in mind, Tim stopped tickling. Since Jason was still shaking with residual sniggers, Tim patted his stomach – his brothers usually did that whenever the leftover prickles kept setting Tim off into rounds of wheezy giggles, even after all the actual tickles had stopped. It seemed to help Jason, too. Eventually he heaved out a shuddering sigh and rolled back onto his side, clutching the pillbug plushie close to his chest. All the laughing and hiding had plastered some of his hair to his forehead. Tim smoothed those curls back, then patted his forehead. 

Jason’s nose wrinkled and he rolled his eyes, but smiled the whole time. A faint blush still colored most of his face, but he seemed plenty relaxed as he sighed again. 

Tim took that as his cue to give into his more obnoxious impulses. He let himself fall forward, sprawling across Jason’s form. “Hi.” 

He felt Jason’s laugh rumble through his whole body. “Hey, Timbers.”

“Move your elbow, it’s digging into my skull.”

Jason chuckled again, but obliged, draping his arm across Tim’s back instead. “You come into my room, jump on my bed, attack me, then collapse on me like rebar, and still have demands? Shit, kiddo, you’ve gotta stop hanging out with Dick. He’s a bad influence.” 

Tim snickered. “I’m glad you like Icey.” 

“Who the fuck is Icey?” 

It took some effort, but Tim flailed out one of his hands and smacked the stuffed pillbug. “Icey the Isopod. Oh, that’s the scientific name for pillbu–”

“I know that–”

“Okay, okay. Just wanted to check. You can name him whatever, though.” 

“...his name’s RedPod.”

Any other time or place, Tim would’ve teased him about that, but Jason was already being vulnerable, so… 

“I can make him a matching helmet.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“I know you’re not.” Jason stretched his arms up over his head, groaning a little as something in his shoulders popped, then knocked on Tim’s head. “Alright, up. I’m starving.”

Groaning, mostly for dramatic effect, Tim rolled off of Jason and hauled himself to his feet. “I won’t tell Dick about your shoulder.”

After digging around in a pile of clothes, Jason withdrew a well-worn Wonder Woman t-shirt and tugged it over his head. He snagged Tim with an arm draped over his shoulders on his way out the door, tugging him close and lightly jostling him. 

“Oh, I believe you,” Jason said at last. “You’ll have bigger priorities soon enough, anyways.” He winked as he steered them both towards the kitchen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tt. Has your mind finally snapped?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All four–”

“All four grades, yes.” 

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, and you want one.” 

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

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

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━

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

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

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

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

Jason took a heavy, threatening step into the library. 

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

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

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

“Oh – shit!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Damian,” he gritted out. 

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

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

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

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

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

Damian did too, probably. 

Great. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a second, Damian grunted in the affirmative. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Notice a difference?” Tim asked Damian. 

“Quite.”

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

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

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

Oh, Christ.

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

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

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

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

“Aww,” Tim cooed. “Isn’t it cute?” 

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

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

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

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

“Do share, Drake.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy fucking hotdog.” 

Well, speaking of the police. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” Jason agreed. “Not today.” 

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Most mornings, Tim didn’t bother with eating breakfast. So, naturally, that meant the one morning he did, thinking maybe it’d be good for him, Dick came over and dragged him to the Batcave’s training deck.

Tim liked when Dick visited. They were beginning to get along better than when he’d first seeked the older out. If breakfast didn’t fall on his list of priorities most days, no reason to get fussy about it now. Not with Nightwing, the original Boy Wonder standing maybe four feet away from him.

“So, Robin, you had any cinematic ledge hanging moments yet in your career?”

Tim knew exactly what Dick meant, and he stopped to consider the question. Dangling from a skyscraper, crumbling bridge or other debris? Fumbling for his grapple or just having to wait until Batman could come and hoist him back up? Etcetera.

His memory served him well when it was something he cared about. “Yeah, uh… twice I think. Thought I was gonna die getting tangled up with Two-Face, and some low level thug caught me off guard the other week.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” Tim waited for Dick to elaborate. He gestured for a pull up bar, huddled into a corner with the rest of the gymnastics equipment that had been left to gather dust. For some time, there was no Robin to be using it. It must have pained Bruce to see it.

“The longest I ever had to hold on was four and a half minutes, and I was lucky that nobody knew I was there. Dangling for that long was bad enough without some lackey stomping on my fingers.” Tim cringed.

“Okay… set a timer then, I guess. Same time.”

“Somebody’s feelin’ lucky.” Dick teased, but his smile indicated approval. Tim was nothing if not ambitious. He stood a little taller. About time somebody acknowledged all that he’d done, it took some pretty serious audacity to blackmail The Batman. Even if he was on Bruce’s bad side now, the ends would justify the means.

“Should I hold it to my chin or just hang?” He was readying himself to jump up and grab onto the bar from the mat below.

“Up to you. You just gotta hold on for as long as you can, and then I’m introducing another variable. I’ll watch the clock. Think you’re ready?” Tim nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Tim was able to just get himself up and onto the bar without dispelling much energy. A good start. He didn’t bother with any proper form. Strength in longevity mattered significantly more in a situation like the one they were simulating. He grew tired as time went on, his arms ached, then tingled, then really started to feel the burn. Towards the end, he would hold his body weight with only one to let the other rest, alternating intermittently.

