hey y'all

For all the time that the Titans had known him, Garth was a private person. He learned early on to stop bringing up Aquaman or Atlantis to landwalkers. They didn’t understand, it would only serve to isolate him further.

His team loved him dearly, but it wasn’t until they stopped seeing or hearing from him that they realized just how little they actually knew about his personal life. They didn’t learn first from Garth, but from the rumor mill that he was enrolled in intensive training. That meant they weren’t going to see or hear from him for some time.

He sent enchanted letters, mostly birthday cards, when he could. He never wrote about himself, though. Roy said he didn’t get emotional when he received a letter commemorating his six months of sobriety, already half a year. Roy was a liar.

People talked. They always did. Apparently he’d separated himself from Aquaman, taking up the moniker of “Tempest.” It wasn’t the only thing he’d taken up. The thought of their Garth juggling political negotiations, performing sorcery on par with the best of the Homo Magi, was jarring. But when it was him, it was all anyone talked about.

In the desolate tower, the still public facing heroes would be seeing Garth and Roy face to face again for the first time in years. They were meeting, had a whole week planned, and could only hope they would reconnect seamlessly.

***

Dick and Donna came together, thirty minutes early. Wally wasn’t far behind because when was he ever. His redheaded brother in arms arrived shortly after. They were all surprised at how long and tightly Roy hugged them.

“He’s gotta be doing this on purpose, I swear. If Mr. I’m-so-mysterious doesn’t get here soon, I’m gonna be going for a swim.” Wally was pacing, only ever stopping to drape himself over someone as he complained.

“Are you talking about me?”

Dick nearly fell over, unwisely in the splash zone with a speedster who had a tendency to ricochet when excited.

“You’re here!” The way Garth had to dig his heels into the ground to brace for Wally glomping him was achingly familiar.

“Of course.” He gave a small smile. He could tell he was being scrutinized.

“Dinah was right, you’re totally dreamy.” Wally punched his friend’s shoulder, whose smile widened.

Garth was visibly a little taken aback, but flattered. He’d take it. “She said that?”

“In, like… a mom way.” Donna felt the need to clarify.

Dick wasted no time in turning to Roy. “Your pseudo mom thinks Garth is sexy. How does that make you feel?”

Garth had to cut in. “That is not what she said—“

Roy stared. He looked tired. “Ever the shit stirrer, bird boy.”

***

Needless to say, things fell back into place in no time.

“It’s just not fair.”

Donna watched Garth with equal sympathy and amusement. He could not get Dick to leave him alone.

“People change.” Garth plainly replied.

Dick groaned. “Yeah, but not this much!”

“I still had enhanced strength and magic when we were kids… I don’t understand what you’re so worried about?” Evidently, Garth didn’t understand.

“I don’t care how big and buff you are, size doesn’t matter—“

Before Roy or Wally could start to giggle, Donna stared deep into their eyes, allowing Dick to finish his rant.

“But you aren’t allowed to be cooler than me!”

To an extent, Garth knew he had to be teasing, and he also knew that there was some truth to Dick’s words. He’d changed, carrying himself with significantly more elegance than in years past. He was less smiley, personable, but not pushing himself to be overly friendly.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” He offered a small smile. “Just because you think I’m cooler than you doesn’t mean everyone does. You get out more… I’m not like, um. A threat.”

“I can’t believe you just hit me with the ‘we’re all cool in our own special way!’ honestly.” Dick challenged.

At a loss, Garth’s hands hovered awkwardly in a way that said he wasn’t quite frustrated enough to toss his arms out. Donna wasn’t surprised when he turned to her.

Garth took a spot behind her, his head dropping against hers, face hidden in her hair.

“He’s gonna beat you up if you're not more careful, Dickie.” A harsh tousle of his hair from Roy almost made him stumble.

What Dick really wanted was for Garth to just loosen up a bit. People do change, but it wasn’t difficult to tell he needed a push in the right direction. The Atlantean was so serious, so formal. When was the last time he got to spend time with anyone in an environment where he could be unapologetically himself?

They weren’t seeing all of him, and being a pushy nuisance was unfortunately not looking like it was going to work. Onto to plan B.

***

The Titans got takeout, this was basically just a slumber party for grownups, sue them. Nobody wanted to cook after having to pack a bag and travel however far to get to the HQ.

Garth was across the first floor. It had an open, modern design. The rooms weren’t especially secluded. Unsurprisingly, he was thirsty and wanted water.

For nearly ten minutes now, they had all slowly stopped paying attention to the random television show they put on. Stealing glances eventually became lingering stares. You don’t normally take this long to grab water, Garth had been standing at the counter, zoned, toying with a gravity defying stream of it.

It weaved through his fingers like anybody else may fidget with a pen. A soft, blue flow from the magic illuminated his face.

“You gotta teach me how to do that.” Wally felt the need to quip, of course he did.

Garth was startled from his concentration. He lost control of the water, watching miserably as it soaked his shirt.

If the two of them stood around with those kicked puppy faces for any longer, it would be devastating.

“Try it.” Wally had appeared in the kitchen, holding out a shirt of his own; a sweatshirt, pretty oversized on him.

Garth had his reservations, but Wally wasn’t offering for practicality’s sake. It was a special gesture, they both knew he had a duffle bag of his own clothes that would fit him, but Wally wanted him to have his shirt.

So, he smiled graciously, accepted the sweatshirt, and did an awkward shuffle of a change in the corner of the room. It didn’t really matter, he was a swimmer, people saw him without his shirt. He found himself feeling shy regardless.

Width wise, it was perfectly comfortable. The length wasn’t terrible, but he couldn’t really lift his arms without the sweater rising to his midriff.

“It’s kinda short…” He informed them, sounding genuinely a little entertained for the first time today.

“Little bit.” Wally hummed.

“Makes me wanna just—“

Garth narrowly dodged the index finger that came right at him, arms wrapping around his middle. “Nohot this again…” He murmured.

That got a laugh from the speedster. “You remember?”

Dick chuffed. “Wals, of course he remembers. We were awful.”

“I don’t… awful? You weren’t that bad.” Before hesitantly following Wally back to the sofa, Garth cocked his head.

“We terrorized you. At least a little bit.” Roy was picking at his fingertips.

“That’s because I let you.” Garth replied with a smile. The momentary quiet that took over the room was enough to have him try and save face.

“I thought it was obvious…” He mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat on the arm of the sofa.

There was a silent conversation being had, and it was without him.

“Come on, really…? Don’t you remember how many different furniture and appliances I busted up? In the nicest way possible, uh, that could’ve been you. It wasn’t because… I—“ For once, he thought of it: you aren’t ever supposed to admit that you like it. “I don’t know. I forgot.”

Dick coughed. “Well… that clears my guilty conscience.”

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about…”

Roy scooted to the side upon being nudged. Garth nestled into the crook that left for him in the corner. He was feeling self conscious, and choosing to act like their conversation just now didn’t happen.

Garth couldn’t have been as distracted as he looked. He didn’t care much for most of the programs they played in the surface world, he didn’t like the harsh light that came from the television, he wouldn’t be able to see it well to begin with. Color blindness.

Dick stretched out across Donna and Wally to smack at their marksman’s knee.

“No.” Was his default answer.

“Switch seats.” Dick continued anyway.

“I’m comfy here.”

Dick’s stare was intense.

“Say please.”

“Please switch seats with me.”

They argued for at least three minutes longer until Roy moved.

***

Dick allowed Garth about an hour or so of peace. Against his little corner, his posture was beginning to slump.

“Are you sleeping?”

He stirred. “Resting my eyes.” With his eyes resting, he didn’t see the troubling gleam in Dick’s.

Tentatively, his pointer finger wiggled against the small peek of skin that Wally’s sweatshirt wasn’t long enough to cover.

Garth’s already shut eyes squinted, him twitching away from the touch. “What are you dohoing…”

In most cases, Dick wasn’t known for his patience. He yanked on the hood of the sweatshirt. “Just get over here already!”

Garth would allow himself to be dragged, but wasn’t going to moving his weight easy. Dick was going to have to work for it. In hindsight, not the wisest decision. He didn’t get the chance to adjust his ruffled clothing, a hand scribbling against the center of his exposed tummy. He really should have just declined Wally’s offer to begin with, knowing just how invested all of them were in teasing and making him laugh. Who was to say whether or not they’d coordinated?

It didn’t matter now that a squeak they all recognized very well could be heard to their left. Dick grinned back at Donna who had wasted no time in coming up behind him.

“Couldn’t wait any longer?” She jested. He seemed a little embarrassed, but his smile answered for him.

Garth had turned his back to them, having fixed his shirt. He held his sides in the same manner as he always used to. Dick opted to try and worm his way under those defenses.

“Hey, you.” It wasn’t hard.

Target number one snickered through a groan. “Whhyyy…”

Squishing at his hip, Dick pulled out another squeak from him. Garth twisted around uncomfortably as Donna started to scratch at his back in what should have been a nice way, but she knew exactly what a light touch when she’d manicured her nails did to him.

“What’s wrong?” She cooed. Garth making a soft noise that sounded vaguely like a snort had her whipping her head around to look at Dick with excitement she didn’t care to hide. He’s doing the thing!

With the way Garth carried himself, you wouldn’t think he snorted. If it were up to him, he absolutely would not, but he could really only control the volume of them. He pushed himself hard to break the silly habit, and despite concealing it better, they all knew he did it the most out of any of them when he laughed. Something about the disconnect between breathing underwater and breathing on the surface.

Wally had to at least try. “C’mon, be nice to him.”

Dick gave him a look. Could you sound any happier?

“I’m fihine…” Garth was still honest to a fault. He never understood how or why you had to play tough. He didn’t mind, and if it made everyone all warm and fuzzy, why should it matter?

“See? Maybe I’m being too nice.” Dick managed to tug his friend onto his front again. As he had to fight with Garth’s arms and hands to get at his tummy—the notorious chink in his armor—Dick’s own reluctant laughter mixed with the steady stream of giggles he’d been working towards all afternoon.

He began to jump around Garth’s side with a tasing motion. With tightly shut eyes and a back that arched away from the feeling, the Atlantean resigned.

“aHAH— okay, okay!”

