a/n: takes place right after Snuggle Bird. Some light angst - Jason's having unexpected feelings about Robin running off by himself without telling anyone for No Particular Reason Whatsoever, of course, but they are quickly assuaged.
summary: Bruce hears about Tim's self-experimenting cuddle pollen extravaganza from Jason, and has a rather giggly conversation with Tim about it.
lee!Jason Todd, lee!Tim Drake // ler!Bruce Wayne, ler!Dick Grayson
Steam rose from the coffee as Bruce raised his mug for another sip. He blinked hard as lines of newsprint blurred in front of his eyes. He hadn’t been awake very long, and the liquid warmth was the only thing keeping him upright at the kitchen table.
So he was utterly unprepared when Jason, wide awake and seemingly in good health, stormed into the kitchen and yanked out the chair next to Bruce’s hard enough to make the legs screech against the floor.
“Did Dick tell you about last night?” Jason demanded. The lines of his posture were all tense edges and corners. “About Tim?”
Well, that certainly had Bruce feeling much more awake. “What happened?”
“Your Robin got blasted with pollen and ditched his patrol route to come back here and experiment on himself in his bedroom instead of telling anyone. Dick finally tracked him down but Christ, B.” Jason leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, staring at him intently. “You’ve gotta tell him he can’t be doing that shit.”
Bruce blinked. Then he blinked again, because – Tim? Really? That was…hm. He thought about it for a moment. Actually, that did sound exactly like the kind of thing Tim would do. “Okay.”
Jason’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Okay? You’re just–”
Bruce held up his hand to cut him off and continued speaking. “I trust that if there were any immediate problems, Dick would’ve alerted me. But, thank you for telling me, Jason, I’ll speak to Tim about this immediately.” He sighed. The telltale prickles of a tension headache gnawed at his temples. What a way to start the day.
“So, what, you’re not upset? Dickhead also just let him keep going, he didn’t even bring Tim down to the Cave.” One of Jason’s fists pounded against the table for emphasis as his expression drew tight. “It’s not safe for him to just – to just run off like that, just because he thinks he’s right.”
Ah. Had Bruce been more awake, he might have picked up on what was really going on as soon as Jason had come in. Tracking Jason’s body language, he reached out and cupped his distressed son’s face with one hand, gently stroking his thumb over the furrowed creases in Jason’s brow. Jason took in a stuttering breath and shut his eyes.
“It’s alright, Jaylad. Your brother is safe, he’s right upstairs. He didn’t go far.”
The table creaked as Jason pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids.
“Jason.” Bruce paused as he saw Jason consciously trying to regulate his breathing, shoulders shuddering. “Okay, okay. Come here.” He slid his hand to the back of Jason’s head to guide him forwards, pulling him into a hug. Jason’s fingers dug into his biceps and he shoved his face against Bruce’s shoulder.
“It didn’t even bother me until this morning,” Jason sniffed, his words muffled in the thick weave of Bruce’s WE sweatshirt. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Oh, honey.” Bruce pressed a quick kiss to the side of Jason’s head, squeezing him closer. The curls near the nape of his neck were, as per usual, tangled into a stubborn matt. “It’s the first time something like this has happened with Tim.”
“I just–” A very tiny, choked noise interrupted Jason’s sentence, and it took him a couple seconds to recover before he continued. “God, what if something went wrong and – and no one was there –”
It was dangerously easy, sometimes, to forget that Jason was only nineteen, until something like this happened. The hurt in his voice came straight from his fifteen-year-old self, and Bruce suddenly had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat.
“Tim came right back here,” Bruce murmured into his son’s hair, gently rocking him back and forth. “If something happened, we would’ve known. Dick would’ve helped him right away. And Tim’s had all the routes back here from the city memorized since he was ten, so I’m sure he went fast. But you’re right, honey, that in different circumstances, this could have been very unsafe. Which is why I’m going to talk to him about it, just to be sure he’s aware.”
Jason sniffed again and nodded into his chest. There wasn’t much else Bruce could do except hold him while he weathered his tangled-up feelings, but he was more than happy to do that. After all, there’d been a time not too long ago when he thought he’d never hold Jason ever again.
Eventually, Jason’s distressed shudders slowed and he slumped forward, going mostly limp. Bruce rubbed soothing circles over his shoulders, keeping his palm flat so he wouldn’t accidentally trigger Jason’s…sensitivities.
“Jason,” he said. “Did grounding you from the Cave ever successfully keep you out?”
