Hi everyone!! My name is Alex (or ig lockedopus lmao) I use they/them pronouns and am in my early 20s!!
This is a SFW tickle blog with fics and doodles, so if that's not your thing or you're a NSFW blog please don't interact!!
As of writing this, this blog is exclusively DC (mostly batfamily, incest shippers please don't talk about batcest on my posts that makes me very uncomfortable, thankyou). I may write for other fandoms eventually though
Important stuff:
Requests and prompts are open! I appreciate them sm and love hearing other people's ideas
General asks are open! Whether it be feedback, HCs or random life updates you wanna share, feel free to send in whatever you want
DMs are open unless under 18 (sorry!) I'm not the best at messaging but I will absolutely try my best 😅
Random stuff about me:
My favourite DC character is Nightwing!! Superboy (Kon-El) is second though
I really really like octopuses!! I'm autistic and they're a major special interest of mine <3
My favourite colour is yellow
I have 3 dogs! They're all stupid and I lov them so much!!
Idk what else to say sooo that's it for now, thanks for visiting!!
Hello I am the anon that asked about slow day part two.
Not gonna lie it is total nostalgia for me. I am 6 of 6 and the only girl. Growing up was a rough and tumble experience some days. A lot of the days. I remember pillow fight, wrestling and tickle fights. My dad (retired military) was and still is always a physically affectionate man. I can remember all us kids going at him and losing. Teams were made alliances were betrayed. It wasn’t tell my two oldest brothers hit their 20s before they legit pinned dad and it took them both.
It is memories we all look back on fondly and we were just walking down memory lane and then I read your story and it just hit the heart strings of going to get my older brothers because 5 of 6 and myself had just lost a tickle fight to dad and hoped back up would help.
So thank you for being willing to indulge my idea. 😊
Hi again anon!!
That's so sweet hello???? I mean first off the youngest of 6 is insane, especially when the other 5 are brothers!! I'm the oldest of 4 with 3 little brothers so I can't imagine how that must've been 😅😅
That sounds like such a fun way to grow up that's lovely and I'm glad my silly lil fic could make you feel nostalgic for those times!!! Also getting your oldest brothers bc you two had just lost a tickle fight to your dad and they were the only ones who could get him is sooo cute 🥹🥹 I will be channelling those vibes for the sequel trust!
Thank you for sharing such nice cosy memories with me and ofc!! I'm more than happy to write it <33
I saw your slow day and loved it!!! Honestly have loved all your stories so far!
I hope it’s ok to ask if not please ignore the question because I so don’t want to over step.
Is there any chance to a follow up to slow day where Jason and Tim try to get dick to help get Bruce?
Hey anon!! Thankyou so much I'm glad you enjoy them!!
Dw I'm more than happy receiving requests or just asks in general! Honestly I should probably make an intro post saying that's fine huh?
Ooooooo absolutely that could be so fun!! I have two fics I'm planning on getting out ASAP, but afterwards I'll happily write this! Feel free to send another ask if there's anything specific you want me to include but absolutely don't feel like you have to
It's finally done!!! Dick on Clark's shoulders on the left and Bruce and Dick on the right, of course based on a fic by @hyacinthanon :D I do not have experience drawing Clark or Dick so hopefully they look alright lol.
Also idk what it is but I physically cannot draw Bruce without That Damn Smirk. Someone has to stop him he's too smug.
Random Kon tk headcanons because I love him dearly 🙂↕️🙂↕️
Lee!Kon
Oh he's so embarrassed this is totally killing his cool guy rep
The super strength is kinda a double edged sword because he likes the excuse to not try and fight back (otherwise he totally wouldn't just sit there and let people get him tooootally) but also he wants to fight back so bad, atleast to keep up appearances
The exception to this is obviously his family members who can match him strength for strength
Worst case is Clark because sometimes Conner will just kinda... Forget that he can fight back abshsh. I think the first few times Clark's still a lil awkward and scared to push too but after a while he teases Kon for it and he swears it's the reddest he's ever seen Kon still lmaoo
Kon will also use "forgetting he can" as a convenient excuse not to fight back against Clark anyway. Clark let's him have it
In terms of spots, I think there's a ton of less common spots where he's super ticklish sidhdjsk
Think like, ridiculously ticklish ankles, wrists, palms, biceps, etc. Places where plenty of people are vaguely ticklish (I think) but usually not enough to be full out laughing
Those spots get Kon the worst just naturally but it always makes it 100% worse when someone will accidentally discover one of those spots and be like "huh? This really tickles that bad? Seriously, here?"
The genuine surprise and excitement to explore it gets Kon sooooo bad each time
That being said I think he's got plenty of standard tickle spots too
Personally, I think his neck and hips are his worst, closely followed by armpits and thighs
The neck gets him sooooo bad though because he can't even really turtle his shoulders without risking crushing someone's hand half the time.... It drives him insane
Ler!Kon
He's evil, next question.
Jokes jokes okay
First of all, if Conner's in town Jon knows it's sooo over for him. Like clear his schedule cancel his plans he's booking it to France and praying Kon doesn't find him
Kon of course finds him every time and is an absolute menace
I think his teasing tends to be like:
"Come on, you can handle this, right? I mean you're Superboy!"
"What? No way that tickles that bad, dude, don't bats go through resistance training anymore?"
"Come on Cassie you said you're stronger than me, right? Just push me off. No I totally won't use the opportunity to get your armpits, who do you take me for?"
I think he likes to tease in a way that feels safer, ig? Like less obviously affectionate and stuff especially when it's not family (Jon mainly)
I also think he's a victim of being teased back while being a ler
Like don't get me wrong Kon's a menace and he looooves to torment people, but I also think he's so so easy to embarrass/fluster jdhsjsndbsns
Don't point out his sweet mushy side guys he's too cool for this shit
I think the kind of teases that get him the worst (as a ler) are:
"You're doing a terrible job pretending you're not having fun"
"It's sweet how you go straight to your own worst spots"
(which I think he does I feel like Conner's the kinda guy to forget everyone's different levels of ticklish in different spots, anyway-)
"Really, tough guy? Your idea of a fair fight is tickling?"
"You're such a softie really, huh?"
I also think he's waaayyyy too scared of retribution to try tickle Clark, Lois or (god forbid) ma, but almost everyone else is free game
He once had to juggle tickling Damian enough to keep him from escaping, while keeping his hands moving while Damian tried to bite him. He didn't want the kid to shatter his teeth
just for funsies I wanted to do one of those things where you rank tk spots on a scale from one to ten :’) so here’s that with some of my favorite characters in no particular order bhsbs
bruce wayne
thighs— 4/10
knees— 6/10
foots— 0/10
hips— 5/10
sides— 4/10
tumby— 6/10
ribs— 2/10
underarms— 7/10
neck/ears— 9/10
back— 8/10
overall ticklishness— 4/10, more ticklish than you would ever expect batman to be, but nothing major
dick grayson
thighs— 10/10
knees— 9/10
foots— 8/10
hips— 6/10
sides— 3/10
tumby- 4/10
ribs— 6/10
underarms— 7/10
neck/ears— 3/10
back— 5/10
overall ticklishness— 7/10, you’ve kinda gotta wear him down first hbshd
cassie.. I feel like in a lot of places she’s just not really feeling it so I’m just gonna put the spots that I do think would be tklish hbss
foots— 3/10
sides— 5/10
tummy— 7/10
neck/ears— 6/10
back— 8/10
overall ticklishness— 5 or 6/10, she enjoys it in a soothing way or as a bonding thing. :’) cass doesn’t want to fight you HBSHS
garf of shayeris
thighs— 4/10
knees— 4/10
foots— 0/10
hips— 9/10
sides— 7/10
tumby— 10/10
ribs— 3/10
underarms— 6/10
neck/ears— 5/10
back— 4/10
overall ticklishness— garth is one of the characters who I headcanon grew out of being so ticklish when he was younger it was dire.. but as an adult like 6/10
jon kent
thighs— 5/10
knees— 7/10
foots— 9/10
hips— 5/10
sides— 8/10
tumby— 10/10
ribs— 6/10
underarms— 8/10
neck/ears— 5/10
back— 4/10
overall ticklishness: lord have mercy on your soul/10
timmby
thighs— 6/10
knees— 7/10
foots— 7/10
hips— depends on where you target he will die at lower tummy tks but otherwise 6/10
sides— 10/10
tumby— 9/10
ribs— 6/10
underarms— 7/10
neck/ears— 8/10
back— 5/10
overall ticklishness— 8/10, he’s up there and how antsy he gets heightens the experience a lot HBSBS
A/N: heyyyy me again 😅😅 posts will definitely slow down eventually, but for now reading everyone else's writing and seeing everyone else's drawings makes me so excited to work on my own stuff!! Also, my aim for the next fic is to get it above 2k words
Summary: It's a slow day at the manor. Bruce has the day off, Tim and Jason are both home, and it's generally just a pretty lazy day.
Jason is meant to be around 12ish here while Tim is meant to be around 8/9. I'm a sucker for everyone joining the family early hehe
“Hey, Tim,” Bruce greeted once he noticed the little figure rocking on his feet in the doorway, “you okay?”
Tim stepped forward, wringing his hands with nervousness. The slight tilt of his head told Bruce he was trying to figure something out, and he couldn’t help the proud smile that pulled at his lips in response. Such a little detective.
“Is Jay okay?” Tim asked, and Bruce looked down at the wriggling boy sprawled out next to him. He smiled to himself when Jason’s giggles rose in pitch again as Bruce scrabbled his hands around the boy’s lower back. He tilted his head to ask Tim to come in and the boy did, expression relaxing at the sight of Jason.
“I'll ask him,” Bruce told Tim, smiling at the kid’s quick nod. “Are you alright, Jaylad?” Bruce’s hands trailed round to the kid’s hips, pinching above the bones to hear Jason’s giddy squeals. Tim cringed in response, though he was still smiling, so Bruce figured he could get away with continuing without the high pitched screeches upsetting his youngest son.
“FUHAHAHACK OHOFF OLD MAHA-” Bruce cut that off by running one hand back up to his lower back to scribble there, while the other kept squeezing his hip. Jason howled, trying to curl up but not quite managing while laid on his stomach. He eventually gave up and clutched the pillow for dear life. Bruce smiled softly at the sight of him then glanced over to Tim again, winking just to make his other son laugh too.
Tim climbed fully onto Bruce’s bed, probably having waited to gauge Bruce’s mood first; it had been hard, at first, getting Tim used to a house of people who were as present as possible, as opposed to a dusty old museum of a house, devoid of warmth or–more often than not–anyone other than Tim himself.
