hey y'all

It was decidedly not fine, if the way his leg was dangling limply off the couch was any indication. Stede resisted the urge to wince. There had been a fight. A scuffle of sorts, really, between themselves and a passing Swedish trade ship. Edward had insisted it would be a good learning opportunity, and who was Stede to turn down his offer? They had not been prepared for the crew on board to be so well trained or prepared for battle; evidently they’d had a rough go of it already out on the waters. They’d won, still, but it was not as easy a battle as they’d prepared for and some had come out more injured than others.

One of those some was Izzy Hands, swearing and huffing and getting blood all over Stede’s fine, silken chaise lounge.

Something to worry about tomorrow, probably.

“That blood says otherwise, mate.” Ed kneeled down besides him. He hadn’t come out entirely unscathed himself, but his scratches were minor in comparison. Even still, Stede felt a small sliver of worry as he noticed the gashes forming new scars up his arms and across his cheek. “And the limp. If you can’t walk, you’re no good to me. Just let us take a look and you can be on your way to get up to whatever slew of projects you seem to get up to during the day.”

Izzy glared at him. Ed glared back. There was a moment of tense silence as the ship rocked beneath them. Izzy’s eyes were calculating, darting around Ed’s face as though searching for a weak spot in the argument. Ed was unyielding. Finally, the other man sat back on the couch, crossing his arms and jerking his head behind them. “Does he need to be here for this?”

“Yes, I was actually wondering the same question. If I might just say—”

“Stede’s here because I say he is,” Ed interrupted, much to Stede’s dismay. “And because he’s co-captain and because these are his quarters. Not to mention, more importantly, I need someone to hold you still while I examine you—I’ll not have you nearly taking my eye out like last time.”

When Stede was younger, his father’s family had come to visit, bringing along with them his cousin who he’d only ever before seen in portraits. She was an impish, devilish girl with straight, perfect hair that tilted uneven whenever she was taking Stede in. She spent the whole day playing tricks on him, once even going so far as to lock him in a cupboard for an hour of their time together. She had with her a dog, a tiny, cutesy thing, but feral nonetheless. When he’d reached his hand down to pet it, it had pulled its teeth back and growled, a sound low and fierce that Stede could feel worming its way into his marrow and making him tense. It was practically shaking when Stede’s hand brushed against its head, and Stede had the distinct impression that the only thing holding it back from chomping his hand off was the will of his cousin. The smile she gave him made it so that he didn’t try to pet the dog again.

As Stede took a seat on the couch and delicately picked up Izzy’s leg to lay across his lap, he experienced a similar discontent in the smaller man. He found himself immensely grateful for Edward, and even more grateful that Ed didn’t have the temperament of someone who would like to lock him in a closet.

They quickly determined that it was not his leg as they had first suspected. There were several gashes along them, contributing to the blood flow that was now dripping onto the carpet, but it was a slow enough drip to not need drastic action. No, something seemed to have happened to his ankle.

Izzy grunted as Ed slid his boot off and then his woolen socks. What was revealed made them both wince. His ankle was swollen somewhat and there was a purple, yellowish cast to it.

“That can’t be good, right?” Stede asked. He tilted his head at the injury. “Is it infected?”

“Sprained,” Ed filled in, standing up to go rummage through Stede’s shelves. “Or broken. Hopefully just sprained. He’s been putting too much weight on it, that’s the problem. You should have told us right after we took off.”

“I was dealing with it.”

“You were suffering in silence, that’s difference. Ah.” Ed pulled some silk fabric out, along with cotton bandages and a short, ornate stick that Stede had been using as a pointing stick for his maps. “This should do for a splint.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Izzy insisted as he kneeled back down, setting up materials. “I can do this myself, you don’t have to—”

“Stede, would you kindly tell my first hand to shut his ungrateful mouth?”

Izzy’s head whipped to his. Stede balked. “Um. Izzy. The captain, well, Ed that is, has kindly requested that—”

“I heard what he fucking said.”

“Right.”

“This is really ridiculous—ah."

The last word was cut off, a short, stifled gasp as Ed’s hands cupped around his foot, feeling for any breakage. He glanced up at the noise. “Does that hurt?”

Izzy was somehow both very pale and very red all at once. “No,” he said after a moment, looking somewhere to the left of Ed’s head.

“Good.” Ed’s fingers were light, skimming and searching for any unusual lumps or tendons in places they shouldn’t be. He was mostly keeping to the ankle, which luckily seemed sore but the pain wasn’t intense enough for there to have been a break. But occasionally his fingers would flutter up somewhat as he adjusted his grip, curling into his soles or heel.

Ed didn’t seem to notice it, much too absorbed in the task at hand. But Stede, anxiously watching Izzy’s expression for signs of distress, picked up on it at once. Izzy’s face was contorted, definitely more red than pale now, and his toes were half-curled in, his foot so taut that it was nearly vibrating. He squeezed his arms together, glaring at the opposite wall as he fought back something that was struggling to make its way to his features. He winced every time Ed’s fingers moved, a sharp inhale of breath that was quickly caught and stifled.

Stede’s eyes widened. Before he could help himself, he was blurting it out, “I didn’t realize you were ticklish Izzy.”

In a moment, both captain and first hand froze. The look Izzy shot him was murderous. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Bonnet.”

But Ed had already lifted his head, a sly smirk overtaking his features. “I’d nearly forgotten. I don’t remember it being bad enough that you couldn’t happen something like this—”

“I can! I can, and I’m fine, Bonnet is just running his mouth like usual.” Izzy shifted against the seat. He was still laying down, but his body was tensed with action. He might have bolted if he had full use of his leg, but as it was, he was stuck there. “It hurts—that’s all.”

Stede pressed his lips together. He hadn’t meant to touch upon the secret, hadn’t even realized it was meant to be a secret at all. But now that it was out, he couldn’t help the curiosity that tugged at him as he watched the two men. There was clearly history here and world that had existed where Ed somehow got ahold of the information that Izzy was ticklish. Had maybe even taken advantage of the fact. He expected to feel jealousy at the fact, but instead, only intrigue and a soft fluttering in his stomach followed the thought. Strange.

“I’m sorry Izzy,” he said, ignoring how Izzy’s eyes narrowed at his voice. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. But, I would be remiss if I didn’t assure you that there is nothing wrong with being ticklish. The most gentlemanly thing one can do in these situations is simply admit your weakness, let the fact rest, and move on with your life in solemn dignity. I myself once—”

“Edward. If he doesn’t stop talking now—”

“You’re not really in the position to be making that argument.” Ed arched a brow. “Are you Izzy?”

There followed a silent exchanging of glances between the two, a world of conversation and argument translated in mere seconds. Ed pursed his lips, shrugging somewhat. Izzy’s brow tightened and turned up, the closest he would get to pleading.

After a while, not taking his eyes off of Izzy, Ed said, “Stede, mate, maybe lay off him a bit. No need to make his suffering worse.”

Izzy exhaled, nodding, but his relief was short lived when Ed returned to checking his ankle, focusing far more on his foot than seemed really necessary. And his hands were deliberately light now, fingers curling and dragging in certain spots. His eyes never left Izzy’s, a challenge in them that was bound to fail.

There was an intimacy to the moment that sparked the strange fluttering once more in Stede’s chest. He tried to ignore it, unable to tell if it was a positive or negative feeling.

It was too much. Ed was doing it on purpose now and Izzy was only human. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling and gasping, tensing and grunting, leg jerking against the couch.

“Keep your leg still, Iz, or I’ll have to start all over again."

“Keep your fucking leg still—shit!”

“Something wrong?”

“Stop—”

But Izzy never finished that sentence, instead opting to press his lips together to fight off a growing smile. His whole foot jerked when Ed’s touch passed over his toes, an occurrence that was becoming more and more frequent the longer the examination went on. Izzy coughed to cover a sound that was definitely a laugh. He refused to look at either of them. His face was bright red, embarrassment radiating off of him so intensely that even Stede cringed a little to watch.

“Ticklish?” Ed asked, scraping his a nail over his arch. Izzy lurched in his seat, his own nails digging marks into his arms, his knuckles white.

He shot him a look that seemed to demand, Let me go.

Ed’s answering smile said, Not yet.

