hey y'all

And it had! It had gone great. So great that Tim had somehow managed to relax into his home self, so when Dick had come around to say hi and do some obligatory messing around, Tim had been more than happy to duck away from his outstretched hand and snap out something like “Hey, I hate it when you tickle me, cut it out!” He’d fully expected Dick to give him That Look™ with one of his eyebrows raised and that smirk that only ever meant trouble, then tackle him to the carpet. 

But Dick had just smiled and pulled back, apologizing, then wandered back upstairs. 

The thing was, Tim couldn’t sleep, which meant that his brain was churning along at a million miles an hour on tracks of questionable integrity. Normally he’d go find Dick, who’d said –and Tim believed him– that Tim could come find him any time. 

Now, though – Tim wasn’t sure. He’d been about to get up when the memory of Dick going “sorry, Baby Bird” and retracting his hand hit, and Tim’s already racing thoughts had plunged over the cliffside into a spiral that he was definitely, totally overthinking. 

“This is dumb, right?” he muttered, staring up at his ceiling. “I’m being dumb.”

The tiny glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up there didn’t offer any response, but that twitchy feeling in his legs was becoming unbearable. Okay, fine. 

Tim’s sigh echoed into his empty room as he heaved himself up and swung his legs to the side of his mattress. The sudden rush of chilly air sent waves of prickles up his arms, so he snatched a random sweatshirt off the clothes pile beside his door, then ventured out into the comforting, warm hallway light. 

He paused for a few seconds that felt like a subjective ten minutes and stared at Dick’s closed door, diagonally across from his own. The five or so feet between him and the doorway might as well have been a mile. Yeah, he’d been kind of an asshole earlier, but Dick wouldn’t – wouldn’t really be mad at him, right? Dick had seemed fine, but then again, he usually did, so…

More of those uncomfortable, anxious feelings twisted together somewhere in the pit of Tim’s stomach as he stood there, frozen in the hall. He hadn’t meant to be rude, he’d just been so caught up in the game with Kon and Bart, in the high of having friends over who were there to see him – on purpose, not just because he was someone’s tag-along little brother. And, sure, he’d had a flare of irrational panic when Dick had started joking around with his friends, like maybe they’d suddenly realize that Dick was way more funny and interesting than Tim could ever be, and then he’d lose this little space that he’d worked hard to carve out for just himself. 

The grown-up rational brain knew that wouldn’t happen. 

Unless – 

No, no. Shut up. 

Tim balled his hands into fists at his side and took a deep breath. Even if Dick didn’t want to spend time with him, Tim could at least apologize for snapping at him earlier. The odds were good that Dick would forgive him. Right? 

Before he could keep overthinking it, Tim crossed the hall in two big strides and knocked twice on his older brother’s door. 

“Come in!” Dick called. 

Well, he didn’t sound mad. He had to know that Tim was the only one around who could show up at this hour, too, so that was a good sign.

Still, that tight, anxious shyness settled in his stomach as Tim shuffled through the doorway, and he fought back the sudden urge to wrap his arms around his middle.  

Dick was lounging sideways on his bed, both his legs propped up on the wall. He flashed Tim a bright, upside-down smile. “Hey, Timmy. What’s up?”

Tim managed to return the smile even though his face felt stiff. “Hi.” He paused for a second to search for the right words. It was like when he’d first met Dick, he felt all clumsy and awkward again. 

The bedframe squeaked when Dick did some combination of a flip and a backwards roll and came up sitting on the edge of his bed. He combed his hair out of his eyes, giving Tim another one of those warm smiles. “Can’t sleep?” 

That, Tim could answer even though his words still felt stuck in his throat. He shook his head. 

Something achingly gentle flickered through Dick’s eyes that made Tim feel a little too perceived. Before he had the chance to fixate on that, though, Dick scooted backwards and patted the mattress in front of him. 

“There’s room for ya in the nest if you want it, Baby Bird.” 

The wave of relief that crashed over Tim nearly made his knees weak. Okay, Dick wasn’t mad at him, wasn’t going to send him away. Acting on pure instinct, he scurried over to the bed and flopped down facefirst into the pillows. 

Dick chuckled, and suddenly a hand was running through Tim’s hair, gently tugging every now and then to send pleasant shivers racing down his spine. Between the dizzying relief that the entirely made-up scenario that Tim’s brain had concocted was, indeed, not real, and the head scritches, Tim went limp against the mattress. He still wasn’t tired, tired, but he sure did feel more relaxed. 

What had he even come in here for, again? Oh, right. 

Tim pushed himself up on his elbows and turned his head so he wasn’t talking directly into the pillows. “I’m sorry ‘bout earlier.” 

The hand in his hair slowed, faltering in its rhythm, and Tim butted his head against it with a displeased sound. Bad hand. Those were his head scritches, thank you very much. 

“Sorry, bud,” Dick said, and his voice sounded strained, like he was trying not to laugh as he resumed carding through Tim’s hair and scratching over his scalp. “I’m just trying to figure out what you’re apologizing for.” 

Was he serious? Tim scowled at him. “For snapping at you while we were gaming.”

“Oh. Tim,” Okay, Dick was definitely holding back laughter, and Tim found himself with the growing feeling that he’d misunderstood the situation. “It’s fine. I wasn’t upset, I just wanted to give you space to be with your friends.” 

Tim smashed his face back into the pillow and wondered if maybe his high IQ came at the cost of utterly nerfed emotional intelligence scores. “Hn.” 

“You sound like B.” 

“Hnn.” 

Dick snorted. Then, softer, he asked, “Have you been twisting yourself up about this, Baby Bird?” 

Tim frowned into the memory foam beneath his face. Not…not really? Not in the sense that Dick probably thought, anyways. It hadn’t even occurred to him to be stressed until he was lying there staring at his ceiling, unable to sleep. 

“I don’t think so,” he muttered after a few moments. He knew he was probably muffled by the pillow, so he rolled over onto his back. Dick’s ceiling also had an array of glow-in-the-dark stars pasted onto it. Some of the patterns were different then Tim’s, but they both had a couple of the more recognizable constellations. Jason did, too. “I got up because I can’t sleep.” 

“Ah.” Blankets rustled as Dick shifted around to wrap his free arm around Tim’s shoulders, warm and solid and safe. Tim leaned into him, and immediately some of the restless feelings that had been gnawing at the back of his mind quieted down. 

“‘M restless,” Tim added. He couldn’t possibly make it clearer, right? Those were practically Dick’s own words, back when he’d scoop Tim up into his arms and tickle his sides and coo about “aw, are you a little restless tonight, Timmy?”  

With an understanding hum, Dick squeezed Tim a little tighter. “Is there anything I can do to help you, or do you just want to sleep?” 

He had to be kidding. As if Dick didn’t take any possible chance to – to tickle his little brothers and, god, just thinking about it was making Tim’s face heat up – and here Tim was, offering himself up on a platter – 

“Huh?” 

Dick winked down at him. “If there’s something you want, Timmy, you just have to ask.” 

