i would KILL for some lee!jason ler!dick where jason sees one of the other brothers getting tickled (ideally thatd be lee!tim and ler!dick but anythings fine) and is internally like hhhh god i wish that were me but ofc hes too stubborn to say anything about it. but dick notices and absolutely wrecks his shit <3 i hope thats not Too specific 😭
ANON BLESS YOUR PATIENCE (this prompt is from January 2025 ☠️) And also??? Not too specific at all!! Perfectly specific!!! I hope you enjoy this fic!!
Also, i did a single editing pass of this Weeks ago but its time to just Yeet it ive been hoarding it for too long, so hopefully its not too clunky/overly verbose/mistaken-ridden lol
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Niggling Nostalgia
Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)
Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason & Ler!Dick (plus a couple brief instances of Lee!Tim)
Word Count: 7894 words
Summary: Jason is intimately familiar with jealousy, which is why he's certain this horrible, sticky feeling in his chest isn't anything of the sort. Still, he would appreciate it if Dick would leave him alone to bottle it up, instead of ripping it out of his ribcage. The brotherly attention he gets in return might make it a little worth it, though.
[ao3 link]
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Jason shouldn’t have even fucking been there. He should’ve been in one of his safehouses, shoveling shredded cheese into his mouth directly out of the bag after sewing himself up. He didn’t have any injuries that needed the Batcave’s extensive medical equipment, and he sure as hell didn’t need any monitoring.
Of course, no one had believed him when he said that. As per fucking usual.
Bruce had sent the little bird upstairs as soon as his uniform was off, and followed immediately once the Batsuit was off, neither of them showering downstairs or even sparing him a glance after transporting him from the Batmobile to the Medbay. Dickhead, down from Bludhaven for the weekend, took his sweet time, his shower singing echoing out from the locker room and into the Cave proper as Alfred sent him through completely unnecessary X-rays and stitched him up. Alfred was cleaning up by the time Dick practically skipped out of the locker room in an old sweatshirt from his single year at Gotham U and a pair of garish pajama pants.
“How we feeling, Little Wing?”
Jason swatted Dick away as he tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders. “Like I’m ready to go fu— freaking home already.”
Alfred glanced over his shoulder with a Look. At first, Jason assumed it was from the near-swear, but then Alfred opened his mouth. “I’m afraid you won’t be leaving just yet, lad.”
“Wha—Alfred!”
“We’ll review your symptoms tomorrow, to ensure they haven’t become more severe.”
“So what if my helmet broke? It did its job! You can’t keep me here!”
Dick, having chosen to casually lean against the foot of his bed, snorted. There was no humor in the sound. “Jason, the thing practically shattered while it was still on your head. You have ten stitches on your forehead alone. I’m with Alfie on this one.”
“Thank you, Master Dick. Master Jason, you are quite lucky it is only the concussion and a few stitched wounds. Had your leg been broken as we had worried, you would not be leaving this Manor for the foreseeable future.”
And thank fucking god for that. Being forced to stay up in the Manor for weeks on end? Jason could handle a few hours here and there, finally relenting to invites for family dinners or Sunday brunches within the past few months, but if he was trapped there for days at a time, Jason was sure blood would spill. And certainly not his own.
Jason fumed, but decided it was wiser to stay silent now. A disappointed or testy Alfred could be soul-crushing, and he’d dealt with enough bullshit emotions for one night. Alfred nodded decidedly at his silence.
“Go get some rest, Master Dick. Master Jason, sleep well.”
Jason sighed, long and loud. “Yeah, you too, Alfie.”
Despite the warning tone in Alfred’s instructions, Dick didn’t follow him to the exit. Instead, he decided to push his luck again, approaching the head of the bed. Jason should’ve kicked him when he had the chance, but damn, despite not being broken, his leg sure was fucking sore.
“You doing okay?” He asked, his tone so gentle that Jason could physically feel his hackles raising. “Really?”
“Fucking fine, Dickhead. Get the fuck out of here and let me sleep.”
Dick huffed, an uncomfortable mix of amusement and bitterness that Jason refused to squirm at, and nodded. “Alright, Jay. I’ll let you rest.”