Izzy, reluctantly, stayed in his seat, though he hissed out, “Edward.”

“I’m not done yet, just a couple more minutes.”

Stede was certain they had forgotten he was there. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should move onto making the splint. These kinds of injuries can get out of hand so easily.”

“In a minute,” Ed dismissed. There was barely a pretense now. His fingers scribbled over his soles and Izzy curled forward so that his forehead nearly touched his knees. His shoulders shook, a grin peeking out under his hair which had fallen forward. “There’s a few spots I still need to check.”

Perhaps the most interesting part of this all why Izzy was staying. Ed had a certain amount of influence over him, that much Stede had sussed out. But even still, surely this would be humiliating enough to push past that base respect. He was barely squirming, either, though his muscles looked so tense that he might shatter if pushed.

Stede smiled, just slightly, as the truth came to him.

Izzy was laughing now, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It was muffled into his arms and occasionally resembled a growl, but it was laughter. Ed was scratching a spot underneath his toes that made Izzy’s free leg kick out and stamp furiously on the ground.

“Quite ticklish, isn’t he?” Stede commented. He felt safe enough in Ed’s protection to tease. Besides, any anger Izzy had was being seeped out by the tickling. “Seems like a hazard, perhaps, to have a first mate that’s so ticklish.”

Izzy barked out a string of obscenities, his leg trembling.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ed agreed, grinning and speeding up his fingers. “If anyone were to get ahold of him, who knows how much trusted information might leak into the wrong hands.”

Izzy’s head shot up. “I would nehehever—!” He was forced to cut the sentence off quickly, clapping a hand over his own mouth when Ed reached up to squeeze his knee. He snorted, squirming in place, too busy focusing on hiding his laughter to properly fight back.

“Luckily,” Ed continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “He’s a pretty decent pirate. One of the best.” Neither of them missed the way Izzy flushed with pride, his shoulders straightening just slightly despite his embarrassing position. “So I’m not too worried about his getting captured. Which is why—” he pinched up Izzy’s thigh and the other flailed and sunk into the couch, his hands scrambling to shove him off—“it’s important that he takes care of himself.”

“I-Is that what thihis is about?” Izzy exclaimed, struggling more ferevently now as Ed abandoned his feet to poke or prod at any spot he could reach. “I’ll sit for the fuhuhucking splint, Edward, just cuhuhut it ohohout!”

He was giggling. Steve placed a hand over his own mouth, somewhat shocked by the occurrence. Ed kept pinching at a spot near his hips which was prompting the reaction as Izzy jerked his spine near in half in protection each time.

“You promise?”

“Yehehes, yes, I prohohomise!”

“Stede?”

Both pairs of eyes turned to him, one teasing, one desperate. Stede spluttered, unsure whose side to take, but eventually decided that mercy was the safer option. “He does look like he means it.”

With a sigh, Ed relented at last, pulling back and returning to a firm grip on his ankle once more. “You’re lucky Stede is more merciful than I am. You should thank him after this, do something nice to show your appreciation.”

Izzy’s body language said he was possibly going to murder Stede after this, followed quickly by Ed and anyone else who happened to be in his way. The rest of the examination went quickly, and Ed applied the splint with a practiced ease that left Stede impressed. True to his word, he did not sneak in any more tickling, but the anticipation was enough to keep Izzy jumpy.

When they finished, Ed helped the other to his feet, though Izzy quickly jerked himself out of his grip none too gently. “You’re welcome,” he called after him, though Izzy only grumbled in response, hobbling off to his own quarters.

Stede stood beside Ed, watching him leave. “You don’t think we went too far?”

“Nah,” Ed said, a fondness in his eyes as Izzy disappeared around the corner. “He’ll never say it, but I have a suspicion he likes it. I think it’s the audience he hates more than anything.”

Later, in his own room, Izzy lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling in furious contemplation. His ankle throbbed where it lay rested up on some blankets he had shoved together to elevate it. It hadn’t been broken, luckily, but it hurt much more than he had let on. More than that, though, was the way his body buzzed, his nerves alight from earlier.

He growled in the darkness. Fucking Bonnet. Always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He does look like he means it. He blushed, shaking the memory off. Of all the people to come to his aid

He wished he could be more mad about it—furious that Blackbeard had dared to reveal something so intimate to that bumbling idiot. But he couldn’t truly find it in him.

Edward’s hands on him. Edward’s eyes on him, his warm, gruff voice, his teasing words. His full attention, pivoted for a moment on Izzy. Just like the old days. His stomach squirmed.

And Stede watching him, another part of his mind piped up. Stede smirking at him. Stede, with a teasing lilt to his voice that Izzy had never heard before. Stede feeling like he could tease him. Edward letting him.

Whatever train of thought that was, he brushed it off. Stede was an idiot. That much he knew. Any other feelings that might arise were irrelevant and should be disregarded as distortions of the unorthodox events of the day. Content in this knowledge, he closed his eyes, resting his arm over his face as he prepared to get some rest after their battle.

"Th-This is childish, Remus. Stop this a-at once," Logan replied, trying to keep his voice even and cursing himself silently for the way his words stuttered silently with his breath.

"Why? Thought I don't make any real impact on you. This shouldn't be bothering you, dork." Remus replied with a manic cackle.

Logan went to make a logical retort, still insistent on talking his way out of this situation, but his breath hitched and his words were lost when the nails Remus was dragging up and down his bare sides skittered up higher than their trail had been before, threatening to dip under his exposed arms.

That was the situation he was trapped in, it seemed. Standing in his own room, his arms trapped above his head, hands wrapped in one of Remus' tentacles to keep them easily out of the way. Remus standing behind him, hands shoved under Logan's shirt which had been haphazardously untucked from his pants in the beginning of this.... ridiculousness. At first, Logan was concerned that the Duke was going to attempt act out one of his very vocal sexual fantasies he loved to share with the world, but when the sharp nails of his hands came into contact with his sides and began a slow, ticklish trail up and down, up and down- uncharacteristically light and slow for the hyperactive, manic side- Logan realized what the Duke was hoping to accomplish.

And God damn him, it was working.

Sure, Logan had yet to utter a sound, even managing some sharp words without giving away his blight, but he was terribly sensitive and wasn't prepared for how badly the technique was getting to him. It didn't help that even though he knew, from a logical standpoint, that it made sense that he was ticklish- what with being part of Thomas, who was- the fact that it was working and sending shivers down his spine and making it more and more difficult to keep his composure made him frustrated and exasperated. He should be above such... such childish things!

And God damn it all would he just let up already??

He was so lost in his frustration and the tingles wracking his upper body that he lost track of time, and was aggressively brought back to earth by the voice of Remus.

"Alright, nerdy wolverine, I'm getting bored. Break for me bitch!" Remus suddenly declared loudly.

Before Logan could question the declaration, Remus abandoned his agonizing dragging of claws, kneading deep, near-painful pinching motions into Logan's lower ribs.

“A-aHAHA! N-no!”

The dam broke, and laughter poured out of the logical side as he doubled over as much as he was able. Once that flood was freed, it was impossible to keep it in as his laughter flowed unbroken now.

"Wait- Wahahahait!!" Logan protested, squirming under the devilish attack on his nerves. He couldn't believe the noises coming out of his mouth. He yelped as Remus sporadically changed spots, seeming to be searching for a spot that ignited the most laughter.

Remus settled at Logan's upper ribs since he seemed to like the reactions he received there. He drilled his thumbs into the back of his ribs as he wiggled the rest of his fingers where they were. Logan jerked forward as much as he could, shoulders shaking as he tried to get away from that devastating technique, his cackling tampering of into a snort as the air seemed to be pushed from his lungs when he failed to move away.

"Holy shit, was that a snort??" Remus asked, delighted. He repeated the gesture and earned another, then another, and another, all a few seconds apart between light cackles.

“Enohohohough!” Logan whined after finally finding his words again. His entire body felt like it was fizzling like soda, and his ribs and sides were starting to feel sore from the roughness. "R-Remus PUHLEHEHEHEHEASE!" He cried out, his feet scrambling against the ground as he stamped his feet, trying to get away as those fingers found his underarms.