He'd gotten used to it after a week or so, though he would still sometimes avoid seeking out attention or help. Bruce wasn't always sure whether Tim just forgot there were people he could go to now, or if he was scared of being turned away. He wasn't sure which was worse.
He remembers Jason’s first week or so here as even harder. The boy went from refusing to eat to shovelling down whatever was in sight, hoarding leftovers in his room like his new life would be ripped out from under him. It took even longer for him to get comfortable with Bruce, this too young boy who'd spent so long on the cold streets of Gotham, fighting for his life against rain and hunger and men there to hurt him.
Bruce only got to hear more about Jason’s life on the streets after a few months from the adoption. It was as though Jason was slowly realising that this was his home now, that Bruce, Alfred and Dick would do anything to keep him safe. He and Tim were fairly similar in that way, in hindsight.
He was broken out of his thoughts by Tim’s weight settling against his side, curling up to lay his legs across Bruce’s with his head on his dad’s chest. Bruce smiled softly down at him, internally cooing at how Tim ducked away from his gaze with a blush.
Bruce’s other son, meanwhile, sounded to be running out of air, so Bruce let one hand trace slow, teasing circles around his back, while the other retreated entirely, coming to curl around Tim’s shoulders and tug him into a forehead kiss. Tim smiled up at him as Jason’s laughter turned to quiet, sputtery giggles, and Bruce felt warm and whole with his two youngest sons so close. Safe in his bed; safe in his arms.
“Quihihit ihit,” Jason snickered, legs bouncing happily against the sheets. “No- no mohohore.”
He felt more than saw Tim nuzzle into his chest and, in response, he started running a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, his other hand slowed to rub at Jason’s upper back to help him calm down. He laughed at the (pretty futile considering his wobbly grin) glare Jason turned to give him.
When Jason finally fully relaxed with a content little sigh, loosening his death grip on the pillow to melt into it, Bruce decided to put that hand to another use. He started slowly moving the hand towards Tim’s stomach, fingers wiggling lazily all the while.
Tim’s expression was one of excited shock and when he looked from Bruce’s hand to his face, his cheeks had turned a fantastically splotchy red. Tim squirmed in Bruce’s lap, although very obviously made no attempt at all to escape. Knowing him, he probably thought he was being all slick about it, too. Cute.
“Is your tummy as ticklish today as it was yesterday, Tim?” Bruce murmured at that low register he knew drove his kids insane, hand looming mere inches away from the boy's stomach. Tim looked up at him with big puppy dog eyes, clearly fighting back a smile, while shaking his head desperately. Both of his little hands grabbed Bruce’s wrist as he leaned back into the hand still scritching at his mop of hair.
“I think it’s more ticklish today,” Jason shouted. Even through the pillow’s muffling, he sounded practically gleeful at the idea of his brother suffering his same fate. “‘Least that's what Dickie said earlier.”
“Don't tease your brother, lad” Bruce tutted and spidered his hand quickly up Tim’s t-shirt, clawing his hand to scratch softly at the center of Tim’s stomach. His son squeaked and fell into high-pitched giggles in response, face nuzzling desperately into Bruce’s chest. He couldn't help but ask, “well? What do we think, sweetheart, more ticklish than yesterday? I, for one, am doubtful that that's even possible.”
Tim squeaked again and Bruce knew his face was taking on that expression that Jason called his ‘mushy, gooey dad look’. Having Tim simultaneously burrowing into him and curling into his hand, while his ears grew redder and redder, was a pretty good excuse for that, though.
“BEEheehee,” Tim giggled out, squealing when Bruce changed the tickling to skittering randomly across his stomach. His titters raised in pitch again to the point Bruce was surprised that Ace hadn't come running yet. The poor kid was practically glowing red at that point.
“Yes, son?” Bruce smiled at Tim’s squeak when the hand in his kid’s hair wormed its way into the little cruck between his neck and shoulder. Tim tried to scrunch up his shoulders while determinedly keeping his blushing face pressed against Bruce’s T-shirt; he could practically feel the heat through the cotton of his top.
“Tihihihickles,” Tim squealed in between hiccupy giggles. He was still curled around Bruce’s hand.
“I can see that,” Bruce teased, “at this rate I'll have to hide you in the manor, lest anyone find out how ridiculously tickly tickly ticklish you are.” With that, both hands met at Tim’s ribs, digging in to elicit Tim’s desperately squeaky cackles.
“NAHAHAHA,” Tim laughed. His legs kicked out and curled back in sporadically, while his hands tugged frantically at Bruce’s own.
“No I can't keep you here or no you're not ticklish? Because either way, maybe you need a little more convincing otherwise, huh?”
Tim had barely barked out a single plea for mercy before Bruce had leant down to blow a raspberry into that same crook of Tim’s neck, hands darting back down to lightly spider over Tim’s stomach.
The last of Tim’s strength seemed to leave him at that, hands going limp around Bruce’s wrists. His arms, legs, then the rest of him followed suit, practically collapsing around Bruce’s swirling fingers.
“Quit it, B, he's too noisy for me to nap,” Jason complained from his spot on the bed. Bruce smiled indulgently at his back, knowing it was Jason’s own way of saying that Tim had had enough, so Bruce acquiesced and leant back. He pulled his hands out from under Tim’s t-shirt and hugged the boy firmly against himself. At Tim’s burrowing further into his father’s arms, Bruce had to physically fight the urge to tease the boy further. Jason was right, he'd definitely had enough.
Bruce slowly moved to lay next to Jason in the bed, bringing Tim’s small frame with him to lay on top of Bruce. Jason curled into his side, looking up at Bruce with a happy, cheeky little smirk while moving to stroke Tim’s back in silent comfort.
His boys were the sweetest, Bruce thought, as Tim hummed happily at the kind touch. He was so lucky.
“You can take your nap now, Jaylad,” Bruce muttered softly. He shifted one arm from cradling Tim against his chest to curl around Jason, securing the boy against his side.
Jason rolled his eyes but allowed the comfort, happily smushing his face against Bruce’s arm and humming in agreement.
Bruce laid there, content, listening to both of his sons’ breaths evening out. He took comfort in knowing there was nowhere else he needed to be today and allowed himself to relax. He eventually drifted off too, with his sleeping boys held safe against him, the three comfortable in their cosy little bubble.
A/N: heyyyy me again 😅😅 posts will definitely slow down eventually, but for now reading everyone else's writing and seeing everyone else's drawings makes me so excited to work on my own stuff!! Also, my aim for the next fic is to get it above 2k words
Summary: It's a slow day at the manor. Bruce has the day off, Tim and Jason are both home, and it's generally just a pretty lazy day.
Jason is meant to be around 12ish here while Tim is meant to be around 8/9. I'm a sucker for everyone joining the family early hehe
“Hey, Tim,” Bruce greeted once he noticed the little figure rocking on his feet in the doorway, “you okay?”
Tim stepped forward, wringing his hands with nervousness. The slight tilt of his head told Bruce he was trying to figure something out, and he couldn’t help the proud smile that pulled at his lips in response. Such a little detective.
“Is Jay okay?” Tim asked, and Bruce looked down at the wriggling boy sprawled out next to him. He smiled to himself when Jason’s giggles rose in pitch again as Bruce scrabbled his hands around the boy’s lower back. He tilted his head to ask Tim to come in and the boy did, expression relaxing at the sight of Jason.
“I'll ask him,” Bruce told Tim, smiling at the kid’s quick nod. “Are you alright, Jaylad?” Bruce’s hands trailed round to the kid’s hips, pinching above the bones to hear Jason’s giddy squeals. Tim cringed in response, though he was still smiling, so Bruce figured he could get away with continuing without the high pitched screeches upsetting his youngest son.
“FUHAHAHACK OHOFF OLD MAHA-” Bruce cut that off by running one hand back up to his lower back to scribble there, while the other kept squeezing his hip. Jason howled, trying to curl up but not quite managing while laid on his stomach. He eventually gave up and clutched the pillow for dear life. Bruce smiled softly at the sight of him then glanced over to Tim again, winking just to make his other son laugh too.
Tim climbed fully onto Bruce’s bed, probably having waited to gauge Bruce’s mood first; it had been hard, at first, getting Tim used to a house of people who were as present as possible, as opposed to a dusty old museum of a house, devoid of warmth or–more often than not–anyone other than Tim himself.
He'd gotten used to it after a week or so, though he would still sometimes avoid seeking out attention or help. Bruce wasn't always sure whether Tim just forgot there were people he could go to now, or if he was scared of being turned away. He wasn't sure which was worse.
He remembers Jason’s first week or so here as even harder. The boy went from refusing to eat to shovelling down whatever was in sight, hoarding leftovers in his room like his new life would be ripped out from under him. It took even longer for him to get comfortable with Bruce, this too young boy who'd spent so long on the cold streets of Gotham, fighting for his life against rain and hunger and men there to hurt him.
Bruce only got to hear more about Jason’s life on the streets after a few months from the adoption. It was as though Jason was slowly realising that this was his home now, that Bruce, Alfred and Dick would do anything to keep him safe. He and Tim were fairly similar in that way, in hindsight.
He was broken out of his thoughts by Tim’s weight settling against his side, curling up to lay his legs across Bruce’s with his head on his dad’s chest. Bruce smiled softly down at him, internally cooing at how Tim ducked away from his gaze with a blush.
Bruce’s other son, meanwhile, sounded to be running out of air, so Bruce let one hand trace slow, teasing circles around his back, while the other retreated entirely, coming to curl around Tim’s shoulders and tug him into a forehead kiss. Tim smiled up at him as Jason’s laughter turned to quiet, sputtery giggles, and Bruce felt warm and whole with his two youngest sons so close. Safe in his bed; safe in his arms.
“Quihihit ihit,” Jason snickered, legs bouncing happily against the sheets. “No- no mohohore.”
He felt more than saw Tim nuzzle into his chest and, in response, he started running a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, his other hand slowed to rub at Jason’s upper back to help him calm down. He laughed at the (pretty futile considering his wobbly grin) glare Jason turned to give him.
When Jason finally fully relaxed with a content little sigh, loosening his death grip on the pillow to melt into it, Bruce decided to put that hand to another use. He started slowly moving the hand towards Tim’s stomach, fingers wiggling lazily all the while.
Tim’s expression was one of excited shock and when he looked from Bruce’s hand to his face, his cheeks had turned a fantastically splotchy red. Tim squirmed in Bruce’s lap, although very obviously made no attempt at all to escape. Knowing him, he probably thought he was being all slick about it, too. Cute.