Oh, fuck that. Absolutely not. Tim couldn’t – he wouldn’t – oh god, his face was burning now. 

“Dick.” 

“Yeah?” The corners of Dick’s eyes crinkled as he looked at Tim with a teasing, mischievous grin playing at his mouth. That particular look never boded well. “I’m not mad at you, I just wanna respect your boundaries. If you really hate it when I tickle you–”

Tim yelped and promptly tried to bury his face in the pillows again, only for Dick to drag him back with the arm still tucked around his shoulders. 

“Nuh huh, Timmy, don’t burrow away from me. Whatcha after?” 

Maybe this was how Tim would die, spontaneous combustion from sheer, overwhelming embarrassment. Now that his earlier burst of anxiety had dissipated, it was easy to recognize that, no, Dick wasn’t mad at him, he was just teasing, sort of like he’d tease Jason whenever he’d snark at Dick. Tim just didn’t usually give Dick that amount of snappiness or snark, so this was a little new for him. Okay. He was Robin, he could adapt – 

Except adapting meant asking for – for – for tickles, and not just any tickles, but the cozy, spidering scribbles over his stomach that Dick had long-ago christened as Timmy tummy tickles, and the thought of saying any of those words out loud did in fact make Tim want to explode into flames on the spot. 

He groaned and thunked his head into Dick’s shoulders. “Di–ick.” 

“Yeah?” 

Tim didn’t have to look to know that Dick had an entirely guileless expression pasted on to hide the fact that he was an evil, evil person who just wanted Tim to spend the rest of his life as a puddle of embarrassment underneath his covers. 

“Just do it.” Okay, yeah, Tim knew he was whining, he heard the way he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. “C’mon!” 

Dick let out a low, teasing chuckle and pulled Tim against his chest, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “I need you to be specific, Timmy, I’m not sure what you want.” He patted Tim’s stomach, but didn’t move his hand otherwise.

Supposedly, Slovenia was lovely this time of year. Maybe Tim could just move there – it wouldn’t be too hard to change his name, and he could always dye his hair. His knowledge of Slavic languages was…pedestrian, but he could learn! He was good at learning. That was, like, part of his whole thing. 

But, as tempting as that plan sounded, he was getting twitchy. It was the same kind of wound-up giggly feeling he’d get when one of his brothers had him pinned but, rather than just getting it over with, would just sit there wriggling their fingers half an inch above his skin. That tactic never failed to make Tim’s brain completely short-circuit, and they knew it. 

“Please,” he muttered through gritted teeth, trying to rip the bandaid off. Then, for emphasis, he tapped the back of Dick’s hand that was still resting on torso. “Onmystomach.”

Dick hummed again, considering. “I guess that does narrow it down.” 

Oh, thank god. 

“...But I’m gonna need you to use the technical term.” 

  Tim felt the weight of Dick’s teasing words as his face blazed with all the warmth of a firework. “Dee, you’re just – I’m sorry I snapped at you, I–” he was never ever ever going to snark at Dick ever again, no matter who else was around. Not if this was his payback.

“None of those are the right words, bud.” 

“I hate you,” Tim muttered. “You’re so, so so mean to me and nobody would ever believe it.” Belying his own words, he smashed his face against Dick’s chest since his stupid older brother wouldn’t let him hide in the pillows. 

Dick laughed again, and it resonated through his whole body, vibrating through Tim’s ears in a way that almost, almost made him forget how much Dick was teasing him. “Aw, you’re cranky when you’re flustered.” 

Tim just pushed his face further into Dick’s fleecy pullover. After what was approximately a hundred years, he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the inevitable wave of embarrassment and gritted out, “I want – Ti – Timmytummytickles, there!” 

“Oh!” Dick said with an entirely fake amount of surprise that made Tim want to smack him upside the head. “You should have just said, Baby Bird.” 

All thoughts of wrangling one of his arms free to bat at Dick’s wavy hair flew away when the hand on Tim’s stomach started digging in, fingers wiggling into his belly with a rhythmic precision that had him choking on a sudden wave of giggles. 

“Aww, there’s my Timmy,” Dick cooed, leaning down to nuzzle against the top of Tim’s head. “I thought I had a ticklish, giggly baby brother somewhere in there.” 

“No mohore teheheheasing!” squawked Tim as he let his head fall back against Dick’s shoulder, grinning through his laughter. No matter how old he got, Dick’s particular brand of older-brother teasing would never not burrow under his skin and make him squirm.

“No teasing? Not even about this ticklish tummy right here?” Dick made a line of pokes across Tim’s lower stomach, just above the waistline of his pajama pants, for emphasis. 

Case in point – Tim would’ve sworn his brain started to give off steam like a Looney Tunes character. “Nooo!” 

Dick tsked, his smirk barely concealing the well of affection that showed through in his gaze. “Okay, bud, if you insist.” 

He brought both hands up to make light scribbles over Tim’s stomach with just his nails. It – god, it tickled, all Tim could do was let himself laugh as his mind drowned in the overwhelming tingly prickles. His face rubbed against Dick’s smooth pullover as he tried to hide again, but the quick fluttering of fingertips across his collarbones made him squeak and snap his head back around. 

“Nuh uh, no hiding,” Dick scolded. He used each of his index fingers to tap on the twin giggle spots on either side of Tim’s bellybutton. “Don’t wanna make these tickly-tickle-tickle spots lonely, hm?” 

God, he was really going all-in on the teasing, and Tim couldn’t stop the giggly whine that welled up in the back of his throat. “Dee!” 

Dick was alternating between light tapping over those particularly ticklish places and scribbling his index fingers over them, occasionally pinching at the squishy spots. “That is my name, Tim, great job.”  

Tim tried to channel some of Jason’s blustering defiance by telling Dick to shut the fuck up, but then Dick started using all the fingers of each hand to scribble over his giggle spots and Tim collapsed back into fits of squeaky laughter, shaking his head. 

“It–it tihihic–it tihihickles!” 

Dick hummed. “Yeah, it sounds like it does, Squeakers.” 

The nickname sent a fresh wave of little brother feelings rolling through Tim’s thoughts as he tried to wrangle the peals of giggles under control long enough to say something else – he didn’t know what, but it’d come to him. 

Or maybe it wouldn’t. When he felt Dick’s hands slowly crawling outwards towards his lower ribs, Tim started squirming even more. He was expecting Dick to poke and prod at his ribcage, so when Dick stopped and suddenly vibrated each of his hands into Tim’s upper stomach, he startled and squeaked around a cackle.

“Y’know,” Dick said like he was having an epiphany in the middle of digging wiggling, prodding fingers into Tim’s abdominal muscles. “You don’t actually hate it when I tickle you, do you?” 

That was one of the worst, easiest things he could’ve said and Tim’s wriggling increased as he tried to shield himself from whatever else Dick was about to say. “I – nahahaha!” 

“Aaw. In fact…” 

The tickling fingers suddenly jumped down to the outer parts of his stomach, close to his sides, and dug in with a series of nibbling pinches. 

