Hello friends!!! My name's Glitch. I love to chat, but I don'twrite much. Please be nice, or please go elsewhere. Thanks! Link to the piccrew I used for my pfp: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2069970
By the way it's like. Really fucked how society's thoughts on epilepsy is just "get over it." Seizures can cause permanent brain damage. Seizures can kill people. Seizures hurt like hell. Allow me to reiterate that seizures can kill people. And you're just gonna casually put flashing lights, a common trigger for seizures in your advertisement, in your animation meme, in your edit, on your billboards, without even thinking about putting a simple disclaimer? That's unbelievable. Your little anime edit could deadass cost a life and you're not gonna put a warning because it's "inconvenient" or "people like that shouldn't be on the internet" (ableist) (the problem exists outside the internet also). Or you'll give insufficient ones like putting it in the captions or only giving like one second before the flashing lights appear, meaning that the trigger's already in motion before anyone who needs the warning can read it and save themselves from literal physical danger.
We need to start commenting under other people's posts about how to properly warn for flashing lights and eyestrain. We need to be emailing and calling companies about their possibly triggering advertisements that could induce seizures. We need to stop tolerating ableism and start speaking up for the more vulnerable.
Also, stop putting epilepsy warnings. That's like saying "warning: schizophrenia" on a post including unreality or "warning: dyslexia" on a post with a typing quirk. First off, the disability mentioned isn't the only group of people that this could trigger. Second, it doesn't truly get the message across and instead makes it worse for those with the disability-- scrolling through the epilepsy tag on Tumblr should get you to view the content of other epileptic people, but no, you just get a bunch of flashing lights and eyestrain, even though you could instead tag for, oh I dunno, flashing lights and eyestrain.
Anyways this Disability Pride, and for every month that comes after, think about epileptic people and others who are triggered by flashing lights/eyestrain. Happy pride to those who experience seizures too frequently due to the unaccommodating and ableist societies we live in!
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This is the story of Mira, a dying kitten I rescued. I have started a GoFundMe to help pay for her medical bills as I am in a rough place financially. Her full story is posted on the GoFundMe.
Any support is appreciated, either through donations or shares 💖
Thank you for taking the time to read my little comic~ have a lovely day! ✨
Mira is a 14-week-old kitten who was rescued from a life of starvation and ce… Elizabeth DeLong needs your support for Help Mira the Kitten
a/n: some of Bruce's reflections on fatherhood here lmao
summary: Dick's approaching 18th birthday has him deeply freaking out about his place in Bruce's household and family, since he's facing Becoming An Adult. After a bad fight with Bruce, Dick runs away to Clark and Lois' doorstep, afraid that he's messed up too badly this time. Bruce follows him out there, and they work things out.
lee!Dick Grayson // ler!Bruce Wayne, ler!Clark Kent
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Clark barely registered the crackling sound of an incoming speedster before someone knocked on the door to his parents’ home. The first red flag was the fact that it was nearly two a.m. The second was that there was no normal reason for anyone he knew with super speed to be out here without prior warning, so when Lois stirred beside him, he blurred downstairs and over to the door.
Wally West blurred into a shower of static and disappeared just in time to leave Dick Grayson standing there, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his face red and blotchy from tears.
“Dick,” Clark started. “Is everyone okay?”
Dick shook his head, looking absolutely wretched. He blinked hard twice then seemed to give up, his shoulder slumping forwards as a couple tears trailed down his face.
“Bad fight,” he said, voice hoarse. “With Bruce. Can’t be there.”
Okay, so no cosmic world-ending alien invasion. Clark rubbed his eyes as Dick’s words finished processing through his newly-awake brain, and…uh oh.
Oh, Dickie. The poor kid - well, not a kid anymore. He’d gotten even taller over the last couple months and was going to be eighteen in a couple weeks.
“Come on in,” Clark said. He stepped back and used his foot to shove the door open, wrapping an arm around Dick to usher him inside. “I’m so sorry, Dick.”
A tiny, choked noise escaped Dick’s tightly-sealed lips, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and stared blankly ahead.
The stairs creaked and Lois appeared, clad in pajama pants and one of Clark’s Daily Planet t-shirts.
“Everything okay?” she asked, brow furrowing when she saw Dick.
“It sounds like Dick and Bruce got into it,” Clark said, choosing his words carefully. Everything about Dick’s body language read the same as an easily-spooked horse. “So Dick is here for a little bit.”
She hummed sympathetically and, stifling a yawn, came all the way downstairs. When she got closer to Dick, her face fell.
“What happened, Dickie?”
The duffle bag fell to the floor as Dick practically launched himself into her open arms and absolutely broke down into heaving sobs that shook his entire body. She hugged him tightly, murmuring soothing words against his hair, and Clark zipped upstairs to get his phone. Alarm and concern twisted together behind his sternum – Dick hadn’t broken down like this in years, even with the recent tensions between him and Bruce. What the hell had happened in Gotham?
His phone screen lit up with an incoming call from Bruce – the third one, apparently. Clark immediately answered.
“Clark.” Bruce sounded destroyed, wrecked. “Dick’s missing. I can’t find him, his tracker’s offline–”
Normally Clark would hesitate to cut him off, but this time it was a mercy. “He’s here. In Kansas. Wally dropped him off.”
After a couple seconds’ stunned silence, Bruce’s sigh crackled through the phone line, equal parts relieved and aching. “At the farm.”
“Ma and Pa are gone for a couple days,” Clark said. “Me and Lois are watching the animals. What happened?”
As Bruce filled him in on the details of a particularly nasty blowout argument, Clark was glad he didn’t have to conceal his wincing. That was…bad. Really bad. Normally Dick didn’t go for the ‘you’re not my father!’ line, and Bruce…
Had spectacularly dropped the ball by sending Dick away after that.
For two of the smartest people in the world, Bruce and Dick were…well, a kind phrase might be emotionally illiterate. At least when it came to each other.
Then again, most families were like that.
“You need to come out here,” Clark said at last. “Give him tomorrow to rest and process, but get here in the evening.”
“I can be there in three hours.”
Clark took a second to translate “no, you need some time to regulate” into Bat-speak, then said, “I think Dick would respond better after he’s had some rest and some time to process.”
Bruce’s silence somehow conveyed his frustration and his own grief, but eventually he grunted in the affirmative.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Clark said, going for calm and soothing. “It’ll be fine.”
The next evening, Bruce arrived looking like he’d spent forty days wandering in the wilderness, with dark circles under his eyes and two days’ worth of unshaven scruff, his hair messy. He’d brought his own duffle bag, one that was styled similarly to Dick’s – the two were clearly part of a matching set.
Dick had spent the better part of the day pacing around, chock full of nervous energy even after talking things out with Clark and Lois, until he disappeared into his guest room upstairs shortly before Bruce was due to arrive.
Bruce had barely stepped foot across the threshold when suddenly Dick flew down the stairs and tackled him into a hug. Had Clark not been there, Bruce would’ve gone sprawling backwards across the porch.
“See?” Clark said to no one in particular. “It’s all fine.”
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Bruce slept fitfully through the night. He woke up around seven and rather than trying to return to sleep, he got up, dressed in jeans and a button-down flannel – look, keeping an unremarkable profile was important. Bruce Wayne being instantly spotted in Kansas at the same time Batman missed a night in Gotham felt like inviting trouble, which was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Despite the overwhelming distraught-fear-grief from realizing that Dick had vanished, Bruce had managed to put a little thought into packing. Sort of.
He should have realized earlier that part of Dick’s behavior could be explained by his approaching eighteenth birthday. Waiting for Dick to come to him with his problems clearly hadn’t worked, and Bruce was endlessly frustrated with himself for not being more proactive. Of course Dick was his son in every possible way, legally and otherwise. He hadn’t understood that the looming threshold of adulthood was making Dick increasingly insecure about his place in Bruce’s household – in Bruce’s family.
God. Lois had been right to call him a moron the night before.
The scent of coffee drifted up from the kitchen downstairs, and plus the (perhaps) irrational urge to lay eyes on Dick spurred him out of his guest room. Across the hall, the door to the room that Dick had slept in was wide open, the bed empty.
As much as Bruce wanted to tell himself that this wasn’t a problem, he hurried down the stairs. No one was in the living room, but the kitchen lights were on, so he checked there next. Lois was sitting at the round table with her laptop, an external harddrive, and an open copy of the day’s newspaper. A steaming mug of coffee sat precariously close to her elbow but she looked up at Bruce when he got to the doorway. Or, as Dick would say, when he loomed in the doorway.
“They’re both awake. I sent them outside to get apples,” Lois said before he could ask. The newspaper rustled as she yanked out a section and tossed it in his direction. “Clark’s making pie. There’s more coffee.”
Okay. The apple trees were out front. That was fine. Really.
Bruce picked up the sheaf of paper – ha ha, the comics – and, tucking it beneath his arm, moved on to pour himself a mug of plain black coffee. Rather than joining Lois at the kitchen table, he headed towards the living room and settled in one of the well-worn armchairs beside the couch.
It just so happened that the chair faced one of the windows overlooking the front yard, where the Kents had a couple modest apple trees, and where Clark and Dick were busy collecting fruit. As soon as Bruce saw Dick to confirm that he was still there, that persistent pinched feeling near his lungs began to loosen. He couldn’t hear anything that they were saying out there, but Dick threw his head back and laughed at something Clark told him.
That was a good sign, then. Dick seemed happy. At ease, even, in a way he hadn’t been in ages.
For a brief instant, the desire to stay here out in the middle of the country, away from Gotham and all its problems and griefs, hit Bruce like a locomotive. He’d do anything, go anywhere, to give Dick the kind of life that would let him look like that, comfortable and relaxed and content, all the time. Usually, the thought of giving up the cowl seemed like an impossible scenario. Like a fever dream, like the cowl and the cape had melted so deeply into Bruce’s nerves that it would always cling to him, shadowing his every move, seeping through his pores. But here, in the early morning light, with coffee and apple trees and Dick climbing up on Clark’s shoulders to reach a higher branch…
Giving it up seemed like the easiest thing in the world.
Dick, of course, would riot. Forget running away from home, he’d probably figure out a way to kick Bruce off the damn planet. The kid who’d taught Bruce more about duty and responsibility than a decade in Gotham’s seedy underground could never stand by when there was something he could do to help the people around him.