“God, no,” Jason replied with a wet-sounding laugh. “I was down there all the time.”
Bruce felt a smile stretching across his face. “You were. That was by design, you know.”
“Absolutely. I grounded you from the Cave, a fairly controlled environment that you were familiar with, so that when you inevitably pushed back, you’d be doing so within the bounds of where you could operate safely.”
It took Jason a couple seconds to digest that, but when he did, he tilted his head back to squint up at Bruce. “Why?”
“Well,” Bruce chuckled. “I’d rather you disobey me and end up downstairs, then disobey me and end up punch drunk at a high school house party when the cops show up.”
“Because I was…so likely to do that.” Ah, there was that signature Jason snark that Bruce knew and loved.
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
Snorting, Jason muttered, “Maybe it’s about the illusion of control, old man.”
In answer, Bruce briefly dug his fingers into the edge of one of Jason’s shoulder blades, earning a startled noise and some wriggling for his troubles until he stilled.
Jason flipped him off, but he had a small grin as he did. “It’s not rude if I’m right.”
“The point,” Bruce said, allowing himself to roll his eyes at his ridiculous middle child even though he was also smiling. “Is that it sounds like Dick is doing a similar thing. He’s giving Tim some leeway in a situation that’s otherwise very familiar and easily ameliorated, so that Tim can push some boundaries while still having a safety net.”
The furrow reappeared in Jason’s brow as he thought that over for a few moments. Finally, he grunted. “Okay.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Tim eventually wandered into Dick’s room anyway and Dickhead latched onto him like a giant squid.”
Bruce had to hold back a sigh. If Jason had mentioned that earlier…. But he’d been keyed up, no one could blame him. “I can picture that.”
“And the pollen made him more ticklish,” Jason said, wiping his eyes with his forearm. “That’s what woke me up.”
“I can picture that, too.”
Jason took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush without making a move to actually lean back. “So, are you gonna go talk to the dumbass and the Dickface upstairs?”
“Don’t call your brothers names,” Bruce murmured on pure parental reflex, only realizing when Jason snickered at him.
“Seriously, B, we call each other so much worse–”
Instead of indulging that line of thought, Bruce just adjusted his hand to scribble a ticklish trail right down Jason’s spine, which sent him into a fit of startled titters as he twitched.
“You know the house rules,” he teased as he traced the same path back up to flutter around his kid’s neck. “If you don’t have money for the swear jar, this can be your forfeit.”
Snickering, Jason tried to hunch his shoulders up to his ears. It wasn't a very effective evasion technique. He yelped when Bruce suddenly scrabbled over a particularly ticklish spot under his jaw. “Fuhuhu– fuck ohhahaff!”
“That’s another dollar, Jaylad. Or I can just….” Bruce walked his fingers over to one of the tiny, ridiculously ticklish spots on the upper edge of Jason’s shoulder blades, right next to his armpit, and scrabbled his nails over the threadbare t-shirt fabric that protected it.
Wheezing, Jason let out a stream of surprisingly high-pitched giggles and lurched forwards like he was trying to curl up in his chair. “I–I hahave a dollar–hehehey!”
"Well," Bruce said, smiling even though Jason couldn't see him. "If you can pay, you don't have to keep giggling."
When Jason groaned in giggly despair at the teasing, Bruce released him and pressed another kiss to the side of his head. "Alright, Jaylad. I'll go speak with your brothers."
Jason leaned away and got to his feet, wandering towards the pantry. "Take coffee up for Tim, or he won't be able to think. I'm gonna tell Alf that I'm making pancakes for breakfast."
Of all the ways that Jason could work through his stress, cooking and baking were two of the better ones. Bruce certainly wasn't going to stand in the way of healthy coping mechanisms. He thanked Jason, filled a travel mug with coffee, and braced himself for the imminent conversation.
It seemed that growing up had done nothing to dampen Dick’s tendency to sprawl out across whatever flat surface was available when he slept. As usual, he was facedown in a pile of pillows. He had one arm shoved under the pillow beneath his head, the other was entirely tangled in the comforter so only his fingers were visible. One of his legs stuck out at a right angle, bent at the knee so his calf and foot dangled off the side of the bed.
That…couldn’t be comfortable. Just observing his son’s contorted posture sent a dull throb through Bruce’s hip. But Dick was still young, so he’d probably bounce out of bed and go right on about his day instead of needing a week to recover from a less-than-optimal sleeping position.