“Is your tummy as ticklish today as it was yesterday, Tim?” Bruce murmured at that low register he knew drove his kids insane, hand looming mere inches away from the boy's stomach. Tim looked up at him with big puppy dog eyes, clearly fighting back a smile, while shaking his head desperately. Both of his little hands grabbed Bruce’s wrist as he leaned back into the hand still scritching at his mop of hair.
“I think it’s more ticklish today,” Jason shouted. Even through the pillow’s muffling, he sounded practically gleeful at the idea of his brother suffering his same fate. “‘Least that's what Dickie said earlier.”
“Don't tease your brother, lad” Bruce tutted and spidered his hand quickly up Tim’s t-shirt, clawing his hand to scratch softly at the center of Tim’s stomach. His son squeaked and fell into high-pitched giggles in response, face nuzzling desperately into Bruce’s chest. He couldn't help but ask, “well? What do we think, sweetheart, more ticklish than yesterday? I, for one, am doubtful that that's even possible.”
Tim squeaked again and Bruce knew his face was taking on that expression that Jason called his ‘mushy, gooey dad look’. Having Tim simultaneously burrowing into him and curling into his hand, while his ears grew redder and redder, was a pretty good excuse for that, though.
“BEEheehee,” Tim giggled out, squealing when Bruce changed the tickling to skittering randomly across his stomach. His titters raised in pitch again to the point Bruce was surprised that Ace hadn't come running yet. The poor kid was practically glowing red at that point.
“Yes, son?” Bruce smiled at Tim’s squeak when the hand in his kid’s hair wormed its way into the little cruck between his neck and shoulder. Tim tried to scrunch up his shoulders while determinedly keeping his blushing face pressed against Bruce’s T-shirt; he could practically feel the heat through the cotton of his top.
“Tihihihickles,” Tim squealed in between hiccupy giggles. He was still curled around Bruce’s hand.
“I can see that,” Bruce teased, “at this rate I'll have to hide you in the manor, lest anyone find out how ridiculously tickly tickly ticklish you are.” With that, both hands met at Tim’s ribs, digging in to elicit Tim’s desperately squeaky cackles.
“NAHAHAHA,” Tim laughed. His legs kicked out and curled back in sporadically, while his hands tugged frantically at Bruce’s own.
“No I can't keep you here or no you're not ticklish? Because either way, maybe you need a little more convincing otherwise, huh?”
Tim had barely barked out a single plea for mercy before Bruce had leant down to blow a raspberry into that same crook of Tim’s neck, hands darting back down to lightly spider over Tim’s stomach.
The last of Tim’s strength seemed to leave him at that, hands going limp around Bruce’s wrists. His arms, legs, then the rest of him followed suit, practically collapsing around Bruce’s swirling fingers.
“Quit it, B, he's too noisy for me to nap,” Jason complained from his spot on the bed. Bruce smiled indulgently at his back, knowing it was Jason’s own way of saying that Tim had had enough, so Bruce acquiesced and leant back. He pulled his hands out from under Tim’s t-shirt and hugged the boy firmly against himself. At Tim’s burrowing further into his father’s arms, Bruce had to physically fight the urge to tease the boy further. Jason was right, he'd definitely had enough.
Bruce slowly moved to lay next to Jason in the bed, bringing Tim’s small frame with him to lay on top of Bruce. Jason curled into his side, looking up at Bruce with a happy, cheeky little smirk while moving to stroke Tim’s back in silent comfort.
His boys were the sweetest, Bruce thought, as Tim hummed happily at the kind touch. He was so lucky.
“You can take your nap now, Jaylad,” Bruce muttered softly. He shifted one arm from cradling Tim against his chest to curl around Jason, securing the boy against his side.
Jason rolled his eyes but allowed the comfort, happily smushing his face against Bruce’s arm and humming in agreement.
Bruce laid there, content, listening to both of his sons’ breaths evening out. He took comfort in knowing there was nowhere else he needed to be today and allowed himself to relax. He eventually drifted off too, with his sleeping boys held safe against him, the three comfortable in their cosy little bubble.
A/N: heyyyy me again 😅😅 posts will definitely slow down eventually, but for now reading everyone else's writing and seeing everyone else's drawings makes me so excited to work on my own stuff!! Also, my aim for the next fic is to get it above 2k words
Summary: It's a slow day at the manor. Bruce has the day off, Tim and Jason are both home, and it's generally just a pretty lazy day.
Jason is meant to be around 12ish here while Tim is meant to be around 8/9. I'm a sucker for everyone joining the family early hehe
“Hey, Tim,” Bruce greeted once he noticed the little figure rocking on his feet in the doorway, “you okay?”
Tim stepped forward, wringing his hands with nervousness. The slight tilt of his head told Bruce he was trying to figure something out, and he couldn’t help the proud smile that pulled at his lips in response. Such a little detective.
“Is Jay okay?” Tim asked, and Bruce looked down at the wriggling boy sprawled out next to him. He smiled to himself when Jason’s giggles rose in pitch again as Bruce scrabbled his hands around the boy’s lower back. He tilted his head to ask Tim to come in and the boy did, expression relaxing at the sight of Jason.
“I'll ask him,” Bruce told Tim, smiling at the kid’s quick nod. “Are you alright, Jaylad?” Bruce’s hands trailed round to the kid’s hips, pinching above the bones to hear Jason’s giddy squeals. Tim cringed in response, though he was still smiling, so Bruce figured he could get away with continuing without the high pitched screeches upsetting his youngest son.
“FUHAHAHACK OHOFF OLD MAHA-” Bruce cut that off by running one hand back up to his lower back to scribble there, while the other kept squeezing his hip. Jason howled, trying to curl up but not quite managing while laid on his stomach. He eventually gave up and clutched the pillow for dear life. Bruce smiled softly at the sight of him then glanced over to Tim again, winking just to make his other son laugh too.
Tim climbed fully onto Bruce’s bed, probably having waited to gauge Bruce’s mood first; it had been hard, at first, getting Tim used to a house of people who were as present as possible, as opposed to a dusty old museum of a house, devoid of warmth or–more often than not–anyone other than Tim himself.
He'd gotten used to it after a week or so, though he would still sometimes avoid seeking out attention or help. Bruce wasn't always sure whether Tim just forgot there were people he could go to now, or if he was scared of being turned away. He wasn't sure which was worse.
He remembers Jason’s first week or so here as even harder. The boy went from refusing to eat to shovelling down whatever was in sight, hoarding leftovers in his room like his new life would be ripped out from under him. It took even longer for him to get comfortable with Bruce, this too young boy who'd spent so long on the cold streets of Gotham, fighting for his life against rain and hunger and men there to hurt him.
Bruce only got to hear more about Jason’s life on the streets after a few months from the adoption. It was as though Jason was slowly realising that this was his home now, that Bruce, Alfred and Dick would do anything to keep him safe. He and Tim were fairly similar in that way, in hindsight.
He was broken out of his thoughts by Tim’s weight settling against his side, curling up to lay his legs across Bruce’s with his head on his dad’s chest. Bruce smiled softly down at him, internally cooing at how Tim ducked away from his gaze with a blush.
Bruce’s other son, meanwhile, sounded to be running out of air, so Bruce let one hand trace slow, teasing circles around his back, while the other retreated entirely, coming to curl around Tim’s shoulders and tug him into a forehead kiss. Tim smiled up at him as Jason’s laughter turned to quiet, sputtery giggles, and Bruce felt warm and whole with his two youngest sons so close. Safe in his bed; safe in his arms.
“Quihihit ihit,” Jason snickered, legs bouncing happily against the sheets. “No- no mohohore.”
He felt more than saw Tim nuzzle into his chest and, in response, he started running a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, his other hand slowed to rub at Jason’s upper back to help him calm down. He laughed at the (pretty futile considering his wobbly grin) glare Jason turned to give him.
When Jason finally fully relaxed with a content little sigh, loosening his death grip on the pillow to melt into it, Bruce decided to put that hand to another use. He started slowly moving the hand towards Tim’s stomach, fingers wiggling lazily all the while.
Tim’s expression was one of excited shock and when he looked from Bruce’s hand to his face, his cheeks had turned a fantastically splotchy red. Tim squirmed in Bruce’s lap, although very obviously made no attempt at all to escape. Knowing him, he probably thought he was being all slick about it, too. Cute.
“Is your tummy as ticklish today as it was yesterday, Tim?” Bruce murmured at that low register he knew drove his kids insane, hand looming mere inches away from the boy's stomach. Tim looked up at him with big puppy dog eyes, clearly fighting back a smile, while shaking his head desperately. Both of his little hands grabbed Bruce’s wrist as he leaned back into the hand still scritching at his mop of hair.
“I think it’s more ticklish today,” Jason shouted. Even through the pillow’s muffling, he sounded practically gleeful at the idea of his brother suffering his same fate. “‘Least that's what Dickie said earlier.”
“Don't tease your brother, lad” Bruce tutted and spidered his hand quickly up Tim’s t-shirt, clawing his hand to scratch softly at the center of Tim’s stomach. His son squeaked and fell into high-pitched giggles in response, face nuzzling desperately into Bruce’s chest. He couldn't help but ask, “well? What do we think, sweetheart, more ticklish than yesterday? I, for one, am doubtful that that's even possible.”
Tim squeaked again and Bruce knew his face was taking on that expression that Jason called his ‘mushy, gooey dad look’. Having Tim simultaneously burrowing into him and curling into his hand, while his ears grew redder and redder, was a pretty good excuse for that, though.
“BEEheehee,” Tim giggled out, squealing when Bruce changed the tickling to skittering randomly across his stomach. His titters raised in pitch again to the point Bruce was surprised that Ace hadn't come running yet. The poor kid was practically glowing red at that point.
“Yes, son?” Bruce smiled at Tim’s squeak when the hand in his kid’s hair wormed its way into the little cruck between his neck and shoulder. Tim tried to scrunch up his shoulders while determinedly keeping his blushing face pressed against Bruce’s T-shirt; he could practically feel the heat through the cotton of his top.
“Tihihihickles,” Tim squealed in between hiccupy giggles. He was still curled around Bruce’s hand.
“I can see that,” Bruce teased, “at this rate I'll have to hide you in the manor, lest anyone find out how ridiculously tickly tickly ticklish you are.” With that, both hands met at Tim’s ribs, digging in to elicit Tim’s desperately squeaky cackles.
“NAHAHAHA,” Tim laughed. His legs kicked out and curled back in sporadically, while his hands tugged frantically at Bruce’s own.
“No I can't keep you here or no you're not ticklish? Because either way, maybe you need a little more convincing otherwise, huh?”