Bruce smiled to himself and opened the funnies section of the paper. He’d just begun reading when a commotion at the front door heralded Clark and Dick’s loud, chaotic return – Dick was still on Clark’s shoulders and the doorframes were not tall enough to accommodate that much height, so they’d compromised. Instead of just hopping down, because that would be too easy, Dick leaned back, nearly folding himself in half in a stretch that made Bruce’s lower vertebrae ache from watching, while Clark ducked down.
“Morning, B!” Clark said, too loudly and too cheerfully. He brandished a plastic bag full to bursting. “Got an early start.”
He kicked his slides off and nudged them over towards the doormat.
Dick effortlessly swung himself back up to a normal sitting position, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He toed off his own shoes and they fell to the floor with twin thunking sounds. When he looked up, he was grinning, face flushed from exertion. He saw Bruce, though, and sudden uncertainty flashed across his expression. He started to say something but stopped and tugged his lower lip between his teeth.
Bruce’s first urge was to reassure him that everything was fine between them and drag Dick down into a hug, but he wasn’t sure Dick would appreciate that level of acknowledged emotional vulnerability in front of Clark and Lois. But clearly waiting for Dick to come to him hadn’t worked either, so…hm. Words had never been Bruce’s strong suit, but for Dick, he’d learned and would keep learning.
“I can see,” Bruce replied, creasing his section of the paper and setting it aside. “Have you pressed my son into indentured service, or did he volunteer?”
At ‘son’, Dick’s face pinkened a little further and he ducked his head, a faint, pleased smile playing at his mouth. God, he looked so young. How was he somehow both older than Bruce could believe and still young enough to seem like he should be bundled away in a bunker forever? Well, maybe, he’d never outgrow the latter one.
“Hey, he volunteered,” Clark replied. He raised his eyebrows. “Only paid workers here, Corporate. And he was an excellent help.” To punctuate his point, Clark reached up and squeezed Dick’s knee in what was intended to be an affectionate gesture.
In uniform and on the training mats, Dick’s reflexes were nearly preternatural. During moments like these, however…
“Tha-ANks!” Dick flinched, voice cracking halfway through the word.
The facetiously innocent smirk that Clark pasted on bespoke imminent future mayhem – honestly, he was no better than Dick sometimes – so instead of intervening, Bruce silently took the bag of apples from him and delivered them to Lois.
“Thank you, page boy,” she muttered absently, laser-focused on an article. That expression usually meant that she’d found an investigative puzzle to unravel, and interrupting her would be a task undertaken in only the direst of circumstances. Since she was too distracted to smack his hand away, he rustled around for a good-sized apple and returned to see what Dick had gotten himself into.
Meanwhile, Dick’s startled laughter echoed around the living room as he tried to bargain with Clark.
“You don’t have to do this! U-Uncle Clahahark! Wai-wai-waihaihait–” any other protests disappeared into a familiar screech of sheer ticklish panic that made Bruce smile as he wandered back to the doorway, purloined snack in hand.
Dick was somehow still on Clark’s shoulders despite his best efforts to escape, which seemed to mainly consist of winding his fingers through Clark’s hair and crumpling forwards, helpless with laughter as Clark squeezed at his knees and lower thighs.
When he saw Bruce, Dick flailed out in his general direction, as much as he could while jerking and wriggling. “B! He’s killing mehehe!”
“I almost forgot about this,” Clark said.
Bullshit, but Bruce wouldn’t call him on it this time. “Oh no. Whatever shall we do, Dickie?”
Despite his protesting, Dick’s giant grin looked positively gleeful even as he sputtered with feigned indignance.
Clark winked. “You could help him.”
“I could.” Bruce took a bite of his apple. He wandered a couple steps closer, intending to grab one of Dick’s outstretched hands and pull him back down to earth.
Whatever Clark did, though, got a strangled snort out of Dick before his right leg flew out, apparently on sheer reflex, and though Bruce guessed what was coming and tried to duck, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting a socked foot straight to the jaw.
Ouch.
Sparking pain shot through his jawline and chin, not enough to indicate a serious injury but enough that Bruce hissed through his teeth before he could stop himself.
Dick had gone entirely still and was staring in frozen horror. Instead of stepping back, Bruce deliberately set his half-eaten apple down on the coffee table and set about rolling up his sleeves. He didn’t look directly at Dick as he did so, but Clark was quick on the uptake. He flashed Bruce an encouraging grin and Bruce very heroically did not roll his eyes, focusing instead on pushing his sleeves above his elbows.
Dick hadn’t said anything yet. He’d gone still like maybe that would hide him. Nice try.
Bruce finished securing his sleeves, taking some extra time just to wind Dick up further even though his son wasn’t saying anything. Then, cracking his knuckles, he held his hands out towards Clark.
“Alright, Give me my kid.”
That shocked Dick into action as a relieved grin broke out across his face and he panicked, trying to successfully wriggle away.
“Nononono!” he protested, his voice tightening with barely-suppressed laughter. He twisted his torso in an attempt to evade Bruce's outstretched arms, fruitlessly pushing at Clark's head and shoulders. “It was an accident, I didn't mean to!”
Clark leaned down. The movement toppled Dick forwards and Bruce seized him by the waist, yanked hard, and successfully wrestled a squirming bundle of seventeen-year-old into his grasp. He adjusted his grip to cradle Dick like he was a much smaller child, arms braced under his back and knees.
“An accident,” Bruce repeated. He let his voice drop to a deeper rumble that usually sent Dick into fits of anticipatory snickers. “Are you sure about that?”
Dick's head flopped to the side, thunking against Bruce's shoulder. He grinned giddily up at Bruce, eyes watery from laughing. “Ye-yehes! Promise!”
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Dick squirmed as currents of restless energy raced through his limbs. He wasn’t actually trying to get away, but there was too much fizzy feeling – the butterflies in his stomach, the humming in his arms and legs – for him to stay still. Plus, letting Bruce cart him around like a little kid was too close to admitting that he was having fun, and surely seventeen was too old to be flustered into a mess of giggles and wriggling by the looming threat of tickles from his dad.
(His dad. His dad, no matter what.)
So, as Bruce started towards the couch, Dick shouted for help again. “Help! Lois, they’re ganging up on me!”
He heard her snort from the kitchen table and grinned.
“Sorry, Boy Wonder,” she called back, dry amusement in her tone. “You’re on your own.”
“Betrayal!”
Bruce’s chuckle rumbled through his chest and Dick found himself leaning into him, some part of his mind instinctively soothed. As always, Bruce smelled like pine and vetiver, and the familiarity of it made Dick want to burrow into his arms for a nap. He resisted. Barely.
“Don’t,” he said, kicking his feet. “B. I’m too old for this–”
Ignoring his protests, Bruce dropped his legs to wrap both of his arms around Dick’s torso, pinning him to his chest in a backwards hug as he sat down on the couch, leaving Dick firmly trapped.
Before Dick could really appreciate how screwed he was, Bruce prodded at his left side, right under his ribs, and Dick screeched out a startled bark of laughter. When his dad didn’t let up, Dick squirmed, trying to fold sideways or summon enough focus to get that evil hand away, but the jolts of electric ticklish feeling kept him in distracting fits of cackles.
“Too old,” Bruce said, repeating Dick’s most recent protesting words. He’d leaned down to crowd up close to Dick’s ear. “Somehow, Dickie, I don’t think that’s the case. You’re not too old…”
Suddenly, both his hands were pinching and digging into those insanely sensitive spots right below Dick’s ribs. Dick shrieked, the adrenaline making him kick both his legs out as he tried to thrash or squirm or flail or find some kind of outlet for all the giddy ticklishness that was taking over his mind.
“...I think you’re too ticklish,” Bruce finished. Even the vibrations of his voice tickled. Damn it.
Dick shook his head, scrunching up his whole face as he tried to cringe away. His lungs burned when he managed to suck in another breath. “Gehehet – get out of thehere, you–BRUCE!”
Those stupid butterflies returned to Dick’s stomach with a vengeance and he tried to wipe the stupid grin off his face but he couldn’t because – because Bruce started nuzzling raspberries and nibbles around his neck, and his scruff made it tickle so much worse, and no matter how many times this happened it still sent Dick into waves of helpless, screechy giggles. Plus, Bruce was still tickling at his lower ribs, having switched to crawling his hands slowly up each set, one at a time. Writhing, Dick tried to smack Bruce’s hands or wrists or reach up and whack him in the head – that got him a tasering poke to the underarm, so he changed strategies and pretended that he hadn’t just screamed. His arms were useless noodles by now; all he could do was hug himself for the illusion of protection.
Dick knew he probably sounded ridiculous with all the snorts, giggles, and screechy laughter that was bubbling out of him, but he didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed just yet. He flinched upwards when Bruce’s hands shot into his armpits.
“Bruce!” he gasped. “Bruce, waihaihait! NONononoOHOHO!” He threw himself forward in a desperate escape attempt, only to feel one of his dad’s strong arms wind around his waist and haul him back. Dick tried to clamp his elbows down but that was useless at this point; Bruce’s fingers were already there, and keeping his arms pinned to his ribs just meant that any and all wheedling fingers would also nudge at his biceps and inner arms, and, well. Dick wasn’t sure he could deal with the high-pitched, shrieky giggles that would elicit. It wasn’t like Bruce and Clark and even Lois would be surprised, or anything, but he – he wasn’t a screechy little kid anymore, he was almost an adult –
An almost-adult who did, unfortunately, spasm and sputter out a few of those giggles anyway because Bruce took a brief detour to skitter over his triceps. Rats.
“Careful, chum,” Bruce rumbled, staying in that tickly lower range.
The sheer fondness oozing from his words made Dick feel like he was melting into a blushy, giggly marshmallow because that was his dad, the Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham who terrified humans and Metahumans and aliens alike, and – and all it took to make him soften was letting himself be hugged and tickled, because…because Bruce loved him.
Because that was his Dad.
Before Dick could dwell too much on that realization, Bruce continued on to tease him. “You wouldn’t want to get away, right?”
Oh, right. Because his dad was also evil. Actually, real-life evil. Dick felt himself flushing a deep, mortifying shade of red, and he caught a glimpse of Clark watching him with an indulgent smile as if he knew exactly what Dick had just been thinking about.