When his lungs too began to burn and his heart pulsed in his head, he gave in, dropping back down to the mat below. His legs didn’t want to work after all of that, so he feebly lowered himself to sit, and slumped into an achy, heaving lump.

“Little over two minutes. Pretty good. I bet you have the best dead hang time in your gym class at school, huh?”

Tim shrugged, bashful.

“You’re looking pretty rough, so I don’t want to be a jerkoff and say, ‘Oh, but that was just the warmup!’” Dick’s smile turned sheepish, “but… I did have another idea, if you’ll entertain me.”

“It’s okay… I’m fine.” Tim would be fine with a full magazine of bullet holes in his chest so long as he was Robin.

“Well that’s good. Tell me something else then, you ticklish?”

Tim opened his mouth to respond like it was any other question. Then the words actually registered, and for a second, his neurons stopped firing. What kind of question is that?

“I… I don’t know? I guess I don’t really remember. How is that even relevant?” Admittedly, his hackles were rising.

“I’m just taking a page out of Bruce’s book. I was little when I first started training to become Robin, you can’t fight a kid, and I was adorable, so he was totally crazy about me.” Tim managed to repress a snort. Dick smiled knowingly at him anyway, “he’d make up little games like that sometimes. Not sure how helpful it was, but I’m still here.”

For a moment, Dick looked a bit… ill. He survived the Robin mantle. It was never supposed to be a mantle. They’d learned in the worst possible way that not everyone would survive. As open as Dick seemed, if you had pushed yourself as hard as Tim did into understanding him, it was plain as day to see: he repressed a lot of his feelings.

Tim cleared his throat. He wished he had the right words to say. Even if he knew Dick was thinking Jason, he hadn’t said Jason. He had no right to prod something so tender. He was proud of how far he’d been able to get on this little crusade, but that often meant pushing too far. He wasn’t the most proud of that.

“Bruce doesn’t do those things with me. He doesn’t hurt me, ‘course not… but, uh, nothing is a game. This is dangerous work, it shouldn’t be a game. And I’m not a little kid, it’s not like he needs to do that.”

Dick stared at Tim in a way that told him he was being assessed. Tim, in all of his prepubescent glory. He wasn’t oblivious to how he looked, but it didn’t matter. He was smart enough, he was strong enough, and he was mature enough. Bruce shouldn’t have to baby him.

“Well, it sounds to me like you’re in desperate need of a good cop, Timmy.” Dick reached up, tapping the bar twice. Tim’s stomach fluttered. He failed to hide a nervous smile.

“…Do I really have to?”

Dick held up placating hands. “Not at all. Nobody’s forcing you.”

But it couldn’t hurt, right? But it’s an easy way to build your strength and endurance. But Bruce did it with me. No buts came. It was his choice.

Tim turned to glance down at himself. Was he still ticklish? He had no idea. He told himself that it could be a potential risk factor, but really, he just had a curious spirit, and when was anyone ever going to ask him to do something like this again?

Staring up at the pull up bar, it suddenly felt so much so much taller. The butterflies occupying his stomach had taken it upon themselves to migrate outwards to his limbs. Everything felt wobbly and tingly. Tim didn’t know why he was this nervous. It seemed excessive.

“It’s easier than most of my training, so, um.” Despite his legs feeling like they were going to fly away, Tim jumped back up into a dead hang.

“I think you’ll be surprised.” Dick’s words sent a funny little jitter through his system. His fight or flight response kicked into high gear when the other’s hands began to near his torso.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait… I’m not ready yet, I… I’m not ready—“ A stream of frantic titters and the effort Tim put into inching away from the perceived threat already depleted some of the energy that he would need if he wasn’t going to embarrass himself. As if he hadn’t already.

Dick crossed his arms, eyeing Tim with a smile. “Take your time, Boy Blunder.”

He hung there in his shame for a few moments longer before a coo violated his ears. “‘I’m not a little kid,’ he says, ‘easier than most of my training,’ he says.”

Dick stumbled back with a hearty cough-laugh when Tim landed a passable kick to his ribs. He reappeared in Tim’s field of vision with a disgruntled, but undeniably entertained expression on his face.

“Are you ready yet? Because I’m thinking if you can’t take it anymore, you should just give me another one of those.” Dick rubbed at his probably sore side. Tim was giving him the stink eye.

“Something tells me you need a little more incentive. I’ll put in a good word for you with B if you last for a little while?”

“…”

“I’ll make up a different story, don’t worry.”

Tim deflated in relief.

“That’s… not really that great of a reward, that’s like getting a gold star in school. But fine.”

“A good word and dinner wherever you want. How's that, little prince?” Tim twitched and bit back a smile when Dick prodded at his tummy.

“J… Just get it over with already—“

“You asked for it.” He hummed. Tim was confused and more afraid than he should be when Dick moved to stand behind him. He made a strong effort to try and make anything out through his peripheral vision, but found that he couldn’t without turning his head. With where his arms were holding onto the bar, his face got all squished whenever he tried to turn and look. He could push past if he lifted his head, but that was just so awkward.

Dick only started once he gave up on trying to peek. When blunt nails began to skitter around the nape of his neck, just along where his hair lay, the full body shudder Tim was wracked with almost made him lose the challenge immediately. Curling up his shoulders wasn’t an option. The feeling of Dick’s hand vanished before he could fully crane his neck back.