Tim had barely barked out a single plea for mercy before Bruce had leant down to blow a raspberry into that same crook of Tim’s neck, hands darting back down to lightly spider over Tim’s stomach.
The last of Tim’s strength seemed to leave him at that, hands going limp around Bruce’s wrists. His arms, legs, then the rest of him followed suit, practically collapsing around Bruce’s swirling fingers.
“Quit it, B, he's too noisy for me to nap,” Jason complained from his spot on the bed. Bruce smiled indulgently at his back, knowing it was Jason’s own way of saying that Tim had had enough, so Bruce acquiesced and leant back. He pulled his hands out from under Tim’s t-shirt and hugged the boy firmly against himself. At Tim’s burrowing further into his father’s arms, Bruce had to physically fight the urge to tease the boy further. Jason was right, he'd definitely had enough.
Bruce slowly moved to lay next to Jason in the bed, bringing Tim’s small frame with him to lay on top of Bruce. Jason curled into his side, looking up at Bruce with a happy, cheeky little smirk while moving to stroke Tim’s back in silent comfort.
His boys were the sweetest, Bruce thought, as Tim hummed happily at the kind touch. He was so lucky.
“You can take your nap now, Jaylad,” Bruce muttered softly. He shifted one arm from cradling Tim against his chest to curl around Jason, securing the boy against his side.
Jason rolled his eyes but allowed the comfort, happily smushing his face against Bruce’s arm and humming in agreement.
Bruce laid there, content, listening to both of his sons’ breaths evening out. He took comfort in knowing there was nowhere else he needed to be today and allowed himself to relax. He eventually drifted off too, with his sleeping boys held safe against him, the three comfortable in their cosy little bubble.
Heyyyy me again (ik ik I'm sorry for posting so much)
The poll's tied between two at the minute, but I just finished one (minus editing) so I think maybe I'll post that before I go to sleep, then start on the other fic tied for first place tomorrow (hopefully)
Just a lil update, hopefully nobody minds me posting right after two other people in this space, my bad I just get excited reading everyone's else's stuff and it makes me wanna write my own 😅😅
this is for elliott, who requested some lee!dami with ler!tim a while back :’)
the title and premise is based off of some more recent comics where they’re both robin, both living in my manor from my understanding. I just think it’s interesting and a good backdrop for them to become closer. (｡•́ ̫ •̀｡)
Tim came to the kitchen only planning to check the calendar.
He’d also just woken up from a seven hour long nap, and could hardly walk in a straight line. Now, kitchen meant caffeine. Damian looked on in disgust and vague fascination when he tore apart the cabinet, unearthing a box of the powdered energy drink mixture. It must have been a secret from Alfred, Damian didn’t think he would like that.
Tim poured a generous helping of the powder into his mouth, washing it down with water.
He was going to have a stomachache later. Would it have really been that much harder to use the product as it's intended? Damian wasn’t sure how he was surviving while living everyday with these animals.
He chose not to say that. “…I see you have decided to join us again in the world of the living, Drake.”
Tim was coughing and heaving over the sink. It was almost as if what he had done was an unwise decision. When Damian slowly rose from his seat, his older brother waved his very much quaking hand. I’m fine, go away.
Damian tutted. He was hesitant to sit back down. That was a pretty incredible display of stupidity just now, but Tim was under Bruce’s care. He had more than enough insurance for his bad choices.
A final gasping breath resonated from across the kitchen. “Agh… geez.”
“‘Geez,’ indeed.” Damian echoed dryly.
“Whatever, alright? I’m awake now, it did what it was supposed to.” Tim scoffed, defending himself.
Damian shook his head, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Tim began to approach where he was working in the dining room. He was only allowed to do these things inside—in their nice rooms—because everyone could vouch for the fact that they had never seen Damian spill anything in all the time they’ve known him. He didn’t make messes. That must be what happens when you’re genetically engineered to be perfect.
Tim took in the array of supplies and materials organized on the table. When he walked into Bruce’s study to find Damian pressing autumn leaves, at the time, he just promised that he wouldn’t snitch, then chased him out with a clipboard.
Those big books Damian snuck out did their job well. With his now pressed leaves, Damian was making prints. That put a little twang in Tim’s chest, he liked these sorts of things.
“Neat.” He hummed. Damian curtly nodded, not looking up from the tabletop. There was a sizable stack situated on the end of the table, the ink already dried.
“What’s all this even for—?”
“It doesn’t concern you.” You would think the reply was waiting eagerly right on the tip of Damian’s tongue, like he’d been waiting for someone to pose that question all morning.
So that he could then go on to shut them down. Very Damian of him.
Tim clicked his tongue, slowly nodding along. “…Right.”
“Do you wanna take a break or something…? Alfred would make you tea if you asked.”
Damian paused, clearing his throat shortly after. “Fine. I will go wash my hands.”
Tim was already giving him a funny look. Any of that ink that could have potentially gone onto their fancy table went onto Damian’s person instead.
Damian’s head lifted, his face coming into view. He flinched when his brother doubled over, one hand stabilizing himself on the tabletop, the other muffling his high pitched cackles.
Damian grimaced. He didn’t need it to be explained to him—it didn’t look like Tim was calming down soon either way—he located the nearest mirror. There were smudges all up the sides of his neck where he would occasionally adjust the strap of his smock, his face wasn’t faring any better for similar reasons.
He’d been too careless, so absorbed in the repetition of it all that he failed to realize he too was getting printed on. It was on his nose, his cheeks, and the most ridiculous looking, around his eyes. You would think Robin forgot to take off his mask adhesive at the end of the night and rolled around in soot, he looked like a raccoon.
“Oh, god…” Sighing wistfully and still coming down from his fit of laughter, Tim came up behind Damian in the mirror.
“You look so funny, I wish I had my camera. Dick would get a kick out of this.” He had absolutely zero reason to be this slap happy about Damian’s predicament. That much showed on his little brother’s face.
“You will not be telling Grayson anything.” He spoke evenly, though his shoulders tensed.
Without a picture, Tim would have probably forgotten by the next time they saw him. Dick came and went as he liked. He eyed Damian, cutting his losses.
“If you will excuse me…” He muttered before he went zipping up the stairs. Damian was undoubtedly the fastest walker Tim had ever met, whether he was embarrassed or not.
With Damian not guarding his art project, Tim couldn’t help how he peered over each shoulder before strolling over to have a closer look.
The prints were small, a little larger than a post it note. This same week, from the extravagant window alcove in the library, he watched Damian flit about the expanse of their property. He must have been searching for the perfect specimens for his means.
Off to the side, twine and a hole puncher. No wonder he needed so many of these, he was making a decorative garland. Lastly, and the most telling, there sat Damian’s school bag on the ground below, leaned up against the dining room chair.
From that, Detective Tim Drake drew a handful of conclusions. This was for the school’s seasonal fair, Tim could remember it from when he was Damian’s age. The school would become all decorated and festive, families would bake, make all sorts of crafts, and a portion of the funds collected from the vendors would go to the local youth shelter. They wouldn’t stay warm in the up and coming winter for free.
That meant Damian was getting involved, in a sense. Cute. Good. It wasn’t like they were paying him to help. He was doing this out of the goodness of his heart because, believe it or not, it was in there somewhere.
Finally, Damian was trying to hide this from them. If he decided to pursue it, there was no reason for him to believe it was the wrong thing to do. Tim suspected that he was trying to avoid the opposite.
His heart wasn’t ready for the smile that Bruce would give him, for Dick to sweep him up in his arms and dote on him, how Cass and Jason would immediately want to know what they could do to help. They’d dedicate themselves to some pretty serious baking or crafting if it meant keeping even just one kid out of the cold.
And Tim guessed that now his job was to keep Damian’s secret. As much as he’d enjoy the youngest’s reaction to getting swamped by their overbearing family, it wasn’t his to tell.
A prickle went up his neck.
“Master Tim, you’re awake.” There were some people where secrets simply weren’t an option. If Tim let himself indulge the conspiracist lying dormant in him, he would say Alfred was some kind of ageless, omniscient being.
The butler came forward. He hummed. “Dear boy… he’s been hard at work.”
A majority of the time Tim couldn’t understand what it was about his little brother that Alfred found so endearing, but the second part added up.
“You never once attended any of these events. You said they were ‘bogus’ if I’m not mistaken.”
He gave Alfred a look. The look he got in return told him that he was only being teased. Any family member that was burdened with the task of watching, helping him grow up knew that Tim hated school.
He was too smart in the way he went about playing hooky for the administration to ever get him into trouble. Surely they knew, but they couldn’t prove it. To this day, he took pride in how clever he was for all the wrong reasons.
“This isn't really about me.” He wasn’t deflecting.
Alfred was scrutinizing him.
“Come. I insist you have something to eat before you collapse for another seven hours.” As he usually did, Alfred took a sharp turn on his heel, leaving for the kitchen.
Also not uncommon, Tim followed with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
* * *
The door to Damian’s bedroom was cracked. Tim pressed his head against it, pushing in unannounced.
“Excuse you.” Damian sniffed.
“I just need a pen, don’t throw a hissy fit.” Tim murmured. He at least mostly kept his hands to himself as he roamed around in search of the aforementioned pen.
Dick would have just started rummaging through the drawers, Jason would have tried to get away with theft, and Cass would get away with theft. Tim couldn’t tell you how many of his t-shirts suddenly vanished from his closet, all without him realizing for weeks.
His gaze eventually lifted. He squinted at Damian, and abandoned his search for a pen. The latter almost flinched when Tim began to charge towards where he was sitting on his bed.
“Damian, you didn’t even get all the ink off.”
Damian smacked away the pointer finger that was beginning to flutter towards him like an insect.
“Mind your own business. It would not come off…” He wouldn’t look at Tim.
“I can’t believe you just told me to mind my own business. If I have to see you walking around with those, it’s going to drive me insane.” Tim’s pointer finger managed to land on one of the many stains littering Damian’s neck. He scowled, shoulder hunching.
“Wait here. Don’t make me chase you.” After striking a very school-teacher-esque pose, Tim left even more ambitious than he’d come.
Damian wasn’t a child. He didn’t need nor want help, but if he wasn’t being given a choice, being petulant and running away felt even more undignified. He would have to entertain Tim.
***
The library was the last place anyone would think to do this, but upon Tim’s return, Damian declared that if he was going to have to sit through this, he got to choose where. If he wanted to sit in his favorite spot, Tim didn’t see why he should care.
They sat across from each other, Damian in his spot, Tim in line on the coffee table.
“Alright, so—“
“Is being your captive audience also not optional.”