And then, because god forbid the asshole stop playing jovial big brother for even a second, Dick darted in close with a mischievous smile. Jason tried to fight him off, whatever his game was, but somehow Dick managed to dodge around his arms and into his personal bubble. Chapped lips connected with his hairline, carefully away from his stitches and bruising, startling Jason into stillness for a split second. By the time he went to fight again, Dick was already backing out of his space, jogging for the stairs.
“Sweet dreams, Little Wing!”
“Fuck you!”
Dick’s laughter echoed off the stone long after he was gone. Between that and the weirdly gooey feeling in his chest, it took a long time for Jason to finally sleep.
* * * * *
The next day was no better. Jason woke up feeling like death warmed over; his head pounding, his stitches itching, and every muscle in his body aching from the previous night’s abuse. Bitterly, he wished he could blame the medbay cot for some of it, but Bruce spared no expense on his setup, and the thing was unfortunately pretty comfortable.
Alfred, despite having checked his symptoms upon waking up and tending to his needs since then (god, had he missed Alfred’s cooking. A meal or two a month only satisfied his cravings so much), refused to release him until at least the late afternoon. After a series of complaints, Alfred told Jason he was lucky that he wasn’t being kept for a full 24 hours of observation, and that quickly shut him up.
Still, there was only so much he could do to entertain himself while stuck in the medbay. He did some stretches for his sore muscles, careful of the second set of stitches in his side lest he risk Alfred’s wrath. He snacked on whatever Alfred brought him, even after his hunger was satiated, just to beat back the boredom. He even asked Alfred to bring him down a few book options, and even though they were to his taste, he struggled to read around the headache squeezing at his skull.
Okay, fine. Maybe the concussion was a little beyond mild — but if Jason wasn’t throwing up and seeing stars, he didn’t care. He was fit for the field.
Eventually, Dick and the twerp made their way downstairs. Dick tried to check on him, dragging the mouthy little bird with him, but Jason was quick to chase them out. Just because he was stuck here did not mean he was going to play happy little family. Thankfully they got the message — though not without an eyeroll from Tim and a kicked-puppy pout from Dick — and headed off to the training mats. If Jason eventually wandered out to watch them train, it was just to stretch his legs. Alfred only said he had to stay at the Cave (or Manor, but Jason was still avoiding Bruce as much as possible), not in the medbay itself. He was bored and his legs were stiff – he absolutely was not looking to spend time with those chucklefucks that called themselves his brothers.
While neither of them were going easy on the other, it was clear to Jason that his spar was more play than work. Dancing around each other, hopping out of grasps, taunting and teasing (which, granted, was a trait embedded in any Robin, even in work mode, but still) – they were just toying with each other, winding each other up. And then Dick lunged, quick and graceful as a panther, a move more intent than any Jason had seen so far. Things were livening up. Jason stood a little straighter, ready to see where this would go.
And then Tim started screaming.
Jason started for the mats before he even processed what was happening, every nerve on high alert at the noise. He’d fought the kid on several occasions and never heard that sound. He’d rescued the brat from torture and never heard him scream like that before. What in the fuck had happened for Tim to throw all that stoicism out the window?
A shrill cackle stopped Jason in his tracks. Dick hadn’t even bothered to pin the kid, just wrapped his noodly limbs around him like an octopus as he dug his fingers into every inch of ticklish torso he could reach. Tim was spitting and cursing and writhing through his laughter, and though Jason saw at least three different ways he could escape Dick’s hold, Tim didn’t take any of them. Even being tomato red and wheezing, Jason didn’t think he’d ever seen Tim alight with so much joy. And, honestly? Despite how humiliating it no doubt was, Jason couldn’t exactly blame him.
A lifetime ago, Jason was the one writhing beneath those hands. He and Dick had a rocky start, and a rough relationship overall, but even Jason couldn’t keep lying to himself that things were all bad. They had their good moments; train-hopping, ice cream hangouts, a meager handful of patrols together.
And Dick absolutely taking Jason to pieces on those very training mats. Or in the theater room. Or the family room, one of their bedrooms, trapped in the car — really anywhere Dick thought he could get away with it.
Jason hadn’t reached for those memories since he’d gotten back. Everything from before often felt so bitter and tainted, bruised and aching, so he tended to leave well enough alone. He wasn’t that scrawny little kid anymore after all, beaming bright and spouting bullshit about how “Robin is magic!” He’d never be that kid again, so what was the point of dwelling on it? His so-called family already had that handled for him.