Two sets of fingers tapped up and down his back like little spiders. Big spiders, if they were to have been real, but Tim didn’t want that mental image. He squeezed his eyes shut, tucking his legs up towards his middle and tensing into something of a statue.

“You’re honestly doing better than I thought you would, you were so nervous before.” Dick chuckled good naturedly, stepping back in front of him. Tim was too flustered to so much as look at the older hero, let alone formulate a response. Fingertips clawed along the surface of his tummy, and he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

Tim squeaked and flailed from side to side, the little that he could in either direction. His arms were really starting to quake now. Taking a risk, he dropped one hand from the bar to protect himself and his stupid, ticklish self.

“Ticklish tummy? That’s a real liability in the field, you know.” Dick’s silly commentary only made him giggle harder through his steady stream of laughter. Good-cop-mentor had a small giggle of his own. He was so obviously having way too much fun with this.

Tim was in no way ready when hands travelled up to his underarms. It wasn’t his most ticklish spot, he didn’t think. It was just the fact that he was so vulnerable, it made him squeamish. Squeamish must have meant an amplified tickle response, considering the way he immediately screeched and kicked about in alarm. That coincided with the foreboding chime of the elevator.

Please let that be Alfred. It could be President Luthor, for all he cared. Just anyone but Bruce.

He forced himself to rotate on the pull up bar, and sure enough. Tim hung his head, blowing a fuse. At least it put any of the soreness in his arms on the back burner for now.

“Dick, please… stop tormenting him.” Bruce admonished flatly.

Tim didn’t want to get Dick into trouble. “It’s training… to make me better at holding onto stuff in emergency situations. He said he did it too.”

These two men that Tim had spent his entire life idolizing exchanged glances. Dick was grinning remorselessly, Bruce was so tired of him, but loved him to the moon and back.

“To my knowledge, this is not training that I've ever implemented. I… think Dick may just be teasing you, Tim.” Despite the less than ideal circumstances, Tim got a bit of a rush when Bruce smiled at him.

To be entirely fair, he agreed to this when it was very clearly disclosed to him that he did not have to.

“Fine, you caught me. But I don’t even care, ‘cause guess what?” Dick did not give Tim the chance to guess before he was ripped from where he’d been mindlessly dangling and cuddled like a stuffed toy, “You’re mine now.”

That was probably the day that it all well and truly began, and Tim had not known peace ever since. He wouldn’t change a thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dick can’t talk him down?”

“Master Dick has been unsuccessful thus far.”

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

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

“Quite so, Master Tim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Tim grumbled. “On it.”

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

“Alfred says to go upstairs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was attempting to–”

“– when they get home from patrol.”

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

“Damian–”

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

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

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

And speaking of Dick…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

“You’re trying to make me angry.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Astute observation.”

“Well, it’s not gonna work.”

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

“Drake!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not beg!”

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

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

“What about me?”

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

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

“Which is?”

“I’m the big brother.”

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

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

Tim cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

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

“Okay, that’s it.”

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

“Cut it out, Drake!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll regret this!”

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

“Did you just—“

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

Tim narrowed his eyes. “No.”

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

“St-stop it, Drake!” 

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

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

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

“Unlock the computer!”

“No!”

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

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

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

Damian gave him a wordless roar in response.

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

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

“Hmm… Nah.” Tim said.

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

“T-Timothy!”

“Coming upstairs?” Tim took another threatening breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the odds that this will be overlooked?”

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

Damian made a disgusted face. “Ugh.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“This is satisfactory.”

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

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“C’mon, Little Wing, don’t be such an ass,” teased Dick, who held a couch pillow above his head like a trophy before snapping it down to whack Jason across the back of his skull. “Loosen up!”

Jason leaned forwards with the blow even as he let out a loud groan. The pillow thunked against him, and he immediately clutched his head when it slid down onto the carpet, palms pressed against his eyes.  “Fucking ow, Dickface, my head’s already about to split open.” 

From somewhere above him, Dick snorted in clear disbelief. “Bullshit. You don’t have a headache.” 

Curse Dick and his stupid ‘years of observing Jason’s behavior’ that he apparently committed to fucking memory. “I could have a headache. Actually,” Jason let his hands drop and straightened up, pointing a finger at his pathologically annoying older bother. “I do! It’s you, ya fuckass overgrown Big Bird.” 

“Jason!” Tim did a very good impression of a scandalized, impressionable teenager, even though Jason absolutely knew better. “innocent ears are nearby.” 

Jason rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter that he was facing away from the little monster, who was probably lounging on the couch. “So that lets out you then, brat.”

“I wasn’t talking about me.” 

Damian, who was sitting crosslegged in one of the armchairs with a sketchpad, huffed out a sharp sigh but didn’t bother looking up. “As I have said before, it is nothing I have not heard already, Drake, but I understand that your feeble mind must be failing you.”

Instead of rising to the bait, Tim just laughed. “Alright, little guy, whatever you say.”

At that, Damian’s head snapped up as he shot Tim a poisonous scowl. “I am not–” 

Christ, not this again. Jason glanced at Dick, who was just standing there with a faintly amused smile, useless as usual. Great. 

“How about this,” he said with more sharpness than necessary. Maybe his head didn’t hurt, but he’d been on edge for days and was one more annoying brother away from crawling out of his skin. “You’re both insufferable, annoying brats who should go somewhere else if you’re going to have the same goddamn stupid argument for the thirtieth time and leave me the fuck alone because I don’t give a shit, which is why I came in here in the first place to get away from you.”