"No way, this is too good," Remus said delightedly.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours to the logical side as Remus continued tickling him sporadically and expertly. He kicked his feet in an attempt to get anywhere, and, finally, kicked backwards, hoping to catch Remus and end this ridiculousness.

He gasped when the tickling stopped suddenly, and his ankle was captured by a hand. He gasped for breath, taking the break to regain his composure, but it felt impossible as dread filled him when his ankle was not released.

"Remus-"

"Well, well, what do I have here?" The man hummed, ignoring Logan's call. He held him steadfastly still, showing no signs of releasing his foot. "Seems you were begging for me to switch to here, huh nerdy wolverine?"

Logan's stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies, even if that was biologically impossible. "Let me go." His foot was bare, and he knew if Remus' manic tickling moved to that spot, he was done for. "This ridiculousness has gone on long enough, you've made your point, now let me go so I can return to my work-"

"Sounds to me like someone's begging," Remus purred, sounding delighted. "Is that nervousness I see, dork?"

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but nails were suddenly scribbling up and down his soles, and Logan lost it. Roaring laughter poured from him as he yanked at his foot and scrambled with the free one for any sort of leverage.

"REHEHEHEMUS!!" He shrieked. "STOP- STOHOHOHOP STOP NOHOHOHO!"

"Oooohh good spot!" Remus declared, scribbling at the sensitive skin. "How exciting!"

The assault on his nerves was too much, it felt like his nervous system was alight with fireworks and no amount of squirming seemed to let it up. He was keenly aware of how helpless he was, and that knowledge left him in a giddy sort of panic. He couldn't handle it!

“PLEHEHEHEASE!” Logan pleaded, unable to handle the assault on his worst spot. “IHIHI CAHAHAN’T!” He let out another snort as his toes were pinched. “LEHEHEHET ME GOHOHO!”

“Awww, poor ticklish Logan!” Remus cooed. "Tickle tickle little nerd~ Aww, too bad I can't reach your other foot!"

Logan was hysterical under Remus' hands. He couldn't get away, he couldn't lower his arms, he couldn't free his ankle, all he could do was laugh, and laugh, and laugh. And laugh he did, as Remus showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

"Logan, what's with all the noise-"

Virgil froze in the doorway, hand still on the half-open door, blinking in bewilderment at the scene before him.

"What..?"

And Logan for once, damn his dignity, didn't even care, he just saw another person, a shot at freedom, and he'd grasp for it.

"V-VIRHIRHIR-VIRGIHIHIL!! PL-PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! HEHEHELP!!" Logan cried out between his shrieks, shaking his head like his life depended on it.

Virgil snapped out of his shocked daze and stomped forward. His cheeks were pink, eyes still wide, but his voice was stern as he shouted, "Remus!! Drop him!"

Remus rolled his eyes, grinning at the emo side. "Ohhhh~ So commanding, Virgey," he drawled, and Virgil cringed. He shook it off, though, and stepped forward, crossing his arms.

"I said. Drop. Him. He's done, Remus, now back off," Virgil reiterated, voice still raised to be heard over Logan's hysterics, though it was tappering off into fits of silent laughter by now.

"Aww, you're no fun," Remus pouted, but sighed dramatically and obeyed, stepping away from Logan at last and letting his arms and foot go. Logan collapsed to his hands and knees, one arm clasped over his stomach, gasping in greedy gulps of air as giggles and titters continued to flow from him.

"Thanks for playing with me, teach~!" Remus sing-songed, grinning from ear to ear. "I had a lot of fun! Can't wait to do this again sometime, ohhh, maybe with some fun toys next time! I'll let Tickle-Me-Emo take it from here." And with that, Remus strolled out of the room and shut the door loudly behind himself.

Virgil glared after Remus before closing the distance between himself and the panting side on the floor. Logan's giggling had finally died down, face still flushed as he shoved up his glasses and wiped the mirthful tears that had gathered in his eyes with his sleeve.

"You okay, Lo?"

"F-Fine," Logan replied, voice still slightly pitched and a little sore from his previous hysterics. He felt an awkward hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off after a second for both their sakes, too overstimulated and knowing Virgil was anxious and not sure what to do. "Quite fine, thank you, Virgil."

There was a moment in silence as Logan briefly considered sinking into the floor, not to transfer positions, but to simply stop existing. Then he could hear shuffling as Virgil crouched next to him, and he hesitantly looked up as a bottle of water was offered to him, Virgil's awkward, embarrassed smile greeting him.

Logan took the offering, thankful, and he didn't protest and Virgil removed his glasses from his head and busied himself with cleaning them while Logan drank.

"So... You're ticklish?" Virgil spoke up after a moment, and there was a teasing to his tone. The warmth in Logan's face quickly returned from where it'd started to fade, and he ducked his head with a quiet groan.

"Unfortunately," he grumbled. "It makes sense, we're all a part of Thomas, but still."

“Yeah, but you’re the one who opened it.”

“Hardly so.” Duck picked up his pen, directing it over at Yellow, who was too occupied with the butterfly cautiously approaching his finger to pay attention to their conversation. “He did it, I saw it too. Make him do it.” A lie, but Red didn’t have to know that. “Besides, it’s not like he’s doing anything. He never is. Playing with bugs in the house like a child.” He scoffed, making a bold dash under TV—Watching Things.

Red followed his gaze with a frown. Getting Yellow to do anything was like pulling teeth—endlessly exhausting and by the end of it neither of them remembered what their original goal had been. He stood up, walking over to close the window himself.

Tiny legs hopped atop Yellow’s fingers, their owner’s timid face trembling almost as it took in the giant before it. He was smiling though, which seemed more promising than the other two, so it continued his path onto his hand, certain that if it kept going it would find the source of the pollen for this strange and disfigured flower.

Yellow stiffened slightly as it crawled onto his arm, his brow furrowing.

“Hey…”

The window was stuck—a grouping of leaves had blown into its latch and Red struggled to push at the frame despite its presence. He grunted, readjusting his grip a couple of times, as though mere finger placement alone was going to solve the issue.

The creature had reached his elbow now and Yellow flinched with each step the innocent thing took, not wanting to brush it off. It felt weird, like an itch but more pleasant, if that was a thing. “Hey,” he said again, not quite sure what point he was trying to make, but knowing that he had to verbalize this feeling, whatever it was.

“Speak up,” Duck recommended, not bothering to look at him as he contemplated whether or not a TV even had more than one purpose. “No one can hear you if you mumble like that.”

“It…”

The window squeaked in protest, inching forward bit by bit.

“I think this kind of…”

The butterfly paused hesitantly at the speech before continuing up his bicep.

“Maybe it…”

Duck slashed out his new line, moving onto his next object in defeat: Wall.

“Tickles.”

The room seemed to pause at the word—Duck’s hand frozen on the page, Red’s grip slackening on the window, the butterfly halting to a stop on his arm—as though their world itself was holding its breath. It was a familiar feeling, and they all relaxed a little into this known terror.

It started with a voice, as always.

“Why hello there! I see you’ve happened across a very particular interest of mine! I don’t suppose you mind if I join you for a little while?”

They turned in confused unison at the sound towards the corner of the room. Not even two minutes ago, this section had been empty. Now, there was a man there. Or a man shaped thing. This one certainly appeared more humanoid than most of the others they’d encountered. Teeth darted up in a terrifying grin, a bit too bright and too wide for his face all at once. There was a monocle sitting over his right eye with no visible chain. Everything about him seemed pointy—his chin, his nose, his knees, even his hips all stuck out in intense, bold angles. He wore a fitted vest and slacks that were pulled up too high on his waist, a bow tie tucking the whole ensemble neatly together. Feathery plumes danced around the top of his head in place of hair, writhing and twisting as though they had a life of their own. He stretched his arm out and it whizzed forward, stretching the length of the room to end in an extended gloved hand.

They all stared at the hand for several moments, cautious of the new visitor, until finally Red took it under the assumption that it would be impolite not to. What he wasn’t prepared for was the fingers that curled against the center of his palm, the gesture too quick for him to think about it as he jerked his hand back in protection. The thing’s grin tightened until it threatened to almost break off his face, as if this interaction had been everything he had hoped for. He pulled his arm back, deigning to stroll over to them instead.