Even still, a feeling bubbled up in Jason’s chest. It wasn’t warm and melty, like whatever Dick had left him with last night. It was oozing and sticky and sharp, like an open wound congealed in blood. Jason huffed a sharp breath through his nose and turned tail, settling himself back in the medbay. He roughly snatched up one of the books, flipping it open and trying to focus on it around Tim’s howling. He spent most of the time staring blankly at the first page, fighting off the memories trying to creep up on him. He was so lost in his own head that he almost missed when the laughter finally stopped echoing off the Cave walls. He cursed under his breath, flipped about a quarter of the way through the book, and pretended to be lost in the novel.
“Good book, Little Wing?”
“Sure,” Jason grumbled, skimming the random page he opened. It seemed vaguely familiar — he must’ve read it when he was a kid.
“Dick and I were gonna raid the secret junk food stash,” Tim piped up. “If you wanna come.”
Alfred totally knew about that, nothing stayed secret from him. Still, it was remarkable that he’d let them pretend for this long. Jason remembered the days where he helped Dick, and even Bruce, stock the stash behind Alfred’s back. But as much as Jason could really go for some chalky Donettes or double-stuf Oreos, that nasty fucking feeling in his chest did not leave him much room for brotherly bonding.
“I’m good,” Jason said, tone snappy. “Alfred’ll be down soon to give me the all-clear. Knock yourselves out.”
“Jay, are you sure?”
“I said, I’m good.”
Dick raised his hands in surrender, backing out of the medbay with a bitter smile and dragging Tim with him. He heard them muttering to each other as they made for the stairs.
“What’s his problem?”
“He’s got a concussion, kiddo. Can’t blame him for being grumpy.”
“I’ve seen him get shot and be less grumpy than that.”
Dick’s sigh followed them out of the Cave, bleeding into Jason’s own sigh as he let the book fall onto the bed next to him. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with him?
* * * * *
After the concussion incident, Jason turned back to his good friend avoidance. Unfortunately, it was a tactic that could only work for so long. With word of Red Hood’s new penchant for antiheroism spreading, he could only get himself so far these days. Usually, he could fend for himself – he had Bat and League training, after all – but sometimes he had to swallow his pride and call in backup. Hence why he was crouched on an old warehouse catwalk with Nightwing and Robin, of all people.
The up-and-coming drug lord he was after this time was no joke. He was clearly bringing power in from somewhere else, probably an out-of-towner thinking he could make easy moves in such a crime-ridden city. He’d even outright taunted the Red Hood, bragging around the Alley about his impending takeover. Hood would’ve had a bullet through his head weeks ago, but unfortunately, the asshole had the skill to back up his bravado
Hood had only caved when the first bodies showed up, done in by whatever the shithead had laced the drugs with.
The second he got wind of this meeting, he’d reached out to Nightwing for backup. Most stakeouts Hood would handle on his own, whether he was getting help with the case or not, but this time he wasn’t taking any risks. He even bit his tongue on any snide comments when Nightwing showed up with Robin, insisting that three sets of eyes were better than two.
Of course, that only mattered if the fuckers actually showed up.
Three hours in without a sign of movement and Hood was ready to admit he’d been played. Whatever Drug-Fucker was doing that night, he’d wanted Hood out of the way, and he’d gotten more than he’d bargained with half the Bats detained at the same time. Hood wasn’t looking forward to the news that came in tomorrow, haunted by visions of bodies in the streets even as Nightwing and Robin practically dragged him from the warehouse. Still, he made sure his pity party was over by the time they reached a nearby BatBurger.
“I’m getting my fries jokerized,” Robin said as they settled on the roof, trying to decide their order, “and I don’t care what you have to say about it.”
Hood shrugged, unlatching his helmet. “It’s the only decent way to eat them.”
Nightwing looked at both of them like they were insane.
“You can’t give me that look,” Hood said. “I’ve seen you eat your cereal with orange juice before.”
“I was eighteen! You can’t still hold that against me!”
Robin cocked his head to the side, his domino wrinkling with the furrow in his brow. “What’s wrong with orange juice?”
Hood shook his head. “Not drinking it, little bird. He full-on drenched his Wheatie-O’s in orange juice.”
The kid’s face quickly twisted in horror as he turned back to Nightwing. “That’s disgusting.”