Tim gave his brother the evil eye. “So, I’ve had these since I was, like, fourteen. I don’t know if Alfred buys them, where they come from, but anything I’ve ever needed to get off of me, they’ve scrubbed away.”
They looked like any other cleansing wipes. For whatever reason, Damian wasn’t as skeptical of this alleged miracle product as he should be.
“They smell like Dent’s chemical plant from last week…” He muttered. His expression strongly resembled that of a cat when they too smelled something they didn’t like.
“Did you think they would smell like roses?”
Damian sulked while Tim went to start chipping away at a spot on his forehead.
“Would you sit still?” The older Robin almost sounded smug.
“I am sitting still. Why are you so demanding?”
“I guess am pretty bossy.” Damian was surprised when Tim’s response wasn’t defensiveness, but a small smile and self deprecating joke.
“I guess…”
He was granted the mercy of a few minutes of silence. Tim worked diligently when he wasn’t being a smartass.
“Seems like it’s working at least. You’re not gonna like this next part.” Tim had gotten most of the outstanding spots left on Damian’s face, whose brow was now furrowed.
“You’re like Bruce, you get all touchy about your neck.” He clarified.
“Tt. How would you know that?” If he were Damian, Tim wouldn’t sound so confident.
“You aren’t denying it.” He pointed out.
Damian scoffed. “A moot point. I shouldn’t have to.”
Tim didn’t believe him for a second, but calling his bluff was pointless. Damian would argue up and down with him for as long as it took. “Well, fine. Good. We won’t have any issues, then.”
As he predicted, the second he went in to first wipe at the splotch on Damian’s neck, he jerked away. Tim gave him a look. The look.
Another one of his little tuts. “Don’t look so smug, Drake. It is simply cold.”
“Oh, of course.” Tim said dumbly, faux sympathy lacing his voice.
When his hand next drew closer and closer, he never even got the chance to touch down on Damian’s neck, who pulled back at the last second. He spoke before Tim could.
“Hurry up!” Damian spat. “You’re drawing this out on purpose!”
“Why would I do that?” Tim cocked his head. He was closing in, Damian could only ignore his questions for so long before he had to admit he was so much like his father.
His gaze was dark. Tim had a hard time keeping himself from laughing. A few years ago, a blood thirsty stare from Damian would have made him anxious. He’d gotten a little too comfortable with all the grumpy cat comparisons Dick made. Needless to say, that nerfed any intimidation factor.
“Go.” Damian commanded, turning his head to expose the smudge. “I’ll stay like this.”
No, you won’t, twerp. Tim didn’t say that. The shudder that overtook his little brother’s form when he began to wipe at the mark was ridiculous.
“I don’t understand what it is with you two and your necks.” He idly commented. Damian was stiff as a board.
“It… it has to be gone by now.” He shied away from the touch, uncharacteristically mild.
“Mm… I don’t know.”
“You’re just teasing me.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
Tim stared. “Yeah. And the sky is blue. Don’t you know somebody’s gotta do it?”
Indeed, somebody did. Which was why Tim threw himself at Damian, collapsing limply against his lap. He shuffled around, adjusting his posture until he was level.
“Hi.” He began with a smile. While it was both, the smile was more giddy than it was devilish.
“You’re going to suffocate me.” Damian seethed.
Tim shook his head around. “Nuh-uh, I’ve seen Jason do this with you before and he’s like, twice my size.”
He left Damian no choice but to resort to physical retaliation. Tim responded as he saw fit.
“Drahake—“ The trapped Robin choked out. For a moment, something flashed in his eyes. He was startled, but not entirely unpleasantly.
Damian would never forgive himself for letting Tim start to break him in. Blunt fingernails scuttled over the side of his neck, and no matter where he turned, he couldn’t shake them.
He twisted so that he at least didn’t have to face Tim. His head hid in his arm, burrowed into the sofa. The other pointlessly wandered, hardly even nudging at his attacker, who had never seen him so thoroughly incapacitated by something so minor. At least not at his hands.
“That was a horrible idea.” With Damian’s back to him, Tim found the nape of his neck, and concentrated small, quick scratches in what he knew was a sweet spot for most people. Let alone someone like Damian.
“Release me, you—!” A breathy hiccup took the place of whatever name he was going to call Tim. His hair scrubbed against the sofa, shoulders twitching all over. In this state, you would never guess that this kid knew a chokehold that would externally close your windpipe. Among other things.
“Why not just release yourself? I know you can do it.”
“You’re ti— mMMNGH!” You’re tickling me.
Damian didn’t normally have any trouble saying that word.
“Excellent observation.” Tim did. The fact that he couldn’t fill in the gap momentarily reminded him of his true nature.
Damian collapsed down onto his stomach when a pinch was delivered to a soft spot on his side that no amount of rigorous training could seem to get rid of. He’d lost himself to his laughter by this point. He was thankful that unlike most of his siblings, he was quiet by default.
He’d grown so used to being unfeeling that even now, whether he wanted it to or not, the sound tended to get caught in his throat. A strained, hum of a sound.
Tim lingered on that little soft spot for some time, he hadn’t seen Damian be ticklish on his sides since he was younger. It was his lucky day.
“I hate you more than anyone in this wORLD—!” Damian breathlessly stumbled through the sentence, it breaking off into a squeaky gasp at the end when both of Tim’s hands moved in to drag down either side of his back, staying confined towards the outside.
He felt like an idiot, but his feet began to scuffle frantically at the couch cushions when small nipping pinches between his mortal enemy’s pointer finger and thumb began to mercilessly fall on, now, the full real estate of his back.
You could hear Tim’s smile in his voice. “You can’t just get a sentence out, can you?”
His entertained, foxy titters mixed with the sound of Damian’s laughter as he continued intermittently. By the time he decided that Damian had finally given up, he was so disoriented that he didn’t think to fend Tim off when given the time to catch his breath, he just laid there.
The older brother took in the mess he was responsible for. It wasn’t a bad mess, the Batfamily’s little prince could use some mess in his life, if anything.
“You know, Alfred’s right. You do have Bruce’s smile.” He moved from where he’d been perched on Damian’s legs. Feeling the excess weight lift off, that was enough for Damian to look back and direct an exceptionally mediocre glare his way.
“…It’s true.” Tim grumbled in defense.
“I don’t understand why it matters so much for people to always have to say so.” The little Robin was beginning to attempt to straighten his ruffled feathers, coming to a seated position, fussing with his clothes and hair.
“He’s not the most eligible bachelor in Gotham for no reason.” Tim didn’t feel the need to say the quiet part out loud, that they were calling Damian handsome. As little as you would think he cared about his appearance, he could be vain.
He was given a judgemental stare that said, “Ew, don’t compliment me,” before Damian turned away.
“Why did you feel the need to do… that.” He similarly wasn’t as angry or uncomfortable with the situation as you would think, he just had an image to maintain.
“I didn’t need to, I wanted to.” Tim corrected.
Damian furrowed his brow at him.
“I will be telling Richard that you roughed me up the next time we see him.”
That drew a Cheshire grin from Tim. “Yeah, and who do you think he’s gonna believe?”
It was a close race. Damian was pouting. Alfred was right about most things— their youngest absolutely could be endearing.
“Well what? Do you want an apology?” Tim prodded.
Silent treatment.
“I’ll see if I can get Jason and Cass over here. We’ll throw something together for the fundraiser, you can say you made all of it.” How much the three of them would be able to get done in only a day, so long as Jason was supervising, was impressive on its own. Damian was only one person.
And he did like to humble brag.
“That is… fine, I guess. You don’t have to help.”
But he didn’t fight Tim on it when he insisted. They went on to spend more time together than they typically would over the next few days, Damian smiled at him more than usual. Tim wasn’t sure if it was just the proximity or if he’d actually done something right, but progress was progress.
They’d made quite a bit of it. He hoped that Damian was as proud of himself as they all were of him. He should know that he has nothing to hide, a good heart is a Robin’s strongest asset.
this is for elliott, who requested some lee!dami with ler!tim a while back :’)
the title and premise is based off of some more recent comics where they’re both robin, both living in my manor from my understanding. I just think it’s interesting and a good backdrop for them to become closer. (｡•́ ̫ •̀｡)
Tim came to the kitchen only planning to check the calendar.
He’d also just woken up from a seven hour long nap, and could hardly walk in a straight line. Now, kitchen meant caffeine. Damian looked on in disgust and vague fascination when he tore apart the cabinet, unearthing a box of the powdered energy drink mixture. It must have been a secret from Alfred, Damian didn’t think he would like that.
Tim poured a generous helping of the powder into his mouth, washing it down with water.
He was going to have a stomachache later. Would it have really been that much harder to use the product as it's intended? Damian wasn’t sure how he was surviving while living everyday with these animals.
He chose not to say that. “…I see you have decided to join us again in the world of the living, Drake.”
Tim was coughing and heaving over the sink. It was almost as if what he had done was an unwise decision. When Damian slowly rose from his seat, his older brother waved his very much quaking hand. I’m fine, go away.
Damian tutted. He was hesitant to sit back down. That was a pretty incredible display of stupidity just now, but Tim was under Bruce’s care. He had more than enough insurance for his bad choices.
A final gasping breath resonated from across the kitchen. “Agh… geez.”
“‘Geez,’ indeed.” Damian echoed dryly.
“Whatever, alright? I’m awake now, it did what it was supposed to.” Tim scoffed, defending himself.
Damian shook his head, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Tim began to approach where he was working in the dining room. He was only allowed to do these things inside—in their nice rooms—because everyone could vouch for the fact that they had never seen Damian spill anything in all the time they’ve known him. He didn’t make messes. That must be what happens when you’re genetically engineered to be perfect.
Tim took in the array of supplies and materials organized on the table. When he walked into Bruce’s study to find Damian pressing autumn leaves, at the time, he just promised that he wouldn’t snitch, then chased him out with a clipboard.
Those big books Damian snuck out did their job well. With his now pressed leaves, Damian was making prints. That put a little twang in Tim’s chest, he liked these sorts of things.
“Neat.” He hummed. Damian curtly nodded, not looking up from the tabletop. There was a sizable stack situated on the end of the table, the ink already dried.
“What’s all this even for—?”
“It doesn’t concern you.” You would think the reply was waiting eagerly right on the tip of Damian’s tongue, like he’d been waiting for someone to pose that question all morning.
So that he could then go on to shut them down. Very Damian of him.
Tim clicked his tongue, slowly nodding along. “…Right.”
“Do you wanna take a break or something…? Alfred would make you tea if you asked.”
Damian paused, clearing his throat shortly after. “Fine. I will go wash my hands.”