As for Tim, well. Bruce decided to work off the assumption that his youngest child was probably concealed beneath the lump of bright blue sweatshirt posted up next to Dick. Tim had always tended to curl in on himself when he slept. The barely-visible tufts of fuzzy black hair that stuck out from somewhere near the top confirmed his suspicions.
The blankets rustled as Dick got his arms underneath himself and pushed up onto his elbows. He rolled onto one side and offered Bruce a feeble wave.
“Good morning, chum.” Being mindful of Tim's slumber, Bruce kept his voice to a low murmur as he eased his way further into the room, being sure to keep his footsteps silent. He sat on the mattress further down beside the bright blue ball of sleeping Robin. “How is he?”
Dick yawned, then twisted his hips to the side and flipped onto his back, far too limber for someone who'd just woken up.
“Perfectly fine,” he said, right before a yawn interrupted him. “Did Jay tell you?”
Bruce decided against mentioning Jason's distress, since any conversation about that shouldn't happen without his middle son present. “He did.”
“I checked his vitals.” Dick's voice sounded a little clearer, now, as the worry lines near his eyes deepened. “He was fine to just be under observation, I swear.”
His legs stirred with restless nerves, and Bruce gently placed his palm on one of Dick's knees to still him. “Dick. I'm not upset. I fully trust that you used your judgement well and made a perfectly acceptable call for what the situation demanded.”
The whirring from Dick's thoughts was practically audible as he processed through that amid his newly-awoken haze. “Oh.”
“I'm just checking on you,” Bruce said, wanting to reassure his eldest. “Both of you.”
Dick's bright eyes flickered to his own for an instant before he looked down, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks.”
“You should probably wake him up soon, or he'll sleep too late and get all grouchy.”
Dick's mouth quirked up in a grin. “Worried about being in kicking range, huh?”
“Yes,” Bruce replied with absolutely zero shame.
His youngest was a notoriously grouchy waker, and had been ever since he hit his teenage years. Dick had the dubious though consistent honor of being the only person in the family who’d ever returned unscathed from having to get Tim out of bed. For Bruce, Jason, even Alfred, venturing into Tim's room while he was sleeping meant dodging a stuffed animal or plastic water bottle thrown at them while whatever gremlin that possessed Tim during sleeping hours hissed from under the covers.
With a playfully resigned sigh, Dick gingerly tugged the sweatshirt hood away from Tim’s head and shot Bruce a quick wink. “Watch and learn, then.”
It was almost impressive, really, how much Tim’s hair looked like it was trying to escape his scalp. The amount of static electricity there could probably power the Batsignal. His face was mostly obscured by the angle of his arms, so Bruce couldn’t see if he twitched when Dick started running his fingers through the untamed tufts of hair.
“You’ve just gotta wake him up slowly,” Dick whispered, keeping a slow, predictable rhythm of carding through the tiny knots and snarls in his younger brother’s hair. At first, it didn’t seem to be doing much, but after a few minutes Tim let out a quiet noise and nuzzled into his hand like a sleepy kitten.
Dick leaned down to kiss the top of his head, murmuring, “Hey there, bub.”
Instead of replying, Tim turned his head so his entire face pressed into the pillow, which was a very him thing to do. It almost made Bruce chuckle but he held back, not wanting to jar either of his sons out of the peaceful bubble of early morning stillness.
“C’mon, Timmy,” Dick spoke in a lilting, singsong voice. He gently smoothed Tim’s hair out of his face and switched to the light head scritches that all of Bruce’s kids seemed to appreciate. “It’s time to wake up.”
One of Tim’s hands disentangled from his sweatshirt cocoon and clumsily patted at the sheets nearby. Dick offered his free arm, and Bruce watched as Tim grabbed the proffered limb and tried to curl around it.
Dick’s entire expression melted into a mushy, fond smile like it always did whenever he saw his brothers do something sweet – and god, he’d grown into an incredible young adult, Bruce was so insufferably proud – and he tugged on his arm. Whatever he did got a sleepy giggle out of Tim, whose eyes finally cracked open.
“There he is,” Dick cooed. “Welcome back, Baby Bird.”
With a soft, sleepy sound, Tim blinked hard, then tucked his head closer to Dick’s shoulder.
Bruce had his phone in hand with the camera swiped open and snapped a picture before he consciously realized he was doing it, which made Dick roll his eyes despite the fact that he was still grinning down at Tim. He wanted to save proof of this moment forever, he loved that Tim felt safe enough to be this soft, unguarded version of himself with his oldest brother.