“Okay, one, they were not Wheatie-O’s, those sound disgusting. Two, I was a teenager–”
“So? I’m a teenager now.”
“And you have more Zesti in your body than blood, you don’t count.”
“He’s got you there, kid.”
“Hey, I’m on your side!”
“You’re right. It’s a perfectly respectable amount of Zesti, I’m sure.”
Nightwing flicked Hood on the forehead. “Look– my questionable teenage diet has nothing to do with the fact that you two want fries named after a murderous psychopath–”
Robin tilted his head to the side – not exactly beating back the bird allegations there. “Doesn’t it though? I mean, orange juice cereal soup kind of makes you a psychopath too–”
“That’s it!”
Hood’s chuckling at the ridiculous argument was quickly drowned out by the shrieky giggles of a far-too-ticklish mini-vigilante. Nightwing was a flurry of quick jabs and wiggling fingers, digging into all the less-armored areas of Robin’s uniform he could reach – places that required mobility that didn’t allow for bulk, like knees and elbows and armpits. Robin squirmed like a feral alleycat, almost slipping off the edge of the roof if not for Nightwing’s quick reflexes.
That sick, slimy feeling returned to Jason’s chest, and Jason couldn’t help but poke at it with a metaphorical stick. It certainly wasn’t jealousy — no, he remembered the cloying, bitter tang of jealousy well, and this oozing stickiness didn’t quite fit the bill. Plus, why would he be jealous in the first place? It was pretty fucking funny to watch the newest Robin squirm around and squeak like a ferret shoved into a plastic tub of dry pasta.
… He really needed to tell Dick to stop sending him TikToks.
Whatever the itching in his chest, though, it was fucking obnoxious. Not even the muffled cheeps from the little bird could pull him out of it, as hilarious as watching the kid try to muffle his laughter was. It was a pretty useless endeavor, from what Hood remembered; Nightwing had gotten him like that once or twice, the few times they’d patrolled together before his world exploded (literally). Batman armored up the Robin suit more and more with each model, but there was no stopping the soft spots around joints for mobility — especially for a kid meant to be so flippy. He learned to never underestimate how ticklish knees and armpits and even fucking elbows could be when they were the only things accessible.
“Hood, help!” Robin called out, stupidly reaching an arm in his direction. Nightwing took swift advantage.
Hood scoffed, polishing an invisible smudge off his helmet. “You’re on your own, kid.”
It came out a lot more sullen than he intended. The play fight paused next to him, an awkward silence filling the space instead. Nightwing cleared his throat.
“I guess I’ll go order for you little rebels. I’ll be right back.”
He flipped off the roof before they could say anything. So much for emotional intelligence. Robin fiddled with his gloves for a moment as Hood finally set aside his helmet, then piped up.
“It’s not your fault.”
Hood’s head snapped toward him. “What?”
“The stakeout. It’s not your fault, he tricked you.”
The back of Hood’s throat itched with the desire to snark back, tell the kid that he didn’t know shit about Hood, to quit making assumptions… But it was the perfect out. Plus, it wasn’t like the kid was totally off base, just tugging at the wrong sulky string.
“Supposed to be better than that — who knows what the asshole was actually up to tonight.”
Robin shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it sucks and there’s definitely gonna be consequences, but like — even Batman gets tricked sometimes.”
Hood went to rub at his eyes, only to stop short when he made contact with his domino mask. “Kid–”
“Plus, you weren’t the only one who missed it. Nightwing and I looked over the entire case file you sent over – twice – and missed it, too. Even Oracle went over it and didn’t catch it.”
“He’s good.”
“So? We’re better.”
Ah, the classic Robin confidence. Hood remembered it well. “What would you suggest then, smartass?”
He got a classic feral grin in return – almost the spitting image of Nightwing’s when he was in the traffic light colors.
Alright, maybe Hood would hear the kid out.
* * * * *
The living room window slid open with a quiet hiss. Jason woke instantly, hand already reaching for the gun tucked underneath his pillows. He tossed off the threadbare sheets, rolling silently to his feet even as he heard the window hiss a second time. He hadn’t heard the intruder land – they were either smart, trained, or both. He lowered his center of gravity and slipped through his bedroom door, readying his gun as he steadied his breath, and–
“Little Wing? I know you’re home!”
Jason instantly lowered the gun, flicking the safety back on, and rose to his full height, just in time for Dick to saunter into view of the hallway.