“These are your favorite tickles, aren’t they, Baby Bird?” 

Actually, maybe that was the worst thing Dick had ever said. Tim could hardly think but he knew he was more scarlet than the fever itself, drowning in his own ticklishness. His hands came up on instinct to try and push Dick’s away, but he’d been so weakened by all his previous laughter that he just latched onto Dick’s wrists and held tightly, not actually pushing against him. 

“You – you’re – tihihickling!” Tim gasped out, slamming his eyes shut when Dick cooed again. 

“Yeah, I am,” Dick replied, his voice a couple notches removed from the one he used to talk to babies and toddlers. “Glad you’ve recognized that, Timmy.” 

The voice made everything tickle more – well, either that, or Dick had magic tickle powers that, hey, for all Tim knew were totally a thing that existed – and Tim gasped, managing to flip onto one of his sides, facing Dick. 

Rather than shielding his stomach from questing, tickling fingers, his new position just meant that one of Dick’s hands went back to niggling around his bellybutton and the other started squeezing up and down his newly-exposed side. Tim collapsed into waves of helpless giggles, hiding his face in Dick’s chest. He could smell traces of the cedar cologne that Dick usually preferred, a scent that Tim had long ago learned to associate with brother, love, hugs. 

“C’mon out, Tim,” Dick teased, the words gently cajoling. “Don’t let the tickles get lonely, or they’re all going to start hanging out here.” His fingers migrated towards the back of Tim’s lower ribs on that side, fluttering over one of his worst tickle spots. 

Tim made a muffled, strangled yell and frantically shook his head, helplessly trying to use his elbow to push Dick’s hands away. 

“Hmmm. Well, maybe there’s another way to get you back out of hiding.” 

Suddenly, Dick was nuzzling a flurry of raspberries and nibbles against Tim’s neck and chin and collarbone while his fingers squeezed and scrabbled across Tim’s stomach. 

“Hey!” Tim shrieked, then promptly snorted with laughter as he tried to cringe away from the raspberries and nibbles. “Do nohohot–Deehehehe!” 

Dick’s only response was a long raspberry right at the crook between his neck and shoulder that made Tim flinch hard enough that he kicked his legs out, heels uselessly drumming against the bedsheets. 

“How’s your restlessness?” Dick asked as Tim’s laughter began to settle down again. 

“It’s– it’s gohohone!” Tim giggled, barely keeping himself from instinctively trying to roll all the way onto his stomach. He didn’t think he could stand it if Dick decided to tease at the kill spots on his lower ribs.  

“Do you think you can sleep now?” 

“IdoIdoIdohoho!” 

Dick gave him one more raspberry paired with a burst of featherlight scribbles over his giggle spots, and Tim melted back against him as his laughter weakened into wheezy, high-pitched giggles. 

“And you’re going to stay here?” Dick checked. 

A burst of warm happy feeling fizzled in Tim’s gut, right where his earlier anxious dread had been. “I will!” 

“And you’re going to remember not to sass me in front of your friends?” 

“Said–said you weren’t mad!” 

Dick laughed, low and fond. “That’s true, Baby Bird, and I’m not. But –” he nudged the side of his head against Tim’s for emphasis. “I gotta uphold my own older brother cred, which means the next time you snap at me in front of Kon and Bart, they’re gonna learn how to tickle those ribs of yours until you’re all hazy and wheezy and tapping out.” 

Just the thought of that sent sympathetic ticklish sparks running up and down Tim’s ribcage, and he let go of Dick’s wrists to wrap his arms around his middle, nodding quickly against Dick’s chest. “Ok, ok!” 

“Good!” And, man, did Dick sound way too chipper for someone who’d just taken his younger brother to pieces in the early hours of the morning. He finally stopped scribbling over Tim’s stomach, instead flattening his palm to rub slow, wide circles to chase away the leftover ticklish feelings – not that it stopped Tim from periodically falling back into fits of giggles, those tickles had somehow sunk into his nerves and made a home for themselves there. After the second or third time it happened, Dick gathered Tim up in a hug and kissed the top of his head. 

“Still giggly, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Tim said, unable to wipe the grin off his face. “Jus’ a little.”

Dick huffed a small, amused laugh. “Adorable.”

Tim didn’t know what to do with that, so he squeezed his eyes shut again. “Hn.” 

Dick adjusted his hold to nestle Tim more firmly against him, and Tim didn’t even put up a token struggle – he wasn’t Jason, he adored getting pressganged into Dick’s so-called octopus hugs. “And, hey. I’m glad you had your friends over today, you should do that again. They think you’re great.” 

Ah. So Dick had clocked some of the underlying reasons between Tim’s earlier words, even if they hadn’t been beyond the bounds of normal brotherly snark. Once again, Tim found himself feeling a tad too perceived, but that came with the territory in a family of detectives, even if the emotional intelligence wasn’t always a ….visible trait, for some of them. 

“Y’think?” he asked Dick’s shoulder. 

“I do,” Dick replied, the affirmation rumbling through his chest and into Tim’s ears. “And so do I.” 

Tim made an acknowledging sound and finally burrowed himself into Dick’s arms, stubbornly ignoring the voice in the back of his mind muttering about burrowing gremlins that sounded suspiciously similar to Jason. When Dick pulled the absurdly thick comforter up over both of them, Tim would have purred if he could. 

“Th’nks,” he murmured instead. 

He felt Dick press another kiss to the top of his head. “Of course. I told you to come find me if you have trouble falling asleep, and I’m glad you did.” 

“Mhm,” Dick hummed, amusement curling through the sound. “Believe it or not, kiddo, this is exactly what Tim sent you here for.” 

Kiddo. Dick was literally the only person ever who called Kon that, and it sent a burst of warm-squeezy-stupid feeling fizzing through Kon’s chest every single time. Now he had his own special nickname, just like Dick’s brothers, and it felt kind of like being part of a matching set in a way he’d never experienced before. Like there was a place carved out just for him, the way it was for the other Bats, the way Kon maybe wished it could be with Clark and Lois if he wasn’t so scared they’d change their minds. 

Kon jerked his awareness back to the present moment just in time to see Dick teasingly wiggle his fingers, even though he stayed put four feet away. What had he said? Oh, right. 

“Really? Tim set me up?” Betrayal from his best friend. Harsh, but not entirely uncalled for after the latest Briefing Incident. 

Dick waffled one hand back and forth in a so-so motion. “Not exactly. He knows it helps.” 

Kon narrowed his eyes. “He knows?” 

Dick’s teasing grin turned a little mushy, the way his face often looked when he had those shmoopy older brother feelings that Kon didn’t really understand. “From experience.” 

“Oh.” Good to know. But that didn’t change the fact that one poke from Dick had sent Kon scrambling into his armchair cave, where he still was now. 

“Yeah. And speaking of helping…” Dick lowered his voice and waggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Let’s get you sleepy, kiddo.” 