Tim was already giving him a funny look. Any of that ink that could have potentially gone onto their fancy table went onto Damian’s person instead.
Damian’s head lifted, his face coming into view. He flinched when his brother doubled over, one hand stabilizing himself on the tabletop, the other muffling his high pitched cackles.
Damian grimaced. He didn’t need it to be explained to him—it didn’t look like Tim was calming down soon either way—he located the nearest mirror. There were smudges all up the sides of his neck where he would occasionally adjust the strap of his smock, his face wasn’t faring any better for similar reasons.
He’d been too careless, so absorbed in the repetition of it all that he failed to realize he too was getting printed on. It was on his nose, his cheeks, and the most ridiculous looking, around his eyes. You would think Robin forgot to take off his mask adhesive at the end of the night and rolled around in soot, he looked like a raccoon.
“Oh, god…” Sighing wistfully and still coming down from his fit of laughter, Tim came up behind Damian in the mirror.
“You look so funny, I wish I had my camera. Dick would get a kick out of this.” He had absolutely zero reason to be this slap happy about Damian’s predicament. That much showed on his little brother’s face.
“You will not be telling Grayson anything.” He spoke evenly, though his shoulders tensed.
Without a picture, Tim would have probably forgotten by the next time they saw him. Dick came and went as he liked. He eyed Damian, cutting his losses.
“If you will excuse me…” He muttered before he went zipping up the stairs. Damian was undoubtedly the fastest walker Tim had ever met, whether he was embarrassed or not.
With Damian not guarding his art project, Tim couldn’t help how he peered over each shoulder before strolling over to have a closer look.
The prints were small, a little larger than a post it note. This same week, from the extravagant window alcove in the library, he watched Damian flit about the expanse of their property. He must have been searching for the perfect specimens for his means.
Off to the side, twine and a hole puncher. No wonder he needed so many of these, he was making a decorative garland. Lastly, and the most telling, there sat Damian’s school bag on the ground below, leaned up against the dining room chair.
From that, Detective Tim Drake drew a handful of conclusions. This was for the school’s seasonal fair, Tim could remember it from when he was Damian’s age. The school would become all decorated and festive, families would bake, make all sorts of crafts, and a portion of the funds collected from the vendors would go to the local youth shelter. They wouldn’t stay warm in the up and coming winter for free.
That meant Damian was getting involved, in a sense. Cute. Good. It wasn’t like they were paying him to help. He was doing this out of the goodness of his heart because, believe it or not, it was in there somewhere.
Finally, Damian was trying to hide this from them. If he decided to pursue it, there was no reason for him to believe it was the wrong thing to do. Tim suspected that he was trying to avoid the opposite.
His heart wasn’t ready for the smile that Bruce would give him, for Dick to sweep him up in his arms and dote on him, how Cass and Jason would immediately want to know what they could do to help. They’d dedicate themselves to some pretty serious baking or crafting if it meant keeping even just one kid out of the cold.
And Tim guessed that now his job was to keep Damian’s secret. As much as he’d enjoy the youngest’s reaction to getting swamped by their overbearing family, it wasn’t his to tell.
A prickle went up his neck.
“Master Tim, you’re awake.” There were some people where secrets simply weren’t an option. If Tim let himself indulge the conspiracist lying dormant in him, he would say Alfred was some kind of ageless, omniscient being.
The butler came forward. He hummed. “Dear boy… he’s been hard at work.”
A majority of the time Tim couldn’t understand what it was about his little brother that Alfred found so endearing, but the second part added up.
“You never once attended any of these events. You said they were ‘bogus’ if I’m not mistaken.”
He gave Alfred a look. The look he got in return told him that he was only being teased. Any family member that was burdened with the task of watching, helping him grow up knew that Tim hated school.
He was too smart in the way he went about playing hooky for the administration to ever get him into trouble. Surely they knew, but they couldn’t prove it. To this day, he took pride in how clever he was for all the wrong reasons.
“This isn't really about me.” He wasn’t deflecting.
Alfred was scrutinizing him.
“Come. I insist you have something to eat before you collapse for another seven hours.” As he usually did, Alfred took a sharp turn on his heel, leaving for the kitchen.
Also not uncommon, Tim followed with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
* * *
The door to Damian’s bedroom was cracked. Tim pressed his head against it, pushing in unannounced.
“Excuse you.” Damian sniffed.
“I just need a pen, don’t throw a hissy fit.” Tim murmured. He at least mostly kept his hands to himself as he roamed around in search of the aforementioned pen.
Dick would have just started rummaging through the drawers, Jason would have tried to get away with theft, and Cass would get away with theft. Tim couldn’t tell you how many of his t-shirts suddenly vanished from his closet, all without him realizing for weeks.
His gaze eventually lifted. He squinted at Damian, and abandoned his search for a pen. The latter almost flinched when Tim began to charge towards where he was sitting on his bed.
“Damian, you didn’t even get all the ink off.”
Damian smacked away the pointer finger that was beginning to flutter towards him like an insect.
“Mind your own business. It would not come off…” He wouldn’t look at Tim.
“I can’t believe you just told me to mind my own business. If I have to see you walking around with those, it’s going to drive me insane.” Tim’s pointer finger managed to land on one of the many stains littering Damian’s neck. He scowled, shoulder hunching.
“Wait here. Don’t make me chase you.” After striking a very school-teacher-esque pose, Tim left even more ambitious than he’d come.
Damian wasn’t a child. He didn’t need nor want help, but if he wasn’t being given a choice, being petulant and running away felt even more undignified. He would have to entertain Tim.
***
The library was the last place anyone would think to do this, but upon Tim’s return, Damian declared that if he was going to have to sit through this, he got to choose where. If he wanted to sit in his favorite spot, Tim didn’t see why he should care.
They sat across from each other, Damian in his spot, Tim in line on the coffee table.
“Alright, so—“
“Is being your captive audience also not optional.”
Tim gave his brother the evil eye. “So, I’ve had these since I was, like, fourteen. I don’t know if Alfred buys them, where they come from, but anything I’ve ever needed to get off of me, they’ve scrubbed away.”
They looked like any other cleansing wipes. For whatever reason, Damian wasn’t as skeptical of this alleged miracle product as he should be.
“They smell like Dent’s chemical plant from last week…” He muttered. His expression strongly resembled that of a cat when they too smelled something they didn’t like.
“Did you think they would smell like roses?”
Damian sulked while Tim went to start chipping away at a spot on his forehead.
“Would you sit still?” The older Robin almost sounded smug.
“I am sitting still. Why are you so demanding?”
“I guess am pretty bossy.” Damian was surprised when Tim’s response wasn’t defensiveness, but a small smile and self deprecating joke.
“I guess…”
He was granted the mercy of a few minutes of silence. Tim worked diligently when he wasn’t being a smartass.
“Seems like it’s working at least. You’re not gonna like this next part.” Tim had gotten most of the outstanding spots left on Damian’s face, whose brow was now furrowed.
“You’re like Bruce, you get all touchy about your neck.” He clarified.
“Tt. How would you know that?” If he were Damian, Tim wouldn’t sound so confident.
“You aren’t denying it.” He pointed out.
Damian scoffed. “A moot point. I shouldn’t have to.”
Tim didn’t believe him for a second, but calling his bluff was pointless. Damian would argue up and down with him for as long as it took. “Well, fine. Good. We won’t have any issues, then.”
As he predicted, the second he went in to first wipe at the splotch on Damian’s neck, he jerked away. Tim gave him a look. The look.
Another one of his little tuts. “Don’t look so smug, Drake. It is simply cold.”
“Oh, of course.” Tim said dumbly, faux sympathy lacing his voice.
When his hand next drew closer and closer, he never even got the chance to touch down on Damian’s neck, who pulled back at the last second. He spoke before Tim could.
“Hurry up!” Damian spat. “You’re drawing this out on purpose!”
“Why would I do that?” Tim cocked his head. He was closing in, Damian could only ignore his questions for so long before he had to admit he was so much like his father.
His gaze was dark. Tim had a hard time keeping himself from laughing. A few years ago, a blood thirsty stare from Damian would have made him anxious. He’d gotten a little too comfortable with all the grumpy cat comparisons Dick made. Needless to say, that nerfed any intimidation factor.
“Go.” Damian commanded, turning his head to expose the smudge. “I’ll stay like this.”
No, you won’t, twerp. Tim didn’t say that. The shudder that overtook his little brother’s form when he began to wipe at the mark was ridiculous.
“I don’t understand what it is with you two and your necks.” He idly commented. Damian was stiff as a board.
“It… it has to be gone by now.” He shied away from the touch, uncharacteristically mild.
“Mm… I don’t know.”
“You’re just teasing me.” He spoke through gritted teeth.
Tim stared. “Yeah. And the sky is blue. Don’t you know somebody’s gotta do it?”
Indeed, somebody did. Which was why Tim threw himself at Damian, collapsing limply against his lap. He shuffled around, adjusting his posture until he was level.
“Hi.” He began with a smile. While it was both, the smile was more giddy than it was devilish.
“You’re going to suffocate me.” Damian seethed.
Tim shook his head around. “Nuh-uh, I’ve seen Jason do this with you before and he’s like, twice my size.”
He left Damian no choice but to resort to physical retaliation. Tim responded as he saw fit.
“Drahake—“ The trapped Robin choked out. For a moment, something flashed in his eyes. He was startled, but not entirely unpleasantly.
Damian would never forgive himself for letting Tim start to break him in. Blunt fingernails scuttled over the side of his neck, and no matter where he turned, he couldn’t shake them.
He twisted so that he at least didn’t have to face Tim. His head hid in his arm, burrowed into the sofa. The other pointlessly wandered, hardly even nudging at his attacker, who had never seen him so thoroughly incapacitated by something so minor. At least not at his hands.
“That was a horrible idea.” With Damian’s back to him, Tim found the nape of his neck, and concentrated small, quick scratches in what he knew was a sweet spot for most people. Let alone someone like Damian.
“Release me, you—!” A breathy hiccup took the place of whatever name he was going to call Tim. His hair scrubbed against the sofa, shoulders twitching all over. In this state, you would never guess that this kid knew a chokehold that would externally close your windpipe. Among other things.
“Why not just release yourself? I know you can do it.”
“You’re ti— mMMNGH!” You’re tickling me.
Damian didn’t normally have any trouble saying that word.
“Excellent observation.” Tim did. The fact that he couldn’t fill in the gap momentarily reminded him of his true nature.
Damian collapsed down onto his stomach when a pinch was delivered to a soft spot on his side that no amount of rigorous training could seem to get rid of. He’d lost himself to his laughter by this point. He was thankful that unlike most of his siblings, he was quiet by default.