That made him duck his head to hide. “Fuck off!”
A second pair of hands grabbed his ankles – Oh, so everyone was betraying him to the Tickle Monst-uh, to Bruce, okay – as Clark reached out and steadied his thrashing legs.
“Thank you,” Bruce said. As if he hadn’t just switched to spidering his fingers across Dick’s stomach and sides. He clawed into Dick’s upper abs, vibrating his hand, and Dick strained to curl his legs up for protection. Unfortunately, no amount of ticklish desperation could overcome Kryptonian strength.
“Of course,” Clark replied. For a grown man, he managed to pull off the ‘picture of innocence’ shtick disturbingly well. Maybe that was how he’d gotten so many good stories as a reporter. “For the record, I think the kick was on purpose.”
“Shut up!” Dick squeaked. Squeaked. God, he might as well just bury himself underneath the Kent’s floorboards because he was never coming back from that one. “Don’t listen to him, Dad, he’s shit-stirring–”
Bruce cut him off with a raspberry just under his chin that sent Dick tumbling into a puddle of hiccupy giggles. Trying to wriggle forward and out of reach just meant that he leaned further into the hands that were scrabbling all over his torso, and he was rapidly running out of energy to do more than just flop around.
So, really, he wasn’t letting Bruce keep tickling him, he was just…saving his energy. Yeah.
Clark tsked and, faster than Dick could follow, darted a hand up to squeeze at his knees again. “Language, Dickie.”
“Nohohot that!” Dick cried, fruitlessly trying to squirm his legs free. He yelped when Clark did it again, then had the nerve to reach around and scribble at the backs of his knees.
Bruce made an approving sound as he finally stopped his search for every single ticklish centimeter on Dick’s stomach, only to take up sporadic, alternating pokes into each of the tickle spots underneath his ribs again. The unpredictable frequency kept Dick jolting from side to side while Clark tickled behind his knees.
“He’s wriggly,” Clark commented, a casual observation.
Dick still felt himself blush even darker.
“He is,” Bruce replied, his smile audible in his words. “He’s always squirmed around like a wriggly, ticklish worm.”
Not fair! “I do nohot!” Dick tried to defend himself. It was a rookie mistake because that just made Bruce stop tickling him entirely, only to hover his hands above Dick’s stomach, wiggling his fingers without touching him.
“Hey!” Dick yelped. Seeing those fingers so close to him just made the desire to squirm worse, and he couldn’t even try to keep still.
“I thought you didn’t squirm, honey,” said Bruce. “What’s got you all worked up?”
Groaning, Dick whacked his head against Bruce a couple times, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the threatening hands. “Don’t!”
“Don’t what? Tickle you?” Bruce poked his stomach once, twice, then switched to nibbling little pinches up and down Dick’s sides. “Tickle you here, where it makes you giggle?”
Wheezing around a fit of helpless giggles, Dick squirmed in and tossed his head back against Bruce’s shoulder, smiling up at his dad like a dork. “You suck!”
He wasn’t expecting Bruce to lean down and kiss his forehead, but that only added to the endorphin high coursing through his bloodstream. All the laughing, combined with the onset adrenaline crash and the dopamine high from goofing off with Bruce and Clark – and the rush of relief that everything was okay, he hadn’t messed it all up irrevocably – made his head swim.
Honestly, he didn’t know when the tickling had stopped for good, because the leftover ticklish shudders kept him in periodic fits of snickering laughter. He rolled over halfway onto his stomach and Bruce adjusted his hold, then tightened his arms again when Dick settled. Clark was still holding him by the legs, now more to keep him from sliding onto the floor than to hold him steady.
“Hey,” Lois said. It sounded like she was standing in the doorway. How long had she been there? “My nephew is still alive, right?”
The sudden rush of shyness was unexpected, but Dick was too tired to do anything except smash his face into Bruce’s shirt and groan.
Apparently that was answer enough, and the three adults chuckled.
“Jesus,” Lois moved closer, her slippers scuffing against the floor. She reached down to card her fingers through Dick’s hair and he leaned into the touch, practically purring. “He’s red to his ears. Haven’t seen him that tickled-out in a while.”
“Oh,” Clark said. “Remember – gosh, was it the first or second time Bruce had us for dinner, with the chandelier and the stair rail?”
“The first,” Lois replied immediately with a ruffle of Dick’s hair. “That was the first time I got to see Dick Grayson in action.”
Bruce’s torso rumbled as he laughed at the memory and, yeah, there was no way Dick was moving now. He wasn’t a little kid, but hiding in his dad’s hug seemed like the marginally less-embarrassing option if everyone was going to talk about the time he (successfully!) swung out of a handstand on the railing to the foyer chandelier. No one had told him when Clark and Lois would be there, and he hadn’t meant to startle Alfred, but…
Well, it had been an eventful start to the evening.
“Sorry, honey,” Bruce murmured. This time it was his hand that came up to rest against Dick’s head, all warm and solid and safe. “Are we embarrassing you?”
“Yes,” Dick muttered, the words muffled by flannel. He didn’t really mind and he had the feeling that Bruce knew that. “I want a whole pie. For myself. Rec’mpn’s.”
Clark squeezed his ankles once before gently letting them go, presumably so he could stand up and get to work processing the pounds of apples into pie. Before Dick’s legs hit the floor, Bruce was already scooping him up into a better position. Someone nestled a throw pillow under between Dick’s head and Bruce’s lap, so Dick could comfortably lay on his side with his legs stretched out across the rest of the couch.
Bruce draped his arm across Dick’s waist in a gesture that was both comforting and protective. He left his other hand on Dick’s head, occasionally combing through his hair. Between the post-tickle sleepiness and his dad’s warmth, Dick snuggled closer to Bruce and finally let himself fall asleep.
a/n: some of Bruce's reflections on fatherhood here lmao
summary: Dick's approaching 18th birthday has him deeply freaking out about his place in Bruce's household and family, since he's facing Becoming An Adult. After a bad fight with Bruce, Dick runs away to Clark and Lois' doorstep, afraid that he's messed up too badly this time. Bruce follows him out there, and they work things out.
lee!Dick Grayson // ler!Bruce Wayne, ler!Clark Kent
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Clark barely registered the crackling sound of an incoming speedster before someone knocked on the door to his parents’ home. The first red flag was the fact that it was nearly two a.m. The second was that there was no normal reason for anyone he knew with super speed to be out here without prior warning, so when Lois stirred beside him, he blurred downstairs and over to the door.
Wally West blurred into a shower of static and disappeared just in time to leave Dick Grayson standing there, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his face red and blotchy from tears.
“Dick,” Clark started. “Is everyone okay?”
Dick shook his head, looking absolutely wretched. He blinked hard twice then seemed to give up, his shoulder slumping forwards as a couple tears trailed down his face.
“Bad fight,” he said, voice hoarse. “With Bruce. Can’t be there.”
Okay, so no cosmic world-ending alien invasion. Clark rubbed his eyes as Dick’s words finished processing through his newly-awake brain, and…uh oh.
Oh, Dickie. The poor kid - well, not a kid anymore. He’d gotten even taller over the last couple months and was going to be eighteen in a couple weeks.
“Come on in,” Clark said. He stepped back and used his foot to shove the door open, wrapping an arm around Dick to usher him inside. “I’m so sorry, Dick.”
A tiny, choked noise escaped Dick’s tightly-sealed lips, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and stared blankly ahead.
The stairs creaked and Lois appeared, clad in pajama pants and one of Clark’s Daily Planet t-shirts.
“Everything okay?” she asked, brow furrowing when she saw Dick.
“It sounds like Dick and Bruce got into it,” Clark said, choosing his words carefully. Everything about Dick’s body language read the same as an easily-spooked horse. “So Dick is here for a little bit.”
She hummed sympathetically and, stifling a yawn, came all the way downstairs. When she got closer to Dick, her face fell.
“What happened, Dickie?”
The duffle bag fell to the floor as Dick practically launched himself into her open arms and absolutely broke down into heaving sobs that shook his entire body. She hugged him tightly, murmuring soothing words against his hair, and Clark zipped upstairs to get his phone. Alarm and concern twisted together behind his sternum – Dick hadn’t broken down like this in years, even with the recent tensions between him and Bruce. What the hell had happened in Gotham?
His phone screen lit up with an incoming call from Bruce – the third one, apparently. Clark immediately answered.
“Clark.” Bruce sounded destroyed, wrecked. “Dick’s missing. I can’t find him, his tracker’s offline–”
Normally Clark would hesitate to cut him off, but this time it was a mercy. “He’s here. In Kansas. Wally dropped him off.”
After a couple seconds’ stunned silence, Bruce’s sigh crackled through the phone line, equal parts relieved and aching. “At the farm.”
“Ma and Pa are gone for a couple days,” Clark said. “Me and Lois are watching the animals. What happened?”
As Bruce filled him in on the details of a particularly nasty blowout argument, Clark was glad he didn’t have to conceal his wincing. That was…bad. Really bad. Normally Dick didn’t go for the ‘you’re not my father!’ line, and Bruce…
Had spectacularly dropped the ball by sending Dick away after that.
For two of the smartest people in the world, Bruce and Dick were…well, a kind phrase might be emotionally illiterate. At least when it came to each other.
Then again, most families were like that.
“You need to come out here,” Clark said at last. “Give him tomorrow to rest and process, but get here in the evening.”
“I can be there in three hours.”
Clark took a second to translate “no, you need some time to regulate” into Bat-speak, then said, “I think Dick would respond better after he’s had some rest and some time to process.”
Bruce’s silence somehow conveyed his frustration and his own grief, but eventually he grunted in the affirmative.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Clark said, going for calm and soothing. “It’ll be fine.”
The next evening, Bruce arrived looking like he’d spent forty days wandering in the wilderness, with dark circles under his eyes and two days’ worth of unshaven scruff, his hair messy. He’d brought his own duffle bag, one that was styled similarly to Dick’s – the two were clearly part of a matching set.
Dick had spent the better part of the day pacing around, chock full of nervous energy even after talking things out with Clark and Lois, until he disappeared into his guest room upstairs shortly before Bruce was due to arrive.