Dick nudged Tim just enough to barely jostle him. “Someone brought you coffee.”
Taking that as his cue, Bruce held out the travel mug towards Tim, who was now making grabby hands in his general direction.
“It’s not an addiction,” Dick said as they both watched Tim drain the entire thing.
“We’re well past that,” Bruce agreed, but he was smiling. It was a fact universally acknowledged that Tim’s preferred caffeinated fix was Zesti, but Bruce – well, Alfred, really – drew the line at energy drinks with breakfast, so Tim had acquiesced to the demands of the coffee pot.
Tim cleared his throat a couple times and blinked again. “Hi, B.” His voice sounded a little raspy. “Morning.”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Bruce replied. “How are you feeling?”
The question had Tim chewing on his lower lip before Bruce had finished speaking, and he knew he’d misphrased something when Tim’s shoulders hunched inwards.
“He’s not mad, Timmy,” said Dick, winding an arm around Tim’s waist and tugging him closer. “Just worried.”
“I feel fine,” Tim said quietly. He fidgeted with the sleeves of the sweatshirt and tugged them down over his hands. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“Tim,” Bruce started, about to ask him what he'd been doing, but Dick caught his gaze and, with a nearly microscopic twitch, shook his head. It was easy enough to pivot, so at the last second he switched to, “how are your symptoms?”
From the way Tim's eyebrows flew up, he'd been expecting a lecture too. Bruce could practically see the blue screen flash in his son's mind as Tim scrambled to adjust his own train of thought.
“Gone, I think,” he said at last. “I don't feel warm, my clothes don't itch–”
“Hey,” Dick said, smirking, and dug his fingers into Tim’s stomach in a single, solitary squeeze. “How's the extra sensitivity, hm?”
Tim flinched and twisted up his expression to hold back the laughter that was undoubtedly bubbling up inside him. “It's fine.”
“I dunno, Timmy, we should replicate the experiment to check.”
“Dick,” Tim whined, uncurling his legs and shifting restlessly.
Bruce placed a steadying hand on Tim’s shin and offered him a soothing smile that probably didn’t hide his growing amusement very well. “Those are all good things. What’s this about extra sensitivity?”
The look Tim gave him was full of exasperation and betrayal when Dick took that as permission to keep poking and squeezing all over his stomach.
“It’s – B – it’s nahat a big deheaheal!”
“Every symptom is important to log,” Bruce replied while Tim squirmed out a losing battle with the grin that he’d been trying to hold back. “Dick?”
“He was so tickly ticklish, B,” Dick said immediately, punctuating each word with a pinch to Tim’s sides. “And really, really squeaky. Like a Robin-shaped rubber duck.”
Few people had the knack for going instantly red like Tim did, and he flushed all the way to his ears.
Bruce had to tease him. “Well, that’s only a symptom if it’s different than normal, chum.”
“Dad!” Tim squawked indignantly as Dick laughed, happily digging into his lower ribs. Even with the thick barrier from his sweatshirt, Tim still couldn’t keep in his squeaky laughter or the instinctive wriggling.
“Standard cuddle pollen symptoms, then,” Bruce said, relenting in his teasing. “No anomalies?”
“Nope,” Dick replied, perfectly casual like he wasn’t tickling his little brother speechless while they spoke. “When I got back here – freaked out, I might add – he was buried beneath weighted and heated blankets on a video call with his friends.”
It was easy enough to guess why Tim had gone for those particular implements instead of down to the Cave for the antidote. “Trying to replicate the temperature and weight of skin contact?”
“That’s how he explained it. Said it worked, too – oh, sorry, Timmy, something to add?” Dick paused in his tickling so Tim could catch his breath.
“It worked,” Tim said, a little wheezy.
Dick just grinned at Bruce and promptly went back to crawling his fingers up Tim’s ribs. “Oh, yeah, it did.”
Tim’s next words disappeared behind a surprised screech that dissolved into cackles and incoherent sounds. Bruce couldn’t help the twinge of pride at Tim’s ability to find an elegantly simple stopgap for cuddle pollen – perfect if someone was stuck in a safehouse after mild exposure. He made a mental note to pay particular attention to the report that Tim would inevitably write, probably with extensive amounts of details. That was his usual approach to field work, after all. It was one of the things that made Tim a fantastic partner.
“Alright,” Bruce said, his mouth twitching as Tim’s attempts to slide down the bed away from Dick’s fingers just made his sweatshirt ruck up. “Tim, I expect a report from you about last night’s … activities. You may write it today, but after that, you’re benched for two weeks.”