"Who are you?" Yellow asked, voicing the question they all had been thinking but were always hesitant to say. If you didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it would prove to be a figment of their imagination and disappear. “And what interest?”

“Excellent question, my fine, little friend!”

“I’m not—”

“I’m hear to teach you about the body. Surely, we all care about our bodies, right? We want to know how they work, how they function, why we… react in certain ways.” He leaned down till he was eye level with Yellow, the terrifyingly intense gaze staring him down. “You see, our body has certain mechanisms in place to keep us safe.”

“Safe?” Duck repeated skeptically, holding his journal warily. “Safe from what?”

“I’m so glad you asked! Safe from anything! May I?”

He had latched onto Yellow’s wrists, who seemed both wary and excited all at once, unsure whether or not this might be a nice visitor for once. They’d had them occasionally. The train hadn’t been so bad, when it wasn’t dead. Yellow nodded slowly and the newcomer raised his arm up, holding it in a strangely tight grip. Probably, Yellow should have been concerned about this. He didn’t think to be, at the time. None of them ever did.

“Danger can come in all forms, shapes, and sizes,” the thing went on to explain. He held his free hand up, wiggling the fingers slightly in a way that made them tense for reasons unknown. “Knives, people, cars, even wild animals! The body must defend against this. But how are you supposed to know where to defend?”

Duck and Red exchanged a look. “Don’t you just… know?” Red asked skeptically. “Because certain areas hurt when you—”

“That’s right, the nervous system!”

“Oh.” Red bristled a little in embarrassment. “Yeah, right, I knew that too. I was just about to get to that.”

“Of course you were,” the thing agreed, in too bright of a manner to convince him of any real sincerity. “I’m sure you know allllll about it, but there’s no harm in a little refresher is there? Now, the nervous system runs all throughout your body like little wires. Wires that tell you what feels good, or what feels bad. But of course, we can’t just go around banging our bodies up just to tell us what feels bad, now can we?”

“No?” Duck hazarded, glancing over at Red to check if this was right. “No, right?”

“Correct!” Feathers coiled excitedly around the thing’s head as he talked, seeming to move faster the more the man was made to smile. “That would only get us killed, and there’s no sense in that. So, our bodies came up with a fun way to teach it! Mind if I show you?”

Historically, this had always been the part of the visit where things went wrong. He wasn’t quite sure how something in your own body could be bad, but all this talk of pain and nerves was setting Red on edge. He was going to point this out, but Yellow was already nodding, oblivious to the potential danger.

“Excellent!” the thing cried, its fingers closing in suddenly and growing nearer and nearer to Yellow’s torso. “Now remember, it is very pertinent that you stay still, otherwise it may ruin the integrity of the demonstration.”

“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?” Red asked doubtfully.

“Of course not! I would never dream of hurting anyone!”

And then the man’s fingers touched down under Yellow’s arms and, faster than any of theirs could hope to move, his fingers began whizzing about frantically all over the exposed skin. Yellow yelped, hiccupped, and burst into giggles as he instinctively pulled back against the sensation. The man’s grip was tight, however, and refused to let go no matter how much Yellow pulled against him.

“You’re hurting him!” Duck accused, staring forward, but was faced with a grin so intense and manic from the man that he couldn’t help but freeze where he was.

“Am I? He’s laughing, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Duck frowned, puzzled. It wasn’t often that he was wrong, at least in his esteemed opinion, and it never sat well with him when he was. “I suppose… but then why is he moving so much? He really looks like he’s trying to get away.”

“Ah, but that’s the trick of it!”

“Guhuhuhuhuys!” Yellow squealed. He had dropped the whole of his weight to the ground, but the other held him up with ease even still. He was stuck enduring the tickling, a fate that was quickly becoming nigh unbearable. Unfortunately, none of them were listening to him. “Guys!”

“It looks like he wants to get away,” the man explained, smirking at his captured victim. “But that’s not what he really wants! It feels good, this sensation, but so good that the body’s nerves get confused! They freak out, trying to protect themselves against whatever this is even though they like it. They may even protest or beg as time goes on. But this is all just part of the process.”

Red tilted his head at Yellow’s hysterical form. He was getting the shivers just watching the display. “He’s really losing it…. Sorry, how does this help protect us?”

“Because, my inquisitive fellow, the only spots that can feel this intense pleasure are the vulnerable ones! See, if I was stabbing your friend under the arms, it would hurt quite a bit, right?”

“I guess.”

“Which is why his body freaks out to let him know, ‘hey, don’t let anybody stab you here! It’ll be bad!’ And you never even have to experience any pain to find out! This simple procedure is called: tickling!”

The others lapsed into silence for a bit, considering it. It didn’t look too bad. Yellow was only laughing, after all. And wasn’t that a better way to avoid bad stuff, anyway? A little laughter had never done them harm before. Of all the visitors they’d received, this one seemed pretty tame.

Tears had gathered in Yellow’s eyes, his legs drumming against the floor frantically. “H-Hehehehelp ohohoho nohoho, guhuhuys p-please!”

“I think he might be done with the tickling,” Duck noted. “He’s going rather rabid, isn’t he? Perhaps one of us could take a turn with it instead.” His face screwed up. “Why should Yellow get to enjoy the tickling all to himself? This is a shared house, and I always pay my third of the mortgage after all.”

“We don’t pay mortgage—”

“I want a turn with the tickling!”

Red shot him a warning look, unsure if it was a good idea to be so willing towards something that they were unfamiliar with, but it was too late. The thing had already turned its hyper intense gaze on Duck, his eyes scanning him all over almost robotically. He dropped Yellow, who fell to the floor and curled up with an exhausted wheeze. “Oh? Well, don’t you worry, you’ll all have a chance to experience the tickling! I wouldn’t want any of you to feel left out. And you look like someone who could especially use a bit of tickling in your life.”

Duck puffed his chest out, preening at the attention. Standing up and strutting forward, he made a great show of raising one of his arms, whipping the other out with an impressive flourish. He then started copying the man’s movements, attempting to go just as fast as the other. No reaction. Duck frowned, tickling his own armpit harder, but it was useless. He huffed, crossing both arms across his chest. “Well, it’s too late. That one broke the tickling. Thanks for nothing.”

He directed this at Yellow, who whimpered from his spot on the ground.

The man chuckled, shaking his head and offering Red a can you believe this guy look. Red, who in fact was just as confused as that guy bristled and flushed. “No, no, no, it’s not broken! Tickling, like many things, can only be done in the presence of friends. Or, on rare occasions, enemies. It’s a joy that needs to be shared around. This is the spirit of tickling! Tickling your friends and letting them, in turn, tickle you. Now, if you’ll kindly lift up your arms, I’ll—”

But Duck wasn’t listening anymore. Receiving the information that they could do this tickling to anyone, he had already moved over to Red and plunged his hands to his sides, tickling vigorously. He didn’t have the best technique going, but it hardly mattered. Red jerked back and twitched under his hands, doubling over slightly. “D-Duck! Quhihihit that!”

“Aha!” Duck exclaimed triumphantly. “So, it is the armpits and sides both that are weak to pain. We’re learning a lot here. I should mark this down later so we can keep track.”

The man was a bit nonplussed by the other’s sudden action but not upset at it. He grinned and watched the display, eyes whizzing as he took note of each spot on Red that Duck was discovering.

Red was less happy about it. He pushed at Duck’s head, trying to move him away, but this tickling thing was quickly sapping his energy. He was surprised by how accurate the man’s description was. It really was pleasant and fun in a way, and he might have even enjoyed it if it didn’t also make him so jumpy. And this laughing thing was really quite embarrassing. He huffed and bit his lip and struggled to keep it in, but giggles slipped out, nonetheless. When Duck grabbed his hips he all but squawked, his struggling increasing.

“So, if it tickles more, then it’s a more vulnerable spot?” Duck conjectured. When he received a nod from their visitor, he straightened up with pride, going after the spot with a greater intensity. Red yelped, crumbling to the ground. Duck eagerly followed him there, dodging all Red’s attempts to block him. There was something fun about how the tickling made people react, all ridiculous and flailing all over the place, and Duck enjoyed testing it out past its educational benefits. “I guess I’ll tickle here more then, so you’re extra prepared.”