Bruce had barely stepped foot across the threshold when suddenly Dick flew down the stairs and tackled him into a hug. Had Clark not been there, Bruce would’ve gone sprawling backwards across the porch.
“See?” Clark said to no one in particular. “It’s all fine.”
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Bruce slept fitfully through the night. He woke up around seven and rather than trying to return to sleep, he got up, dressed in jeans and a button-down flannel – look, keeping an unremarkable profile was important. Bruce Wayne being instantly spotted in Kansas at the same time Batman missed a night in Gotham felt like inviting trouble, which was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now. Despite the overwhelming distraught-fear-grief from realizing that Dick had vanished, Bruce had managed to put a little thought into packing. Sort of.
He should have realized earlier that part of Dick’s behavior could be explained by his approaching eighteenth birthday. Waiting for Dick to come to him with his problems clearly hadn’t worked, and Bruce was endlessly frustrated with himself for not being more proactive. Of course Dick was his son in every possible way, legally and otherwise. He hadn’t understood that the looming threshold of adulthood was making Dick increasingly insecure about his place in Bruce’s household – in Bruce’s family.
God. Lois had been right to call him a moron the night before.
The scent of coffee drifted up from the kitchen downstairs, and plus the (perhaps) irrational urge to lay eyes on Dick spurred him out of his guest room. Across the hall, the door to the room that Dick had slept in was wide open, the bed empty.
As much as Bruce wanted to tell himself that this wasn’t a problem, he hurried down the stairs. No one was in the living room, but the kitchen lights were on, so he checked there next. Lois was sitting at the round table with her laptop, an external harddrive, and an open copy of the day’s newspaper. A steaming mug of coffee sat precariously close to her elbow but she looked up at Bruce when he got to the doorway. Or, as Dick would say, when he loomed in the doorway.
“They’re both awake. I sent them outside to get apples,” Lois said before he could ask. The newspaper rustled as she yanked out a section and tossed it in his direction. “Clark’s making pie. There’s more coffee.”
Okay. The apple trees were out front. That was fine. Really.
Bruce picked up the sheaf of paper – ha ha, the comics – and, tucking it beneath his arm, moved on to pour himself a mug of plain black coffee. Rather than joining Lois at the kitchen table, he headed towards the living room and settled in one of the well-worn armchairs beside the couch.
It just so happened that the chair faced one of the windows overlooking the front yard, where the Kents had a couple modest apple trees, and where Clark and Dick were busy collecting fruit. As soon as Bruce saw Dick to confirm that he was still there, that persistent pinched feeling near his lungs began to loosen. He couldn’t hear anything that they were saying out there, but Dick threw his head back and laughed at something Clark told him.
That was a good sign, then. Dick seemed happy. At ease, even, in a way he hadn’t been in ages.
For a brief instant, the desire to stay here out in the middle of the country, away from Gotham and all its problems and griefs, hit Bruce like a locomotive. He’d do anything, go anywhere, to give Dick the kind of life that would let him look like that, comfortable and relaxed and content, all the time. Usually, the thought of giving up the cowl seemed like an impossible scenario. Like a fever dream, like the cowl and the cape had melted so deeply into Bruce’s nerves that it would always cling to him, shadowing his every move, seeping through his pores. But here, in the early morning light, with coffee and apple trees and Dick climbing up on Clark’s shoulders to reach a higher branch…
Giving it up seemed like the easiest thing in the world.
Dick, of course, would riot. Forget running away from home, he’d probably figure out a way to kick Bruce off the damn planet. The kid who’d taught Bruce more about duty and responsibility than a decade in Gotham’s seedy underground could never stand by when there was something he could do to help the people around him.
Bruce smiled to himself and opened the funnies section of the paper. He’d just begun reading when a commotion at the front door heralded Clark and Dick’s loud, chaotic return – Dick was still on Clark’s shoulders and the doorframes were not tall enough to accommodate that much height, so they’d compromised. Instead of just hopping down, because that would be too easy, Dick leaned back, nearly folding himself in half in a stretch that made Bruce’s lower vertebrae ache from watching, while Clark ducked down.
“Morning, B!” Clark said, too loudly and too cheerfully. He brandished a plastic bag full to bursting. “Got an early start.”
He kicked his slides off and nudged them over towards the doormat.
Dick effortlessly swung himself back up to a normal sitting position, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He toed off his own shoes and they fell to the floor with twin thunking sounds. When he looked up, he was grinning, face flushed from exertion. He saw Bruce, though, and sudden uncertainty flashed across his expression. He started to say something but stopped and tugged his lower lip between his teeth.
Bruce’s first urge was to reassure him that everything was fine between them and drag Dick down into a hug, but he wasn’t sure Dick would appreciate that level of acknowledged emotional vulnerability in front of Clark and Lois. But clearly waiting for Dick to come to him hadn’t worked either, so…hm. Words had never been Bruce’s strong suit, but for Dick, he’d learned and would keep learning.
“I can see,” Bruce replied, creasing his section of the paper and setting it aside. “Have you pressed my son into indentured service, or did he volunteer?”
At ‘son’, Dick’s face pinkened a little further and he ducked his head, a faint, pleased smile playing at his mouth. God, he looked so young. How was he somehow both older than Bruce could believe and still young enough to seem like he should be bundled away in a bunker forever? Well, maybe, he’d never outgrow the latter one.
“Hey, he volunteered,” Clark replied. He raised his eyebrows. “Only paid workers here, Corporate. And he was an excellent help.” To punctuate his point, Clark reached up and squeezed Dick’s knee in what was intended to be an affectionate gesture.
In uniform and on the training mats, Dick’s reflexes were nearly preternatural. During moments like these, however…
“Tha-ANks!” Dick flinched, voice cracking halfway through the word.
The facetiously innocent smirk that Clark pasted on bespoke imminent future mayhem – honestly, he was no better than Dick sometimes – so instead of intervening, Bruce silently took the bag of apples from him and delivered them to Lois.
“Thank you, page boy,” she muttered absently, laser-focused on an article. That expression usually meant that she’d found an investigative puzzle to unravel, and interrupting her would be a task undertaken in only the direst of circumstances. Since she was too distracted to smack his hand away, he rustled around for a good-sized apple and returned to see what Dick had gotten himself into.
Meanwhile, Dick’s startled laughter echoed around the living room as he tried to bargain with Clark.
“You don’t have to do this! U-Uncle Clahahark! Wai-wai-waihaihait–” any other protests disappeared into a familiar screech of sheer ticklish panic that made Bruce smile as he wandered back to the doorway, purloined snack in hand.
Dick was somehow still on Clark’s shoulders despite his best efforts to escape, which seemed to mainly consist of winding his fingers through Clark’s hair and crumpling forwards, helpless with laughter as Clark squeezed at his knees and lower thighs.
When he saw Bruce, Dick flailed out in his general direction, as much as he could while jerking and wriggling. “B! He’s killing mehehe!”
“I almost forgot about this,” Clark said.
Bullshit, but Bruce wouldn’t call him on it this time. “Oh no. Whatever shall we do, Dickie?”
Despite his protesting, Dick’s giant grin looked positively gleeful even as he sputtered with feigned indignance.
Clark winked. “You could help him.”
“I could.” Bruce took a bite of his apple. He wandered a couple steps closer, intending to grab one of Dick’s outstretched hands and pull him back down to earth.
Whatever Clark did, though, got a strangled snort out of Dick before his right leg flew out, apparently on sheer reflex, and though Bruce guessed what was coming and tried to duck, he wasn’t fast enough to avoid getting a socked foot straight to the jaw.
Ouch.
Sparking pain shot through his jawline and chin, not enough to indicate a serious injury but enough that Bruce hissed through his teeth before he could stop himself.
Dick had gone entirely still and was staring in frozen horror. Instead of stepping back, Bruce deliberately set his half-eaten apple down on the coffee table and set about rolling up his sleeves. He didn’t look directly at Dick as he did so, but Clark was quick on the uptake. He flashed Bruce an encouraging grin and Bruce very heroically did not roll his eyes, focusing instead on pushing his sleeves above his elbows.
Dick hadn’t said anything yet. He’d gone still like maybe that would hide him. Nice try.
Bruce finished securing his sleeves, taking some extra time just to wind Dick up further even though his son wasn’t saying anything. Then, cracking his knuckles, he held his hands out towards Clark.
“Alright, Give me my kid.”
That shocked Dick into action as a relieved grin broke out across his face and he panicked, trying to successfully wriggle away.
“Nononono!” he protested, his voice tightening with barely-suppressed laughter. He twisted his torso in an attempt to evade Bruce's outstretched arms, fruitlessly pushing at Clark's head and shoulders. “It was an accident, I didn't mean to!”
Clark leaned down. The movement toppled Dick forwards and Bruce seized him by the waist, yanked hard, and successfully wrestled a squirming bundle of seventeen-year-old into his grasp. He adjusted his grip to cradle Dick like he was a much smaller child, arms braced under his back and knees.
“An accident,” Bruce repeated. He let his voice drop to a deeper rumble that usually sent Dick into fits of anticipatory snickers. “Are you sure about that?”
Dick's head flopped to the side, thunking against Bruce's shoulder. He grinned giddily up at Bruce, eyes watery from laughing. “Ye-yehes! Promise!”
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Dick squirmed as currents of restless energy raced through his limbs. He wasn’t actually trying to get away, but there was too much fizzy feeling – the butterflies in his stomach, the humming in his arms and legs – for him to stay still. Plus, letting Bruce cart him around like a little kid was too close to admitting that he was having fun, and surely seventeen was too old to be flustered into a mess of giggles and wriggling by the looming threat of tickles from his dad.
(His dad. His dad, no matter what.)
So, as Bruce started towards the couch, Dick shouted for help again. “Help! Lois, they’re ganging up on me!”
He heard her snort from the kitchen table and grinned.
“Sorry, Boy Wonder,” she called back, dry amusement in her tone. “You’re on your own.”
“Betrayal!”
Bruce’s chuckle rumbled through his chest and Dick found himself leaning into him, some part of his mind instinctively soothed. As always, Bruce smelled like pine and vetiver, and the familiarity of it made Dick want to burrow into his arms for a nap. He resisted. Barely.
“Don’t,” he said, kicking his feet. “B. I’m too old for this–”
Ignoring his protests, Bruce dropped his legs to wrap both of his arms around Dick’s torso, pinning him to his chest in a backwards hug as he sat down on the couch, leaving Dick firmly trapped.