Okay, technically Kon did have plenty of time to unfold himself and zip to another corner of the room, but Dick had started walking over towards him and before Kon could decide what to do there was a whole adult vigilante looming above him with ten wriggling fingers that touched down around his neck and ears, and all his strategy-minded thoughts vanished. 

“No!” he meeped, feeling himself flush even darker at the squeaking noise. “Di–Dihihick, plehehehease!” Wave after wave of ticklish shivers threw him into shivery spasms, he tried to shrug his shoulders up or clamp his head to one side, but Dick just switched spots, so fast that Kon barely kept track of where the tickling was happening. Even though he tried, he couldn’t stop the snickers and snorts that managed to escape his clenched teeth. 

“Please what?” Dick said in a soft, sing-song voice. “Please…pick a different spot?” His hands darted down to scribble over Kon’s triceps, teasing around to the spot where his back and shoulder met. “Is this better?” 

It was actually like a thousand sparks of electricity crackling through Kon’s upper body and he shrieked, surprised that the light touches tickled so much. “Wha–whahat areyoudoihihingheEK?” 

“Oh,” Dick crooned, still in that musical cadence. “You didn’t know, did you? Bud. Kiddo. Kon. I’m so sorry I haven’t tickled you enough, you shouldn’t have to be surprised–” 

“Shutup!” Kon shouted. He’d given up on staying curled in his little shield ball and twisted onto his side, halfway crushing one of Dick’s evil tickly hands. It was so bad, he might actually die. 

Dick continued on as if Kon hadn’t said anything. “Now, we both know that here is a good place…” 

Before Kon could figure out where Dick was aiming for now, ten fingers scribbled over the small of his back and all the nerves there lit up at once. That wasn’t exactly his worst spot, but it made him giggle, and sure enough – 

“Those are the sweet giggles I remember, there we go.” Dick’s grin came through in his voice and Kon really, really thought about hiding. If only his TTK worked on light waves, he’d bend them around himself and become invisible so Dick couldn’t see him squirm from all the teasing. 

“Don’t tehease!” Kon begged through helpless giggles. There wasn’t enough room for him to flip over, but–

“Don’t tease?” Dick repeated. “About what?” 

“Anything!” Kon yelped, abandoning his efforts to squirm down onto the floor. 

Dick chuckled and squeezed Kon’s shoulders briefly before he leaned down to murmur right next to his ear. “I don’t know if I can do that, kiddo. Older brother instincts and all. It’s hard when you’re squirming like the most tickly, wriggly worm in the world who really, really needs nighttime tickles–”

Suddenly Dick was spidering all across Kon’s shoulders and neck and lower back, jumping from spot to spot with no pattern. Occasionally he’d graze over Kon’s sides or ribs or, worst of all, up near the edge of his underarm. 

Kon barely got a breath in before the laughter took over again and his brain melted into ticklish, giddy soup. “No! ‘M not, ‘m not, ‘m not!” 

With another low, affectionate laugh, Dick slowed down to whispering tickles up and down Kon’s exposed side. “Not what?” 

“Not–” Kon inhaled. He tried to twist his expression into a scowl but his face felt stiff from how much he’d been laughing. “Not a worm!” 

“I didn’t say you were a worm,” Dick countered, pinching Kon’s side for good measure.

Kon peeped and immediately hid his face in the worn upholstery. He still didn’t know what to do with all these fuzzy warm feelings whenever they fluttered around inside his stomach. Maybe that was something to think about later, though, because Dick kept wheedling little pinches up and down the squishy parts of his side. 

“I said you were the most tickly, wriggly worm. That’s different!” 

Giggling again as Dick’s fingers wandered around towards his lower back again, Kon just shook his head, keeping his face smashed against the chair. 

“Awww,” Dick cooed. “Don’t hide, kiddo, your smile’s too cute. C’mon…” He skated his nails up and down the sides of Kon’s neck in even swoops that instantly made Kon’s laughter gain a screechy edge as he twisted around, trying to shake them off. Eventually, his mind swirling with ticklish feelings, he flipped over onto his back. He squinted up at Dick through teary eyes, vision blurry from laughing so much. 

Dick gave him a blinding smile. “There’s my ticklish hero.”

Just as Kon tried to turn right back over because there was no way he was staying visible to hear more of that, Dick latched onto his hips with pulsing squeezes that tore cackles out from the bottom of his lungs. 

“HEY! Hehehey!” he wheezed, slapping fruitlessly at Dick’s hands. It was instinct, he didn’t actually want to push Dick away, but his senses were going haywire. 

“Sorry,” Dick said. “I’m not supposed to be winding you up, am I? Let’s try something else.” 

Kon wasn’t expecting to be scooped out of the chair and flung unceremoniously over Dick’s shoulder. But he couldn’t find it in himself to break free, even though he totally could. That would mean the fun stopped. Even though this wasn’t the magic insomnia cure Tim had promised, it wasnt…bad. 

Now, that was a realization that was getting consciously shoved down to the very last car in Kon’s train of thought. He just pressed his forehead against Dick’s back and let himself enjoy being the one carted around, for once. 

The journey to Dick’s room wasn’t far, and when he heaved Kon sprawling onto the bed, Kon had enough presence of mind to send his TTK after the stack of items on the nightstand so they wouldn’t go flying as it rattled from the force of his impact. Then, almost faster than he could follow, Dick wrestled him onto his stomach and hopped up to sit on his legs. 

Giddy flutters buzzed through Kon’s nerves since he couldn’t see anymore, but – oh! TTK! He extended his awareness for a second, just enough to sense Dick’s hands hovering over his back. Ok, cool, that was good, he could brace himself. 

Dick started drawing gentle circles on Kon’s lower back with a single index finger. It tickled, and Kon giggled into the comforter beneath his face. The ticklish prickles weren’t strong enough to make him squirm or thrash, though. They almost felt nice. 

After a little bit, Dick added his other hand and switched from circles to vague zig-zag patterns. Sometimes the invisible lines edged over towards Kon’s sides and his light, hiccupy laughter would jump up to peeps, but Dick never lingered there for too long. 

“Dihihihick!” he gasped. “It, you’re–” 

“It tickles?” Dick said, sounding like he was about to start cooing. “I can see that, kiddo. You’re still a squirmy thing, even when you’re having fun.” 

“Noooo!” 

Dick chuckled again. “Yes. You and Timmy both, so you’re in good company.” 

Well, at least that was something. 

When Dick changed it up again so one hand was crawling around Kon’s shoulders and neck and the other was still scrabbling over his lower back, Kon let himself succumb to the peals of happy, embarrassing laughter that he couldn’t seem to quash. 

“There you go,” Dick murmured. He used both his index fingers to scritch into the sides of Kon’s underarms. “Tickle tickle tickle, Connor.” 

Kon did thrash, then, kicking both of his feet fruitlessly against the mattress. “It’s – ‘so bad, so bad, Dick!” 

“I can tell. In this teeny, squishy spot, too.” But Dick backed off, going back to those light, predictable sweeps across the rest of Kon’s back. “Okay, okay. Deep breaths.”