Dick didn’t push. Donna had pulled away once there wasn’t a back to tickle anymore, but reached down to pat Garth’s shoulder. She pretended she didn’t notice his initial twitch. Feeling too embarrassed to cozy up with all of them right now, he pressed himself back into his spot.

Garth was, admittedly, confused. “I didn’t feel it as much as I used to.”

“I kinda thought so too.” In one blurred motion, Wally moved to sit on the floor nearby. “People can grow out of it sometimes. They aren’t invincible or anything, but I mean… kids are always super ticklish. What were we when we started? Like, twelve?”

Their ages varied, but tweens was close enough. “Something like that.”

“‘Grow out of it…’” Garth repeated to himself, brow furrowing.

“People like Roy and my brother try to say they aren’t ticklish anymore.” A scoff.

“But they’re usually lying.” Jason was a much more extreme case. He tried.

“Don’t bring me into your bullshit.”

“You’re not getting lonely over there?” Donna carded a hand through his hair. Roy stared, not at all happy that he’d been pacified, but pacified nonetheless. He scooted in closer.

“That’s… interesting.” Garth decided slowly how he felt about Dick’s personal example. He was momentarily quiet.

He shifted in his seat before admitting, “Nobody’s done that with me in so long.”

And while there was a raging storm of butterflies overtaking most of his torso, enough to almost make his head swim, he was so happy about it.

“Yeah, been way too long for me too.” Dick hummed. Garth was squinting at him. Don’t you do this all the time? “With you. It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten to pick on you.”

He didn’t know how to react. He gave a small smile and shake of his head. “You’re so weird.”

Straightening his posture, he couldn’t not notice it. Roy didn’t run his mouth like Wally did, but he was usually more active in a conversation than how he’d been. Their eyes locked.

There was the subtlest shift in Roy’s expression, something impish. He didn’t look away until Garth panicked and tapped out first. This couldn’t mean anything good.

***

It wasn’t impossible to tell if the shouting down the hall was good or bad shouting, but that didn’t mean anyone within range was less curious.

“What are you doing??” Garth’s voice shook with laughter.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Roy’s rebuttal was flawless. Everybody knew. Their roughhousing inched closer and closer to the living room until they came into view.

“He ambushed me!” Garth cried out to the nearest person. Roy was too busy pushing and shoving to respond to the accusation.

“I want a real win on you, tough guy. Not just something you ‘allow to happen.’” At least he explained before rendering Garth limp again with a tase against both sides.

Impressively, Roy then locked his arms around the other’s thighs and hauled him up into the air.

Wally shot Dick and Donna a look. Nobody understood how he was maintaining their center of gravity. He must have really wanted that ‘win,’ but of course capital R Roy did.

Garth must have not been used to being manhandled, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His squirming showed no signs of him being a competent fighter.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel any sort of way!” Bargaining.

“Well, you still did.” Roy adjusted his grip a final time.

“Anything else?”

“Wh… What—“ Even with all eyes on the two of them, their quiet friends near shriek of a squeal made everyone in the metaphorical audience jump.

Roy could be quiet, not like Garth was, but he kept to himself. A little crass when he did speak, lacking some sense of decorum. The ride or die, rough and tumble kind of guy who breaks your crimelord brother out of prison.

Winning was nice. They didn’t think he’d sacrifice his image and resort to taking Garth apart in the goofiest way possible: raspberries on his stomach with absolutely nowhere to go.

Could he have curled away? Maybe. But pulling backwards like that meant going down, generally, your brain will put some kind of psychological stop guard on that. Garth did pull in the little that he felt he could. Evidently, it was not enough. They hadn’t heard him laugh like that in a very long time.

“You’re crazy, you’re crazyYOURECRAZYAAH—“

“I’m dedicated.” Roy muttered. Those two words weren’t even a second of reprieve.

Visibly, the fight was leaving Garth. Kicking and pushing didn’t want to work, Roy knew for a fact he wasn’t going to stoop so low as to start pulling hair.

In tithers, he hung his head and crumpled. “I… I can’t do this—“ Garth said breathlessly.

Sounding so smug, Roy let up. “What was that?”

“Plehease…”

Needing a place to put him, Roy was approaching where everyone else had congregated in the living room.

“I know, I’m your hero. You can stop staring.” He dryly responded to the many eyes on him. Dick scoffed a laugh, highly skeptical.

Just for that, one more. An encore. Give Garth a little scare.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. A high pitched squeal and a, “Roy, NO! sTOPSTOP—“

With that was dropped onto the sofa. Oomf.

Wally was rubbing Garth’s back, eyes following his attacker with amusement and what may have been a little bit of fear.

“You feel better now?” Donna was being sarcastic.

“Where are they?” 

Something mischievous flashed through Jason’s eyes before he schooled his expression back into a mask of confusion and mild annoyance. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Dickhead.” 

Alfred, who hadn’t bothered to remind Dick to lower his voice, somehow managed to make a long-suffering sigh sound dignified as he kept stacking snickerdoodles into an airtight tupperware container. “Language, Master Jason.” 

“That’s his name,” Jason said, shrugging. When Alfred gave him a displeased look, he slumped a little. “Sorry, Alf.” 

“Careful, JayJay,” Dick teased. He took a single, slow step towards his little brother, grinning when Jason’s shoulders tensed. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll go easy on you. Unless you wanna just tell me now…” 

Jason gulped, swallowing down the rest of his cookie, and raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, maybe you’re going senile in your old age, okay? I never saw your shoes–”

Gotcha. Dick let his grin widen into a feral approximation of his Nightwing smile. “And I never said what I was looking for, now did I?” 

For a frozen second, Jason just stared at him, wide eyes and open mouth screaming “oh, shit” so loudly that Alfred could probably sense it. 

Then Dick lunged forwards and, even though Jason shrieked in surprise and glee and threw himself backwards into a scrabbling retreat, Dick latched onto his ankles and yanked. Despite Jason’s best efforts to wriggle free, he slid easily enough. 

“I can’t believe you,” Dick said, trying to sound scolding. It was hard to keep up a cranky facade when Jason’s self-assured smirk melted into a wide, cheesy grin as Dick darted his hands up to squeeze at his sides. “You’re such a little rat.” 

“Fuhuck off!” Jason yelped, trying unsuccessfully to writhe away from the ticklish squeezing. “Nohoho!” 

Dick cooed at him, just to see Jason’s ears go bright red as he ducked away. “Anything you wanna say?” 

“Never!” 

“Oh? Never?” Slowly, Dick started working his way down Jason’s sides, getting closer and closer to his hips. 

  With another shriek, Jason wrenched himself to the side in a last-ditch effort to slip free, cackling as he did. “Alfie! Alfie, he-hehehelp!” 

Alfred clicked his tongue. “Your brother seems to have the situation well in hand, Master Jason.” 

“Thanks, Alfred!” Dick said. He slid his fingertips under the hem of Jason’s shirt to scrabble right above his hips. 

“Dickie!” Jason shouted before dissolving into hiccupy peals of laughter. He smacked at Dick’s sternum with all the force of a newborn kitten, wheezing incoherent protests out between laughs. One of his curls flopped over his forehead, right between his eyes, and it was stupidly adorable.  

“C’mon, Jaybird,” Dick murmured, leaning forward to crowd his brother against the countertop. “I could keep tickling you all evening, work up a good reserve of baby brother giggles.” 

When Jason finally flopped backwards, limp from the exertion of all that laughing, Dick went in for the kill. He drilled his thumbs into Jason’s hipbones, alternating rhythms on each side, and Jason spasmed like he’d been tasered. 

“Nonohoho–Do NAHAHAT!”  his voice rose to a shriek as he tried to kick Dick in the torso, failing miserably to coordinate his limbs. 

“Shoes?” Dick asked brightly. He loosened his grip just enough for Jason to curl onto one side and crap his arms around his knees. “Aww lookit, a ticklish little pillbug.” 

Keeping one hand on Jason’s exposed hip, Dick scribbled his other fingers up and around Jason’s lower back, earning some high-pitched yelps for his troubles. Jason buried his face in his knees, his still-scrawny form shuddering through waves of snickers and cackles as Dick kept tickling. 

“Are all pillbugs this ticklish?” Dick mused aloud. “Or just the shoe-stealing ones? Or…” he reached down to claw at Jason’s stomach in the center of his tangled limbs. “Are you actually a giggle bug?” 

Jason’s head jerked up and he let out a sudden stream of bright giggles. Flushing, he quickly hid his face again, muffled giggles still escaping from his defensive posture. 

“Fuhuck y-y-you!” 

“Sorry, Little Wing, couldn't hear you with all that giggling.” 

For the next several minutes, Dick kept alternating between poking at the soft baby fat around Jason's stomach and skittering up and down his spine. He laughed as Jason snorted and yelped and giggled, despite staying curled up into a tight little ball the entire time. 

Dick fluttered his fingers around the nape of Jason's neck. “Had enough yet, bud?”

In response, Jason just twitched his shoulders up to try and protect his neck. His ears were still bright red. “Y-you should – ack! Should stahahay!”

Oh. 

Okay, Dick's heart might actually have melted into a puddle of warm goo. He smiled down at Jason, scritching between his shoulder blades in the spot that always relaxed his little brother, and hummed when Jason's arms loosened up around his knees. 

“Is that what all this was about? You could just ask, Jay. I love hanging out with you.”

“Shut up.” Jason didn't make a move to get off the counter, or sit up. 

Dick reached out to smooth a few stray curls out of Jason’s sweaty, flushed face. He couldn't help but coo, even though Jason glowered at him for doing it. 

“Alf,” Dick said. “D'ya think B would mind if I stayed an extra night?” 

Alfred's eyes crinkled at the corners as he gave Dick a fond, if a tad exasperated, smile. “I do not think he would mind at all, Master Dick.” 

━━━━━━━━━━

Jason eyed his quarry from across the living room as he formulated his plan of attack. While he'd been known to hide Dick's shoes every now and then, Jason was utterly unprepared for the day he found his own boots missing. 

At first, he'd assumed Dick had done it as some kind of delayed payback, because that was exactly the kind of thing Dick would do and think he was being funny. 

Except Dick was currently at the Clocktower with Babs working on fuck all, probably, and he'd sworn up and down that he hadn't done it. 

That left Tim, who sat on the couch with a box of tissues and three different blankets, valiantly trying to kick the dregs of a nasty cold while watching some old British detective show. 