The silence that settled after Jason’s last word didn’t do anything to settle his nerves. In fact, he was left with the yawning feeling that he’d done something wrong – besides the obvious, that is. Okay, maybe he’d been a little harsher than the situation had called for.  

God. A heavy sigh left him slumping forwards again. “Sor–”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to be alone,” Tim said, and Jason certainly wasn’t going to turn and look at him now. There was rustling from the couch as he stood up. He didn’t say anything else, but the soft padding sounds of his retreating footsteps made Jason feel worse. 

From the chair, Damian clicked his tongue and also got to his feet. “I will check on Timothy, Richard, while you address…” His dark eyes roamed over Jason for a moment before settling on his face. “That.” 

As his other little brother disappeared into the maze of the Manor’s rooms, the pit in Jason’s stomach just widened further. Fantastic. 

Instead of saying something right away, which was what Jason had been expecting, Dick silently sat down on the rug next to him. 

Jason sighed again. Might as well rip the bandaid off. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have said that, I snapped, it was unfair, I know.”  

Dick still said nothing. It made a small, feral part of Jason’s brain want to punch him. 

“And–and why is it a big deal now,” Jason heard himself sounding dangerously close to whiny and his cheeks burned. Fuck, he was so goddamn exhausted. “We joke around like that all the time.” 

Finally, Dick decided to speak. He glanced at Jason from the corner of his eye and said quietly, “You weren’t joking, though.” 

It would’ve felt less uncomfortable it he’d just hauled off and socked Jason in the gut. He let his head fall into his hands again, winding his fingers into his hair and tightening them. The sharp tugging at his scalp helped keep him present, grounded. 

“Hey, hey.” Now Dick was using that soothing voice usually reserved for victims and crying children, of which Jason was neither. “Don’t pull your hair, Jason.”

There was no point in resisting when Dick’s slender fingers gently pried Jason’s open again and nudged his hands away. Dick kept one hand on Jason’s head to make slow, winding circles with the tips of his nails, sending delightful tingles shivering down Jason’s spine. 

Ugh. Jason maybe didn’t deserve this, considering what an asshole he’d been. 

“What’s going on, Little Wing?” Dick asked. 

The combination of his Older Brother Voice and the hair scritches was deeply unfair because Jason folded instantly, releasing a quiet breath and dragging his palms down the side of his face. 

“...Haven’t been sleeping,” he said, then clamped his jaw shut against a yawn that tried to burst out and immediately prove his point. 

“How long?” There was no judgement in the words, only concern. Jason was tired enough that it made his eyes sting. 

“Week. Maybe two.” 

Dick made a quiet sound of sympathy. “Nightmares?” 

“Sometimes.” Jason shifted in his spot as one of his legs started to tingle like it was losing feeling. He still couldn’t look at his brother. That would be a little too much like acknowledging they were actually having a conversation. 

“Stay here tonight,” Dick said, adjusting his arm so he could reach more than just Jason’s scalp. “We’ll help you sleep.” 

Jason grunted. “Optimistic.” Then he couldn’t help but flinch as Dick’s fingers passed over the back of his neck. “Hey!” 

“Look at that.” The grin was audible in Dick’s words. “Maybe getting you tired out would be a good start.”  

And Jason must have been half-delirious with exhaustion because he just sat there as Dick shoved him down onto his side and sat on his thighs. Jason glared at his older brother, looking at him for the first time since Dick sat next to him. Dick was smiling with all liquid warmth and affection and suddenly something giddy twisted in Jason’s gut like he was fucking thirteen again. 

“Fuck all the way off, Dickwing, I’m too tired for your bullshit,” he growled – or, tried to, but it was hard to focus on sounding menacing when Dick was holding wiggling fingers a couple inches above Jason’s stomach and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. 

“Aww, come on, Jay,” replied Dick, slowly lowering his hands. “Being tired makes you such a grumbly grouchy guy, but I’m sure my sweet little brother is still somewhere in there.” 

“No–o!” Jason’s voice cracked halfway through the protest when Dick’s fingers twitched less than an inch above his stomach. His stupid brother’s stupid grin widened even further. 

“See, that sounded much more like the Little Wing I know.” 

I will kill you in every universe! Was what Jason had wanted to say, but what came out was a half-strangled sound as the tips of Dick’s fingers brushed against the fabric of his shirt. It – it shouldn’t tickle so bad, but between being exhausted and then having to deal with an overdose of Dickwad’s sappy teasing, Jason could feel his few remaining brain cells start imploding one by one. There weren’t enough left to allocate to pretending he wasn’t ridiculously ticklish. 

“Jason,” Dick said in an infuriating sing-song tone as he spidered his fingers across Jason’s stomach. “Come on, bud.” 

“Shut up,” Jason gritted, but Dick just grinned maniacally and targeted the small patch of skin right under Jason’s bellybutton. He flushed, heat blazing up to his ears, as a string of helpless giggles tore out of him. 

The satisfied smirk Dick gave him should be illegal in at least thirty states. “That’s better.” 

“I–I hahahate you!” 

“Oh, no you don’t. You love me. You’re just too grouchy-grumbly to ever say it, just like B.” 