Kon was tempted to point out that he didn’t need to breathe the same way that humans did, but he did as he’d been told. The scent of lavender detergent in Dick’s blanket was a pleasant surprise, and it sent a wave of comfort rolling over Kon’s fraying mind. He grumbled something, he didn’t know what, into the mattress when Dick hopped up and wandered off to do something. 

New sleepiness tugged at his eyelids, like Kon might actually, finally, fall asleep this time. Probably on account of the change of scenery and the nice, soothing lavender. Not because he’d been tickled halfway out of his mind. 

Yeah. 

As he dropped off to sleep, the last thing that registered was the snick of the lightswitch as Dick flipped it off, and something that felt like a kiss land on top of his hair. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

For a split second, Kon didn’t know where he was when he woke up. In his defense, he’d been deep asleep for the first time in weeks, and someone was combing through his hair and it felt so nice that, really, it didn’t feel like it mattered where he’d ended up. 

“Connor?” someone asked. “Are you waking up, bud?” 

The hand in Kon’s hair gently tugged and Kon leaned into the pressure with a quiet, happy sound. “Nuh-huh.” 

Dick laughed. “Okay.” 

Wait. Dick? 

The sleepy haze evaporated as Kon pieced together the events of the previous evening. God. He’d been – he’d thought that when Tim suggested going to Dick for help sleeping, there was some kind of secret Bat sleep aid. Not…the thing that Kon couldn’t say. Or think, apparently, without wanting to burst into flames. 

….did that mean Tim also got tickled into a pile of sleepy giggles too, then? 

Hm. Much to consider. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, dragging one of his eyes open to find Dick sitting next to him on the bed, fully dressed in jeans and a pullover. “...Sorry for passing out here.” 

“Oh, don’t apologize,” Dick said breezily. He smiled down at Kon. “That was the goal. I’m glad it worked, you seemed like you needed the rest. 

Kon grunted. “Still.” 

Dick rolled his eyes but he kept grinning. “Please. At least you knocked. Tim usually crawls in through one of my windows and tracks mud all over the place.”

Yeah, that did sound like Rob. “I did knock.” 

“Yes. Also, you paid your admission in baby brother giggles, so–”

Kon squawked, pushing himself up on one elbow to give Dick his best glower. “I – I did not, I –” Baby brother? But Kon wasn’t – he didn’t – did he? 

As if sensing his complicated thoughts, Dick leaned over and ruffled his hair. “You’re stuck with me now, kiddo.” His mouth curled up in a sheepish smile. “Maybe B’s adoption tendencies are contagious.”  

Kon beamed. Then he realized that he was doing that and promptly hid his face in a nearby pillow because he was having a rather unwieldy emotion that sort of made his eyes sting. No one else needed to see that. 

“Aww, Kon.” Dick ruffled his hair again. He kept at it until Kon snuffled and leaned his head away, snickering past the lump in his throat. 

Composing himself took several minutes. When Kon finally felt confident that he could push past the prickling in his eyes, he rolled onto his side to look at Dick. 

“So, uh. So Tim also…?” 

“Oh, bud. Tim’s a ticklish little squeaky toy, and sometimes that big ol’ brain of his needs some help settling down at night” Dick said with a wide grin. “Jay nicknamed him ‘Giggle Brat’ ages ago for a reason.” 

Something clicked into place in Kon’s mind. He sat up. “Wait, so that t-shirt he has–”

“Yup.” 

This was the best day ever. It was like Christmas and winning a million dollars rolled into

one. Finally, Kon had some really, truly teasable leverage on Tim…that, to be fair, he could never bring up around their other friends or they’d both be plucked, roasted, and cooked. Metaphorically. 

A bout of insanity. Jason considers fratricide for the sixth time within the last four hours as popcorn gets tossed across the living room, Titus’ delighted barking louder than the television. It’s made worse by the man of the house tucked awkwardly between him and the sofa end, Dick on his other side, and Jason huddled much more closely to the latter for obvious, unspoken reasons. He’d meant to sit on the floor so Damian could take his proper “blood son” seat next to Bruce, but Titus had refused to leave the armchair and so he’d relocated. Cass and Steph shared the other armchair, Tim and Duke draped on the floor, a bowl of already half-spilt popcorn between them.

Everyone’s talking, simultaneously as caught up in their own conversations as they are chucking popcorn in wide arcs into each other’s mouths. Jason knows it’s fine, the norm when it comes to movie nights, at least the few he’d bothered to come by before this one. It’s less about the movie and more about the tradition, the bonding of a fractured family taking a few hours’ time to reintroduce themselves to each other, finding safety in the cracks. He gets it, really. He even kind of likes it most days, though he’d rather be put back into the grave again than say it out loud.

But it was his turn to pick the film, and they’re finally about two minutes from the first meeting of Darcy and Elizabeth, and he’d really love it if everyone would just shut up for all of five minutes so he can rewatch the scene he had memorized since he was thirteen.

His knee bounces in irritation, just hard enough to shake the couch and subsequently, Dick. His brother shoots him an apologetic look at the noise to which Jason glares hard enough he hopes the sofa bursts into flames. It doesn’t, but it would have been cool.

“I can tell them to be quiet,” Dick says.

“With this family? You’d be better off shipping them to the circus.”

A smile crosses Dick’s face. “They’re even louder than a circus. I’d know.”

“You’re louder than a circus,” Jason rolls his eyes, but he takes the attempt at comfort for what it is, shifting in his seat enough to be pressed closer to Dick. He’s got his feet tucked against Dick’s leg, knee digging into his shoulder, but Dick doesn’t even seem to care. He probably likes it, the way he swings one arm around his legs like a weird half hug for his lower body.

It’s not horrible.

Something unreadable crosses Dick’s face before he squeezes Jason’s knee. It’s probably another attempt at comfort, but his thumb drags a little too quickly in the movement and Jason yelps. The room quiets.

Fuck.

His knee pulls inwards, flushing before he even meets the sudden mischievous twinkle in Dick’s eye. Some part of him, twelve and completely caught unawares, wants to curl up in a ball and hide. The other, nineteen and ruling the East side of Gotham, thinks about strategic retreat and desperately does not try to remember all the times running led to him being caught and curled up anyway. He inches backwards, aware of the press of decorative throw pillows at his side and the sudden attention of everyone in a room, a sheep caught before a pack of wolves.

“Little wing,” Dick coos. His hand follows Jason’s leg, sliding down to his ankle. It’s probably meant to be a comforting weight if not for how Dick’s grin widens to flash teeth. “I didn’t know you were still—”

“I’m not.” He must run or hide. There are a hundred rooms in this manor, but he’s up against Bats. There’s a hundred more miles on the manor grounds, but he’s up against the Bats. Jason squirms further back against the sofa, scooting awkwardly upwards when he hits a hard surface. It takes a minute to realize the hard surface is Bruce, and that by the time he realizes it he’s already halfway on his dad’s lap, leaning into a warm chest. While everyone else’s gaze has turned predatory, calculating, the weight of Bruce’s stare on his head doesn’t ring as dangerously as the others. He risks a glance backwards.