The way Jason saw it, he had a couple options. One was to just take the L and go home shoeless, but that wasn't happening. The second option meant playing into Tim's game, and the brat looked sniffly and pathetic enough that Jason didn't mind. Besides, it was about time for him to start working on prying the Favorite Brother title away from Dickhead. 

He leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat. “Hey, Timbit.”

Tim paused his tv show, perking up when he saw Jason (and if that made something far too sappy squeeze behind Jason's sternum, that was his business alone). “Hey! Thought you'd left.”

Jason…probably wouldn't get sick, what with the immune defenses from living in and around Crime Alley. And even if he did, it was just a cold. He ambled over to sit beside Tim on the couch, flopping down with more force than usual just to jostle his baby brother around.

“Yeah, well. Hard to go anywhere without my fuckin’ boots, isn't it?” 

Tim's brows knitted together and he shot Jason a sideways, confused glance. If not for the faint pink spots rising to his cheeks, Jason would fully believe that Tim had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. Christ, the brat was gonna grow up into an absolute menace. 

“Did you move them?” Tim asked, and despite the runny nose and the pile of tissues nearby he somehow managed to sound genuinely curious.

Scratch the growing-up part, he was already an absolute menace to polite society at large and Jason in particular. 

Jason tried not to let his mouth twitch upwards as he sighed, lifting one elbow up to rest on Tim's shoulder. “Funny thing is, Tim-Tac, I didn't.” 

When Tim hummed acknowledgement, a barely-there grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Fascinating.”

Jason poked the side of his face and Tim's smile widened as he weasled out of reach. “Fascinating? Is that all ya got, birdie?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Tim said loftily. “And apropos of absolutely nothing, if you'll be sticking around, we could watch the Star Wars Holiday Special.”

Oh, fuck. 

Jason winced because he had promised that they'd do that this weekend. Neither he nor Tim had ever seen the infamous special, but they'd bonded over their love of self-inflicted cinematic pain. He’d been looking forward to it. 

“We could,” he agreed. 

Tim settled back into his corner of the couch. “Maybe I can help you find your shoes afterwards.” 

“Yeah, right. You probably put them through the shredder.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Tim said, flashing him a small, mischievous grin. “They’re probably closer than you think.”

See, this was why letting Tim get the upper hand was always a mistake. The overgrown gremlin liked to pull the mysterious schtick to pique everyone’s interest and keep them on the hook, only to come out swinging with something abso-fucking-lutely insane. 

Jason found himself suddenly concerned about the fate of his shoes. “What did you do with them?” 

“I’m not telling you,” Tim replied. “And I’m sick, so Dick said you can’t beat me up about it.” 

Fair enough. Unfortunately.

 “Did Dickwing put you up to this?” 

“He might’ve given me some suggestions.” 

Jason shifted sideways on the couch to face Tim better. After a couple seconds, Tim’s eyes flickered over to him, and Jason let himself smirk. 

“I’m not gonna wrestle you,” he said, leaning closer. “But there are other ways of making you talk, giggle brat – oh, you’re surprised, that’s real damn funny–” 

Too bundled up to easily skitter away, Tim just shrank into his mound of blankets and snot as best he could. He started snickering at Jason’s failed efforts to worm his fingers underneath the layers of fabric. 

Jason let the corner of his mouth tug upwards when Tim flipped him off and stuck his tongue out like the childish brat he was. “You’re cocky for such a ticklish little shit, Tim-Tac.” 

A challenging glint flashed through Tim’s smile. “And you’re going soft.” 

Instead of answering, Jason renewed his attack with grit and determination, fighting to tug layers of fleecy fabric away while Tim just cackled. Finally, once Jason gave up on pulling all the blankets away, he just dragged Tim into a snotty, tissue-laden headlock. Since the kid was still sick, even though he wasn’t dying or anything like it, Jason didn’t want to make him laugh too much. He started out fluttering his spare hand around Tim’s neck and collarbones. 

“You’ll never find them!” Tim yelped as he tried to hunch his shoulders up, snickering. 

Jason leaned back on his heels, dragging Tim along and away from some of his blankets. Startled, Tim flailed his arms out for balance, giving Jason the perfect opportunity to dart his hand into Tim’s armpit. 

That got him a familiar screech-laugh as Tim lurched sideways, a giant grin splitting his face while he tried to throw himself facedown between Jason and the back of the couch. 

“Ge–gehet out of thehehere!” he shouted. 

“You get out of there,” Jason snarked back. He used his leverage to pull Tim away from his attempt at hiding. “Or, tell me where my shoes are, you fucker–hey!” 

Tim bit him on the forearm. Bit him. 

Of course Jason jerked, because he wasn’t expecting his baby brother to gnaw on him like a teething kitten, and Tim used the split-second distraction to surge forward again. He would’ve succeeded if Jason hadn’t pulsed his fingers against his upper ribs. Tim yelped again, then dissolved into high-pitched, breathless gasps of laughter.

“Why,” Jason growled as if he wasn’t grinning like Dick a dumbass, “Do you always bite, huh?” He abandoned his loosened hold in favor of digging into Tim's opposite side. “You never gnaw on Dickhead or B, but oh, okay, Jason gets chewed up. Jason gets rabies shots. Jason gets – don't you dare!” 

             Tim snapped his teeth at Jason's right hand, but Jason yanked his fingers to safety just in time to avoid getting chomped. In retaliation, he used his thumb and index fingers to pinch that spot near the back of Tim’s lowest rib, wiggling his fingertips in little circles. It wasn’t nearly as mean as he could’ve been – sick kid privilege and all – but that didn’t stop Tim from wheezing like a dying man through frantic wild and squeaky laughs. 

Man, Dick would hate that he missed this. 

“Jase,” Tim squeaked. He squirmed in an attempt to free himself, but this time the heap of blankets worked against him. 

“Yeah, Timmers? Anything ya wanna tell me?” 

After Tim had gotten a couple more false starts, Jason eased up on the tickling enough for him to catch his breath. Tilting his head back against Jason’s shoulder, Tim grinned up at him, eyes full of giddy mischief. 

“I only–” 

Jason cocked a skeptical brow and Tim snickered. 

“I only bite zombies.”  

For a second, Jason just stared at him, utterly stunned by the rare experience of being on the receiving end of a Robin Signature Quip. Damn, the kid was good. Jason hadn’t even considered the potential of zombie-related jokes, Bruce would hate them – definitely something worth looking into.

But Tim looked far too pleased with himself for that one, which couldn’t stand. After all, Jason was still the aggrieved party, here, and this was his kid brother. 

Faster than Tim could dodge, Jason hooked his hands under Tim’s arms and lifted, tossing him back over his own shoulder like a sack of laundry. Tim squeaked, surprised, and immediately started kicking. While he kept himself busy pretending to struggle, Jason wrapped his arm around Tim’s hips to anchor him and used his free hand to shove his oversized t-shirt up.

“Wait!” Tim shouted. “Waitwaitwait, Jase –” 

Jason didn’t wait. 

The first raspberry on Tim’s ribs made him jolt with the ferocity of a startled horse. The second one got panicked, hiccupy laughter that rushed out of him in wild droves. By the third, fourth, and fifth, Tim had gone limp, helplessly squeaking out laughs while Jason balanced them in the world’s worst partner gymnastics pose.  

“How’s it going, Timbers?” he asked. 

A weak fist thumped against his shoulders, more of a token protest than anything else.

“You’re th’worst,” Tim stuttered out. “So bad.” 

“It tickles bad?” Jason grinned. “Good.” 

Suddenly, from the doorway, someone cleared their throat. Jason would recognize that deep, baritone rumble anywhere, even in a cough. 

His face warmed as he looked over at Bruce, finding him standing in the doorway. The amused tilt of his mouth confirmed that he’d been there for a while to observe their antics, and Jason couldn’t help the twisting feeling of being caught out.  

“B!” Tim shouted, stretching one of his hands out. “Help me!” 

Chuckling softly, Bruce made his way over to them with something clasped in his hands. When he neared, Jason saw that he was holding two very familiar boots that appeared to have been tied together by the laces.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bruce said, mild tone belied by the warm twinkle in his gaze. “I stumbled across these beneath my desk and wanted to be sure to restore them to their owner.” 

“Thanks,” Jason replied. He found himself grinning despite the lingering sense of awkwardness. It had been a long time since 

After gently setting his boots next to the coffee table, Bruce straightened up and gathered Tim into his arms, allowing Jason to fall back against the couch armrest. 

“Hey,” Tim muttered, but he didn’t look too disappointed. “I was hiding those.” 

“Just remind me next time, birdie-brat.” 

Tim shrugged as best as he could while still being held like a baby. “This worked, I got what I wanted.” 

Jason raised his eyebrows and shared a meaningful look with Bruce, whose face was doing that melty thing it often did whenever his kids weren’t actively causing property damage or trying to kill each other. 

“Sure did. You joining us, old man?” 

━━━━━━━━━━

Okay, Tim knew that he hadn’t been the best about keeping track of his belongings lately, but surely he wasn’t that far gone enough to lose his shoes. Both of them, too, not just one. One could have been an accident, but two? No. Surely not. 

He set his backpack down next to the front door, then spun around, hands on his hips, to assess the list of possible suspects. The shoe-stealing thing was, well, a thing – at least with Jason and Dick. Supposedly Dick had started it back when he was little, and had dutifully passed the prank down to his younger brothers. Speaking of which, it had been ages since Tim had taken Dick’s shoes, he should get on that – 

– another time. Dick wasn’t even at the Manor, anyways. 

Right. Suspects. 

Bruce was in his study and had been for the lion’s share of the day. He’d been groggy from an obscenely late night, even by Batman’s normal standards, so that meant he probably wasn’t in the mood for messing around with his kids. Besides, shoe-stealing wasn’t usually his move. 

Alfred? Never. He had much more efficient ways to convince Tim to stick around. Maybe he’d taken Tim’s shoes to clean…? But they had been clean. Or, clean-ish, at any rate. Standard skatepark converse, well-worn but not gross. And he’d let Tim know if he had. 

Jason was somewhere in northern Canada with the Outlaws. Dick was back in Bludhaven. That just left… 

But Damian wouldn’t. Pranks and practical jokes were still new for him, he hadn’t really participated so far. So, no. He wouldn’t have any reason to take Tim’s shoes. 