“Hehey!” Tim protested, but he was clearly distracted by the fact that Dick was wiggling his fingers just above Tim’s now-exposed stomach. “It– it worked –ack!”
Dick dove his hand down right over Tim’s belly button so his thumb could dig into one of the wildly ticklish spots next to it while the rest of his fingers tormented the mirroring spot.
“For what it’s worth,” Dick said, winking in Bruce’s direction. “He said the real thing was better. But he might’ve just been after some tummy tickles, we’ll never know.”
“Dick,” Tim shrieked through bubbling peals of giggles that gave Bruce that warm, melty feeling in his own chest. He’d scrunched his eyes shut and was trying to hide his face in his hands. “Shutupshutupshutuhuhup!”
Dick just looked down at him and shook his head with a smirk that didn’t hide his fondness in the least. “That just means I’m right.”
Bruce patted Tim’s leg. “I don’t doubt that it worked, sweetheart, but you may not leave your patrol without informing anyone, only to run unsupervised tests on yourself, without telling anyone. This situation was fairly mild, with known variables, but others will become incredibly unsafe if you repeat this behavior. We need to be able to trust that you’ll follow proper protocol in the event you become compromised, or get hit with a contaminant.”
He was pretty sure that Tim could still hear over his own laughter because he nodded more times than necessary.
“This is a serious conversation, Timothy,” Bruce said, but his mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine what about it you find amusing.”
That just made Tim let out a giggly whine and pull the hood of his sweatshirt down over his face to hide.
“I can keep an eye on him,” Dick offered. “I don’t mind Timmy duty. Especially when he’s all sweet and squishy like this.”
Bruce hummed, considering the proposition, but ultimately rejected it. Two weeks of no patrol coupled with the double-heaping of affectionate, but still embarrassing, teasing, and some admonishment would probably be sufficient. It was normal for Tim’s age to make some well-intentioned, poorly-thought-out choices, and the stakes were decently low in this particular case. The key would be ensuring that Tim didn’t make similar choices in more sensitive situations, but training and time would help with that.
“He should be fine on his own,” Bruce said at last, giving Dick a meaningful look. “He seems to have learned his lesson.”
Easing up on the tickling, Dick nodded. “If it happens again I’m siccing Jason on him.”
“If it happens again,” Bruce warned, and squeezed Tim’s shin again for emphasis, “He’s benched for a month.”
“I won’t,” Tim said, the words eeking out around some leftover giggles. “I won’t, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He sat forward and reached out, gripping Bruce’s forearm. The hood fell back to reveal his flushed face and wide, watery eyes.
He let out a surprised squeak when Bruce snagged him by the arms and hauled him over into a hug.
“I know you won’t, baby,” Bruce murmured. “I’m not mad, promise.”
Dick stretched his arms above his head, causing something in his shoulders to pop. “Where’s Jay?”
“He’s making breakfast,” Bruce said. “Pancakes.”
Tim perked up and shifted in his arms. “I’ll go see if he needs help.”
That would give them a chance to talk, which Jason would probably appreciate. If Bruce’s suspicions were correct, his middle kid was probably going to hang around the Manor for the rest of the day – not something he’d ever complain about – to keep eyes on Tim.
“Good idea,” Dick said, grinning. “You can be in charge of mine.”
Tim gave him an imperious sniff as he slid to his feet and padded towards the door. “I’m not making pancakes with protein powder in them, Dick, that’s disgusting.”
Dick suddenly turned one of his more mischievous smirks on Tim. “Hey, I’m supposed to be at the Tower next week, helping with the system overhaul. Maybe I can tell Bart and Kon why we call you Squeakers.”
Tim gaped at him. “You wouldn’t.”
Bruce huffed out a quiet laugh through his nose because Dick absolutely would. “Alright,” he said, before this bickering could get any further. “Breakfast, Tim, go.”
“You’re going soft in your advancing age,” Dick observed after Tim left. He stretched out on the mattress and gave Bruce a lazy grin. “I would’ve been benched for a month right away.”
Shaking his head, Bruce reached out to pinch Dick’s lower ribs, getting a shout for his troubles. “You brought down a chandelier at the Mayoral ball when you were his age.”
“It was–it was a distraction!” Dick’s words came out strangled because Bruce hadn’t stopped prodding at that particular tickle spot. “That’s different.”
“Sure it is, chum. Sure it is.”