Jason started to curse Dick out for comparing him to their dad, but he couldn’t even start to talk without more of those giggles creeping up and trying to escape. He wasn’t trying to look like a total idiot so he settled for shaking his head instead. He tried to shove Dick’s hands away, but his arms felt like noodles. 

“And besides,” Dick continued. Uh oh. “I’m being nice to you! I’m only tickling your tummy–” another scribble for emphasis had Jason trying to arch his back away  “–but I could get you here,” Dick suddenly darted his hands down to squeeze at Jason’s hips. “Or even here.” Fingers scribbling around Jason’s shoulder sent him into a fit of shrieking laughter when combined with another hand still kneading at one of his hips. He let his head thunk back against the carpet. 

“Do you have a preference?” Dick asked, and he almost managed to sound serious. “Do you wanna giggle or cackle or shriek?” 

God. He was a monster. 

Jason’s head swam from adrenaline and endorphins and all he could do was try and lean further onto his side so his legs could curl up. Luckily, Dick didn’t seem to want to stop him. 

“Oh! If that’s what you wanted, Jay, you should’ve just asked.” 

Fuck. 

Before Jason could realize exactly what Dick was planning, those acrobatic fingers squeezed at his kneecaps, vibrating into the delicate nerves on either side. A humiliating yip flew out of Jason’s mouth before he could stop himself, then when the overwhelmingly ticklish feeling flooded his nervous system, he shrieked and couldn’t hold back his laughter. “H-HEY!” 

“You always forget how ticklish your knees are,” Dick murmured with another grin. “It’s hilarious. But right here–” he dug his fingers in right above Jason’s kneecaps. “Makes you flop around like a beached fish.” 

Sure enough, Jason’s legs kicked outwards again, uncurling before he could even try to resist the reflex. He yelped through his laughter as every time he tried to re-curl, Dick pressed into those specific nerves. He was sure he was flopping and wriggling around like some kind of spasmodic starfish. 

“Di–Dihihi–” he paused, gasping for a deep breath when Dick spidered behind his knees. “Dickie!” 

“You’re squealing,” said Dick. It sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “You’re adorable.” 

“I’m not.” 

Dick smirked and pinched the part of Jason’s calf right below the thin skin behind his knee. “You so are.”

An unauthorized noise escaped before Jason slapped one of his hands over his mouth. 

"My sweet, adorable Little WIng," Dick cooed, and holy fucking shit those words might as well have been the nuclear codes for detonating a metric ton of ohmygodmybigbrother'sembarrassingtheshitoutofme feelings inside Jason's chest that went all warm and squirmy and made him about a hundred times more ticklish.

"Dickie!" Jason wheezed like he was still a kid, snickering and giggling once Dick started drawing figure eights over the backs of his knees.

Just when Jason thought that Dick might be about to show mercy, a hand scratched over the small of his back while the ones on his knees returned to sporadic squeezes. At first, Jason was too busy shrieking out desperate, bubbly laughter to notice that there were now too many hands tickling him to just be Dick, but then -

“Hey, Jay." Tim also sounded like he was trying not to laugh. Rude. Jason’s brothers were all jerks. “I went to get you my weighted blanket in case you wanted it even though you’re being an asshole – Dami thought I was upset but he’ll never say it – but you seem kinda busy, so...” 

The fingers on his back started tracing a path up to one of his shoulder blades with some detours into the backs of his ribs. Jason nearly screamed as he jolted forward and almost rolled onto his face in his haste to get away from Tim. 

“Nuh-uh, Jaybird,” Dick chided, squeezing his knees and vibrating his fingers. Jason was too busy trying to kick Dick in the jaw to try and move further away. “You gotta let me tickle all the grumbly-grouchy away.” 

Jason knew from the second wave of heat crawling up his face that he was probably blushing lobster levels of scarlet. “I dohoho nohoAHAAT!” The rest of his sentence got cut off by a scream as Tim, the little bastard, squeezed tentatively at one of his hips, still skittering his other hand up over Jason’s shoulders. 

“Tim!Tihihimmy!I–I, do not – nononahat thehere!” 

Tim had found that kneading his thumb into Jason’s hipbone while making featherlight scribbles around Jason’s lower back did something diabolical to Jason’s brain stem that made his laughter go silent as all the fight drained out of him. There weren't words to describe the cosmic level of unfairness at work here - how come Tim, who folded like wet tissue paper whenever anyone so much as hinted that they were going to tickle him because he was more heap of giggles than human being, got to turn around and send Jason into the fucking sky?

“Sorry, Jay, you know I literally never get to do this,” Tim replied with his own dose of giddiness. “Bear with me, yeah? ‘Cause I’m your favorite little brother?” 

Jason had no lung capacity left to retort with. Tears pooled in his eyes from how hard he’d been laughing. Some tiny part of his brain that still experienced rational thought vowed to get Tim back for this later until he’d turned into a melty heap of giggle brat, but the rest of Jason was preoccupied with wrapping his arms around his head and making one more effort to curl his legs up to his chest. 

“Okay,” Tim said. “He’s going full pillbug, Dick, I think he’s had enough.” 

“Pillbug Jay!” Dick cheered because he was evil and wanted Jason to explode into flames right there in front of him. “See, that’s my little brother. Welcome back, Little Wing.”  

Even though they’d both stopped tickling him, Jason was still trying to catch his breath. He sucked down gulps of air until his heart rate started to feel normal again, and gratefully accepted the bottle of water that Tim offered. Once that was drained, Jason flopped down and was going to curl up again when Tim jostled him by the shoulder. 