Would he? 

Well, if Dick put him up to it… actually, there might be something to that line of deduction. 

Tim nodded decisively for no one’s benefit but his own before heading towards the last place he’d seen Damian, sitting in the library window seat. 

Sure enough, Damian was still there, preoccupied between his sketchpad and his phone. The way his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth meant that he was focused, so Tim hesitated to interrupt him right away. He settled for stopping a few feet away, making sure his footsteps were loud enough to announce his approach, and waited for Damian’s acknowledgement. 

A couple seconds later, Damian set down his pencil. When he looked up at Tim, he raised his eyebrows. “Do you need something?” 

With Damian, the direct approach was usually the best. 

Tim closed the distance, made sure Damian shut his sketchpad, then shoved his legs off the window seat to sit next to him. Grumbling to himself, Damian rolled his eyes, but didn’t otherwise protest. 

“Maybe I just want to spend time with my baby brother,” Tim said. Since he was a gracious and magnanimous sibling, he patted his lap. “You can kick your legs back up, I don’t mind.” 

“Excellent.” Damian did just that and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re finally useful.” 

For that, Tim ruffled his hair until it flopped over his eyes, much to Damian’s chagrin. “There’s a new vegetarian restaurant near the skate park I usually go to. The window promo says this Monday was the official opening.” 

“...Oh?” 

“Yeah. I looked them up on instagram and apparently their whole deal is working with the new urban farming initiative. Part of their profits go to the farm animal resettlement group you like.” 

Damian fidgeted with his pencil, a small smile playing at his mouth. “Thank you for telling me.” 

Seeing him happy, Tim grinned, too. “Wanna go tomorrow evening?” 

“Yes – oh, no.” Several conflicting emotions did open battle on Damian’s face – excitement, disappointment, resignation. Sighing, Damian looked over at Tim with the faintest traces of despondence that, for him, practically counted as puppy-dog eyes. “Tomorrow is the wretched Wayne gala.” 

“And?” Tim waggled his eyebrows. It was fun being an older brother. “We’ll skip it. You’ve gotta ditch a gala at least once a year, Dames, it’s practically a requirement in this house.” 

“Tt.” 

Pushing just a tad further, Tim continued, “I already have reservations.”

That seemed to solidify Damian’s thoughts, and he nodded once with a real, genuine smile. “Alright.”

Now, onto the main reason Tim had hunted him down. “Y’know, most restaurants don’t let customers in without shoes, Damian.” 

Damian had a superb poker face, but Tim was watching closely and saw his cheek twitch as he schooled his face back into a neutral mask. “Are your random facts always so riveting, Timothy?” 

“Dami. Dames. Baby Bat.” Tim grabbed both of his knees. He didn’t squeeze yet, just kept his hands there, but it was enough to make Damian go utterly still. “I’d think carefully about your next words.” 

“You–you’re–” 

“Your favorite brother?” Tim winked at him, channeling everything he’d learned from Dick. He pulsed two quick squeezes into the muscles just above Damian’s kneecaps. “Thanks.” 

Even though Tim had barely tickled him, Damian still folded in half, reaching out to try and pry Tim’s fingers off. “Do not–” 

It was easy to let Damian pry one of his hands loose, only to dart it up under his outstretched arm. Damian shouted, crumpling to one side, as Tim wriggled his fingers into his armpit. 

“Don’t what? This? Or this?” For the latter question, Tim squeezed at the knee he still held captive, then scribbled over the top. 

With a gasp, Damian cracked, finally letting out the stuttering laughter he’d been holding at bay. “Nei–hehether!” 

He was just so cute when his whole face crinkled like that, especially his nose. Tim smiled as he switched tactics, clawing into the center of Damian’s stomach with one hand, while his other slipped down to skitter across the back of his knee. 

“You’re a ticklish little thief, aren’t you?” he teased, cooing when the question made Damian’s cheeks darken. 

Damian furiously shook his head, trying to pull his legs up to his chest and shove Tim’s hand away from his stomach at the same time. Instead, he overbalanced and toppled sideways, landing curled towards Tim. 

“I could ask you again,” Tim said, musing aloud as he walked his fingers up to Damian’s exposed side and made several wiggling pokes into the squishy spots there. “But you already know what I’m looking for.” 

Damian gave a rather giggly yelp, then dissolved into rapidfire giggles when Tim used his blunted nails to keep tickling behind his knee, too. “Drake!” 

“Oof. Back to last names?” 

“Shut uhup!” 

“Aww, such happy giggles. Y’know, I was blind to the healing powers of baby brother giggles,” and even saying those three words out loud still made Tim’s face heat up, “But then you came along and enlightened me.” 

Damian just laughed and clasped his arms over his chest, hunching his shoulders up. He’d squeezed his eyes shut, too, which really made Tim’s heart squeeze in his chest. 

So, he almost felt bad when he moved the hand on Damian’s knee up to whisper fluttering tickles over his ear and neck. Damian shrieked, then, and tried to roll away, but Tim flung one of his legs over both of Damian’s to keep him in place. 

They all knew that Damian’s neck and ears were two of his worst spots, which held fascinating potential for belying some of Bruce’s spots, too, but Tim was waiting until he could rope one of his older brothers in for help before conducting the field research on that. He wasn’t sure if the others also knew that featherlight scribbles right under Damian’s jawline got some of the sweetest, bubbliest giggles that Tim had ever heard. Tim wasn’t going to just sell out Damian to the tender, tease-y mercies of their other family members – well, not yet, anyways – so right now, those giggles were secret. 

“See? You’re adding years back to my life, little bat. So giggly and ticklish.” 

Yes, pots and kettles, but Tim so rarely got to be on this side of the equation. Might as well enjoy it before Dick materialized out of nowhere saying something about Timmy tummy tickles, which – okay, might not be so bad, but it was about principle. 

And Damian wasn’t even trying to escape! He had at least four different openings if he’d really wanted to get free. Despite all his grouching and huffing, he was perfectly happy to be there. 

“Plehehease!” Damian finally caved, flinging his hands up to cover his neck. He blinked hard with watery blue eyes and Tim felt a near-physical compulsion to lean down and kiss his forehead. 

“Shoes, Dami-Dames?” 

“Underyourbed,” he gasped, residual snickers still shaking his slight frame.  

Victory!  

Tim disentangled his leg from Damians’ then carefully shifted his baby brother aside so he could stand up and stretch, releasing some of the tension from his upper back. A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was nearly eight, which meant that sunset had come and gone. Yeah, too late to go practice at the skatepark, which is what he’d been on his way to do in the first place. And if his shoes were already upstairs… 

He turned back towards Damian, who’d rolled onto his back to watch him, and swiftly scooped him off the cushion before Damian could evade him. For a twelve-year-old, Damian had more than his fair share of lean, dense muscle, but Tim could still carry him easily enough. That was part of the whole older brother thing, after all. 

“Unhand me,” Damian hissed. It would’ve sounded better if he hadn’t also been sleepy. 

“Nope. If I’m going up to get my shoes, you’re coming with me. Audiobook and milk tea?” 

After considering the offer, Damian sighed far too dramatically, then nodded. “Fine.” 

“And Nightwing’s gonna be in Gotham tonight, so Bruce would be thrilled if we both stayed in.” It would be hard convincing Damian to play hooky two nights in a row, but Tim was nothing if not tenacious. 

To his surprise, Damian agreed. 

“Timothy.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Richard keeps a pair of slippers in his locker, does he not?” 

Tim grinned wide enough to make his cheek muscles twinge. “This is why you’re my favorite baby brother.” 

“I am your only–”

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.” 

“Hey, Tim,” Bruce said, gesturing for Clark to hold on a minute. “Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?” 

It seemed to take a couple seconds for the question to register, but eventually Tim gave a rather jerky nod and inched a little further into the study. 

“Wanted to see you,” he murmured, muffling a yawn with the back of his hand. “Can’t sl’p.” 

“You can always come see me,” Bruce replied. “I’m on a work call with Clark, but you can stay as long as you want.” 

With another nod, Tim stepped all the way past the door and went to make himself comfortable. He’d probably plop down in one of the overstuffed armchairs near the fireplace, where he usually camped out whenever he was keeping Bruce company in the study. Privately, Bruce was thrilled that TIm had come to hang out, even if he was under the weather. It was always wonderful to have him in the office, even if they were working on completely different projects. Tim’s quiet company and occasional witty, biting remarks were some of the highlights of Bruce’s professional life.  

“We can reschedule if you need,” Clark offered, his voice crackling in Bruce’s earpiece. “Kon’s here today, too. I get it.” 

Bruce glanced back at the monitor and shook his head. “No, today is still fine, Tim’s home recovering from a nasty bout of the flu. He should be–”

Just then, Tim crawled into his lap like a cat. Bruce froze. 

Clark, the bastard, started laughing. 

As Bruce wrapped one of his arms around Tim’s back to help him balance while Tim arranged himself comfortably, he noticed two key details. The first was that Tim smelled strongly of artificial cherry, and the only medicine in the house with that particular cloying scent was the cough syrup with codeine. Alfred must have given him some to help with the hacking cough that, despite Tim’s insistence to the contrary, couldn’t have been comfortable. Being dosed up with cough syrup probably explained the second detail, which was that the blanket Tim held wrapped around himself was not a blanket after all. It was Batman’s cape. 

Bruce rubbed a corner of the cape between his fingers, just to be sure. Maybe all the ribbing from Clark and Diana about how he was turning into a giant softmallow for his kids had something to it after all.  “How did you get a hold of this?” 

With a sleepy hum, Tim just pressed closer and nuzzled his (cold, runny) nose against Bruce’s neck. “I have ways.” 

Chuckling, Bruce pressed a kiss to the top of his kid’s rumpled, snarly hair. Ways, indeed. He shifted Tim’s weight to wheel the chair back within a reasonable distance of his computer. In the video call window, Clark grinned like the cat who’d gotten the canary, the cream, and a million dollars to boot. 

“Not a word,” Bruce warned even though he knew it was a moot point. 

Clark raised his eyebrows, suddenly guileless. “Did you hear me say anything?” 