Bruce smiles down at him. It’s a perfect dad smile, small and fond, and Jason’s mind races because it’s the exact same smile Bruce used to have when ruffling his hair on ice cream trips on rooftops overseeing Gotham. It is also, unfortunately, the same smile Bruce had after driving him to mirthful tears in “post-patrol injury checks” that he’s nearly certain were just an excuse to torment him. He’s never really known how to respond when Bruce directs the full force of that smile on him.

Evidently, he still doesn’t.

Run or hide. Sheep or wolf.

“B,” Jason says. His voice tremors the slightest bit. “B, tell him I’m not.”

Bruce’s hands steady him, one on his shoulder, the other bracing his thigh. The one on his shoulder squeezes, comforting. Jason swallows.

“Jaylad,” Bruce starts. His smile doesn’t waver. Sheep, his mind begs. Sheep, hide, sheep! “Tell him you’re not what?”

A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Fucking hell.

Jason’s already throwing himself to the side before Bruce finishes the question, but the arm on his shoulder tugs him back too easily. He yelps, entirely unrelated to the squeeze of Bruce’s hand, and then Dick’s hands are pushing him down, trying to straddle his thighs.

“Fuck off!” Jason shouts, squirming enough to free his right hand. He throws a punch to Dick’s face and misses by a meter when Bruce’s hand jumps up to dig into his armpit. The noise that escapes him is embarrassing and he shoves a little desperately at Bruce’s hands when his voice grows high and squeaky with every tweak of fingers on squishy, sensitive flesh. “Wait, wait, Dickhead, don’t!”

“Don’t what?” Dick asks, and he’s not even trying to hide the sappiness of his smile anymore. Jason gets a faceful of the whole smiley Grayson experience, all soft and big brotherly, and he’d maybe appreciate it more if it didn’t also come with Dick lightly drumming his fingers over his stomach. One gets too close to his navel and Jason flinches, feeling his mouth grow into a grin against his permission.

“Go on, Jay,” Bruce says. He’s got Jason pinned easily, one arm tucked under his knee and the other caught in his hand slowly being moved into the same trap. He swallows as Bruce leans over, coaxing. “Answer your brother.”

He’d rather die, thanks.

Jason bites his lip, looking back at Dick but meets Steph’s eyes instead. Everyone’s eyes are on him, the movie completely forgotten though it drones on, enraptured instead by this new, humiliating entertainment. His face burns when his eyes slide over Cass’ knowing eyes, Tim’s scheming one, flashing back to just two hours ago when he’d pinned Tim down over a stupid argument on the mats and left his little brother in ticklish tears. He’d only made it this far with his secret safe because no one even bothered to assume the one guy tall and heavy enough to challenge Batman could possibly be ticklish. He’d managed to artfully escape Dick every time he was in the mood, sacrificing Duke or Damian or one of the other little bats instead to so-called big brotherly duties. Bruce didn’t even try, too awkward about pushing boundaries and then bulldozing through them anyway, leaving them in a cycle that was accommodated with more screaming matches than light-hearted play fights.

The agreement to movie night, to put on Jason’s favorite film, apparently meant more than he realized.

“Don’t touch me.” He tries to snap, failing when Dick ghosts over his hip and he chokes on his words. “Dickface, don’t you dare. Don’t you—!”

His teeth click as Bruce’s hands move again, pinching along his ribs as Dick’s rises to tease his waist. There’s mercy in their movements in that it’s not his worst spots, yet not at all because it’s a warning that they intend to draw this torment out.

“Aw, Jay,” Dick teases, almost fond, before digging his fingers in a little harder to be the rotten menace Jason always insisted he was, Nightwing’s golden reputation be damned. He chokes like a dying fish. “What’s wrong? You’re not watching the movie anymore?”

“No one’s w-watching.” The stutter is too obvious and he can tell from the way matching fondness seeps into Bruce’s expression that he’s smiling, even as heat continues to crawl up his cheeks. “You’re both distrahahacting me!”

Steph’s whisper is too loud. “Oh my god, he giggles.”

Death. Death for himself and every single person in this room, sans Titus.

A litany of curses swim in his head when Bruce manages to wrangle both his hands and Dick dives for his exposed armpits like a heathen. Jason clenches his jaw shut for all of three seconds before breaking into giddy laughter, twisting to either side in a pitiful attempt to escape Dick’s evil fingers.

“I can’t believe this. Chat, is this real?” Tim’s voice floats over, vaguely awed, vaguely vindictive. Jason would’ve liked to snap at him if it weren’t for Dick, the bastard, dancing his hands back down to his ribs and then back up again around his shoulders. He settles for flipping him off with a trapped hand.

“Fuhahahack off!”

“Wow, real rude for someone so ticklish.”

It’s somehow worse hearing Tim call him that, of all people. Fifteen minutes ago, he would’ve pulled Tim to the floor midway through his sentence and made a spectacle of his little brother. Hell—he could’ve easily pulled Steph and Dick in to help him at minimum. Of course, fifteen minutes ago he wasn’t screeching with laughter in front of his entire family.

“Oh chat, you have no idea how real this is. Jason used to shriek so loudly,” Dick teases, tossing his head back with a wink. From the barely disguised wide-eyed awe on everyone’s faces, it’s evident that of all routes they expected movie night to go that this didn’t make it to any of their contingencies. It would be hilarious if literally anyone else was in Jason’s position. “It looks like he still does, don’t you, little wing?”

Jason’s jaws snap, trying in vain to bite Dick’s hands off, even as Dick only huffs when he scratches alongside Jason’s upper back to obliterate the last of his reputation. He jolts at the sudden attack on (one of many of) his weak spot, voice jumping an octave when he shrieks just like Dick predicted.

“D-Dihihick! Dick, wahahahait!”

“Aw, Jay, of course.” Dick croons sweetly and if that doesn’t set alarm bells off in Jason’s head nothing would. He squirms back on instinct even though all it does is make Dick’s fingers dig in harder to his back, swerving fruitlessly to burrow himself in Bruce’s hold. “I’ll wait… for you tell me where you want me to tickle you next.”

“What?”

“Ooh, evil.”

“Shuhuhut up in thehehee peanut gallery!”

He’s going to have to kill someone for this. He’s got to be as red as his helmet by now; he was always obvious as a kid, giggly and red-faced from maybe two minutes of Dick’s big-brotherly nonsense, and the reality of him being in the same position now years later made something in him flutter obnoxiously. It doesn’t help that Bruce is not so subtly looming over, eyes soft in that gushy dad way, and all Jason wants to do is bury his face into the folds of his sweater to avoid shrinking under the warmth of that gaze.

“Don’t be mean to your siblings,” Bruce says. He shifts Jason’s weakened wrists to one grip, his now freed hand crawling down teasingly as it flutters around Jason’s ears and neck to make him giggle uncontrollably. Between Bruce’s slow, almost gentle tease and Dick’s pinpoint accurate clawing against his shoulders, he’s got basically no defenses. At best, Jason manages to kick out his feet, jostling absolutely no one into giving him mercy.