“Hey, Jay, roll over.” 

“Nnhn.” Hey, that was almost a word. 

“No more tickles,” Tim said. “Promise.”

Since Jason’s brain was mostly gone, he allowed his little brother to push him onto his stomach. He wasn’t expecting to feel the weight of a teenage vigilante sprawl across his back, but after the second of surprise, every muscle in his body relaxed at the same time. 

Tim hummed near his ear. “Deep pressure therapy. I have a weighted blanket, but I also have, well, me.” 

A wave of sleepiness whacked Jason out of seemingly nowhere, so he just grunted in acknowledgement and stretched one of his hands up to pat wherever he could reach on Tim, which felt like the kid’s fluffy hair. 

“He’s gonna go to sleep,” Tim said to someone else – Dick? “Wait –no no, do not, hey, I’m helping Jason!”  Sweet, squeaky giggles filled Jason’s ears as Tim twitched. 

“Jay,” Tim gasped. “They’re tickl–tihi–ckling m’kneehees!” 

“So overdramatic, Drake,” said Damian, and when the hell had he come back? Jason decided he didn’t have the mental energy to think about that. The jumpy giggles from the little brother on his back were almost soothing, and Jason was tempted to let the others keep tickling Tim - behind his knees, it sounded like. But that was dangerously close to Jason himself getting tickled again, which, no.

“Leave ‘m ‘lone,” Jason said, or tried to. “I’ll ge’im l’tr.”

Soon after that, Tim’s squirming slowed down and he went back to lounging on Jason’s back. Jason blinked, and suddenly his eyelids weighed a thousand tons. 

The last thing he heard before finally, finally drifting off to sleep was Tim murmuring, “Did he say he’d get me back later?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tim, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, held his electrified bo staff over his head as he stood over Bart, who was laid out flat on his back with his hands raised in surrender and Tim’s foot on his chest. 

“It worked!” Tim yelled, letting his staff fall to the ground but keeping his hands raised. Even from halfway across the room, the grin he wore was blindingly gleeful. “I knew it.”

Bart’s outline blurred as he rolled out from under Tim’s foot and sprang to his feet. “That was so cool, Rob, we gotta try again – does that thing have more settings?” 

“What’s ‘so cool’?” Wally called suspiciously, echoing Dick’s thoughts. 

“I found a way to interfere with Speed Force,” Tim said back. He bent to retrieve his staff and did something to make it collapse. “Not permanently,” he added as if anticipating Wally’s objection. “Just for a second. But I usually can’t get the drop on him.” 

Pride bubbled up in Dick’s chest as he watched Tim launch into an explanation about running a current through his staff to cool the metal down to just above freezing, which made it difficult for Bart’s molecules to vibrate as fast as they needed to. So, when Bart had gone in to grab the staff, his hand suddenly slowed, and it had thrown him off enough for Tim to knock him down. 

Dick threw up one of his fists to give Tim a thumbs up. “Great job, Timmy!”  He could practically feel the pleased grin radiating off his baby brother as Tim turned towards one of the weapons racks to put his staff away.

“He’s gonna take over the world one day,” Wally said, but he shot Dick a rueful smirk. “Still think we were worse?” 

“We–” Dick started. 

With a rush of air, Bart appeared in between them. “Hey, could we use the battery from one of Batman’s cars? Or a fork and an outlet and some wire? I think with a higher voltage we could do more–” 

“Absolutely not!” Dick yelped, already scrambling to his feet to clamp a hand down on Bart’s shoulder. “Don’t you need food, anyways?” 

“He does,” Wally said behind him. Dick didn’t miss how Bart rolled his eyes, and hid his own grin. It was no secret that Bart and Wally hadn’t had the smoothest of relationships for the last several years, but Wally had actually started to try with the kid – and Bart, for all his teenager huffiness, seemed pretty receptive. 

And Dick, personally, was gleefully enjoying watching his best friend go through the trials and tribulations of being an older brother/mentor to a scrappy, chaotic teenager. He was also deeply, insanely grateful that none of his younger brothers were metas, because he might not have survived a timeline where Jason or Tim had access to superhuman powers.  

“I’m starving,” Tim said, giving Dick a bright smile as he made his way over. He leaned into the touch when Dick ruffled his hair. “Lunch sounds good.” 

Bart was in some kind of mood. Maybe it was the Zesti that Tim had shared with him, or, for all Dick knew, maybe Bart normally had this much energy. But after lunch, he was flitting around the den leaving showers of sparks in his wake, zooming back and forth to look at the books and board games and video games, asking a hundred questions a minute about them. 

Tim seemed more than happy to answer with just as much enthusiasm even though he had to have been tired from their earlier workout. Instead of following Bart around, he was lying on half the couch, legs hanging over one of the armrests, with his head on Dick’s legs.

“Bart,” Wally sighed after several minutes of this. “Chill out, dude.” He was sitting in one of the armchairs next to the hearth.

Bart paused in front of him and fixed Wally with a frown. “Firstly – don’t tell me what to do, Carrot Head.” 

“–Pot, kettle –” Tim cut in, then laughed when Bart darted over to flick him on the forehead before returning to stare down Wally. 

“Secondly,” Bart continued. “I can’t help it. It’s like I’m itchy or something, I’ve got this stuff running through my veins. Too much energy.”