Before Dick could really appreciate how screwed he was, Bruce prodded at his left side, right under his ribs, and Dick screeched out a startled bark of laughter. When his dad didn’t let up, Dick squirmed, trying to fold sideways or summon enough focus to get that evil hand away, but the jolts of electric ticklish feeling kept him in distracting fits of cackles.
“Too old,” Bruce said, repeating Dick’s most recent protesting words. He’d leaned down to crowd up close to Dick’s ear. “Somehow, Dickie, I don’t think that’s the case. You’re not too old…”
Suddenly, both his hands were pinching and digging into those insanely sensitive spots right below Dick’s ribs. Dick shrieked, the adrenaline making him kick both his legs out as he tried to thrash or squirm or flail or find some kind of outlet for all the giddy ticklishness that was taking over his mind.
“...I think you’re too ticklish,” Bruce finished. Even the vibrations of his voice tickled. Damn it.
Dick shook his head, scrunching up his whole face as he tried to cringe away. His lungs burned when he managed to suck in another breath. “Gehehet – get out of thehere, you–BRUCE!”
Those stupid butterflies returned to Dick’s stomach with a vengeance and he tried to wipe the stupid grin off his face but he couldn’t because – because Bruce started nuzzling raspberries and nibbles around his neck, and his scruff made it tickle so much worse, and no matter how many times this happened it still sent Dick into waves of helpless, screechy giggles. Plus, Bruce was still tickling at his lower ribs, having switched to crawling his hands slowly up each set, one at a time. Writhing, Dick tried to smack Bruce’s hands or wrists or reach up and whack him in the head – that got him a tasering poke to the underarm, so he changed strategies and pretended that he hadn’t just screamed. His arms were useless noodles by now; all he could do was hug himself for the illusion of protection.
Dick knew he probably sounded ridiculous with all the snorts, giggles, and screechy laughter that was bubbling out of him, but he didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed just yet. He flinched upwards when Bruce’s hands shot into his armpits.
“Bruce!” he gasped. “Bruce, waihaihait! NONononoOHOHO!” He threw himself forward in a desperate escape attempt, only to feel one of his dad’s strong arms wind around his waist and haul him back. Dick tried to clamp his elbows down but that was useless at this point; Bruce’s fingers were already there, and keeping his arms pinned to his ribs just meant that any and all wheedling fingers would also nudge at his biceps and inner arms, and, well. Dick wasn’t sure he could deal with the high-pitched, shrieky giggles that would elicit. It wasn’t like Bruce and Clark and even Lois would be surprised, or anything, but he – he wasn’t a screechy little kid anymore, he was almost an adult –
An almost-adult who did, unfortunately, spasm and sputter out a few of those giggles anyway because Bruce took a brief detour to skitter over his triceps. Rats.
“Careful, chum,” Bruce rumbled, staying in that tickly lower range.
The sheer fondness oozing from his words made Dick feel like he was melting into a blushy, giggly marshmallow because that was his dad, the Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham who terrified humans and Metahumans and aliens alike, and – and all it took to make him soften was letting himself be hugged and tickled, because…because Bruce loved him.
Because that was his Dad.
Before Dick could dwell too much on that realization, Bruce continued on to tease him. “You wouldn’t want to get away, right?”
Oh, right. Because his dad was also evil. Actually, real-life evil. Dick felt himself flushing a deep, mortifying shade of red, and he caught a glimpse of Clark watching him with an indulgent smile as if he knew exactly what Dick had just been thinking about.
That made him duck his head to hide. “Fuck off!”
A second pair of hands grabbed his ankles – Oh, so everyone was betraying him to the Tickle Monst-uh, to Bruce, okay – as Clark reached out and steadied his thrashing legs.
“Thank you,” Bruce said. As if he hadn’t just switched to spidering his fingers across Dick’s stomach and sides. He clawed into Dick’s upper abs, vibrating his hand, and Dick strained to curl his legs up for protection. Unfortunately, no amount of ticklish desperation could overcome Kryptonian strength.
“Of course,” Clark replied. For a grown man, he managed to pull off the ‘picture of innocence’ shtick disturbingly well. Maybe that was how he’d gotten so many good stories as a reporter. “For the record, I think the kick was on purpose.”
“Shut up!” Dick squeaked. Squeaked. God, he might as well just bury himself underneath the Kent’s floorboards because he was never coming back from that one. “Don’t listen to him, Dad, he’s shit-stirring–”
Bruce cut him off with a raspberry just under his chin that sent Dick tumbling into a puddle of hiccupy giggles. Trying to wriggle forward and out of reach just meant that he leaned further into the hands that were scrabbling all over his torso, and he was rapidly running out of energy to do more than just flop around.
So, really, he wasn’t letting Bruce keep tickling him, he was just…saving his energy. Yeah.
Clark tsked and, faster than Dick could follow, darted a hand up to squeeze at his knees again. “Language, Dickie.”
“Nohohot that!” Dick cried, fruitlessly trying to squirm his legs free. He yelped when Clark did it again, then had the nerve to reach around and scribble at the backs of his knees.
Bruce made an approving sound as he finally stopped his search for every single ticklish centimeter on Dick’s stomach, only to take up sporadic, alternating pokes into each of the tickle spots underneath his ribs again. The unpredictable frequency kept Dick jolting from side to side while Clark tickled behind his knees.
“He’s wriggly,” Clark commented, a casual observation.
Dick still felt himself blush even darker.
“He is,” Bruce replied, his smile audible in his words. “He’s always squirmed around like a wriggly, ticklish worm.”
Not fair! “I do nohot!” Dick tried to defend himself. It was a rookie mistake because that just made Bruce stop tickling him entirely, only to hover his hands above Dick’s stomach, wiggling his fingers without touching him.
“Hey!” Dick yelped. Seeing those fingers so close to him just made the desire to squirm worse, and he couldn’t even try to keep still.
“I thought you didn’t squirm, honey,” said Bruce. “What’s got you all worked up?”
Groaning, Dick whacked his head against Bruce a couple times, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the threatening hands. “Don’t!”
“Don’t what? Tickle you?” Bruce poked his stomach once, twice, then switched to nibbling little pinches up and down Dick’s sides. “Tickle you here, where it makes you giggle?”
Wheezing around a fit of helpless giggles, Dick squirmed in and tossed his head back against Bruce’s shoulder, smiling up at his dad like a dork. “You suck!”
He wasn’t expecting Bruce to lean down and kiss his forehead, but that only added to the endorphin high coursing through his bloodstream. All the laughing, combined with the onset adrenaline crash and the dopamine high from goofing off with Bruce and Clark – and the rush of relief that everything was okay, he hadn’t messed it all up irrevocably – made his head swim.
Honestly, he didn’t know when the tickling had stopped for good, because the leftover ticklish shudders kept him in periodic fits of snickering laughter. He rolled over halfway onto his stomach and Bruce adjusted his hold, then tightened his arms again when Dick settled. Clark was still holding him by the legs, now more to keep him from sliding onto the floor than to hold him steady.
“Hey,” Lois said. It sounded like she was standing in the doorway. How long had she been there? “My nephew is still alive, right?”
The sudden rush of shyness was unexpected, but Dick was too tired to do anything except smash his face into Bruce’s shirt and groan.
Apparently that was answer enough, and the three adults chuckled.
“Jesus,” Lois moved closer, her slippers scuffing against the floor. She reached down to card her fingers through Dick’s hair and he leaned into the touch, practically purring. “He’s red to his ears. Haven’t seen him that tickled-out in a while.”
“Oh,” Clark said. “Remember – gosh, was it the first or second time Bruce had us for dinner, with the chandelier and the stair rail?”
“The first,” Lois replied immediately with a ruffle of Dick’s hair. “That was the first time I got to see Dick Grayson in action.”
Bruce’s torso rumbled as he laughed at the memory and, yeah, there was no way Dick was moving now. He wasn’t a little kid, but hiding in his dad’s hug seemed like the marginally less-embarrassing option if everyone was going to talk about the time he (successfully!) swung out of a handstand on the railing to the foyer chandelier. No one had told him when Clark and Lois would be there, and he hadn’t meant to startle Alfred, but…
Well, it had been an eventful start to the evening.
“Sorry, honey,” Bruce murmured. This time it was his hand that came up to rest against Dick’s head, all warm and solid and safe. “Are we embarrassing you?”
“Yes,” Dick muttered, the words muffled by flannel. He didn’t really mind and he had the feeling that Bruce knew that. “I want a whole pie. For myself. Rec’mpn’s.”
Clark squeezed his ankles once before gently letting them go, presumably so he could stand up and get to work processing the pounds of apples into pie. Before Dick’s legs hit the floor, Bruce was already scooping him up into a better position. Someone nestled a throw pillow under between Dick’s head and Bruce’s lap, so Dick could comfortably lay on his side with his legs stretched out across the rest of the couch.
Bruce draped his arm across Dick’s waist in a gesture that was both comforting and protective. He left his other hand on Dick’s head, occasionally combing through his hair. Between the post-tickle sleepiness and his dad’s warmth, Dick snuggled closer to Bruce and finally let himself fall asleep.
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Coven! I love love LOVE reading your works! Since more and more sibling connections are happening, are you planning to head back towards the direction you went with Haunted Mansion (one of my favs ngl) or are you going to keep 4K and Sapnap's relationship... rocky. I would love to see where you going with them, I love 4K!!! I can't wait to see what you have planned!!
I have great news. 4K and Sapnap will reconcile in the future!
*applause*
It will just take a little while to get there. They have a lot of unprocessed grievances to get through but certain situations are going to just SMACK them together so either they get to talking or it’ll be an awkward group :)
I know the for fun fics sort of ruined the reveal (like Halloween mansion) but I want cute fics with them because I love them.
Thank you for the kind words! I get giddy happy whenever I get a happy ask like this. Reminds me it’s not just numbers on a screen but real people I can make happy! 🧡
Summary: Jason’s maybe slightly, a tiny bit anxious and a whole lot overthinking brothers weekend. Bruce gives him a trick to hide up his sleeve. Around 4.3k
Notes: surprise Ler is in the tags below if you would rather know before reading! I edited this really fast because I’m anxious to share so I hope I didn’t miss anything major lol. Enjoy!