“I—I’m—thehehey’re the ones beheheing meahahahen to me!”

There’s a chorus of chuckles at him around the room and Jason burrows himself against Bruce’s sweater instinctively. The coo that follows is definitely Dick and Bruce’s hand pauses just long enough to brush out the sweaty hair from his face, forcing Jason to blink up through blurry eyes.

Bruce is still smiling at him. For absolutely no reason at all, Jason’s heart flips.

“Well, kiddo? What are you feeling?”

“Yeah, Jay,” Dick interrupts, “where’d you want us to tickle you again?”

Fuck, they’re so evil. Forget Batman and Nightwing, allies of the Justice League—as far as Jason’s aware, they should’ve been thrown in with the Legion of Doom since he was twelve.

His skin crawls with anticipation as Jason squeezes his eyes shut to avoid catching anyone’s gazes in the room. “Just get it over with already!”

“I thought you wanted us to wait?” Dick mock gasps, drumming his fingers back around to his sides. Jason bucks against him, trying and failing to remove him, and Dick barks out a laugh. “You gotta make up your mind buddy, or I’ll just have to stay here forever. Unless that’s what you wanted?”

Yeah, no thanks. Between feeling his mind melt away via giggles or shrieking laughter, it didn’t feel like he had a choice either way. The thought of calling for help passed as quickly as it came; knowing these people, the only “help” he’d be getting would be more hands on him.

“I cahahan’t—you—youhuhEHE B NAHAHA!”

Jason jolts with a scream as Bruce scribbles his fingers downwards suddenly, darting between his spine and the small of his back. It’s like every single nerve along his spine has been suddenly jumpstarted into being so stupidly fucking ticklish; the sensation is made worse at the unbidden memory of his dad doing almost this exact move in this very couch years ago. He can’t possibly get any redder than he already is and yet Jason swears on his life that his face burns even brighter as he shakes his head. “JUST DO IT!”

Dick hums. “Do what?”

“I FUCKING HAHATEHEE YOU!”

“And I love you.” Dick smooches his cheek despite his glare. It’s not very effective through watery tears and he knows it from Dick’s peachy smile as he retreats, scotting further back on Jason’s legs for better leverage. Bruce stills, placing his hand on Jason’s waist. “But that doesn’t help clarify what you want me to do…?”

God, they’re really going to do this. Just sit here and torment him in front of Gotham’s best so-called heroes when all he did was sign up for some peaceful, torment-free movie night bonding.

Jason takes in hasty gulps of air while he still can. He’s certain he looks ridiculous, red-faced with wet eyes and a childish grin stretched across his face, but he doesn’t try to flee even though no one’s holding onto him anymore. His self-preservation instincts must have been successfully tickled out of him because all he really wants to do, all he does, is roll his head back to peer up at Bruce with his best puppy eyes. “Dad, please.”

Instead of answering with words, four hands make their way to his hips. It’s absolutely evil, and awful, and he’s certain his mind blanks for a moment before shrill, shrieking laughter leaves him breathless. Jason jolts to life as he thrashes, freed hands pushing frantically at the fingers determined to destroy him, and he manages to tuck his head down and make a semi-curled defensive position that really doesn’t hide him at all. Dick laughs overhead, one hand crawling from his hip to scribble over his exposed back, and Jason whines through his laughter at the dual sensations.

He can’t even remember the last time he’d been ticked like this. When he was a kid, for sure, but when? Usually it was just the one or the other, and if it was both Bruce never let Dick torment him for too long before scooping up both his kids, one on each hand, and heading off either to the cave or to bed. He’d never paid much attention to the specifics, not when he was busy laughing his head off, and even now he struggles to note whose hand is where considering he’s a little busy trying to melt into a puddle.

“N-Nahaha moooreehHEHE!”

“What’s that? More?”

Maybe if he curled up tight enough, he could find a mini pocket dimension to hide in. As-is, Jason settles for batting at the hands still tormenting him. He can hardly think, mind a haze of tingling sensation, and he hardly even notices how Dick moves from straddling his thighs to lying on his side allowing Jason to settle into his side, completely curled up. When he was younger, they used to tease him and call him—

“Is that my favorite pillbug? I think it is!”

God. He buries his face into his hands, consciousness emerging warily as his shrieks peter off into hiccupping giggles when the hands still on him slow to a gentle drumming. It’s one set of hands instead of two now, and he blinks tears out of his eyes when a hand ruffles his hair, nudging into it instinctively. He can hear cooing on the other side of the room.

“Think he’s had enough, chum.”

“Aw, but he’s so cute like this!”

“Am not.” Jason manages a feeble defense. He feels exhausted, like he ran a marathon and fought killer croc one-handed at the same time. Bruce’s hand, steady as it sorts out the tangles in his hair, is unfairly soothing as the last of his laughter leaves him.

“Yes, you are.” Jason blinks as Cass emerges from the sofa’s side, cold water pressed against his face. Jason blinks his eyes (when did he close them?) up at her, shooting Dick a warning glare before taking it and draining half the refreshing glass. She steadies it with one hand, taking it away with a self-satisfied smile. “Very cute.”

He’d flip her off if it were anyone else. Her smile grows wider, and he lets her get away with her own ruffle of his hair. He must look like more of a mess than he imagined because she only seems to get happier with the action.

“How very childish,” Damian scoffs, like he hasn’t been staring the entire time, just as enraptured as the rest of the flock. “I can only wonder how Todd manages to become more pathetic by day.”

“Didn’t Dick get you literally yesterday.”

“Cease and desist your existence, Drake.”

Tim throws his hands up in resignation as Duke giggles, high-fiving Damian in gleeful recognition of their unofficial gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-Tim agenda. Steph, always brilliant and unafraid to cross boundaries, waltzes up to where Jason’s still sprawled against Bruce’s shoulder to poke him in the cheek. “Still alive, dead robin? Or do we have to bury you and wait six to twelve months again?”

“Shut up, dead robin.” He groans, awareness of the room coming back to him steadily as he manages to pick himself warily up from the comfort of Bruce’s sweater. Now that he’s no longer being tormented or made the spectacle of their night entertainment, nothing’s stopping him from leaving. Jason could just pack up, declare them all menaces, and waltz out the front door.

He sits himself upwards properly where Dick’s soft smile meets him, nudging his shoulder playfully. If he focuses, he can pinpoint a memory of five years ago, the first-time hearing what he’d yet to know would become his favorite film through a billionaire’s sound system. Back before he’d become comfortable enough to ask Bruce to replay it, and then again, and then pulling Dick with him to the living room and begging him to stay just the night. He’d even convinced Alfred to join them, and the night had been filled with Greer Garson’s Elizabeth and the lazy snoring of the people he’d come to love.

He wants to hear it again.