Deciding not to even acknowledge that, Bruce simply continued onwards. “He’s sleeping off some cough syrup.” 

“Are you good to continue the interview, then?” 

“Sure.” Maybe having Tim’s warm, solid weight in his arms would make the whole thing a little more bearable.  

They finished the interview, Clark asking appropriately leading questions as Bruce did his best to wax eloquent about the merits of the new technical school and its accompanying program. It was hard not to get distracted when Tim started snoring, most likely from his lingering congestion. Gently adjusting the angle of Tim’s head seemed to help, though, even though his brow furrowed into a pout when Bruce tried to let go of him. 

“That should be good,” Clark said at last. Onscreen, he set down his pencil and pushed the notepad away from him. “Thanks for taking the time, B.” 

“Always,” Bruce replied. Though tired, he cracked a more genuine smile and nodded down at Tim. “Thanks for your patience.” 

Clark’s eyes twinkled as he grinned and reached forwards to adjust the angle of his own camera. The view into his own office wobbled upwards, then tilted down to show the ancient loveseat that was crammed up against the wall beside the door. That couch had been purloined from the Planet’s old breakroom when they’d moved offices. It was Clark’s one act of rebellion against upper management. 

Now, the cushions were barely visible because Connor Kent was sprawled across them. He was tall enough that, even with his head laying on the armrest, his feet hung off the opposite end. Like Tim, he was asleep. Unlike Tim, he was drooling. 

“Like I said,” Clark said from out of view. “I get it.” 

As the view swooped again while Clark replaced his laptop, Tim shifted around and yawned, bringing one of his hands up to rub his eyes. 

“You’re in the study,” Bruce said to him. 

“Hnn.” 

Clark sucked in a breath. “Aw, he speaks Bat-grunt. That’s adorable.” 

“Shut up,” Bruce told him. 

Meanwhile, Tim blinked rapidly as he grasped his bearings, then sat up and stretched his arms over his head, seeming much more alert. Suddenly he stiffened and tried to whirl around, but almost pitched over onto the carpet. 

“Easy there, sweetheart,” Bruce murmured. He tightened his grip on Tim’s waist and kept him from toppling sideways. 

“I interrupted your meeting,” Tim hissed, looking up at him with wild eyes. “By climbing on you and falling asleep.” 

Bruce brushed a strand of hair out of his kid’s face. “It was sweet.”

“It’s embarrassing!” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw someone else slide into frame beside Clark. He turned off his wireless headset so that Tim could hear Kon, who'd woken up and was now leaning over Clark’s shoulder. 

“For what it’s worth,” Clark offered. “It was sweet.” 

All that did was make Tim groan and hide his face against Bruce’s collarbone with a sworn promise to never come out ever again. 

“How ya feelin, Rob?” Kon asked with a smirk that was audible in his voice. 

Still not emerging from his burrow, Tim twisted one of his arms behind him to make an obscene gesture at his friend. It took a surprising amount of resolve for Bruce to refrain from rolling his eyes, but instead he pinched Tim’s side. 

“Language.” 

Startled, Tim squeaked, but he glowered up at Bruce with a dark blush staining his face. “I didn’t say anything!” 

“Gestures count. That’s always been Alfred’s rule.” 

Tim muttered something unintelligible and probably unflattering, then resumed his best approximation of what Dick usually called “burrowing gremlin behavior.” Now, that wouldn’t do. 

“No hiding,” Bruce said. He poked Tim a little higher up in-between his lower ribs. “Don’t you want to talk to Kon?” 

Kon evidently knew what Bruce was trying to do – good lad – and perked up, saying, “Yeah, Tim, talk to me!” 

“Noooo,” Tim replied as best he could while squirming as Bruce brought his other hand up to tease at his other set of ribs. “Uncle Clahahark, ma–make him stohohop!” 

Whatever Clark said in reply got drowned out when Bruce leaned forward to give Tim a sudden flurry of ticklish nibbles and raspberries around his neck and chin, earning Bruce a loud squeak and frantic, high-pitched laughter for his exertions. That tactic had a hundred-percent success rate on each of his sons, especially at times like this when Bruce hadn’t shaved in a couple days. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Bruce teased, abandoning his hold on Tim’s ribs to dig into his stomach. “You’ve got an awfully ticklish belly here, who knows when the tickle monster might get hungry.” 

Tim shrieked when Bruce kept letting his hands crawl up and down Tim’s ribs in teasing skitters too. Wriggling rather ferociously, Tim managed to slide down a couple inches until his feet were flat against the carpet, but it didn’t seem like his legs were up to the task of standing. 

Blushing a brilliant shade of scarlet, Tim just threw back his head and giggled helplessly Bruce poked, prodded, and wheedled his fingers into every ticklish nook and cranny he could find. 

“Hey,” Kon said. Since Tim was in no shape to look at the monitor, Bruce did instead. Leaning forward, palms planted on the desktop, Connor continued, “I can’t understand him, Bruce, and he’s supposed to be talking to me. Please, I’m so bored. Clark’s old and annoying and – oh fuck, waitwaitIDIDN’TMEHEHEAN IT!” 

All Bruce could see were Clark’s hands coming into view as they squeezed at Kon’s sides and worked upwards under his arms. When Kon snorted through his laughter and collapsed, his knees folding like wet paper, Clark stood behind him, brow tilted in a manner that promised both affection and mischief. 

“He’s too ticklish to be out here saying things like that,” Clark said. He had to raise his voice over the sound of Kon’s stuttering, wild laughter. 

That sounded like Bruce’s own kids, and he nodded in sympathy. “Gotta keep them on their toes.” 

“Sure do,” Clark agreed. He ducked out of sight and did something that made Kon screech out waves of panicked laughter, kicking his feet out in desperate attempts to alleviate some of the ticklish feelings. 

Since Tim had been sick and was still healing, Bruce wasn’t going to take this little game too much further. Sending him into a fit of coughs that just irritated his lungs more would hardly be productive, and would rain down Alfred’s legendary disapproval. Even as a grown adult and feared vigilante, there were some things Bruce would still avoid at all possible costs. 

As Tim’s giggles pitched up when Bruce scratched over the twin spots beside his navel, Bruce leaned down to speak directly into his ear even though the vibrations from his voice would probably send Tim into another squeaking fit. 

“I always want you here,” he said softly. “Work meetings or otherwise. Crawling up to sit with me or crouching on top of my bookshelf like a gargoyle. Sick or healthy.You never need to be embarrassed about coming to find me, Timmy.”

“Yeah,” Tim squeaked out. “I – I knohohohohow, I prahahamise!” His eyes scrunched shut as he shook his head like he was trying to shake off the inevitable ticklish feelings.  

Bruce gave him one more raspberry into the crook of his neck. Just for fun. And because the way Tim’s laughter bubbled out of him tugged at Bruce’s heart. 

“Okay,” he said. In the next couple minutes, he slowed the speed of his tickling until he was resting his palms on Tim’s stomach and Tim was busy catching his breath between residual fits of snickers. 

Meanwhile, onscreen, Kon was laughing himself silly while Clark had him trapped in a backwards hug and was tickling up and down his flanks in unpredictable movements that kept startling Kon into snorting. This was the first time Bruce had seen the younger Kryptonian laugh like that, all wild and unrestrained. It was clear that, as much as Kon complained, he looked up to Clark immensely. 

And Clark, in return, was getting more confident with his role in Kon’s life. They were good for each other. 

“Oh.” Tim shifted forwards, squinting at the screen. “Good. Clark, don’t listen, he’s enjoying himself.” 

“Alright,” Bruce reached out to end the call as Kon shouted something that sounded like a giggle-mangled death threat. “Don’t torment him, it isn’t nice.” 

As Tim settled back against him, he gave Bruce a tired, happy smile. “I’m just stating facts, Bruce.” 

“What time is it?” Bruce asked. 

Tim leaned over him to squint at the clock, jostling Damian in the process. “Little after 8. Dick’s gonna be here around 9.”

“Hn.” Like every morning, Bruce began mentally running through the set of tasks that would immediately confront him upon getting up. If almost two decades as Dick's father had taught Bruce anything, it was that his eldest would be running about fifteen minutes late. He'd always struggled to get himself moving in the mornings…maybe that was an inheritable trait, lack of shared genetics notwithstanding. So, Dick would probably arrive any time between 9:15 and 9:30. That left plenty of time to wake up, shower, stretch, have coffee…or, plenty of time to appreciate the fact that his youngest two sons were currently too groggy to be crashing around the Manor like a pair of ferrets. 

Damian shifted with a soft snrk-ing noise and peered up at Bruce, who could practically see the gears turning in his brain as he worked to reorient himself upon waking up. 

“Hey, sleepy bat,” Tim said, stretching his arm across Bruce to poke Damian’s forehead. “Someone was tired.”

Damian’s sleepy features morphed into a scowl. “It’s Father’s fault.”

When Tim turned an inquisitive look at Bruce, he shrugged as best he could with Damian still on his left shoulder. “I’m sure I don’t know what he means, Tim.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah, right.” 

Temporarily mollified, Damian rolled onto his side and yawned. “You cheat.”

“Oh,” Tim said with a Cheshire grin that was much too similar to Dick’s. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and leaned forward against Bruce’s other arm. “Dad would never.”

Bruce barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Unfortunately for all of them, Tim had mastered the smarmy innocent voice back when he hit puberty. That was another thing he’d gotten from Dick.

“I was perfectly able to stay up,” Damian said, then yawned and undercut his own point. “He employed underhanded methods to constrain me here.” 

Tim sighed with fake sympathy. “Yeah, I was also kidnapped.” 

“You invited yourself in,” Bruce said, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. 

The smile Tim gave him was sparkling, borderline angelic. “Tehnically, you invited me. I just stayed.” 

Bruce shook his head, ruffling Tim’s already-tangled hair into even more of a mess as Tim squawked and tried to smack his hand away. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

“Ssh,” Damian hissed. He adjusted his posture to put more of his weight on Bruce’s arm. “If you are going to imprison me, at least let me sleep.”

“I dunno, Dames,” Tim said. “Looks like you’re the one who’s got him stuck.”

“Tt.”

When Bruce started to say that he did actually need to get up and start the morning, Tim cut him off by digging a single hand into his side, squeezing. Bruce was – well, unprepared didn’t begin to describe it – and instinct took over, making him wince away with a short laugh.