“Y-Yohohou lihihittle—!”

“Oh, I know! We already know this is a spot that hurts!”

Duck reached forward to enact the same wiggly motions against Red’s scalp to no avail. In fact, this touch only felt pleasant, and Red would have enjoyed it if he’d kept it. He took the opportunity to catch his breath and frowned, just as bemused as the other. The man clucked his tongue at their antics. “Sorry, but some places just aren’t ticklish.”

“But isn’t the tickling supposed to protect us from pain?” Red pointed out. “It should tickle in those spots then, right?”

“Well, it isn’t an exact science.”

But Red had grown bored with the explanations and leaped forward to do his own experimenting with this tickling. In his case, though, he was significantly bigger than Duck and was able to scoop him up in one arm and wiggle fingers over his stomach. Duck’s eyes widened in alarm, and he cackled maniacally with none of the soft build-up of the other two.

“Nohohoho fahahahahair! The t-tihihihickling is wohohohorse on me!”

The man merely shrugged, his feathers standing up nearly straight in his excitement. “Perhaps you’re more vulnerable than your friend. Tickling doesn’t work the same on everyone.”

Red chuckled, enjoying how red-faced and flustered his friend was getting. “This is kind of fun. How do you feel about it, Duck?”

Duck couldn’t answer, too busy floundering and fighting for his life. The tickling did seem to have a greater impact on him. Red knew firsthand now the helplessness that came from this tickling and smirked, thinking of how it must be creating quite a conflict in the other.

As the two duked it out, neither of them noticed the man slipping out towards the front door except Yellow. “Where are you going?” he asked as the man’s fingers closed around the doorknob. “I thought you were supposed to teach us about tickling?”

“Oh, I have. And now you have all the tools to play by yourself. My work here is done.” He wiggled his fingers at Yellow in a manner that made the other cringe in memory, and then he was off.

Yellow turned back to his friends. They were currently rolling around on the floor, giggling and cursing as they discovered new places to tickle on one another. It was a chaotic scene, one Yellow was content to let them have for themselves. The tickling wasn’t all bad, but he would be glad to have a break from it for a while.

Dick hadn't been trying to add yet another teenage hero to his squadron of younger siblings – really, he hadn't – but thanks to Tim's earnest puppy dog eyes and his genuine concern for a friend, Dick was now standing in the doorway to his Bludhaven apartment at three forty-five in the morning of his night off blinking blearily at Connor Kent. 

“I'm sorry,” Kon said, the words coming out cracked and strained. Not looking Dick in the eye, he shifted his weight and shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders up. When he spoke again, it was in clipped bits and pieces, like he was forcing words out through gritted teeth. “Fight. Bad one, with…. with Clark. Didn't know where else to go.” 

In the apartment hallway's dim lighting, Connor looked pathetic enough to tug a little extra on Dick’s heartstrings. 

So, he ruthlessly stifled a yawn as he stepped back and tugged his door all the way open. “Come on in, kiddo.” 

Connor shuffled inside, still holding himself unusually stiff, and hovered just inside the threshold. It took a second for Dick’s still-restarting brain to process why the kid was just standing there – Jason or Tim would've been in the process of helping themselves to the contents of Dick's fridge by now. Then he remembered that Kon was probably as out of his depth as Dick felt. Believe it or not, this was the first time a teenager who wasn't related to him showed up on his doorstep in the middle of the night. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” Dick said after a couple seconds, gesturing to the couch.

 When Connor started that way, Dick turned towards the kitchen. “I'm going to make some tea, if you want any.” 

“Sure,” Kon said quietly. Then, quickly, “thank you.”

“No problem.”

Once the water was set to boil, Dick leaned his elbows on the countertop and let his head fall into his hands. 

Okay. This wasn’t too out of the ordinary, as a situation, just the first time this happened with Connor – Connor, who had barely come around to the fact that Dick did actually like him and wasn’t pity-mentoring him, so…no pressure, there. Or from the fact that Kon was one of Tim’s best friends and his teammate, so Dick screwing this up could easily trickle down to Tim’s personal and vigilante life. Great. 

The electric kettle started to hiss as bubbles formed against the inside of the glass. Dick rubbed his face and straightened up to get two mugs from a nearby cabinet. Mediating disputes between his own family was familiar, comfortable territory. Dealing with someone else’s family dynamics was another thing entirely, especially when it was Clark’s family. It felt much more like figuring out how to diffuse a bomb that he could only see half of. 

Part of him desperately wanted to call Bruce for advice. Surely, B would know what to say, but…well, Kon probably wouldn’t appreciate that. 

God, was this how Clark felt all those years ago? After a particularly bad knockdown, dragout fight with Bruce, Dick had grabbed a duffle bag and hopped on the nearest train to Metropolis. He’d turned up on Clark’s doorstep with no warning, expecting to have to beg for asylum, but Clark had just smiled and invited him in like it was just another ordinary evening.

Shit, speaking of Clark – 

Dick fumbled his phone out of his pocket and fired off a quick text to the thread with both Clark and Lois, letting them know that Kon was with him for the night. 

His phone buzzed in response but he placed it facedown on the counter without checking either of the messages. Right now, there was an overwrought teenage Kryptonian on his couch in desperate need of some older brothering. 

“Kon, is peppermint good?” he called. 

The pause before Kon replied was just long enough for the barest hint of a sniffle to echo into the kitchen. Oh, poor kid. 

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“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick asked. 

They’d been sitting in silence on his couch for about ten minutes. Kon was cupping his mug in an obvious attempt to ground himself, both hands wrapped tightly around the ceramic. His posture was still all lines and edges, and Dick was itching to wrap a blanket around him – wait, that was a good idea. He hauled one of the fleecy blankets over from the pile on one of the armrests and tossed it over Connor’s hunched shoulders. 

Kon blinked at him for a second, surprise flickering across his face, before the tension in his shoulders eased up by a fraction. Well, better than nothing. 

“You don’t have to,” Dick said in reference to his earlier question. He settled sideways, facing Connor. “Family fights suck. Sometimes you just need a good, long, stare at a wall to process.” 

Kon huffed with what may have been amusement, then he also scooted back against the cushions, settling against them. The blanket stayed with him. His mouth twisted like he was thinking about saying something, but he frowned and remained silent. 

After years of dealing with recalcitrant younger brothers who would rather take an escrima stick to the kneecap than talk about their feelings (Jason) – and having been a teenager himself – Dick’s instincts nudged him into giving Connor a gentle push. 

“It’s not about hero stuff, is it?” 

With a sigh that sounded way too despondent to be coming from a fifteen-year-old, Kon shook his head. 

“Family stuff?” Dick guessed. 

Kon’s brows knitted together. He let go of his mug long enough to make a waffling motion with his hand. 

Ah, Dick thought he knew where this was going. “Connor-and-family stuff?” 

“Yeah,” Kon whispered, practically clutching the mug again. He shifted in his spot. “I’m – I’m not–I’m not him, I’m not. But – but I–” His hands shook. 

Luckily, Dick had plenty of practice in this area. After setting his own mug on the coffee table, he glanced over at Kon and lifted his arms in invitation. Kon only hesitated for a couple seconds before shifting closer to lean into the offered hug, slumping against Dick’s chest. 

DIck wrapped his arms around Connor’s frame. He didn’t say anything else for a long while. 

Of all people, Dick knew what it was like to have that desperate urge to get out from someone else’s shadow, to prove that he was his own person, not just a factory-reset version of someone else. For Connor, who’d literally been created to be a clone of Superman…yeah, that had to be painful in an entirely different dimension. 

“I just,” Kon muttered eventually. “I hate this. I hate feeling – feeling like–” He trailed off with a groan that sounded more frustrated than despairing, which was probably a good sign. 

“Feeling like you’re just a worse version of the person everyone else expects you to be?” Dick asked. He unwrapped one of his arms to free up a hand to start scratching over Connor’s shoulders with the gentle, soothing motions that Tim usually enjoyed. He wasn’t expecting Connor to absolutely melt into the soft touches like he did, but it thrilled Dick that Connor was allowing himself to be this comfortable. 