“Goddammit, Dick. I almost shot you.”
Dick gave him a lopsided grin. “Aww, come on, Jay! You could never shoot me.”
“I literally have.”
Dick just shrugged, turning back to the living room and flopping onto the couch.
“Sure,” Jason scoffed, “make yourself at home.”
“Thanks! I think I will.”
Jason heaved a sigh and set his gun on the counter separating the living room and kitchen. “Seriously, man. What are you doing here? Aside from interrupting my evening nap.”
Dick shrugged again. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d stop in.”
“Yeah, cut the shit. No one just happens to be in Crime Alley.”
“Alright, alright, fine. I wanted to hang out with my baby brother, is that so wrong?”
“Well, you’re in the wrong place for that. Timmy-boy should be back at the Manor, shouldn’t he? Or are Mommy and Daddy Dearest back in town? Maybe check the Drake property.”
“He’s with his team, actually.” Dick rolled his eyes. “And I can have more than one baby brother, you know.”
Jason glanced around the room, making a show of peeking into the dark corners of the apartment. “I dunno, man. I’m not seeing any babies here.”
“Jay, come on.”
“You first.”
Dick pursed his lips, crossed his arms. They had a brief stare-off, but Dick relented faster than he expected, slumping into the lumpy old couch with a sigh.
“I wanted to check on you.”
Jason wrinkled his nose, his shoulders raising. “Why?”
“You just – you seemed sort of off last night, at the BatBurger.”
Jason scoffed, slipping into the kitchen proper. Doing something with his hands meant he didn’t have to look at Dick and his manipulative ass. “My stakeout went to shit, what do you want with me?”
Thankfully, Dick stayed on the couch. “You and Tim were joking around before you shut down.”
“Maybe it didn’t hit me right away.”
“And before that? You’ve been avoiding us since your concussion.”
Water. That was something to do with his hands. Jason grabbed a glass from the cupboard and debated for a moment whether he should fill it from the tap. Then again, if he intentionally poisoned himself with shitty Gotham water to escape this conversation, Dick would know immediately that he was right. He sighed, going for the jug in the fridge.
“I’ve been busy.”
“And before that? When you were acting weird?”
Jason turned toward him, looking at him like he was insane. “I had a concussion. What are you trying to get at here, Dick?”
Dick shrugged – god, Jason was getting sick of that – and leaned back into the couch. “You tell me.”
“You’re as paranoid as Bruce is.”
Dick hefted himself up from the couch, making his way toward Jason and leaning on the counter with crossed arms. The kitchen island was the only thing separating them.
“Your shoulders are squared and tensed, like you’re preparing for a blow–”
“Don’t.”
“–You’re trying to look busy, so you don’t have to look at me. You’re putting up literal walls between us, using the physical barriers of the counter and even your glass of water–”
“Dick, seriously. I’m warning you.”
“–You’ve got that tension around your eyes, that scrunch in your eyebrows, that happens when you’re upset about something–”
“Fucking, stop! Just shut up!”
“Pretend you’re mad all you want, Jay. That look means you’re upset. Not mad, not angry or pissed off or full of fucking rage like you love to pretend you always are. Something’s bothering you – I don’t understand why it has to be like pulling teeth just to get you to admit it! Let alone talk about it, god forbid.”
“Jesus Christ, Dick! Can’t you mind your own business for once in your life? You’re not my keeper!”
“I’m not trying to control you, Jason! I’m just trying to help–”
“By studying me like– like a fucking bug under a microscope? Like one of the fucking Rogues?”
Dick took a deep breath, pushing himself up onto his palms and hanging his head. His hair flopped down around his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have… analyzed you like that.”
Jason took a shuddering breath, setting aside his glass and leaning his own palms on the counter.
“I was worried about you. That doesn’t mean I should start treating you like a case. Acting like Bruce.”
Jason was silent for a few moments, their unsteady breathing becoming the only sound filling the apartment. He closed his eyes. “It’s hard to turn off.”
Dick ran a hand through his hair, letting out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it really is. Let me tell you, man, romantic partners? They really hate it when you pull that.”
Jason huffed. “Duly noted.”
Another stretch of silence. The sound of their breathing, slowing evening out. A thread of sirens blew past on the street below.
“... So?”
Jason slumped over, elbows on the counter as he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “Fuck, man, I don’t even know.”