See, as much as Wally lacked long term older brother time, Bart was just as inexperienced playing the role of the younger sibling. One of the first rules of talking smack to your big brother was to never, ever give them an opening like that. 

Dick glanced down at Tim and winked, then chuckled when Tim flicked his eyebrows up as he blushed. His baby brother knew exactly what Dick had been thinking of. 

“Ready for sleep, Timmy?” 

Tim chewed on his lower lip, then shyly shook his head. 

“That’s okay, honey, sometimes we need a little extra time to get all the wiggles out. B used to let me use the rings in the gym at night.” Or he’d chase Dick down and tickle him into a melty puddle of sleepy goo, much like Dick did for Tim. 

Tim made a noise that sounded way too close to a Batman grunt, which, great, Bruce was already rubbing off on him even though Tim still struggled not to address him as Mr. Wayne. 

Chuckling, Dick pulled Tim closer against him and gently wiggled his fingers against Tim’s stomach, resulting in a quiet stream of giggles and one very wriggly child. 

“There’s my super-duper-ticklish baby brother,” Dick cooed, grinning as the words made Tim instantly redden. 

The memory gave Dick the overwhelming urge to scoop Tim up and squeeze him in a hug and kiss his forehead, but he wasn’t sure that Tim would appreciate becoming a victim of brotherly cuteness aggression in front of his friends, especially since Bart was also his teammate. Now, if this were Jason, Dick wouldn’t hesitate, because he knew that Jason would hiss and spit and punch him but secretly not mind, even if his friends gave him shit for it. 

Tim, on the other hand, was much more openly content with Dick’s preferred brand of physical affection, so Dick found himself having to be careful that Tim wouldn’t feel like he was being made fun of. Purposefully embarrassing his little brothers was fun; Dick wasn’t trying to humiliate them. 

A strangled squawk drew Dick from his musings as Wally hauled Bart down into his lap and started squeezing at the younger speedster’s sides. 

Oh, good. That was the appropriate course of action to take. 

“Hey!” Bart was shrieking. His voice stretched taut with panicky giggles and he frantically flailed his hands around in the vague direction of Wally’s wrists. “Wa–Wally–whatareyoudoing?” 

Wally’s eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “Have you seriously never been tickled? Wait – do you even know what it is?” 

With a whiny cackle, Bart buried his blazing face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter as Wally kept poking at his sides. “Noho – no one tried! It’s duhu-humb!” 

“It’s not dumb, it’s normal,” Wally replied, but something quiet and sad flitted across his expression. 

No one tried. 

Ouch. 

A sympathetic pang went through Dick’s chest. He was about to step in to rescue both of them from Wally’s yet-unprocessed feelings, but then Wally shook himself and grinned as he shoved his hands up under Bart’s arms.

The younger speedster flung his head back with a surprised, panicked laugh and squirmed – it was the most uncoordinated, clumsy wriggling Dick had ever seen, which was saying something. 

“Holy shit,” Tim murmured. He’d craned his head up to watch and was grinning in amazement.

Dick felt Tim’s shoulders tense where they pressed against his leg, and he glanced down again to meet Tim’s best attempt at a neutral gaze even though his mouth was already twitching. His little brother was such a dork. 

All his laughter didn’t stop Bart from trying to talk, though, even as a couple of snorts escaped him when Wally fluttered his fingers up around Bart's neck and chin. “N-none of th–theh–hehe–THEOthersARE!” 

(And Dick wouldn’t have him any other way.)

“Oh, that’s not true, Bart,” Dick pitched his voice loud enough that Bart could hear through his own laughter, which was beginning to slow as Wally presumably backed off his attack. When Dick looked up, he saw Bart grinning helplessly through a bright, embarrassed scarlet blush. Wally was staring down at him with several different emotions warring for purchase on his face. 

“It’s not?” Bart asked finally. He looked at Dick with wide, hopeful eyes. 

Groaning under his breath, Tim slid a little further down the couch. He wasn’t meeting Dick’s gaze. 

“No,” Dick said with extra cheeriness. He turned to face the speedsters and grabbed Tim by the shoulders, hauling him and back against his chest. Hooking his chin over Tim’s shoulder, he whispered too low for anyone else to overhear, “They’re still kind of hopeless at this. How do you feel about taking one for the team, Baby Bird?” 

“Uh,” Tim replied. After a few seconds, he tilted his head back to stare up at Dick, chewing on his lower lip. “Fine. But your – the squishy stuff’s a familial right.”

No amount of biomedical evidence would ever convince Dick that his heart didn’t physically melt into goo inside his chest cavity at Tim’s admission. He did indulge himself then and leaned down to plant a kiss on top of Tim’s hair. 

“Noted.”

Then, without further build up, Dick shot his hands down to Tim’s ribs and squeezed. 

“HEY!” Tim shrieked as he spasmed, arching his back to try and get away. “You – you bastard! I di-dihihidn’t do anything! Nohoho!” Already tumbling into a fit of shrieky cackles, he writhed around in Dick’s grasp but didn’t get anywhere.

Aw, it was the first time in Timmy’s life that he was pretending to not want tickles. Dick made a mental note to mark the day on his calendar so he’d have something to tease his brother about in the future. 

“You don’t have to do anything, silly,” Dick teased. He slid his hands down to pinch at Tim’s sides in alternating rhythms that always made him squeak and jerk around like a wriggly little worm. “You’re a little brother! You get tickles just for existing.” 