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“Bruuuce,” an irritated whine left his youngest’s throat. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m twelve— thirteen in like a month! And I used to take care of myself allllll the time,” Jason pointed out, trying to will the old man to look up from his computer.
“We’ve talked about this, Jaylad,” he sighed, closing the laptop. “You shouldn’t have to look after yourself. I know you’re capable, but the manor is quite the estate and you’re used to Alfred helping you out when I’m not around. Don’t think of your brother as a babysitter; he’s just coming to hangout for the weekend.” Bruce took in Jason’s nervous posture and pursed lips. He stood up from the desk and came around to kneel in front of a very fidgety Jason.
“What’s wrong, Jason? You don’t want to stay with Dick? I could arrange—“
“No! No,” Jason sighed, “it’s okay. Dickface isn’t that bad.” He admitted begrudgingly. “It’s just—“
“What?” Bruce urged when he saw hesitation, maybe embarrassment, in Jason’s face.
He groaned, looking anywhere but his guardian. “It’s stupid. You’re gonna- it’s stupid,” he repeated.
“I know you believe that I won’t laugh at you. Whatever it is. It’s not stupid.” He put a hand on Jason’s shoulder.
Biting his lip, and digging a spot into the plush carpet with his sock, he finally softly spoke, “he’s great. He’s a good big brother. The best,” he urged, and Bruce nodded, he often found when he got Jason to finally speak, it was like opening a flood gate. “But sometimes he’s too much. He’s so cheery and touchy and cuddly and— and I just can’t take it sometimes. And then if you say no he pouts and I hate when he does that. And you’re always here to-” where Jason’s words failed him, Bruce’s mind immediately supplied the thought, because I always interfere before Jason has to tell Dick he’s truly at his limit and needs some space. Instead Jason spits out, “well not—he’s just—it’s not like he does it on purpose.” He stammers.
“I understand.” Bruce drops the hand from Jason’s shoulder and instead squeezes his hand. “Dick is an extremely tactile person, when he first came into my life it was baffling to me, I had never in my life held hands with someone- well not since- since before I can barely remember.” Bruce admitted. “It took me a little bit to get used to. It’s not silly to need space sometimes.” He made sure Jason was looking at him. “Do you understand?”
Jason nodded.
“Dick will understand,” Bruce stated and Jason’s eyes went wide. “I’ll speak with him-“
“NO!” Jason paled. “No! You— you can’t say anything to him! He—well I don’t—I know it’s just him.” He finally landed on. “If you say something—“
If you say something he might stop altogether and I don’t want that. Is what Bruce know’s Jason is thinking, but can’t spit out.
“I understand.” Bruce repeats. “Though I am positive Dick wouldn’t take offense. One time the titans taped him to a chair so they could have a few hours of peace.” He winked at Jason.
“Really?!” Wide eyes met his. Bruce nodded.
“Really. And I think I have an idea. I won’t say anything to Dick, and I’ll be too far to play peacemaker,” he admitted. “But how would you like to have a secret weapon?” Jason was practically vibrating with excitement.
Bruce was gone for 65 hours before the secret weapon was deployed.
“Come onnnnn,” Dick whined from where he stood behind the couch. “Don’t you want to do something fun? Like have a pillow fight, or put a whoopie cushion in Bruce’s office? Doesn’t that sound entertaining, Little wing?” Dick poked his shoulder.
“Maybe for a 6 year old.” Jason didn’t look up from his novel. It had a fabric book cover to conceal whatever the little bookworm had chosen. Bruce had purchased a pack of them after he noticed Jason hiding his current read whenever anyone was around, like he expected a criticism.
Of course he’d never gotten one, not from Bruce, Alfred, or Dick, but that didn’t stop the insecurity. Jason had acted like it was no big deal when he’d handed over the assorted colors, but had immediately pulled one over his worn cover of Pride and Prejudice, and another over whichever book he seemed to switch out every few days.
Dick threw his head back against the couch cushions and sighed. “Well I’m bored. We’re supposed to be wreaking havoc, breaking things.” He let his intrusive thoughts take over and did the dangerous thing, poked Jason’s cheek. “Sneaking out,” he kept listing when Jason didn’t bite his finger off, just turn his head and leaned away from Dick. He was clearly trying to ignore him.
When he couldn’t reach his face, Dick jumped over the couch and planted himself firmly on Jason’s middle, ignoring the oof his little brother struggled to breath out.
“Get the hell off me,” Jason was squirming and trying to roll off the couch almost immediately. “Fatass,” he groaned.
Dick didn’t seem to mind, just further settled, making himself both comfortable, and immovable. “I’m b o r e d,” Dick droned on, not even batting an eye as tiny fists collided with his legs and knees. “Entertain me, Jay,” he urged, poking the kids cheek again, this time Jay did try to bite him, but Dick knew it was coming and pulled away in time.
“I’m not a wind up toy, asshole,” Jason gave up fighting, realizing Dick’s weight was going to keep him firmly in place. “Go play-“
“It’s no fun without a second player,” Dick whined and turned down the suggestion before he could even finish.
“Then go work out, or call Kori, or something, just leave me out of it.” Jason glared up at the pout planted on Dick’s face.
“But Jay,” Dick poked his stomach this time and Jason did everything he could not to react. “That’s the whole point! Brother’s weekend!” Another poke and Jason’s fully aware that his mouth twitched, he just hoped Dick hadn’t noticed.
He had.
“Finally! A smile— I haven’t seen one of those since before Alfred left for vacation,” Dick continued poking all around Jason’s stomach, quick and light, the perfect combination to set Jason’s senses on edge.
“Nothing to smile about,” Jason narrowed his eyes and tried to force a frown and grunt to cover any giggles that may try to escape.
Dick raised an eyebrow. “No? Well let me help you out, Little wing,” he winked before latching his hands onto either side of Jason’s ribcage.
“Nohoho!” Jason laughed trying to shove Dick’s hands away. “Please!” Jason tried the polite route. “I ju- just want to read, Dickface!” Well, maybe Jason’s brand of polite, anyway.
“You can read later,” there was still a distinct pout to Dick’s voice, but it seemed to fade with each squeal he earned from the prickly preteen. To emphasize that Jason wouldn’t be going back to his preferred task, Dick picked up the book where it had fallen to Jason’s chest, now halfway between him and the couch cushions, and tossed it gently onto the furthest chair.
Jason watched it fly away with his ever fleeting hope.
With any distractions now gone, Dick focused on going for a full blown tickle attack. “Where to begin,” he readjusted and caught one of Jason’s wrists. “You’ve been slacking in your training, that was waaay too easy.” Dick teased, missing when he tried to grab the other one.
“Have not!” Jason sneered, barring his teeth. “I’m warning you not to! I have a secret weapon!” He wasn’t planning to tell Dick, just to use said weapon if he really had to. But it was day 3 and Jason had endured countless head ruffles, several hugs, and enough tickle attacks to last him a year. Well… maybe not, but his patience was razor thin.
Dick narrowed his eyes for a moment before shrugging, “you’ve got a secret weapon, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. Jason nodded furiously. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you too busy to use it,” he grinned catching Jason’s other wrist and quickly sliding his hands under his knees. Jason was already fighting laughter before, so as soon as Dick’s clawed hand started vibrating into his stomach he was in tatters.
“Stahahap! I- I’m not k-kidding!” Jason threw his head back and forth while Dick wiggled his fingers into his armpit.
“Oh, I believe you, this is an interrogation- tell me what the secret weapon is?!” Dick demanded with a forced sternness.
Jason opened his mouth, to insult his brother, but instead let out a shriek when Dick reached down and dug his thumb into the front of Jason’s hip at the perfect time.
That was the moment he chose to use the secret weapon. Dick was just playing dirty now.
The sensation made Jason jackknife, sitting up as much ad he could and letting out shrill cackles right in Dick’s face.
Any insults or threats died on his lips as Dick dug into his worst spot with expert precision.
“Come on, Jay,” Dick teased. “Tell me what it is?” He moved away from Jason’s hips and started scratching his belly, right below his belly button.
“Y-you’re about to fihihihind out!” He managed to laugh out.
Jason just needed a little bit of air, just for a second, but currently that seemed like an impossible task.
Unless he played dirty too. He did take a nasty hit on patrol four days ago, but his armor had absorbed most of it, and the bruise was almost gone by now.
But Dick was still mostly avoiding the area, so when he brushed up against it the next time Jason sucked in just a little breath and winced away from the touch ever so slightly. He didn’t stop laughing, didn’t complain, that would raise red flags.
Dick immediately stopped his hands, instead placing his palms flat giants Jason sides, as if to appear stern. “Do your ribs hurt? I told you yesterday-“
Jason cut off Dick’s nagging with a nearly glass breaking scream, “CLAAARK! UNCLE CLARK!” Jason screamed at the top of his lungs.
Dick furrowed his brow, confusion washing over him first, then quickly turning into realization. “What? You’re bluffing…” he trailed off and looked around, suddenly on high alert.
“CLA—“ Dick clamped a hand over his mouth with wide eyes.
Dick’s nervous look made it all worth it. Jason wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to do it when it came down to it. He didn’t know Clark as well as Dick did, and he still got a little nervous around him. It was hard not to, he’s Superman, for christ sake! Jason wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or flattered even if Bruce had assured him Clark wouldn’t mind at all. He just hoped that was true.
He tried to drink in the color draining from his brother’s face, and the nervous flutter of his chest, but Dick seemed like he wanted to make the most of his last few moments.
“Little traitor!” He shouted before grabbing both of Jason’s hips and squeezing.
Jason barely had a chance to react before the sensation was gone. He opened his eyes to see Clark grinning, holding Dick by the collar, his tippy toes struggled to find contact with the rug.
“Good to see you boys,” Clark winked at Jason.
“You’re an even bigger traitor!” Dick accused. “You were my Uncle Clark first!” There was that whiney tone again that set Jason’s teeth somewhat on edge.
“And I taught you better than to pick on your little brother!” Clark raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Jason added snootily, very much feeling the power he now held.
“Are you joking!? You used to sit on me and-“ Dick stopped mid sentence, lips clamping shut like he could take back the words.