Dick stayed silent, doing that obnoxious thing where he let Jason work through it on his own.
“I just, feel weird.”
“Weird how?”
Jason rubbed at his chest. “It’s sticky and oozing and uncomfortable.”
Dick stood up straight. “All the time?”
Jason shook his head.
“When?”
Jason pursed his lips. What was he even supposed to tell Dick? Oh, often when you’re giving the kid attention and not me – but it’s not jealousy, I promise! Yeah, Dick would believe that. Instead he took a page out of Dick’s book. He shrugged.
“Okay.” And Jason had no idea when Dick shifted, but suddenly he was halfway around the island, moving slowly like Jason was some kind of cornered animal. “It happened when you had the concussion and were stuck in the Cave. It happened again last night. Did it happen at all between then?”
Jason shrugged again.
Admittedly, yes, it had. He’d had way too much time to himself during his concussion, too much time to think and lose himself to memories – and it wasn’t like he immediately escaped his own mind once he got back in the field. Sometimes the feeling was caused by memories of Bruce (though those came with the bite of bitterness and anger) or Alfred, but it was mostly from his memories with Dick, few as they were. With the state of Bruce and Dick’s relationship when Jason was a snot-nosed little brat like Tim, Dick hadn’t been around often. They’d had a pretty rocky start, too – though not as rough as his and Tim’s vigilant equivalent of a fistfight behind the Waffle House at 3 a.m. Still, after Dick got his head out of his ass, he’d tried his best. The best an exhausted eighteen year old could after being replaced, and Jason couldn’t help but clutch onto those memories.
Days where Dick would pick Jason up from school on his motorcycle and they’d go out for ice cream. Weekends when Bruce was on League missions or W.E. trips and Dick would come by and actually stay – movie nights, meals, training, anything they wanted to do (within reason – per Alfred, of course). Patrols, even when Dick and Bruce were barely talking, where Jason got to flit off with his predecessor and truly learn how to be Robin – things Batman couldn’t teach him, things only Dick knew. Goofing around like brothers, tussling and play-arguing and (though Jason would never admit fondness for the memories under pain of death) getting the shit tickled out of him.
There weren’t as many as Jason wished he had. And that was the problem.
“You know,” Dick started, and they’d been silent for so long that Jason almost jumped when he spoke, “this safehouse is pretty shit.”
The comment was such a non-sequiter that Jason actually sputtered a laugh. “It’s not an apartment, Dickhead. It’s a place to shower and crash before diving out and doing it again the next night.”
“I actually still keep some safehouses here in Gotham, just in case. Not Bat ones, my own. They’re pretty cushy.”
“What are you getting at?”
Dick gave him that innocent, puppy-eyed look. “Movie night? Batman-free?”
“And, what, skip patrol?”
Dick patted the counter with his palm before pushing off it and moving towards the door. “Timmy’s plan needs some time to set in motion – not much we can do about your guy tonight. Batman and the Birds of Prey should have the basic crime handled, I think.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You coming?”
Jason glanced around his pitiful safehouse, barely containing the bare essentials.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, palming his phone and following Dick out.
He ducked his head to hide his grin when Dick let out a whoop of victory.
* * * * *
Alright, fine. Maybe Dick was onto something with Jason’s safehouse being a piece of shit. Full up on greasy takeout with some mindless action movie on the TV, Jason was all but melted into the remarkably non-lumpy couch cushions. He wasn’t necessarily sleepy, but he could feel his eyes drooping with lazy contentment. Through his haze, he could hear Dick let out a quiet huff of a laugh right before a set of toes jabbed into his thigh.
“Someone’s comfortable.”
Jason shoved at Dick’s feet “Fuck off, man,” he said, though there was no heat in his voice. “You’ll ruin it.”
Dick laughed again, twisting his legs away from Jason’s swatting to poke at his legs again. “Come on, you can’t sleep yet! Movie night!”
“I’m not sleeping,” he groaned. “Quit kicking.”
Dick didn’t listen. In fact, he got even worse. Jason’s lax torso shook with the force of the constant prodding, mismatch-socked toes digging into his thigh and ribs and arm. He had fully slumped down the couch to reach, but even as stretched out as he was, he was too nimble for Jason to catch — especially when Jason’s limbs were still weighed down by drowsiness.