Well, shit. 

“Hah!” Tim looked much too pleased with himself, delight sparkling behind his bright eyes. “Take that, cheater. Damian, stay where you are.” 

“Ti-Timothy,” Bruce said, his voice actually hitching when Tim poked him in the ribs. He'd been trying for something in the neighborhood of Batman's authoritative timber, not that Tim had ever been dissuaded from much by the Batman Voice. 

At his shoulder, Damian rolled over, and suddenly Bruce found himself with his youngest kid halfway sprawled across his chest, and – well, Damian certainly wasn’t bulky, but he’d started coming into his fair share of lean muscle. He was dense. Plus, he was apparently pretending that he wasn’t doing anything unusual, as if Damian voluntarily choosing to cuddle wasn’t a bonafide miracle, so he just pressed his face into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder and made himself into a compact weight. 

Bruce ruffled his hair even as he cringed away from the incessant prodding and wriggling at his ribs, while Tim just kept grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Now you start listening to your brot-heher.”  

“Surely I don’t know what you speak of,” Damian muttered, and the vibrations of his voice tickled. Damn it.

Bruce felt his lips twitching despite his best efforts to keep his face still. 

“He’s gonna crack,” Tim said. He probably wasn’t intentionally referencing how Bruce had teased Damian the previous evening, but still. “Y’know, not even Dick or Jason actually managed to –” 

His fingers wandered across that particularly sensitive spot right towards the front of Bruce’s middle ribs, and the jolting sensation had Bruce snorting out a bark of laughter. 

“There!” Tim focused in on that spot, smirking as he worried at it with the tips of his fingers, mapping out the whole little area. “Wow, B, you’re worse than I thought you’d be.”

“You’re–” Now unable to pretend that he wasn’t grinning, Bruce pressed his free hand over his mouth to hide the strained laughter that wanted to escape. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had tickled him, really tickled him, since he was at least a decade younger. Even Jason and Dick’s attempts back when they’d been teenagers had felt like tiny minnows trying to gnaw on a barracuda, and Bruce had been able to brush them off. It had irritated his oldest two to no end, but eventually they’d given up. The younger ones, however…

Well, maybe Bruce was softening up a little. But in his defense, Dick and Jason would’ve never thought to ambush him like this. 

“Hey,” Tim scolded, darting one hand up to scrabble under Bruce’s arm. “You never let me hide, so you don’t get to either. It isn’t fair.” He tried to scowl, but that giddy smile broke through his efforts. 

The scratching in his armpit made Bruce jerk, a full-body flinch, as he instinctively clamped his elbow to his side. It was reflex, and a poor one at that – Tim just wiggled his trapped fingers and snickered as Bruce’s face spasmed. 

“You’re literally so ticklish.” The snarky, teasing tone from Tim – who would really need all that smugness exorcised in the near future – did, unfortunately, make the ticking feel worse. 

Bruce began to say something, to tell Tim that he was only digging his own grave, but then smaller, slightly clumsier fingers started prodding around his waistline, and whatever he had intended to say was replaced with a burst of laughter. 

“Yeah, Dames, get him!” Tim encouraged. 

God, it was bad. Squeezing his eyes shut, Bruce pressed his head back into the pillows beneath him and resigned himself to his fate as his two youngest, his babies, his children scritched and scrabbled and poked over every inch of his torso that they could reach. 

Despite the fact that his brain was crashing in about twelve different ways trying to process the long-forgotten ticklish feelings, Bruce was deeply, secretly overjoyed that his kids were goofing off like this. Apparently a full night’s sleep was all it took to put Damian in the right mood to join in on the more playful moments without being dragged kicking and screaming – or maybe it was Tim, whose mischievous grins and laughs were always contagious. Either way, Bruce delighted in his children, always, but times like these made all that delight, affection, and love coalesce into a burning little kernel inside his chest that blazed like warm whiskey in the dead of winter’s cold. 

“Damian,” he said, laughter making his voice shake. “Not you too!” 

“I am simply exploring new possibilities,” Damian replied, but he turned his head just enough to give Bruce a smirk. “Just like you taught me, Father.” 

“He’s been around Jason a lot,” Tim said in a tone that suggested he was confiding something, because he was absolutely ridiculous and Bruce wanted to kiss his forehead about it. “It’s showing.” 

“Bo-” Bruce gritted his teeth and used all his strength and focus to beat back the laughter that kept bubbling up in his throat. “Both of you are going to be in so much trouble.” 

Tim just laughed and went back to scratching over that spot on Bruce’s ribs that made him want to crawl out of his skin. “Sure, B. Sure.” 

Okay, that was it. 

In a single, fluid move that was made less elegant by the layers of bedsheet and comforter, Bruce hooked his arm around Tim’s waist as he pushed himself up and twisted sharply to the side, using the momentum to send Tim tumbling underneath him beside Damian. Bruce straightened up, one of his knees pinning Tim’s right leg to the mattress, while his other hand pressed firmly on Damian’s chest. His sons both stared at him with wide eyes and shocked expressions. 

“....Oh yeah,” Tim said faintly after a few seconds had elapsed. “That’s why you’re Batman.” 

That made Damian snort, even as he lay there with a faint thread of uncertainty creasing his brow. “Tt.” 

“It is,” Bruce agreed. The residual ticklish feelings skated down his sides even as he raised the hand that wasn’t busy holding Damian to hover threateningly over Tim’s own ribs, and Tim inhaled, trying to wriggle away. He hadn’t lost the giddy, goofy smile, though. 

“It’s also why –” Without warning, Bruce darted that hand over to squeeze one of Damian’s knees, earning an ear-splitting shriek of surprise and desperate ticklishness from his youngest. Damian thrashed and tried to kick out but Bruce held firm, rubbing his thumb and index fingers in small circles where they dug into either side of his kneecap. “Your brothers never got this far.” 

“Baba!” Damian screeched, frantic cackles spilling out of him as he balled his hands in the sheets, frantically shaking his head. “Dohohon’t!” Whatever hesitation had clouded his expression vanished, presumably as he realized he wasn’t actually in real trouble. “You–you’re–nohohoh!” 

Hearing his little brother’s panicked laughter, Tim tried to slide out from under Bruce’s own knee. Unfortunately – or, knowing him, fortunately – he didn’t get very far in his escape attempts. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Bruce asked, smiling as Tim blushed down his neck and froze. 

“No?” 

“Sure, Tim. Sure.” 

When Damian’s laughing stuttered off into gulps of air, Bruce switched to scribbling around behind his knee, scratching his nails over the thin skin there. Rather than cackles, Damian wheezed, then fell into high-pitched, screechy giggles that made his nose wrinkle from the width of his grin. 

Bruce kept up the tickles there until Damian stilled his flailing limbs, too tired out from his laughter to keep thrashing about, then eased up. As he leaned back, removing the hand that had kept Damian pinned, Damian folded that leg up and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. A few residual giggles escaped as he whined, trying to pout up at Bruce. 

“There you are, habibi,” Bruce murmured, leaning down just enough to kiss his forehead. He straightened back up and turned his attention to Tim, who’d apparently been attempting to remain as still as possible in hopes of somehow becoming invisible. “Now, let’s see to your brother.” 

Immediately Tim burst into anticipatory snickers – something that hardly happened anymore and, god, if that didn’t make Bruce’s heart just squeeze – as he held up his hands in a facsimile of a defensive posture. 

“Hey,” he said. “It’s – it’s proportional! I just – it was an experiment, B, I promise – I – he-EY!” 

The moment Tim had started to veer towards flustered rambling, Bruce latched on to his lower ribs and squeezed, making sure to pay particular attention to the twin weak spots near the back of his lowest ones. Instinctively, Tim arched forwards, his whole face lighting up as he laughed. 

“Be–hee!” he shrieked. “It– it–” 

When Bruce let his fingers start crawling further up his ribcage, Tim squeaked as his squirming intensified. 

“What, sweetheart?” Bruce asked in the low, teasing murmur that he only deployed when he really wanted to fluster Tim. It also worked on his other kids, but Tim had always been uniquely susceptible. “What’s wrong?” 

Tim tried to get out something else, but Bruce suddenly vibrated his index fingers into his middle ribs and pinched up and down the ridges. A wave of helpless, high-pitched laughter made Tim convulse as he grabbed Bruce’s wrists and held on tight. 

“Oh,” Bruce said, still in that soft cadence. He couldn’t not smile as his kid clung on, not even trying to push him away. “Does it tickle? Are you ticklish, Timothy? Is that it?” 

Lobsters couldn’t match the shade of crimson that bloomed across Tim’s face as he shut his eyes. “Yehehes!” 

“You should’ve just said something.” Instead of continuing up his ribs, Bruce gently wiggled his fingers into Tim’s stomach just to hear the hiccuping, squeaky giggles that poured out of him. 

“Dad,” Tim gasped. His voice hitched in between giggles. “Ticklesticklestickles!” 

“Mm, it appears to.”

Bruce had already decided that Tim had served an acceptable sentence for the morning when Damian prodded him in the ribs, blinking lazily at him like a cat in a sunbeam from his half-curled posture. 

Smiling at him, Bruce nodded to acknowledge Damian’s silent intercession on behalf of his older brother, and slowed his tickling until he was simply patting Tim’s stomach to help ease the leftover ticklish prickles. Tim still hadn’t let go of his wrists.  

“Shit,” Dick’s voice rang out from the doorway. Of course he’d been early just in time to see his younger brothers get tickled silly, he had some kind of sixth sense about it. “What’d they do this time, B?” 

Dick was leaning against the doorframe with a bright, cheerful smile, which was expected. Seeing that his feet were braced against Jason’s knees – or, rather, that Jason was sitting on the threshold facing him – was unexpected. How long had they both been there? 

“Oh, you know,” Bruce replied, his sore shoulder twinging when he extricated himself from the labyrinthine mess of bedding. “The usual.” 

“He’s ticklish!” Tim shouted from behind him. “Torso!” 

Bruce cleared his throat. In the cavernous space, the sound echoed. 

He may as well have fired off a pistol with how immediately his children froze, all turning looks with varying degrees of guilt on him. Damian shook himself out of it quickly and went back to typing. 