“You’re not Clark,” Dick murmured, resting his chin on top of Kon’s head. “And trust me, Kon, he doesn’t want you to be him. He wants you to be you. The part that sucks is having to figure out what being ‘you’ means. Personally, though, I think you’re off to a great start.” 

Kon hummed something that Dick couldn’t parse. 

“And, hey,” he added, grinning. “It’s Clark’s first time with any of this. He’s got no idea what he’s doing, just like you. Trust me, kiddo, being the first kid is mostly about discovering adult neuroses you never knew existed. Like, did you know that Bruce was terrified to take me to get my driver’s license? Or teach me how to drive? I’d been Robin for half a decade by that point, but the thought of me behind the wheel in Gotham traffic nearly gave him an aneurysm. He wouldn’t let me drive beyond the neighborhood for months.” 

That story made Kon laugh, and seeing a smile tugging at his mouth sent a rush of relief and affection through Dick’s chest. 

“Didn’t you have a Robin motorcycle before that?” Kon asked. 

“Oh, yeah. That didn’t matter.” 

Kon snickered again, probably at the image of the mysterious and mighty Batman wringing his hands in the waiting room of a DMV office. 

“It’s not that he didn’t trust me,” Dick added, taking a stab at what he thought might have been part of Connor’s argument with Clark. “It’s part of being a parent. He got – okay, honestly, gets – so neurotically paranoid about things happening to me because he cares. So much. And, for a long time, I couldn’t get that. It took a while.” No, that was not a lump in his throat, thank you very much. “But...it won’t be like this forever.” 

For a good several minutes, Kon stayed quiet as he – hopefully – chewed through Dick’s words, as best he could at this hour. 

“Okay,” he said at last, then yawned. 

Dick smiled and briefly tightened his arm around Kon’s waist in a hug. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah? Growing Kryptonians need their rest. We can talk more tomorrow, if you want.” 

“Mmph,” Kon replied, pressing his face into Dick’s shoulder again. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the end, Dick practically drop-kicked Kon into his bed and crashed on the couch. He slept for another couple hours, woke up to his usual alarm long enough to call off work, then went back to sleep for another hour before getting up for good. It seemed like Connor was still dead asleep, so Dick set about making two of the three items in his non-cereal breakfast repertoire. He’d flipped two omelets onto his last two plates next to generous stacks of French toast by the time Connor shuffled back out into the living room, squinting blearily. 

“Hey, kiddo, food and coffee.” Dick held out a plate and pointed to the coffee maker. 

Blinking, Kon took the food and sat down to inhale it like some kind of alien vacuum cleaner as Dick finished pouring himself coffee. 

They ate in silence – well, Dick ate while Connor stared mournfully at his empty plate. 

“There’s cereal, too,” Dick said around a mouthful of French toast. 

Faster than he could blink, Kon zipped away and returned with the milk and a box of Cheerios. Hm. Maybe he had a higher metabolism, or something. It would make sense with all his extra abilities.

Once Dick finished eating, he set his fork down. “Alright. Whaddya want to do today?” 

Kon gave him a weird look. “...Don’t you have work?” 

“Called off,” Dick replied. “Family reasons.” 

“Is everything okay?” 

Dick stared blankly at him until Connor’s eyebrows flicked up in a moment of realization, that was immediately followed by a faint blush breaking out across his face. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, dork.” Dick winked so Kon would know he was being teased rather than actually insulted. “How about you go find something to watch while I clear the table?” 

Kon pushed his chair back. “I can help.” 

“Nah, I got it.” Saying that with his arms full of dishes and silverware probably didn’t help his cause, but oh well. 

Since Connor wasn’t easily dissuaded, he trailed after Dick. “Seriously, let me do something. Go sit down.”

“I think I can handle it,” Dick said dryly. “I’m not that old, Connor. One night of weird sleep isn’t gonna do me in.” 

Kon rose to the bait and smirked. “Sure you are, I can hear your joints creaking from over here.” 

The dishes clattered as Dick dumped them into the sink, then spun back towards Kon. It was good to see him closer to his usual self, hopefully that meant that there wouldn’t be too much lingering damage from yesterday. And, hey, Dick hadn’t been lying when he’d said he called off for family reasons. Maybe it was time to give Kon a heaping spoonful of older-brothering. 

“You cannot,” Dick replied. He smirked as he took a few, slow steps forward. 

Kon’s expression did an odd spasm as he tried to hide the genuine smile that was trying to show through. “You sound like you need a gallon of WD-40 or something.” 

Normally, with Jason or Tim, Dick would draw it out a little longer and banter with them as he waited for the right time to strike. With Kon, though, it was close enough. 

In a move that Kon absolutely could have dodged if he’d wanted to, Dick dove at him and tasered into his sides, right below his ribs. 

“DICK!” Kon squawked, the word choking off into some kind of sputtering cough as he lurched backwards and managed to stumble over his own two feet.  He clumsily brought his hands up in front of his torso. “Who–what–why–” 

“You gonna go for ‘when’ and ‘where’ too?” Dick teased. It was too easy to take advantage of Kon’s flustered state and dart forward, tasering into his sides again. With another cut-off protest, Kon twisted to the side, an inelegant movement, and suddenly he was floating a couple inches off the ground. 

“Who told you?” Kon asked, and Dick was pretty sure that he wasn't imagining the hint of giddiness hiding between Kon's whining pout. No wonder he and Tim got along so well.  

“A little bird,” Dick replied, which was true. Tim had let something slip one evening – to be fair, it had included Bart and Cassie, too, but Dick had already known about them. 

Before Kon could say anything else, Dick tackled him to the ground and – yup, sure enough, Kon went down way easier than normal. Dick sat on his thighs and placed his hands on Connor’s sides again, squeezing just enough to make him meep. 

“I heard a lot about you,” Dick said in his best conversational tone. “Like how here–” he abruptly shoved his hands up under Kon’s arms and dug in, earning a wild bout of screeching cackles for his troubles. He’d have to apologize to his neighbors later. “Is a really good spot.” 

“Hey!” Kon gasped, practically beaming even as he laughed. “I’m – gohahad, Tim’s gonna die for this one, he’s – Dick nohohohnono, wait – hopeless!” 

“Oh, you're not hopeless,” Dick said, deliberately misunderstanding, and grinned down at him. A few pulses of his fingers sent Kon tumbling into another fit of strangled laughter. “You're just ticklish, Connor.”   

“Shut up!” Kon cried, blushing all the way up to the roots of his hair. He shifted around on the floor, not quite squirming, more like he was – oh, like he was testing how much he could wriggle without tossing Dick off. Adorable. “Don’t – don’t say it, shit!” 

Pointing out that Kon could get away pretty easily probably wouldn’t land right just yet, and Dick didn’t want him to feel self-conscious enough to actually free himself and disappear – that would defeat the entire point of the exercise, which was to give the sputtering young Kryptonian a giant dose of older-brothering.

“Say what?” Dick asked. 

Kon’s face twisted in an exasperated grimace, or as close as one could get when fighting back snickers. “You know, you –” 

Taking advantage of the fact that he was distracted trying to answer, Dick wormed his fingers under Kon’s arms again and dug in, pressing his thumbs into the center spots. 

Kon jerked, his eyes widening in surprise and ticklish panic. “eh-HEY! heyheyheyNOHOHOHO!”  He arched up and flailed out with his hands, slapping and grabbing at the floor beneath him as waves of increasingly desperate laughter took over any of his attempts at talking. 

Dick didn’t let up, and after a couple more seconds Kon’s head thunked back against the vinyl. He let out a giggly groan, clamping his arms to his sides, and Dick hadn’t realized how wide he was smiling until the muscles in his face twinged. 

“Giving up already?” he teased. “I heard this was a good spot, but man. You really are ticklish, huh? Oh, right, I’m not supposed to talk about that –” Kon shouted out something garbled that was probably a protest, and Dick shushed him “–ssshh, ssh. If you can lift your arms all the way up, I’ll switch spots.” 

Okay, maybe it was a tad mean to take advantage of the fact that Connor didn’t have much experience with these kinds of games, and thus didn’t know what awaited him, but hey. He had to learn eventually, right? 

“Whaddya think, Kon-El?” Dick scritched his fingers over the outer edges of Kon’s armpits, digging into the centers with his thumbs again. “Wanna try?”