And then a chuckle, “no, Dickie, go ahead! What was it I used to do?” Clark let Dick’s feet hit the ground, false hope— as he tackled him backwards to the floor, Dick didn’t even have time to counter. “I used to sit on you and tickle you silly to tire you out, just so your dad could have a break and get some work done.”
Clark got comfortable over Dick’s middle, ignoring his fighting hands.
“Jay, would you like a break?”
“Very much so,” he nodded furiously.
“This is a bunch of BS! I’m telling Bruce, you guys can’t team up against me,” Dick whined as Jason picked up his book.
Giving Dick a smug look on his way out, he simply shrugged. “Who do you think came up with the idea?” He tipped his book from his forehead towards Dick as a wave goodbye.
Dick’s face read total betrayal and Clark felt a little bad when Dick started pulling harder to get free.
But not that bad.
“Lucky for Jason, I remember all your spots.” Clark grinned down at him. “I’ll give him plenty of time to catch up on reading.”
“Clark,” Dick whined. “Don’t you think this is a little ridiculous? I mean I’m 18 years o-ohohold!” He started giggling when Clark’s hand found his lowest ribs.
“And yet, you still giggle like you did at 9,” Clark coo’ed.
“Doesn’t Superman have better things to do tonight?” Dick grunted trying to shimmy out from under him, Clark just rolled his eyes and started moving his hands upwards.
“You’d be surprised, what with the 50 odd vigilantes or so in Gotham alone.” He shrugged. “Besides, we haven’t caught up in forever, Dick. Don’t you want to spend some quality time with your Uncle Clark?” The bright, innocent grin spread across the Man of Steel’s cheeks, widening somehow further as he let his fingers start wiggling into Dick’s stomach.
Dick never bothered to try holding his laughter in, unless his little brothers were trying to turn the tables on him, and just like Clark remembered, soft giggles turned to desperate shrieks pretty quickly.
“C-clahahark!” Dick whined, letting him keep his hands was a double edged sword. Sure, he could pull and push and shove at Clark’s all he wanted, Clark’s strength was not to be matched, or even approached.
“Yes?” He asked suddenly diverting just one hand to Dick’s higher ribs, wrapping his fingers around the backs and squeezing between each rib with precision, all while his thumb dug into the front side.
Dick screamed, actually screamed, through his cackles, he scrunched his body to the right, trying to get those fingers to loosen their grip.
Then Clark retreated and went right back to the middle of his tummy. “Ihih-ihiht’s not faAHAHAIR!” He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped Clark’s wrist like he’d stop him from moving the hand again.
“Not fair? Not fair like sitting on a 80 pound kid and taking his book from him?” Clark raised an eyebrow, letting his fingers slow down enough that Dick knew he expected a response.
Taking a few deep breathes, he still stuttered out, “but he- I just-“
“Let me guess?” Clark grinned. “You,” he dragged his words out, his hands inching back towards Dick’s ribs. “Were bored?” Dick didn’t even register movement before he felt Clark’s other hand was digging into the other side of his ribs in the same spot. Arching his back to try to squirm away did nothing other than make Clark laugh.
Moving his hands back to Dick’s stomach had him catching his breath, huffing out little laughs here and there.
“You don’t think- h-hey!” He smacked Clark’s hand when it ventured a little to close to his ticklish belly button. Normally Clark would have rewarded that with fingers tasering into the spot, but he relented, back to the middle and let Dick continue. “You don’t think he’s actually mad, do you?” A flash of guilt was clear even through the grin.
Clark smiled. “He’s not mad. I think he’s probably just still a little new to having a big brother. And you bring a lot of energy,” Dick rolled his eyes. “I’m just here to help expel some of that energy.” His words seemed to help, but Dick still glanced towards the door. “If he were really mad, he probably would have actually stormed off and read his book.” Clark said quietly, and shot Dick a wink. “He’s been sitting outside listening to you earn your payback.” He grinned, poking a little harder now that his point was made. “Jason adores you, Dick.”
That brought another blush to his cheeks, a more shy, delicate pink that Clark could tell meant he felt the same way about the preteen.
“M-mahahaybe! But he’s ahaha- he’s a little grump!” Dick grinned, all of the worry he held washed away with Clark’s assuring words.
It wasn’t lost on either of them that Clark was repeating history in more ways than one. Whenever Clark was deployed when Dick was little, he’d keep his fingers constantly moving around Dick’s stomach when he wasn’t tickling somewhere else.
The mission was truly to tire out an unruly little acrobat, and Clark had no qualms about keeping his nerves and brain in constant red alert for maximum effect.
It was no different now. Dick might actually, somehow, have more energy than 9 year old him possessed, and Clark was just as determined.
Dick’s eyes were open now, Clark let him take in a few giggly breathes as he moved back to Dick’s stomach.
“A grump, huh?” Clark raised an eyebrow. “And you wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“What!? I wasn’t a grump!” He could quite muster up a pout with the constantly tickling fingers.
“No?” Clark mused. “I seem to remember a little grumpy acrobat running around this place, not too long ago.” Clark’s tone was always lighter, musher, than Bruce’s was, and it always made Dick a giddy mess.
Clark shifted himself to pinch Dick’s knee, his hand large enough that he could squeeze into Dick’s thigh as well.
“NOHOHOHO!” Clark felt him grabbing at his tshirt, pulling at fistfuls of fabric. “I w-was not!” He shoved even while holding onto Clark.
Clark scoffed as Dick tried to knee him in the back. “You absolutely were!” He grabbed Dick’s leg though, right above his knee and rapidly pinched away. “You used to hiss! And not just at me!”
Dick’s laughter grew frantic and shaky, both at Clark’s still pinching fingers, and the memory of himself, much younger, about Jason’s size, hissing at Clark and Hal Jordan from under Batman’s cape.
He had Hal convinced he was part cat for several years.
Bruce did nothing to dispel the rumor, just let Dick continue hissing away.
“Did not!” Dick said anyways. But his resolve (if you could call it that by this point) was breaking down by the second.
Clark stopped, turning back to face forward and level Dick with a look. “You know I have a near-perfect memory, brat.”
“Key word,” Dick panted, “‘near’.”
Clark realized he’d stopped tickling altogether, even on Dick’s stomach. Perhaps that’s how he built up The Audacity.
Clark narrowed his eyes and Dick seemed to realize his mistake.
“Wait- Clark hold on,” he sputtered out, removing his hands from the shirt to push them against the rug, trying to pry himself free.
Clark had to admire the effort, especially since they both knew he wouldn’t be moving until Clark allowed him to.
“Are you calling me a liar, Dickie?” Clark was deliberately talking with his hands to keep Dick completely on edge, his eyes darting wherever they gestured.
“No! No I would never!” He shook his head violently, pleading eyes looking up at Clark.
“You just did! I think that makes YOU a liar!” He grabbed at Dick’s hips, squeezing like he had his ribcage.
“NA-“ Dick’s laughter quickly went silent, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, panicked giddy breathes the only sound coming from him as he pushed against Clark’s knees.
“Are you gonna take it back?”
“YE-“ As he started to answer Clark started squeezing again, effectively choking off his answer. A desperate, “cLARk!” Instead.
“I need an answer, kiddo? That didn’t sound like an answer to me?”
“YES!” He spat out. “YES!” Again. “I take it back!”
Satisfied, moving his hands back to Dick’s stomach.
“One more answer from you?” Clark mused.
Dick gave a half nod, barely able to comprehend that it was a question directed at him.
“Who’s more ticklish? You or Jason?” Clark grinned at Dick’s immediate groan. “And remember, I know if you’re lyyying!” He sang, fingers dancing away on Dick’s tummy all the while.
Of course, Dick giggled out, “Jaybird! For sure!”
“Hmm,” Clark mused. “Jason, what do you think of that?” At his words, Dick lifted his head up off the ground and saw his little brother peeking around the doorframe.
He looked surprised to be pointed out, even though he had to know you can’t sneak up on Clark Kent. Dick Grayson’s laughter filling his ears or not.
“Big. Fat. Liar.” He crossed his arms, but kept his distance.
“I think you’re right,” Clark’s hands were back squeezing his hips.
Jason ventured closer as Dick’s laugh grew viciously higher in pitch and density, until he was peering over Clark’s shoulder at Dick’s face, screwed up into a twisted grin, his eyes forced shut so hard Jason could see crow’s feet digging lines almost to Dick’s hairline.
If Dick could have, he would have seen a slightly smug, ridiculously bright and toothy grin staring back at him.
“Think he’s had enough?” Clark glanced over his shoulder at Jason, he let all the pressure of his hands go but kept them in place as Dick deflated below him.
“Hmmm,” he put a finger and thumb to his chin to sell his pondering. “Yeah, I guess Goldie looks pretty worn out.” A nonchalant shrug.
“Alright.” He gave one last squeeze to each of Dick’s hips, one right after the other, before getting himself to his feet and ruffling Jason’s hair. “Mission complete, Robin.” Clark understood Dick’s urge to poke at his little brother, Clark found himself unclenching his jaw in what could only be described as cuteness aggression when Jason started shyly batting his hands away.
Meanwhile Dick rolled over on his stomach, his instinct to protect the now overly sensitized spot taking over all other thoughts. His breathing slowly started to even out before curling up like a shrimp on his side and glaring up at them.
“I stand by what I said. So not fair.” He groaned.
“Is too!” Jason immediately frowned, the cheeky grin he was giving Clark giving way on sibling instinct.
“Nu uh.”
“Yeah huh.”
“Nu uh.”
Clark saw this debate lasting entirely too long, so he scooped Jason up below the knees, making him fold over his shoulder.
“Hey!”
And then he reached down to grab Dick by an ankle.
“Woah!” The acrobat was just getting used to having oxygen to his brain, now Clark cut off the blood flow as well.
“Come on. Uncle Clark is visiting!” He cheered. “No fighting!” They both realized he was walking, heading somewhere further into the Manor.
Dick sucked in an irritate breath. “But you just-“
“Quiet, you.” Joking of course, Clark jostled him a bit for maximum effect, which earned a laugh from Jason. “Alright, I know where Penny One keeps the theater snacks, but I have no idea how to work your Dad’s fancy tv. So if we’re gonna have a movie night-“
“You’re staying?” Jason’s giddy voice was a happy interruption.