He’d grown so used to being unfeeling that even now, whether he wanted it to or not, the sound tended to get caught in his throat. A strained, hum of a sound.
Tim lingered on that little soft spot for some time, he hadn’t seen Damian be ticklish on his sides since he was younger. It was his lucky day.
“I hate you more than anyone in this wORLD—!” Damian breathlessly stumbled through the sentence, it breaking off into a squeaky gasp at the end when both of Tim’s hands moved in to drag down either side of his back, staying confined towards the outside.
He felt like an idiot, but his feet began to scuffle frantically at the couch cushions when small nipping pinches between his mortal enemy’s pointer finger and thumb began to mercilessly fall on, now, the full real estate of his back.
You could hear Tim’s smile in his voice. “You can’t just get a sentence out, can you?”
His entertained, foxy titters mixed with the sound of Damian’s laughter as he continued intermittently. By the time he decided that Damian had finally given up, he was so disoriented that he didn’t think to fend Tim off when given the time to catch his breath, he just laid there.
The older brother took in the mess he was responsible for. It wasn’t a bad mess, the Batfamily’s little prince could use some mess in his life, if anything.
“You know, Alfred’s right. You do have Bruce’s smile.” He moved from where he’d been perched on Damian’s legs. Feeling the excess weight lift off, that was enough for Damian to look back and direct an exceptionally mediocre glare his way.
“…It’s true.” Tim grumbled in defense.
“I don’t understand why it matters so much for people to always have to say so.” The little Robin was beginning to attempt to straighten his ruffled feathers, coming to a seated position, fussing with his clothes and hair.
“He’s not the most eligible bachelor in Gotham for no reason.” Tim didn’t feel the need to say the quiet part out loud, that they were calling Damian handsome. As little as you would think he cared about his appearance, he could be vain.
He was given a judgemental stare that said, “Ew, don’t compliment me,” before Damian turned away.
“Why did you feel the need to do… that.” He similarly wasn’t as angry or uncomfortable with the situation as you would think, he just had an image to maintain.
“I didn’t need to, I wanted to.” Tim corrected.
Damian furrowed his brow at him.
“I will be telling Richard that you roughed me up the next time we see him.”
That drew a Cheshire grin from Tim. “Yeah, and who do you think he’s gonna believe?”
It was a close race. Damian was pouting. Alfred was right about most things— their youngest absolutely could be endearing.
“Well what? Do you want an apology?” Tim prodded.
Silent treatment.
“I’ll see if I can get Jason and Cass over here. We’ll throw something together for the fundraiser, you can say you made all of it.” How much the three of them would be able to get done in only a day, so long as Jason was supervising, was impressive on its own. Damian was only one person.
And he did like to humble brag.
“That is… fine, I guess. You don’t have to help.”
But he didn’t fight Tim on it when he insisted. They went on to spend more time together than they typically would over the next few days, Damian smiled at him more than usual. Tim wasn’t sure if it was just the proximity or if he’d actually done something right, but progress was progress.
They’d made quite a bit of it. He hoped that Damian was as proud of himself as they all were of him. He should know that he has nothing to hide, a good heart is a Robin’s strongest asset.
a/n: This one goes out to my soon-to-be-wisdom-toothless anon! Have a speedy recovery! Inspiration comes from this brilliant ask.
summary: Tim got Jason a pillbug plushie for Christmas one year. It's only fair that Jason return the favor with a similarly teasy gift.
lee!Tim // ler!Jason
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“JASON!” Tim shrieked at volume loudest as he brandished a XXXL long-sleeved red t-shirt and shook it a couple times. Specks of glitter danced in the window light as they scattered all over the carpet.
Whoops. Sorry, Alfred.
Jason made a mental note to offer to vacuum later in penance for bringing glitter tissue paper into the Manor. Then Tim leapt at him like a feral panther and slammed into Jason’s side, sending them both tumbling onto the carpet.
“I can’t believe you!” Tim yelled, shoving Jason onto his side and climbing on top of him. He snatched the squeaky plush that Dick had gotten for Titus off of the coffee table, and the next thing Jason knew, he was being thrashed by a stuffed narwhal that let out a wheezing, geriatric squeak every time the horn bounced off his body.
Tim happily continued his rant, punctuating each point with a whack. “On Christmas! –” SQUEAK! “In front of everyone–” whe-eezeSQUEAK! “–and I got you something nice too the year I gave you Redpod, you absolute fuckwad jackass!” sque–eEAK!
“Okay,” Jason gasped because he was laughing so hard he couldn’t fucking breathe. “Timmy, Timbers, you’re gonna break it.”
“He might as well,” Damian muttered. “Titus is far too dignified to play with such a thing.”
Dick snorted. “Lies.”
Bruce cleared his throat and they all shut up real quick. Jason couldn’t see him on account of the overgrown brat sitting on his hip, but from the strained quality in his tone, it seemed like Bruce was on the brink of succumbing to laughter himself.
“Tim, what did Jason give you?”
In answer, Tim went bright red – ha, like the shirt – and scowled at Jason for a couple seconds, then jumped to his feet. He spun around to face Damian, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred, and, sighing with a particular kind of resigned acceptance, he held the shirt up to himself.
Jason grinned as he watched Dick squint to read the text on the front, then cackle with amused glee.
“Well done, Jaybird.”
After pushing himself back up to a sitting position, Jason swept his arm out in a gesture of thanks, bowing his head for that extra dramatic flair.
“B, ban him from giving Christmas presents,” Tim pleaded and Jason just knew that the kid had turned those gigantic puppy dog eyes on their father.
Bruce grunted thoughtfully. “I’m not sure we need to do that, Tim. It isn’t an incorrect description.”
The sound that came out of Tim was probably supposed to be an indignant yelp of protest, but it got caught somewhere in his throat and sounded much more like a squeak.
Jason’s grin widened into a full-on smirk. Good, the old man had sided with him on this one. This time, he was prepared when Tim whirled around and fell on him again. All the attention and teasing had dampened his righteous fury, so instead of getting whaled on with the nearest Christmas gift, Jason ended up getting an armful of blushy, squeaky baby brother. He…would allow it, this time. But Christ, the kid was really starting to pack on the muscle, and it was a strain for Jason to push them both up, back onto the couch. As Tim grumbled out something inaudible and did his damndest to burrow through Jason’s sweater, Jason tugged the t-shirt out from between them and draped it over Tim like a blanket, making sure the inscription was facing outwards. Ever since that Christmas when Tim had gleefully gifted him a red pillbug – just thinking about it made the heat start creeping up Jason’s face – Jason had been planning his revenge. He’d chosen the long game, but it was worth every single minute of delayed gratification.
Tim seemed convinced that if he stayed completely still and didn’t talk, the rest of the family would forget he was there. Unfortunately for him, Dick was already digging out his phone for a picture. Jason flipped him off, waited for the flash, then mimed his request for Dick to send him that picture. Then he pulled out his own phone, downloaded the attachment from Dick, and promptly set it as Tim’s profile picture.
Really, he’d outdone himself this year. He went for the oversized, gas station novelty tee look, and finding someone to print GIGGLE BRAT on the front in capital letters was surprisingly easy.
Eventually, though, he roused Tim to give him his real gift. It was a 7-ply skateboard deck that Jason had cut, pressed, glued, and sanded himself. He’d used wood from one of the maple trees that he and Tim had cut down when they’d been helping (read: voluntold) with outdoor upkeep that summer. That tree in particular had been growing too close to a powerline and needed to come down. They’d even found a nest in one of the forks that had a couple long-hatched robin’s eggs.
All in all, it was a good Christmas. Because of the prank. Not because of the look on Tim’s face when Jason explained how he’d made the skateboard deck and offered to help Tim finish assembling it. Fuck off, Dick.
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And. as it turned out, the Giggle Brat shirt was the gift that kept giving. After one morning when Jason had ventured into Tim’s room – yes, he voluntarily took his life and limbs in his own metaphorical hands to see if Tim was awake after the kid had slept for four-fucking-teen hours – he’d noticed that The Shirt had become part of Tim’s sleep shirt rotation. It dwarfed his little brother and really looked more like some kind of old timey nightgown a la Ebeneezer Scrooge, and it was so adorable that, in a magnanimous act, Jason took a picture for Dick.
Neither of them said anything to Tim because if he knew they knew he’d stop, or maybe even leave the shirt at the Tower. As soon as he knew he was being perceived enjoying something silly or embarrassing, he’d clam up about it.
Then, on a routine gig at the railyard, Tim took a rusty nail to the calf when a goon got in a lucky graze with a nail-studded baseball bat.
There was so much blood.
Jason didn’t remember most of the immediate aftermath. He’d been helping Tim hold himself up, holding one of Tim’s arms over his shoulders and bracing him with an arm around his waist. Then he blinked, and now he was sitting next to a cot in the medbay while Tim woozily waited out the aftereffects of the anesthesia and pain meds.
And the worst fucking part of all this was that Tim wasn’t even supposed to be down at the tracks this evening. He’d been on another case, a cyber attack on one of the development labs at the university, but things had gotten a little hairy and he’d been on his comm, so…
Jason stared down at the bandage around Tim’s right calf. If he squinted, he could picture the crescent path of the stitches beneath it that Alfred had used to painstakingly fix the gigantic shitting tear in Tim’s leg, in his baby brother’s leg, and – and God, there was still dried blood crusted around his sock.
Shaking his head, trying to clear away the memory of Tim’s entire leg drenched in dripping red, Jason grabbed a packet of sterile alcohol wipes, tore one open, and started dabbing at Tim’s ankle. At least his sock was red –
Oh. No, it wasn’t.
Jason ignored how his hands shook as he peeled off the ruined sock and tossed it in the biohazard bin. Then he got a couple paper towels, ran them under the tap, and started cleaning off Tim’s whole entire fucking foot. The kid really never did anything by halves. It was a little awkward maneuvering around the IV line that fed Tim’s immune system a steady diet of antibiotics to help forestall any infection, but Jason managed.
“You don’t have to do that,” Tim mumbled. It sounded like his tongue was swollen, but that was probably just the meds. “‘S gross.”
“It’s you,” Jason shot back. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, but oh well. “It’s fine.”
Tim blinked those wide Baby Bird eyes at him. “You good?”
“Fine.”
“Lyin,” Tim said, but a yawn interrupted him. “Y’r sad.”
Jason also ignored how his eyes abruptly started stinging. Luckily, just then, Alfred returned with another sterile packet, this one longer and rectangular.