Shrieking, Kon frantically nodded as he started cackling hysterically again, his eyes squinching up. “OkokOKAHAHAY!” 

It was sweet, really, how willing he was to play along. Dick smiled as he shifted into a different gear of older brother tickle monster mode. “Alright, great! Whenever you’re ready.” 

Kon gulped down another wave of laughter and tried to inch his arms upwards. As soon as the pressure against Dick’s hands lessened, he started tickling faster, chuckling as Kon’s eyes bugged out of his head and he snapped his arms back down to his sides. 

“Che-heheater!” Kon gasped, trying to hold back his laughter. 

Dick winked at him. “I never said I wouldn’t tickle, Baby Supes, just that you gotta get those arms up.”

A hilarious range of expressions contorted Kon’s features into different shapes, until he finally settled on ‘righteous indignation’. It would’ve felt more real if stray laughter hadn’t been leaking out around his attempted glower. “You’re such a jerk–” 

“Aw, c’mon, you can do it!” Dick fluttered his fingers again just to make Kon sputter and squirm. “I believe in you!” 

Kon rolled his eyes, huffing, as he visibly made an effort to still himself. He bit down on his lower lip and hesitantly lifted his arms up again, just a fraction of an inch. When Dick didn't immediately start tickling him again, Kon glowered and stretched a little further upwards.

Dick twitched his fingers, barely, but it was enough to make Kon yelp and slam his head back. 

“You suck,” Kon whined, as if he wasn’t grinning through his snickers. 

Dick tried to defend himself. “Hey, I barely did anything.You almost had it.”

Blinking hard, Kon squinted up at him. “H-how far?” 

“Hm?” How far, what?

“How far?” Kon repeated. He knocked his fists against the mat. “How far is ‘up’?” 

Ah. Okay, this was going in Dick’s mental archive of adorable little brother moments that he revisited on the bad days. In a moment of heroic self restraint, he held himself back from cooing and instead just reached up to smooth some of Kon’s wayward hair away from his face while he pretended to think hard about the question. 

“I think you can get your hands over your head,” he said, poking Kon in the upper ribs. Where Tim would’ve screeched loud enough to echo off the walls for ages, Kon just flinched and let out a quiet snicker. 

Dick crawled his fingers upwards again and Kon practically snorted as his snickers turned into louder laughter. “And, hey. I’ll be nice this time.” 

The skeptical look that Kon gave him made Dick laugh out loud because – yeah, fair. But, hey, if Kon was still up for playing along, he couldn’t be that exasperated. 

Even though Dick stayed true to his word and didn’t actually tickle, apparently the pressure of his fingers resting right above Kon’s ribs was enough to keep Kon in fits of panicked snickers – probably because whenever he moved his arms, he shifted against Dick’s hands, which made him flinch, which made hissed laughter sputter out from his clenched teeth. 

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m not even doing anything, kiddo, this is all you.” 

“Shut up!” Kon gasped. “Don’t talk, don’t say ahahanything!” 

As funny as it was to watch Kon work himself into a mess of badly-hidden laughter and panic, Dick figured that the poor kid had served his time. Right as he started to sit up and push himself to his feet, Kon summoned the wits to fling both of his arms up over his head.

Dick, as promised, lifted his hands up and grinned. “Hey, there you go! I knew you had it in you.” 

“I–you–” Kon blinked rapidly like his entire train of thought had crashed, then he tucked his elbows back to his sides and clasped his hands over his chest. He shook his head, speechless. 

“Don’t worry,” Dick said, lowering his voice as he reached out to ruffle Kon’s hair. “You won.” He paused for a few seconds as Kon caught his breath, waiting until he made eye contact to continue. “That just means we can figure out where else you’re ticklish.” 

Kon’s eyes widened and he yelled out something unintelligible as Dick shot his hands down to squeeze and knead at his sides. Whatever Kon had been trying to say dissolved in breathless, high-pitched laughter. 

It turned out that Kryptonians were just as susceptible to the “fingers hovering right above a tickle spot but not touching” tease as humans were. When Dick held one of his hands over Kon's stomach, Kon sucked in a gulping breath and tried to wriggle away until he broke down into panicked, snickering snorts. 

“You're so dramatic,” Dick said, tsking. “Your belly isn't even that ticklish.” 

“I can't hehelp it,” Kon replied as he forced himself to still. 

Instead of pointing out that Kon could very much help it if he so chose, Dick just scrabbled across his upper abs again, drawing out another round of light laughter. 

“Whatever you say, bud.” It was hard to believe that the puddle of laughter in front of him was the same Connor who’d been curled on the couch like the world’s saddest shrimp last night. 

“You know,” Dick started. “Clark is also a huge tickle monster, so you’d better watch out.” 

Kon smacked his hands over his face. “Don’t tehell him!” 

“Don’t tell him what?” As he teased, Dick started poking randomly all over Connor’s stomach and sides, getting a flurry of yelps for his troubles. “That you’re ticklish, but he can’t talk about it ever?” Dick slid his hands underneath Kon’s sides to scritch over his lower back, see if he was ticklish there like Jason. 

Maybe it was the lighter tickles, but instead of yelping or snickering, Connor immediately slipped into stuttering giggles. Oh god, how sweet. 

“C’mon, I gotta tell him about this,” Dick said. “Your tickly-giggles are adorable.” 

Whatever Kon started to whine out – probably a pointless protest about how he wasn’t adorable, which, lies – was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Looks like you’re getting off easy this time.” After another quick ruffle of Kon’s hair, Dick hopped up to see who was there.

For the second time in less than twelve hours, a Kent was standing unannounced in his doorway. This time, though, it was Clark, and he wore that pinched expression that only appeared when he was truly worried. 

It occurred to Dick that maybe he should’ve checked his phone last night. Or earlier that morning. 

“He’s here,” Dick said, offering Clark a reassuring smile. “And he’s fine.” 

Some of the tension left Clark’s face, and he nodded once. “Thank you for taking care of him, Dick.” 

Dick stepped back so he could come in. “Anytime.” 

Maybe Dick was imagining it, but Clark’s movements seemed hesitant as he started towards the living room. 

“Oh!” Dick grabbed Clark by the sleeve. “He’s, uh. He’s in the kitchen. Sort of.” 

Sure enough, Kon had made no effort to get up. In fact, he’d curled in on himself, still hiding his face in his hands. 

“Shit,” Clark murmured. He’d crossed the room in two strides and fell to his knees next to Connor, reaching out to place a hand on his head. “Connor, are you alright?” 

Disoriented, Kon stared up at him through watery eyes. “Clark?” 

“He’s fine,” Dick cut in to head off any more misunderstanding. “In fact, Uncle Clark, did you know that he’s insanely ticklish?” 

The glower from Kon could’ve curdled milk, but Clark visibly relaxed and shot Dick a tired, grateful smile. “Ah, that would make sense.” 

“I’m going to grab Thai for lunch,” Dick said. Leaving now would give them a chance to talk in private, and himself the opportunity to call Bruce. “You’re both staying, right?” 

“Yes,” Connor replied immediately. 

Clark looked down at him with an impossibly soft smile, then nodded to Dick. 

“Great. I’ll be back in thirty.” Dick barely remembered to grab his keys as he scurried out the front door. He had his phone out and calling Bruce’s personal cell before he was halfway down the stairs. 

Bruce picked up halfway through the second ring. “Dick? Is everything alright?” 

“Fine,” Dick replied. He dodged a lady with a stroller and jumped the last five stairs, landing with a satisfying thud. “Did I ever apologize for all the stuff I did as a kid?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dick can’t talk him down?”

“Master Dick has been unsuccessful thus far.”

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

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

“Quite so, Master Tim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Tim grumbled. “On it.”

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

“Alfred says to go upstairs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was attempting to–”

“– when they get home from patrol.”

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

“Damian–”

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

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

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

And speaking of Dick…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

“You’re trying to make me angry.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Astute observation.”

“Well, it’s not gonna work.”

“Is that so?”

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

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

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

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

“Drake!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not beg!”

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

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

“What about me?”

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

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

“Which is?”

“I’m the big brother.”

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

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

Tim cocked his head. “Why’s that?”