“Of course I’m staying?” He feigned shock. “How could I come all this way to see my favorite Robins’ and turn right back around?” He dumped Jason on the couch with a little ‘oof,’ and then lowered Dick until he was sprawled out over the ottoman.
“B comes back tomorrow, maybe we could all get breakfast?” Dick shrugged happy to lay where he landed. Clark started digging snacks out of the cabinet in the movie room and threw the remote to Jason, who gave a quick glance to Dick like he might tackle him for it, before excitedly clicking through titles.
Clark took slight offense to that, he took his mission seriously. There would be no energy for roughhousing tonight. Not when Dick felt like his legs were spaghetti noodles plastered to the soft material below him.
“Well we definitely can’t let him cook for us,” Clark agreed, tossing snacks over his head now.
Dick snorted in agreement, but a thought came to him. “Actually Jay’s a pretty good little chef,” Dick tipped his chin up and his forehead down to glance at Jason.
Jason who was once again looking incredibly shy for a usually brash kid, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.
“Oh yeah?” Clark smiled warmly, crossing the living room. “Well I’m not so bad myself. I could be your sous chef?” He plopped down next to the kid, bouncing him hard enough that he fell right into Clark’s side. He dropped his arm before Jason had anytime to over think it. Jason relaxed into the cushions and soft, now wrinkled fabric of Clark’s tshirt.
Clark glanced over to Dick who was gazing up at the theater screen, “you coming up?” He raised his unoccupied arm when Dick sleepily turned to face him.
He sighed before scooted dramatically from the footrest to the couch and dropping his head in Clark’s lap.
“Just like old times.” The older man’s hand landed in tangled curls and began to methodically work them out.
As he sat there watching a shitty horror movie he was sure Jason probably wasn’t supposed to watch, no matter how many times the boys assured him it was okay, two realizations hit him.
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Haihai!! I saw this post mentioning lee!jax and ler!ribbit (before he abstracted) and i wanted to know your thoughts and maybe if you could write a fanfic on it? :3 /nf !!
ITS OKAY IF NO AGJHHH TAKE YOUR TIME HAVE A NICE DAY/NIGHT I LOVE YOUR FICS!! 💙
I love it and yes I absolutely can and could?!
AND THANK YOU SMSMSM!!!<3 YOU'RE SO SWEET
ENJOY, ROSE!!
Before It All...
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--The Snow Memory...--
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|Lee - Jax -- Ler - Ribbit|
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FTing - Queenie, Kaufmo, and Kinger
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Mentioned - Zooble, Caine, (Gangle, Ragatha, and Pomni / Everybody)
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AU : Mine!
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Context : This takes place before the events of episode 6, 7, or 8. But! Making a callback to episode 7, memory the snow with the hut memory... adventure thing in Caine's office Jax was staring at? That's the snowy I'm goin' for!
___________________________________________
Everyone... just had gotten back from another adventure by Caine.
"Well, my work here is done. Don't miss me too much!" Jax called out with a wave, heading towards their sleeping quarters.
He could hear the faint voices of Zooble talking to Caine's obnoxiously loud voice... the others were talking, just not as loudly as the other two.
He entered the entrance to the quarters, closing the door behind him. He sucked in a breath and sighed, his ears droopy. He walked slowly towards his room, shoulders slumping, eyes suddenly tired... he looked out of it.
He made it to his room, walking in and locking the door. He hated his room. Hated anybody seeing his room...
He rubbed his eyes, his frown wobbly. He wanted to ask Caine for a room design change... if that was even possible. He lied down on his bed, looking at the pictures that infested his wall. All flipped over.
Why would he even take those pictures at all? Why did it even matter? They're gone, why did he keep them in the first place?
Something to hold on to? He himself forgot why he even kept them. The more he looked, the more it hurt.
He shook his head, tucking himself in with the blanket and closing his eyes, curling up, hugging one of his pillows, burying his face inside of it.
What would he get today?..
Another nightmare? Or...
He drifted off before his thoughts could finish... body relaxing, grip loosening.
"Jax!! Heads up!!" Ribbit yelled, throwing a snowball at Jax's face, making the rabbit fall into the snow.
"Gah!-- ohokay! Maybe a bit of a warning next time?!" Jax chuckled, Kaufmo giggling and helping him up.
They were all wearing scarfs, gloves and hats... snow clothes and boots - you get it.
Ribbit walked over with a laugh. "First of all, I did warn you. You're just slow!" She poked his side.
"I aham not-!!" He swatted her hand away, backing up against Kaufmo, who just laughed in response, hands on Jax's shoulders.
The adventure was... semi-normal. They just had a snow day, basically.
"Yeah ya are." Kaufmo spoke in that jolly, goofy tone, quickly spidering up Jax's back once.
"eeEEK-!! Thahat's unfahair!!- It's a twovone!!" He pushed Kaufmo away lightly, his grin just growing wider.
"Ohh, is itt?" Ribbit shared Kaufmo's grin, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers, stepping closer.
"Rihibbit, stohop!!--" Jax bumped right back into Kaufmo, back up against his chest.
"Aaaandddd... down ya go!" Kaufmo slipped away, having Jax fall to the fluffy snow ground.
"Thanks, Kaufy!" Ribbit hopped onto Jax, hands still raised, fingers still wiggling. "Any last words, puffball?"
"WAHAIT!!-- Okay-- ohokay! Let's not be hahastEEEHEHEHHE!! RIHIHIBBIHIHIT!!" He cackled when Ribbit aimed for his upper ribs. Wasn't even that bad of a spot... Ribbit was just the tickle master.
"Time's up!!" Ribbit laughed along, her long fingers pressing every button of ticklishness on Jax possible.
Kaufmo sat down next to them, covering his grin and poorly stifled chuckles.
"WHAHA-- WHAHAHAT DID I DOOOHOHOHOHO?!" Jax hiccuped, mouth opening, sharp teeth visible.
"Nothing yet." Ribbit pressed against Jax's belly.
"GAHA--!! NOOHOHOHOHO!!"
"Awwwhhh, is the bunny ticklish?" Kaufmo baby talked, cooing, hands on his cheeks.
"OHOHO MY GOHOHOD, DOHOHOHON'T!!" His cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much... but his chest fuzzied up with happiness.
"What about here?! Over here? Hereherehere?!" Ribbit switched spots rapidly, making the rabbit squeal.
"GUHUHUHUYS!!" Jax curled up, hugging himself, his smile big and bright, laughter loud and carefree. His cheeks hinted a hue of pink.
"What? What're you gonna do?" Ribbit snickered.
"Giggle at us?" Kaufmo teased along, poking Jax's shoulder.
"YOHOHOU AHABSOLUTE DOHOHOHORKS!!" His foot started to thump against the snow, making soft but quick pitter-patters.
Jax didn't hate this. He never did. Hell, he enjoyed it more than anything. It just made him feel right. Made him feel human... loved.
"Immmaaa... getcha here, and then there, and thennn everywhere!!!" Ribbit tickled everywhere she could on his upper body.
Kaufmo snorted, cackling. "Bahaha! Ohokay, ease down!!" He tapped Ribbit's shoulder, who giggled and lightly drummed her fingers against his shoulders.
"Aha-- ahaha! Thahat-- Ihi-- geheheheheheez!!" He hiccuped, his foot slowing.
A portal opened, the adventure being over.
Jax was still giggly as they walked back in the circus, the three talking.
"So, Jax..." Kaufmo started.
"Huh?- Whahat?" He sighed, all of them back in their original clothes.
"...We'll give you ten seconds. One." Ribbit raised her hands.
"Wha?!"
"Two.." Kaufmo stepped closer.
"Stohop-!! H-Hohold ohon!!" He stepped back, his smile wobbly and oddly excited.
"Three!!" The two spoke.
"Noho-!!" He ran out of there, giggles spilling out of him forcefully.
"Kihinger!! Queeniehe!!" He quickly slipped into the pillow fort, scrambling next to the couple.
"Oh my! What's the rush?" Queenie chuckled, watching him hide behind Kinger.
"Quite the Giggle Bug, huh?" Kinger raised a browz watching Jax cover his mouth.
"Juhust help mehe!!"
"Kinger!! Queenie!!" Kaufmo and Ribbit called out, entering the pillow fort.
"Yes, dears?" Queenie stifled her laughter well, Jax covering his mouth, shoulders shaking, hiding behind Kinger.
"Have you seen Jax? He kinda ran away~" Ribbit and Kaufmo shared grins.
"Yeah! Wonder why~" Kaufmo shrugged.
"Sounds mysterious. No, haven't seen him." Kinger slipped his hand behind him, squeezing Jax's belly.
"Wahait, noho-!!" Jax giggled out.
"Found you!!!" The two grinned, scooting over, Kinger lightly pushing Jax on his back - his friends immediately ambushing the rabbit.
"NAHAHAT AHAHAHAGAHAHAIN!! KIHIHINGER, YOU TRAHAHAHAITOHOHOHOR!!" His mouth opened once more, feet kicking, foot thumping.
"Aww, sweetheart..." Queenie cooed softly, leaning against her husband - watching the three giggle and have fun.
"Ihi know, I know..." he placed his hand on hers, his eyes soft and fond. Loving.
Jax woke. He groaned, sitting up, the pillow on the floor. He looked down at his lap, sitting there for a good moment.
...
Kinger.
He got out of bed, leaving it a mess. He unlocked his door and walked out, locking it again once it shut, pocketing his key.
He walked through the walls, exiting the hallway and standing into the opened circus. He looked around... eyes landing on Kinger's pillow fort.
It was all dark... he slept for a long while after he came back from that adventure. Everybody was asleep in their rooms.
He hesitated... he really did. But he shook his head, walking over. He knelt down in front of it, fidgeting with his fingers.
"...Kinger?" He called out, voice quiet and soft.
There was rustling until the pillow door opened, his head poking out. "Jax? What are you doing awake?" He asked, his voice echoing off the walls.
"I--..." He looked down before up at Kinger. "...I had a dream... when I took my nap..." He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away again.
"Oh..." Kinger looked at Jax before scooting aside. "Wanna come tell me about it?"
Jax paused...
"Yeah." He crawled in, scooting back. "And... can I stay here tonight?.."
Kinger nodded. "Of course of can. You never have to ask."
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