Tim just let his head thunk back against Dick’s shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut, a giant grin spreading over his face. 

“See?” Wally said to Bart, who was half-sliding off his lap. He’d stopped tickling the younger speedster long enough to pat his stomach. “Even your fearless leader is, like, the most ticklish guy in the world.”

“In the universe,” Dick corrected, grinning into Tim’s hair. When he spidered his fingers over Tim’s stomach, his little brother broke into waves of giggles and positively melted back into Dick’s arms. 

“Dihihick!” Tim protested, even though it sure sounded more like a squeak. 

Dick directed his next words at Bart, who was watching Tim with something like awe. “Okay, Bart, this is a good spot – makes him all giggly. Good for distracting him.” 

Bart started to say something, but suddenly jerked when Wally reached down to squeeze at his knees. “I–Walls! Ohoho my gohohAHAD–” 

Wally was smiling like a man having the time of his life and he didn’t let up for a moment, trying all different ways of squeezing and poking and vibrating his fingers into the sensitive nerves there. 

“Huh, Bart? Couldn’t hear ya there.”  

“It’s–sohoho bad!” Bart shrieked. 

Dick gave Wally a mischievous wink. “Tim’s knees are also a good spot.” With a single finger, he scritched at the inside of one of Tim’s knees – even over his sweatpants, it made Tim let out a strangled-sounding squeal as he tried to kick his leg out. “Hey, Wally, you should make sure he has all his ribs.” 

“Great idea, Dick.” Wally started using two fingers from each hand to scratch over Bart’s middle ribs and from the way Bart screeched and tried to jackknife out of Wally’s clutches, the older speedster was hitting every weak point Bart had there. 

“Oh, that sounds like a tickle spot,” Dick teased. 

Tim twisted around so he was partways on his stomach, hiccupy snickers bubbling out of him when Dick switched to scrabbling over the back of that same knee. “He-heek! Hehey, be nice to hihihim!”  

“I am being nice!” Dick replied, then laughed when Tim stuck his tongue out. “Just looking out for everyone’s skeletal health, Timmy. Which reminds me, we haven’t checked on you in a while.”                                  

Oh, that made his little brother scramble like a cat trying to avoid a trip to the vet. Suddenly Tim became a ball of stray elbows and knees as he tried to dive forward out of Dick’s arms. 

“They’re pretty similar,” said Wally, who was perfectly content with his own armful of ticklish teenager and thus made exactly zero effort to assist. “In ticklishness, I mean.” Whatever he did to punctuate the sentiment sent Bart into a fit of high-pitched, shrieking giggles. 

“We should compare,” Dick said with a grunt as he hauled Tim backwards again. This was way more of a struggle than Tim usually put up, but he still wasn’t using his full strength. It was sweet that he wanted to put up a fight in front of his teammate, and Dick was almost tempted to indulge him, let him escape, but…well, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.

“D–Dee!” Tim shrieked as Dick immediately dug his fingers into Tim’s highest ribs, right under his armpits. He tossed his head from side to side, nose crinkling as his mouth dropped open in bouts of silent laughter. 

“I’m –I’m not thahahahat bad,” Bart wheezed, letting his head loll to the side to grin at Tim. 

Wally gripped him by the waist to drag him up into a sitting position that mirrored Dick and Tim. “Hold up, Imp, I’m trying something.” 

Since Tim was still caught in spasms of silent, wheezing laughter, Dick heard the sound of Wally blowing a loud raspberry on the back of Bart’s neck, and watched as both of Bart’s legs kicked out in time with his desperate, high-pitched scream.

Dick’s face hurt from how much he’d been smiling. “That’s gotta be his death spot, Walls.”  

The look Wally was giving Bart was nauseatingly sappy, but Dick didn’t judge him for it – he knew he made the same face whenever he watched his brothers do anything remotely sweet, and Bruce did it with all of them.  

While Dick finally backed off of Tim’s rib tickles, he moved to squeeze Tim’s upper arms and rub up and down, grounding his little brother as he worked through some residual titters. Wally had also finally decided to give Bart a break, and the younger speedster was sprawled across Wally’s legs, halfway towards falling onto the carpet. Bart was still blushing a dark shade of red but he didn’t even twitch when Wally, after a self-conscious glance at Dick, who nodded encouragingly, hesitantly started running his fingers through Bart’s shaggy hair. 

“Hey,” Tim mumbled, after shoving his way under Dick’s arm and plastering himself against Dick’s raggedy Gotham PD t-shirt. “If you tell anyone, Imp, I’ll kill you.” 

“Don’t threaten to kill your friends,” Dick said reflexively, then froze because – God, he sounded exactly like Bruce. Shit. He might have to throw up. 

But Bart just made an exasperated face at him. “They’d never believe me, Rob.” Then, grinning sharply, he locked eyes with Dick. “You’ll just have to come show them.” 

“Oh, like Wally wouldn’t use you as a live demonstration,” Tim snarked back, even as he snuggled deeper against Dick’s side. 

As their playful bickering continued, Dick just squeezed Tim closer and shot Wally a proud smile. He’d do a great job with Bart. 

Privately, though, Dick was absolutely certain that he had the cuter little brother. Not that he’d ever say that out loud, of course. It wasn’t a competition.