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

“Okay, that’s it.”

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

“Cut it out, Drake!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll regret this!”

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

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

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

“No!”

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

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

“Did you just—“

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

Tim narrowed his eyes. “No.”

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

“St-stop it, Drake!” 

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

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

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

“Unlock the computer!”

“No!”

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

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

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

Damian gave him a wordless roar in response.

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

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

“Hmm… Nah.” Tim said.

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

“T-Timothy!”

“Coming upstairs?” Tim took another threatening breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the odds that this will be overlooked?”

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

Damian made a disgusted face. “Ugh.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“This is satisfactory.”

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

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

bruce getting hit and alfred performing an injury check once he gets back to the cave and he accidentally hits some ticklish spots and bruce cant hide it like usual because of the spell/serum and he's like "hey!" and wants to tell alfred to stop it or cut it out or something, but he cant, because that would be a lie because he's still that little boy that always wanted to play tickle monster with Thomas and Martha (and sometimes Alfred, once the grief became manageable, in rare times Alfred dropped the propriety) and he still thinks its fun. and alfred can tell and just smiles indulgently, sneaking some more in here and there under the guise of the injury check

dick getting hit and he already knows his siblings are going to be hounding him with questions because theyre little shits like that, and he complains about it during the batmobile ride home (which Bruce actually went with him on because dick was real out of it for a bit there and Bruce had been pretty worried). bruce isnt gonna ask him questions, at least not until he can be fully monitored, but he hums here and there to respond, and dick is of course fluent in Batman Grunt Language so theyre able to have a full conversation and you cant tell me dick is not adhd so theyre jumping topics like crazy but bruce has learned to follow his train of thought by now. and somehow tickling gets touched upon, maybe a childhood memory or smth, and dick tries to say something about it being so annoying or smth like that but he chokes on the words because he cant lie and whoops, bruce definitely knew that when dick was a kid (he wasnt shy about it, he was an attention seeking kid) but definitely didnt know it continued once he grew up. he definitely makes it clear that he's putting that one in his back pocket, and dick whines about how its embarassing, but when asked if he wants bruce to forget it, he cant lie and say yes because he does miss the affection of a tickle-attack from his father figure

jason who gets hit and keeps snapping at everyone to stop asking him questions because of course theyre asking embarrassing shit, who wouldn't. and dick is the most annoying of all like "do you REALLY hate it when i hug you??" and he's got the compulsion type so he tries to bite his tongue for a bit but eventually cant take it anymore and spits out a rage-filled "no" and dick gasps and starts grinning like the cat that caught the canary and starts going through all the types of affection he can think of "do you actually hate when i kiss your forehead?" "do you actually hate when i spam you with tiktoks?" "do you actually hate when i force you to come to movie nights?" "do you actually hate when i get you to cuddle?" and of course the answer to all of these is no, Jason doesnt actually hate it, but goddammit he's got a reputation to keep and he cant have his siblings all thinking he's gone soft (luckily alfred had kicked out everyone but dick by now, because dick was SUPPOSED to be monitoring jason's symptoms, but instead he was being Obnoxious) and then he gets to the worst one of "do you actually hate when i tickle you?" and jason doesnt know if its more or less incriminating that he tries to hold back his answer for as long as he does, but eventually he has to give in to the "no" trying to escape from his body. and dick has never looked so smug or evil and jason knows he's never living this down. especially not when dick gets into questions like "do you like it when i tease you?" or "why do you like it when i tickle you?" Jason swears, the second this wears off, Dick is gonna regret ever being born

tim gets hit and he's got the kind where he doesnt even realize fully he's speaking the truth. he's super chatty, cant stop talking, just keeps dropping more information. almost like he's high actually, but not quite, he's still mostly aware he just. cant really stop talking much and doesnt care to lol, but all of it has to be the truth. and so his family guides the conversation further away from the angstier stuff and more towards silly or non-important stuff. like, what game has he been playing recently, his favorite foods, what he thinks of this or that movie.... the movie part, of course, gets them talking about movie nights in general, and tim talks about how much he loves it when they do a blanket fort night because everyone gets to be all cozy in a pile together and even after all these years he's still a little touch/affection starved (yes i know thats extremely fanon characterization but leave me alone KDFKDF), and he talks about how much he loves it when dick or bruce will give him back tickles and hair pets/head scratches if he manages to cuddle up to one of them during movie night. and because tim is in word vomit mode, he just keeps going, and he talks about how fun he finds tickling in general and how he wished it happened more because it shuts his brain off and he likes the playful affection and spending time with his siblings and/or father figure. everyone makes Extreme note of this, and tim is mortified once its worn off, but he cant really complain when he gets more cuddles, tickle attacks, AND prime back tickles/hair pets/back scratches every movie night from then on, even Jason joining in sometimes

“With tickles?” It wasn’t necessarily a miracle that Eddie could figure it out just from that, since Steve always said he liked tormenting him after he’d reduced him to an incoherent mess. “Sure.”

“It, uh-” Made him so fucking happy he was putting himself through the torture of saying it aloud just so Eddie never took his protests seriously enough and stopped doing it? He couldn’t say that. No way.

“It what?” Eddie tilted his head at him now, curiosity laced in the way he batted his eyelashes, in the way he raised his eyebrows. “Am I doing it too much?”

“No, no.” Truth was he probably was, but Steve, being an addict, needed it even more. “I- is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Eddie reached out and grabbed the hem of Steve’s shirt, fingertips nudging his neck and making him recoil ever so slightly, but all Eddie did was pull at it. “Maybe go for a tank top. I can lend you one.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, because he knew that if he allowed Eddie to get up and walk away he would never try to speak of this again. “I, uh. Well. You know. How you torment me?”

“Yes, we’ve established that I’m terrible for tickling you,” he said with a laugh. “I can stop.”

“No.” The word had left his mouth much too quickly for Steve to register it was even forming on his tongue.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“Uhm.” What the fuck was he supposed to say now? “I just-”

“Do you like it or somethin’?”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat and he looked away. He could lie. He could say no. Say he simply enjoyed the intimacy of it all. Say he enjoyed laughing. But while all of it was true it missed the key part of it all: that he liked it, period. Liked the whole experience of it.

“I do.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected Eddie to do. To ask questions, to get up and leave, to call him gross. All he knew was that he didn’t expect him to let out a low laugh, reach out to gently squeeze his knee and say, “I know, I’m just messing with you.” But he did do exactly that.

“What.” Steve’s word was barely a question at this point. “You mean to tell me I’ve been sitting here trying to confess like a moron and you already knew?”

“You make me sound mean when you put it that way.” Eddie shrugged. “But yes. Of course I knew. Why do you think I keep doing it?”

“God, I hate you so much.”

“Awe, but you were just confiding in me. Of course you don’t hate me.”

“Stop grinning at me.”

“I can’t help it when you’re so endearing.” Eddie tried to pinch Steve’s cheek, but he slapped his hand away. “You don’t want me to touch you? You don’t want me to tickle your belly to pieces right this second?”

“Shut up.”

“Pin you down and make you say out loud how much you like it?”

“Oh my god, you wouldn’t.”

“Watch you blush and stutter.”

“Eddie, I swear to god.”

Eddie softened, reaching out to run his hand over Steve’s hair. “I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want me to. And thank you for telling me. You know I’m just messing with you.”

“You love teasing me,” Steve mumbled, leaning into the touch. “So mean.”

“I enjoy flustering you, I do admit.” He moved his hand down, cupping Steve’s cheek. “And I won’t tickle you until you ask me to.”

“Oh my god, you are mean.”

“I would call it considerate.” Eddie trailed his hand down further, fingertip moving from his throat to his chest to his ribs to his belly. “Just say when.”

Of course Steve said when, quietly, awkwardly, breathlessly, and Eddie had him pinned immediately, fingers curling over his skin and not stopping. Steve started begging for mercy out of habit, but he knew he would die if Eddie stopped now. Luckily for him Eddie must’ve realized it, for he merely used his other hand to squeeze at his thigh, over and over and over until Steve nearly bucked him off the bed. “Fuck!” he cried, and Eddie laughed as well, purring out a “Yeah?” which had Steve blushing to his roots.