“Ah, Master Tim,” he said, smiling warmly as Tim tried to focus his gaze. “I’m going to give you a tetanus shot since your last one was a couple years ago. Better safe than sorry, lad.”
After Jason disposed of the used paper towels and alcohol wipes in the proper receptacles, he thoroughly sanitized his hands. By the time he was done, Timmy was freshly immunized against the forces of tetanus and lockjaw, and Alfred was cleaning up.
“Perhaps you could find something for your brother to sleep in, Master Jason,” Alfred suggested, giving Jason a knowing look.
That was a good idea. Jason needed – he needed a few minutes alone.
He fled up the elevator and hurried to Tim’s room. As he was ransacking Tim’s dresser drawers, he caught sight of a familiar red t-shirt and grabbed it without a second thought. He snatched a pair of sweatpants, too, then forced his way through some of the breathing exercises from Bruce. Once he felt a little steadier, he hastened back down to the Cave.
Tim was looking much more alert. He’d sat up and arranged the pillows behind himself for maximum comfort. When Jason came in, Tim brightened.
“PJs, brat.” Jason tossed them in his general direction. They hit Tim in the face, making him huff out a quiet laugh, and Jason felt his mouth tick upwards in a small smile. He ducked out to give Tim some privacy to change, but since he was right outside the door, he heard Tim’s muttered “You’ve got to be kidding me” loud and clear.
“Who else knows?” Tim asked, whined, really, when Jason returned. He was wearing the shirt. The process of wrangling himself into it had made his hair stick up all over the place.
“Just me ‘n’ Dickiebird,” Jason said. Tim’s pride probably wasn’t ready to hear that Damian, Bruce, and Alfred also knew. Not after taking an injury.
Sighing, Tim slumped back into the pillows. “Okay.”
Jason dragged one of the rolling chairs over and plopped himself down next to Tim, kicking his feet up onto the bedsheets.
“How long have you known?” Tim asked. He was picking at a loose thread at the sheet corner and didn’t make eye contact. He might’ve also been blushing.
It was too easy to tease him, so Jason willfully misunderstood the question. “That you like when I call you a giggle brat? Probably since the first time I did it. You did those. Ah, what’d Dick name them? Timmy wiggles.”
“No!” Tim screeched and now he was definitely blushing. He used the arm with the IV lead to smack Jason in the shoulder, which sent the line swinging all over the place, then promptly rolled onto his opposite side.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Jason reached out and ghosted his fingers across the backs of Tim’s ribs, keeping his touch light enough that Tim wouldn’t spasm or flail and damage his stitches. “C’mon, Timmers, we’re talking about how much you love your shirt.”
Tim wrapped his arms around one of his pillows and buried his face in it, furiously shaking his head. Every time Jason’s hand strayed too close to his ribs, he tensed up and made muffled squeaking sounds.
The bitter fear and dread that had been clawing at Jason’s throat ever since Tim took that hit finally, finally started to evaporate. Tim was here. He was real. He was in one piece. He was okay.
“Talk to me, kid,” Jason said softly. He traced looping swirls all over Tim’s back and shoulders as his baby brother twitched and giggled. Usually Tim’s back wasn’t an effective tickle spot, but Jason made sure to trace over his neck and that deviously ticklish spot on the backs of his lower ribs. It was enough to keep Timmers on his toes.
“I can’t,” Tim muffled himself in the pillow. As Jason skittered over the back of his neck, Tim hunched his shoulders up. “Tickles.”
Something gooey and melty and unacceptable in public burned in Jason’s heart as he watched Tim try and burrow further into his pillows. Little gremlin.
“Well, Timbo. I’m not Dickface, but I can give you more tickles.”
This time, Jason traced a zig-zag pattern up Tim’s lower back and slipped around his exposed side, teasing at the edge of his stomach. Tim immediately burst into quiet giggles as he rocked back and forth, wriggling under the tickling until he settled partly on his back again. It was not lost on Jason that this position gave him easier reach, but he didn’t comment on it. Usually these sleepy, squishy moments were Dick’s purview, but Jason reveled in having this time with Tim where it was just them and Tim let himself soften. One of them had to.
Tracing wide, overlapping circles around most of Tim’s stomach got some more wiggles, and Jason thought about puppies asking for belly rubs. This wasn’t the time for a full-blown attack, but that would come around soon enough.
“See?” he said, using his index finger to trace the Bat symbol around Tim’s navel. “Dick was right. Timmy wiggles.”
If anyone heard him saying that outloud, his reputation would go up in flames faster than the building that had taken him out the first time. Luckily, the Cave was one of the few places that Jason knew was safe from unwanted ears. Well, unwanted and dangerous ears, at least.
“Shut up, Jase,” Tim squeaked out. He yanked his emotional support pillow down over his face.
“No,” Jason said. He swallowed hard. “You scared the shit out of m–us, kid.” After a couple measured breaths, he forced some more levity into his tone. “And I can’t give you the wrecking you deserve right now, so you’re gonna have to put up with some teasing.”
Tim grumbled in response but didn’t tell him to fuck off.
Jason breathed out a laugh through his nose and poked the kid’s lower ribs, just once, just to make him squeak again. Then he went back to gentle traces, making sure to cover Tim’s shoulders and upper arms, too. And he was pretty damn sure that he could feel himself getting cavities in real time listening to Tim’s squeaking giggles get sleepier and sleepier. He finally gave up his pillow shield and turned to face Jason again, using his free arm to trap Jason’s hand against his side. Jason wiggled his fingers once, testing, and Tim’s mouth twitched up into a smile.
Instead of tickling him some more, Jason gently pried his hand free and switched to untangling the impressive collection of snarls in Tim’s hair. The kid would be in desperate need of a shower tomorrow morning.
Tim’s eyelids fluttered as he hummed in contentment, letting his head tilt closer to Jason’s hand.
“Alfred wants me to sleep down here tonight,” Tim said after a couple moments. He didn’t sound happy. A couple lines appeared, furrowing between his brow.
Jason grunted in sympathy. “Probably to check your vitals and temperature, Spleenless Wonder.”
Tim cracked his eyes open to give him a withering look. It was bone-chilling because goddamn, that was pure Bruce. Maybe Tim would eventually grow into the Bat Glower too. What a terrifying thought.
Another terrifying thought, now that Jason’s brain kept churning away at it, was that Tim had very good reasons to be leery of falling asleep in medical bays. The surge of scorching anger was sudden and nearly caught Jason off guard, but he shoved it down.
“Go to sleep, kid. I’m staying with you.”
Tim blinked up at him for a long second, expression unreadable, then he nodded. He wrangled the blankets up to his shoulders, taking care not to let any catch on his bandage. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Jason replied. “Someone’s gotta get a picture of you in that shirt. I think Dickwing will probably frame it for his work desk. Maybe Kon and Cassie and Bart’ll put a copy up in the Tower.”
Tim’s nose wrinkled as he tried to glare but mostly failed due to the sleepiness. He lightly snapped his teeth at Jason instead, then scooted forward. Now that he was closer, he could snake his hands out and latch onto Jason’s arm – the one attached to the hand in his hair – to drag it closer.
Yeah, Jason should’ve seen that one coming. He’d seen dozens of pictures over the years of Tim curled up around Dick’s arm, or clinging onto Bruce like a limpet. Something about being sleepy turned Tim into a snuggle-seeking guided missile, but only once he was tired enough to not be embarrassed about it.
Jason took a picture anyways.
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Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs amid a flurry of yelling and panicked laughter. At the kitchen table, minding his own business, Jason tilted down his book to make eye contact with Bruce.
“Any idea what’s going on with that?” Bruce asked mildly.
Yes. “No clue,” Jason responded. He took a sip of his coffee and brought his book back up.
Bruce’s foot knocked against his shin under the table. “I don’t believe that for a moment, Jaylad.”
Jason smiled into his mug. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Because Dick had the worst timing in the world, that was the moment he chose to haul a struggling Tim in through the kitchen door. “Hiya, B! Jay, here’s your delivery.”
Well, there went his cover.
Bruce almost succeeded in looking exasperated, but amusement glinted in his eyes as he sighed the sigh of the long suffering.
“Bruce,” Tim said, desperate and out of breath from trying to slide out of Dick’s noodly clutches. “I’m – I’m still benched, this isn’t – please, save me from them.”
“Hn.”
“It’s – Dick, no, don’t!”
But Dick did, cheerfully walking over to Jason and dumping Tim off into his lap. One of Tim’s flailing elbows almost sent the coffee flying, and Jason barely rescued it in time.
“Thanks,” Jason said. He chugged his coffee, which gave Tim plenty of time to escape if he’d wanted to, then slid the mug towards Bruce and clasped his hands together. “Alright, Timothy. Let’s talk about last week.”
“Let’s not!” Tim yelped.
Jason shot Bruce a smirk. “Have anything to say to him, old man?”
“Yes, actually.”
Tim’s eyes widened in shock. “B, B, do-don’t!”
“Oh,” Bruce said, mischief bleeding into his smile. “I was only going to point out that Tim dressed incredibly appropriately for the occasion.”
It was then that Jason realized that Tim was wearing his giggle brat t-shirt. Dick must’ve snatched him straight out of bed. Damn.
“You’re a traitor!” Tim shouted as Jason grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder, standing up in the same motion. “Brutus! Bruce-us!”
Bruce chuckled as Jason marched Tim out of the kitchen in the direction of the living room.
“C’mon,” Tim complained. “It was like a week ago!”
“And yet you still have stitches, Birdie,” Jason replied. “But first things first. I’m hungry.”
He flopped Tim down onto the beanbag and quickly boxed him in, pinning his legs to the carpet.
Tim went quiet and bit down on his lower lip. A helpless little grin tugged at his mouth. “Jase–”
“And,” Jason cut him off, smirking and lowering his voice into a serious, threatening growl as he loomed over his little brother. “For breakfast, I think I want…robin ribs.”
He shot his hands forward and latched onto Tim’s ribs as Tim shrieked louder than a spastic tea kettle. When he laughed, it was full of glee and delight, even amid heaps of shrieking and incoherent pleading.
As Jason began methodically targeting Tim’s upper ribs, right beneath his armpits, Tim threw his head back into the beanbag and shouted once before dissolving into silent laughter. It was the perfect opportunity for Jason to lean down close to him and murmur,
“Nearly gave me a heart attack, Tim. Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”
Then he straightened up and said, louder, “And I’m thinking raspberries for dessert. Whatcha say to that, Timmers?”
“I – I –” Tim heaved in a deep breath and managed to put on a shit-eating grin for just a moment. “I love you too, Jase.”