“It’s been a long night,” Bruce said after several seconds had passed. “Upstairs. Now.” 

The growl in the last word spurred Tim into action; he ducked under Jason’s arm and hastily shucked off his gloves and suit, flinging them in the vague direction of the locker room. Then, in his Underarmour compression gear, he gave Bruce an apologetic nod and hurried towards the stairs. 

Jason eventually followed. Neither of them said anything to Bruce – and hopefully wouldn’t to each other, at least until tomorrow. 

Damian, left on his own, kept typing, but his shoulders hunched up to his ears. 

Bruce waited until the older two were safely out of the cave before speaking. When he did, he kept his voice soft. “Damian.” 

No response, except for the continued clacking of the keyboard. 

Instead of saying his name again, Bruce moved closer to see what it was that had Damian so intent on ignoring him. Surprisingly, it was just a report of Robin’s activities that evening. A routine step in debriefing, but not an urgent one. 

Bruce gently touched one of Damian’s tense shoulders. His son stiffened, then relaxed under his hand. 

“Thank you for your diligence,” he murmured. “I appreciate that you’re willing to get this done right away, but it’s more important to me that you get rest.”

Damian shot him an inscrutable look over his shoulder. “I am not a child, Father. Do not coddle me.” 

Ah, this again. Lately, Damian had been chafing at any insinuation – perceived, or otherwise – that his age entitled him to different treatment than his older brothers. 

“It’s not coddling, honey. It’s part of my job to make sure all of you is taken care of, and that means making sure you’re getting enough sleep.” 

Damian gave the spacebar a particularly hard thwack. “You let Timothy stay up.” 

An old, familiar guilt twisted through Bruce’s ribcage. He squeezed Damian’s shoulder once. “I failed Tim, Damian. In his early days. It wasn’t a healthy situation, and I don’t want that for you – none of us do. If I could keep him locked out of the Cave after midnight now, I’d do it in a heartbeat. These days, he doesn’t pull all-nighters down here for me, he does it in spite of me.” 

A muscle ticked in Damian’s jaw, but his typing slowed. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Bruce continued, rubbing his thumb into a stubborn knot near the base of Damian’s neck. “Come upstairs and get ready for bed. If, after forty-five minutes, you’re still awake, you can come back down and finish the report.” 

Damian thought over that for a few seconds, his brow furrowing. “Fine.”

As he pushed the chair back and reluctantly stood, Bruce kept his hand right between Damian’s shoulder blades to steer him towards the stairs, just in case his youngest had any ideas of slipping away. Damian’s feet dragged on each step and he stifled a yawn more than once – yeah, he was certainly tired. 

“Come see me when you’ve changed,” Bruce said, bending down to kiss Damian’s hair even though it made his back twinge. 

Damian silently nodded, then shuffled off towards his room. 

Once he was sure Damian had indeed gone to find sleeping clothes rather than slipping into one of his brothers’ rooms, Bruce flicked on a low light in his own bedroom and hastily changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He efficiently went through the normal evening ablutions, and was pulling back his bedding when the telltale prickle at the back of his neck told him that Damian had arrived. 

Sure enough, Damian was standing in the doorway, wearing an oversized long sleeve t-shirt that had once belonged to Tim and a pair of dark plaid pajama pants. His feet were bare, but that hadn’t stopped him from moving undetected down the hall. These days, Damian probably wasn’t trying to walk silently on purpose - it was just how he’d been taught to move through the world, quiet and unobservable. 

But, since Bruce wasn’t running a cult of assassins, he wanted Damian to take up space in his home and his life, to catch a creaky floorboard now and then or race down the stairs with his brothers. It was why he’d instructed his youngest to come find him after he’d changed out of Robin’s uniform. 

“Come sit,” Bruce said, swinging his legs up onto the mattress and patting the space next to him. He leaned back against the headboard as Damian slipped into the room and joined him. 

Damian settled beside him, still holding himself up with stiff, formal posture. He went easily enough, though, when Bruce slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down against his side. 

“See the clock?” Bruce pointed towards the nightstand. “Forty-five minutes from now, if you’re still awake, we can go back downstairs.” 

The sheets rustled as Damian bent his legs sideways to lean further into Bruce. His deep, searching eyes roamed over Bruce’s expression for a few seconds, then he nodded once.  

After a few quiet moments, any lingering stiffness bled out of Damian’s posture until he was practically melting into Bruce’s t-shirt. Bruce had begun absentmindedly tracing soft patterns up and down Damian’s arm, partially hoping it would relax Damian enough that he’d give in to the sleep that he clearly needed. 

“Is there a reason you need to finish this report tonight?” Bruce asked eventually. 

Damian made a small, displeased noise and stared at his hands, ruthlessly picking at a hangnail. He didn’t say anything, but Bruce had his own suspicions about some of the thoughts that were preoccupying his youngest kid. 

“I don’t need to you be Tim,” he said, still drawing circles up and down Damian’s bicep. “Or Jason, or Dick. Every Robin is different.” 

“Then why do I have different rules?” The question whipped out of Damian and he immediately pressed his lips together like he hadn’t meant it to escape. “Do you not trust me?” 

That question, where his voice wavered ever-so-slightly, made Bruce’s heart ache. While Damian’s start as Robin had been…tumultuous, unideal, he’d worked hard to learn the ‘new rules’, so to speak, of the world he’d been dropped into. Part of that had been working to show Dick and Bruce that he could be trusted with the mission; a bigger part, whether Damian realized or not, was learning how to be a son to a father he’d never known, and a younger brother. It certainly hadn’t been a smooth process, and there were still friction points that burned hot and bright. But Damian had been trying. 

“Oh, Dami.” Bruce combed through Damian’s hair, breaking some of the leftover gel cast with his fingers. “Of course I trust you. That has nothing to do with wanting you upstairs and asleep instead of writing a report.”

Instead of replying, Damian tapped his fingers together. The same furrow from earlier reappeared in his brow. 

“Robin isn’t just a tool,” Bruce said. “He’s a person, too. And you’re not just my sidekick or partner, honey, you’re also my son. Of course there are things I want you to do, like write reports. But none of that is as important as you, taking care of yourself. Sometimes, in the past, I failed to…to make that explicit, to your brothers. It’s important to me to avoid that same mistake with you.”

He let Damian chew on that for a couple minutes. Then, he gently added, “I trust you with my life, Damian. And you can trust me with yours, too – including life outside the mantle.”

Damian’s hands stilled as he contemplated that. 

“I suppose,” he said at last, and his voice sounded thicker than normal. “That I’ll live with that.” 

It was a very Damian response, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He kept running his fingers through Damian’s hair, making sure to give him some of the head scritches that always seemed to relax all of his kids like a universal reset. 

“You are cheating,” Damian muttered.

Bruce tried for innocence. “Oh? How so?”

Damian turned a disapproving scowl on him, but it lacked heat. “You are trying to make me tired.”

“And is it succeeding?” 

Damian’s mouth ticked up in a smile and he shook his head, blinking, like he was steeling himself. 

“Oh, well.” Bruce let out a heavy sigh, exaggerated for Damian’s benefit, and ruffled his hair a little more vigorously. “I tried.” 

“Your tactics are probably outdated.” From the glint in Damian’s eye, it looked like he was teasing – or trying to, at least. It was a good effort.

“Perhaps,” Bruce allowed. “Maybe you’d prefer help staying awake, instead.” 

Damian was too inexperienced with the world of playful affection to see the trap coming, so he didn’t dodge in time when Bruce slid the hand in his hair down to his chin and fluttered his fingers against the delicate skin there. 

Damian fought back his laughter like he did everything, with quiet precision and determination. Rather than squirming or thrashing around, he only squeezed his eyes shut and jerked his chin just enough to dodge Bruce's fingers where they fluttered around his jawline. It was a common tactic for hand-to-hand combat; make only necessary movements to save energy. 

Of course, normal close-quarters brawls didn't involve tiny grins and wrinkled noses, both of which made Damian look, dare Bruce even think it, adorable.

“F-father!” Damian ground out when Bruce scrabbled down the side of his neck. “Ce-ceas-cease!”

“Cease?” Bruce repeated back to him, grinning. “I'm helping you stay awake.”

Damian peeled his eyes open enough to glower at him - he looked so much like a disgruntled cat that Bruce had to chuckle, which just made Damian try harder. 

But even though Damian could go blow for blow with the garden statues when it came to throwing up a stony, stoic facade, Bruce was still his father. Of course he knew how to get his own kid to crack. 

“Damian,” he murmured, lilting the syllables in a soft, near-cooing voice. He had to grin when Damian immediately slammed his eyes shut again and tried to scrunch his shoulders all the way up to his ears. “You must be in there somewhere, honey, hm?” 

Bruce punctuated the teasing question by using one of his index fingers to scrabble over the shell of Damian’s ear before tracing a zig-zagging pattern around to his nape. A shudder wracked through Damian’s hunched shoulders as his hands flew up to bat Bruce’s away. He was biting his lip against the wide, ticklish smile that was desperately trying to burst free.

“Father!” 

“Come on.” Bruce added his other pointer finger, using both to make swirling paths across the back of Damian’s neck that managed to avoid the smaller flailing hands. Damian’s shoulders shook with the effort of putting his whole body into hiding the breathless, relentless giggles that always appeared when anyone tickled around that spot. 

But he was close to breaking, he just needed one more little push…

Without warning, Bruce darted his hand down to Damian’s armpit – now exposed as he clamped his hands around the back of his neck to try and shield himself – and dug in. 

Startled, Damian squawked before bursting out into rolling, stuttering laughter. He tried to clamp his elbow back down to his ribs and folded sideways in the process, tilting over to sprawl across Bruce’s legs. 

“There’s the little bat,” Bruce said in that same soft tone, and Damian made sure to slap him on the knee for it between gulps of laughter. “It seems like he’s a teeny bit ticklish, deep –” he wiggled his fingers a little harder under Damian’s arm. “Deep down in there.” 

“N-nohoho!” Damian growled – or, tried to. Growls weren’t supposed to be so giggly. “Stop ta–tahahlking!” He kicked and squirmed, trying to get his knees underneath him, laughing all the while.

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Bruce replied. “It’s my fatherly duty to inform you how sweet you are when you–”

“Shuhut UP!” 