Jason resigns himself to being swaddled between the two for the rest of the night. Through lazy eyes, he sighs and sinks back into Bruce’s arms. “Rewind until the ball. And everyone—pay attention this time.”

“Sir yes sir!” Steph chirps before retreating to her perch with Cass. They rearrange themselves, rewinding back to the peace of the night before Jason became their personal entertainment, chatter softer than before but just as intimate. Comfortable. Someone presses play, and the opening music fills the room. Someone is still talking over it. He finds he doesn’t mind as much as before. Funny, how that works.

His eyes flutter despite themselves, tired and content and warm. The hand that’s been carding through his hair pauses to nudge his cheek. “Go to sleep, Jaylad.”

“They haven’t danced yet.”

Bruce’s lip touches his forehead. Unfair. “We can watch it again next week.”

They can. They did, before. They could bring the whole extended batfamily here, Kate and Luke and Batcow, and introduce them to the glory that is proper adaptations. He thinks he says something in response, blurry and meek. Whatever it is, Bruce’s body rumbles with fond laughter, and the last thing he remembers before sleep claims him is Bruce saying something vaguely like home.

The turns were tight, the pathways cramped, but that’s where Dick’s small size did provide an advantage. Get the eyes off him, then find a proper place to hide. Just like he’d been taught. After winding through several nooks and crevices, Dick finally slowed to a stop in a little alcove bracketed by corals of vibrant reds and oranges. The red and yellow of his tail would blend nicely, here — the green, not so much. He’d just have to hope it looked like algae at a distance, a simple part of the ecosystem from any hunters swimming above. His gills fluttered down the column of his neck, but he forced his breathing steady. Moments later, a black blur shot past his hiding place. Dick resisted the urge to flinch away or duck down; the movement would only catch a hunter’s eye and give him away.

Heart pounding, Dick counted the seconds. Every little movement set him on edge, from the idle sway of nearby seaweed to fish darting past. Eventually, his coiled muscles started to relax. Was he successful? Did he evade his pursuer? The black scales would’ve  starkly stood out in such a colorful reef, and he hadn’t felt the subtle currents of something large moving through the water in several minutes. Slowly, Dick started creeping out of his hiding spot, making sure to check above him. The coast was clear, but only for now. All he had to do was get back to the pod’s cavern and—

Large hands snapped around Dick’s waist, digging in before he could even react. A shriek tore from his throat, making room for his heart to settle there instead. He thrashed his tail, wrenched at the arms of his captor, but to no avail. Even as the fingers kept probing, the hands reeled him back against a broad chest. Startled speechless with no chance to brace himself, Dick was helpless to succumb to his laughter. His captor’s chest rumbled with its own fond chuckle.

“Caught you, little fishie,” Bruce hummed. 

Dick chittered in protest, but before he could remind Bruce that he was not a guppy, thank you very much, Bruce’s fingers launched upward and buried themselves in his armpits. Dick’s laughter jumped again, interspersed with screechy yelps. His gills flapped against his neck as they tried to keep up.

“Now, where did you go wrong, chum?” 

Dick shook his head, turning to look at Bruce over his shoulder. “I didn’t! You’re just a cheat!”

“Oh? And how would I do that? I can’t sniff you out Dickie, I’m not a shark.”

“I dunno! You just— did!”

Bruce hummed, pausing his attack. Dick sagged in his arms, twitching as the idle currents of the water jostled him against Bruce’s still fingers. He couldn’t help the nervous chitters that escaped him, nor the flush that crawled up his face as Bruce’s mouth ticked up into a smirk from the sound.

“You know what? You may be right.”

Dick twisted around even more, narrowing his eyes up at Bruce. He knew Bruce had to have cheated! He’d been hidden so well. There was no way—

“Let’s see.” Bruce hauled Dick up even closer, tucking his nose close to Dick’s neck. He took a long sniff.

Oh. Oh, no.

“You’re onto something there, chum. Looks like I can sniff things out like a shark — but you know what I smell instead of blood?”

Dick bit his lip, squirming in Bruce’s arms. “What?”

Bruce inched his face closer and murmured, “Ticklish little fish.” He gave a menacing growl, fully burying his face in the crook of Dick’s neck. “And I’m hungry.”

Dick squealed as Bruce nuzzled in. Bruce’s growling vibrated into the sensitive skin of Dick’s neck, even as his stubble caught on the seams of his now-sealed gills with every movement. When he brought his sharp teeth into the mix, nipping at the skin as if he were eating Dick and making ridiculous “om-nom-nom” noises, Dick was lost. His giggles were frantic and squeaky and panicked, and he was dizzy with how giddy and bubbly he felt. While his neck wasn’t one of his worst spots, Bruce’s proximity and teasing never failed to make him feel like he was buzzing out of his own skin. It was like it made everything nelse feel more ticklish.

Which was a problem when Bruce brought his hands back into the mix, skittering and squeezing up and down Dick’s sides. He rocketed into belly laughter, tugging at Bruce’s wrists and trying to force Bruce out of his neck with his head and shoulder. When none of that worked, he resorted to beating his tail backwards against Bruce’s own.

“Oh, really? You sure you wanna do that?” 

Dick threw his tail back particularly hard, just to be a menace. 

Bruce hummed into his neck, drawing out one last squeal, before Dick was suddenly released and the world went spinning. He yelped, trying to get his bearings. Before he could, he felt Bruce’s hands lock on to the base of his tail, just above his fins. 

Dick sucked in a giddy breath. “Bruce, wait!”

Bruce did not wait. He squeezed up and down the muscles beneath Dick’s scales with one hand, using the other to keep his grip. Dick burst into cackles, twisting up his tail to try and dislodge Bruce or pull his hands away or something. In response, Bruce started swimming backwards. Not quickly, but enough that the drag of water pulled Dick taut and kept him stuck there, since all his laughter and squirming had left him feeling like his muscles were made of jellyfish.

He snorted when Bruce squeezed at the lower half of his tail, snickering and wiggling as much as he could. The upper half of his tail, though? Dick thought he might lose his mind. His scales provided no protection, the ticklish sparks digging so deep that it felt as though his entire nervous system was lighting up with them. He couldn’t speak or bargain or free himself, all Dick could do was laugh himself silly while Bruce the Tickle-Shark tickled all the giggles out of him.

He’d never say it to Bruce’s face, but this was his favorite part of training. 

Eventually, Dick’s laughter went silent, and Bruce had mercy. He stopped swimming and hauled Dick up into his arms, chuckling as Dick hiccuped out residual giggles and giddy chitters. After a few minutes, Dick heaved a sigh and snuggled deeper into Bruce’s hold, clicking at him with contentment. Bruce clicked back.

“Back with me, chum?”

“Mhm.” Dick nodded, stretching out his tail and back as best he could without shifting out of Bruce’s arms.

“Alright. Same rules as before: stealth, speed, and agility to get back to the cave, don’t let me catch you. This time, don’t only look up before trying to sneak away. You have a five second headstart.”

Dick gaped up at Bruce. He raised an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth twitching like he was hiding a smile. “Five, four—“