Bruce laughed. He stopped tickling long enough to use both hands to flip Damian onto his back despite his youngest’s sputtering protests. Red-faced, Damian made a good effort at a glare, but his mouth wobbled when Bruce hovered his hands over Damian’s stomach, not quite making contact but wriggling his fingers just close enough to graze his t-shirt. 

“You have…” Bruce glanced at the clock on his nightstand, then back to where Damian was trying not to look like he was fidgeting. “Twenty-three more minutes to stay awake, honey.”

“I can do it,” Damian said quickly, that familiar stubborn wrinkle forming in his brow. “I am perfectly capable of – of – waihait!” 

Bruce had grabbed Damian’s hands with one of his own and started using his free hand to scrabble over Damian’s belly. It wasn’t his most ticklish spot but it got some bubbly laughter and snorts nonetheless.  

And Bruce was tired, but he wasn’t stupid, especially not four kids deep into parenthood. It was evident that Damian wasn’t fighting as hard as he could to escape. Sure, Damian had some ways to go before he’d be able to put up a real challenge to Bruce, especially in this kind of grapple, so it wasn’t like Bruce had been expecting Damian to actually break free. Between training Damian and seeing him brawl with his brothers, though, Bruce had plenty of examples for what it looked like when Damian was really trying to get away from someone heavier and bulkier. 

“Unhand mehehe!” Damian snickered, wriggling under Bruce’s hand like a puppy excited for a belly rub. Obviously Bruce had to oblige him and dug into the center of his stomach, vibrating his fingers as he did. Damian shrieked out another stuttering laugh, giggles spilling out in rolling waves.

“No,” Bruce replied simply, allowing his amusement to show through in a small grin when Damian let out a strangled protest and succumbed to helpless titters. His nose wrinkled even further as he did.

Bruce scrabbled his fingers down over Damian’s sides just to hear him squawk, then reached for one of his knees. Immediately Damian shouted out something that was lost in loud, shrieking laughter when Bruce’s fingers closed around his kneecap. 

Damian was a grade-A kicker, and all of his brothers had learned to steer clear of his legs by now unless he was soundly pinned. While Dick tended to flail around and Jason was more likely to thrash like some kind of spastic crab – then there was Tim, who just lost track of all his limbs and usually ended up in a heap – Damian kicked enough that he’d managed to land a bruising hit on Bruce’s jaw a few weeks ago. The others hadn’t done that…so far.  

But Damian’s leg flew out in a powerful spasm when Bruce squeezed his knee, vibrating the tips of his fingers into either side. 

“Fa-ahahath-er!” he squealed. It was precious. 

“Yes, little one?” Bruce hummed. 

Somehow Damian flushed even darker as he threw his head back, so submerged in ticklish laughter that he couldn’t scrape together a verbal response. His hands balled into the bedding and Bruce’s sweats. Every time he inhaled he made a quiet snorting sound, and Bruce had to physically hold himself back from cooing. 

Bruce used his free hand to worm two fingers into one of the soft spots of leftover baby fat on Damian’s sides, and Damian tried to jackknife back into a sitting position, cackling. A rogue elbow slammed against Bruce’s fingers – ow – but his wince evidently gave Damian the strength to corral his laughter just enough to shoot Bruce a smug look. It warmed Bruce’s heart, but not enough to stop him from seizing one of Damian’s ankles in an iron grip and preparing to retaliate. 

Damian’s smirk melted into panic. His hands flailed out and he tried to flip onto his stomach, but he only made it halfway because Bruce, in a move as good as any kill shot, started skittering his nails in featherlight swirls across the underside of Damian’s knee. Stuck lying partly on his side, Damian wheezed out a single “Nonono–” before high-pitched giggles bubbled over in frantic peals that left him rocking back and forth, pounding his fists against the bedding. 

“That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for,” Bruce said, trying to convey all the warmth that curled inside his chest with his tone. 

“Ple-pleheahease, Baba!” Damian gasped. He looked up at Bruce with watery eyes and a wide, childlike smile full of glee, though he’d never admit it. 

Pretending that the Baba didn’t make his heart squeeze, Bruce winked at him. “Yes, Dami?” 

When Damian went to say something, Bruce switched to rapid skitters back and forth across the delicate spot, still using only his nails. Damian shrieked, more of those giggles tumbling out of his mouth instead of words. 

“Sorry, son, I couldn’t get that.”  

“Dohohon’t!” 

If it were any of his other sons, Bruce would’ve employed the age-old ‘don’t what, honey?’ that, when deployed with the right kind of paternal concern, threw off the kid in question enough that they’d inevitably blink, too tickled-out to think it through, and say ‘tickle me.’ And, well, there would only be one correct thing to do after that. 

But Damian was losing steam quickly, and this wasn’t the time to push his limits. Not when he was clearly overtired and in desperate need of some rest. 

With a squeeze to the captive ankle, Bruce released Damian’s leg and smoothed his hair out of his face again as leftover ticklish feelings kept him in quiet paroxysms of snickers. Damian wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself, and tucked his chin down to ride out the residual laughter.

Bruce pushed the blankets back to make room, then slid his arm under Damian’s shoulders and drew him up to nestle against his side, even as he still shivered from occasional ghost tickles.

“Hush, habibi, you’re alright,” Bruce murmured, flattening his palm against Damian’s shoulder and rubbing in smooth, grounding circles. He knew that a less tired Damian would probably resent what he’d perceive as babying, but right now, Damian just groaned into Bruce’s shoulder and didn’t move. 

Once the sporadic shudders stopped, Damian turned his head towards Bruce just enough to reveal one eye. His brow was tilted downwards like he was trying to give Bruce his best Dark Look™. 

“The deal still holds,” Damian muttered, even with drowsiness thickening his voice. 

Bruce glanced at the clock. Nine minutes until the agreed-upon time. Then he turned his attention back towards his youngest kid, who for all his efforts looked more like a grumpy kitten than anything else. 

“Alright, Damian. If you can stay awake for nine more minutes, I’ll let you go back down to the cave.”

Damian’s nod against his shoulder was jerky. 

Maybe it was an underhanded trick, but Bruce started combing his fingers through Damian’s mussed hair in slow, rhythmic movements. He made sure to swirl his nails over his son’s scalp in the same swooping patterns from earlier.

As the moments ticked by, Damian scooted down to rest his head on Bruce’s thigh. Yawning, he fumbled for the sheet and dragged it up to his chin. Then he blinked sleepily up at Bruce.

“Cheat.” He made no effort to rouse himself.

Affection bloomed in Bruce’s chest as he leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Get some rest, honey. You deserve it.” 

It was a testament to how exhausted Damian was that he simply nuzzled further against Bruce with a long, heavy sigh that left him entirely limp.

“Love you, baby,” Bruce whispered. Every time one of his kids fell asleep on him, it felt like being asked to guard the most precious, fragile jewel in the world. 

Well on his way to knocking out, Damian curled his fist into Bruce’s t-shirt and held tight. “Baba.”

When enough time had passed for Bruce to know that Damian was well and truly asleep, he shifted around to grab his phone from his front pocket. He fired off a short text to inform the others that Damian was sleeping, and was not allowed in the Cave for the next two days. A split second after sending that, he amended the prohibition to include Tim, too. Otherwise, he knew that Tim would just smuggle Damian in anyways. Now that his two youngest sons weren’t at each other’s throats all the time, they’d formed quite the formidable duo, especially when it came to circumventing certain rules like curfew. Bruce had meant what he’d told Damian down in the cave, that he’d lock Tim out too if there was a way to actually do it that Tim wouldn’t find a way around. Tim did indeed have his nighttime work sessions in spite of Bruce’s best efforts, these days. 

As Bruce had predicted, Tim himself appeared in the doorway less than thirty seconds later with the look of someone about to launch into a seventy-three-slide persuasive powerpoint. When he saw Damian, though, his face softened. 

Bruce waved him in, patting the spot beside him on the bed. 

Tim padded over and carefully climbed up, scooting up to sit against the headboard with his knees drawn up to his chest. “Hi.” 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

Tim’s gaze swept over Damian, assessing. “He’s really tired, huh?”

“He is.” Bruce reached out to push an escaped strand of hair back behind Tim’s ear. “You’re quite alike, you know.” 

Like it usually did in moments of quiet praise, Tim’s face reddened as he tried for an eyeroll even while leaning into Bruce’s touch. He tucked his chin down against his knees. “He's a good little brother.”

Bruce gently nudged him. “I'm sure he's learned from the best.” 

To his delight, Tim’s blush immediately deepened to scarlet and he tried to bury his whole face in his knees. “Thanks.” 

There were a variety of reasons for Tim to be awake this hour, but hopefully he just hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Bruce rubbed his back even as he kept trying to hide. 

“You’re welcome to sleep here, if you want.”

Tim emerged from his burrow long enough to glance at him. “....Maybe I will.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time Bruce started to wake up later that morning, his body was still suffused with the heaviness of sleep, so it took longer than normal for the muffled noises nearby to resolve into actual words. After a couple seconds’ lag, he recognized the noises as voices – Damian and Tim, both of whom had ended up in his room the previous night. 

“–That is an asinine opinion, Drake, and you should eat glass and die.”

“We are literally talking about jam flavors.”

“I don’t care.”

“Y’know, you look like a mangy squirrel right now.”

Yeah, Bruce didn’t have it in him to deal with this first thing in the morning. Luckily, there was a tried-and-true method for getting his sons to quiet down rather quickly. 

Without opening his eyes, he freed his arms and, slinging one around each of his sons, dragged them down on top of him. 

“Sssh,” he muttered, then promptly made that command impossible to follow by wiggling his fingers into whatever tickle spots he could reach. He was rewarded with twin noises of dismayed surprise and a veritable symphony of ticklish squeaks and sputters. And, alright, half asleep or not, the racket was sweet enough to give him cavities. 

“B!” Tim wheezed from his left side, clumsily scrabbling at Bruce’s hand on his stomach. “Sorry – ohohohoshit, – ticklesticklestickles–!” 

Evidently he hadn’t been awake that long either if his brain was already crashing into tickle mode after just a few squeezes.

“Baba,” Damian hissed into Bruce’s chest. “We will be quiet! St-stohohohoppit!” 

“Promise!” added Tim, and the word came dangerously close to being a squeak. 

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.”