Well, two could play at that game — and Jason was taller and bulkier. He had this shit in the bag.
Jason swung his own legs up onto the couch, sitting with his back against the armrest. Dick’s eyes lit up with that mischievous twinkle of his, immediately engaging in this weird leg-war without giving Jason a moment to adjust. He didn’t even know what they were doing — just that he needed to be the one victorious and out-obnoxious Dick. Before too long, it turned into a fight over who could keep their legs on the inside, closest to the back of the couch — coveted for its defensibility. Jason was certain he was going to wake up with shins covered in bruises the next morning, but it didn’t matter. It still couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Especially not when he finally got his legs tucked up against the back of the couch.
“Take that, Dickface!” He crowed, and promptly used his new leverage to fully kick Dick off the couch.
“Ow, hey! You’re such a sore winner!”
Jason grinned at him over the edge of the couch, his chest lighting up at the playful scowl on Dick’s face. Somewhere, deep inside where he hadn’t even known he’d locked it away, some small fragment of the boy he’d once been was practically singing with joy. Maybe not every piece of that kid was lost.
“Shut up, you big baby,” he said. “That didn’t even hurt.”
Dick flipped him the bird. “I’ll show you hurt!”
He snatched up Jason by the ankles, yanking and managing to tug Jason about a foot down the couch. Jason yelped and reached up and behind himself to grab at the arm of the couch. When Dick just pulled harder, Jason started trying to kick him off.
“Such a cheater!” Dick said.
“Literally how in the fuck am I even cheating?”
“Come on, let go!”
Jason held on tighter. He tried to pull himself higher back onto the couch, but despite having the upper hand when it came to brute strength, Dick had the better leverage. They just got stuck in some fucked-up game of tug-of-war, Jason being the rope.
Dick suddenly started scratching at the bottom of his socked foot with his fingers. Despite what his initial, instinctive flinch suggested, Jason actually didn’t feel much of the sensation. He was more grateful than ever that he refused Steph’s constant invites to get pedicures with her and Dick (and sometimes Tim, when she forced him) – those were his callouses and dead skin, thank you very much, and they clearly left him well-armored.
“Come on,” Dick whined. “You used to be ticklish here!”
“Tough shit, Dickface. Some of us grow out of that.”
Dick narrowed his eyes and a thrill went down Jason’s spine. Then, like he had fucking telepathy or some shit, Dick grinned. Big and evil and full of big-brother-malice, the likes of which Jason hadn’t seen directed at himself in so many years.
“You’re such a shit liar.”
“I’m a fucking phenomenal liar, thank you very— Dick!”
Dick wasted no time in launching himself back onto the couch, fully on top of Jason, hands aiming for his torso. Jason barely managed to catch him by the wrists, grunting at the impact even as he tried to twist Dick’s arms to the side at a weird enough angle that he’d be forced to follow and fall off the couch. Unfortunately, Dick was made of overcooked noodles and silly string, so he could easily contort his body with Jason’s manipulations. Jason did the next best thing he could think of: he rolled them off the couch, fighting to land on top. If he could get Dick pinned under him, that was it, he would be safe. Hell, he might even be able to get revenge for all the tickle attacks from when he was a kid.
Dick laughed as they fell. “Nice try, Jay!”
They landed on the carpet with a loud thud, probably about to win the award for World’s Worst Upstairs Neighbors, and Jason was instantly confronted with the next fault in his plan.
Noodles and fucking silly string.
As much as Jason scrambled for the upper hand, twisting and shoving and grappling, Dick was too slippery. His years of experience, both in the circus and in the suit, outpaced Jason’s brute strength at every turn. No matter how Jason tried to pin him, Dick managed to slither out of his grip like a greased eel, laughing like a motherfucker all the while. It was almost like he was playing with Jason — which he confirmed when he twisted in some complicated, incomprehensible maneuver and pinned Jason on his stomach, wrists pressed into the carpet on either side of his head.
“Get your fat ass off of me!”
“My ass is a perfectly normal size, thank you very much!”
“Tell that to Twitter!”
Dick tutted. “You’re only making this worse for yourself, baby brother.”
Jason glared at Dick over his shoulder. “Who are you calling a fucking baby, asshole?”
“Overcompensating with swearing doesn’t make you not my baby brother, Jay.”
“Fuck you!”
“Alright, alright!” Dick laughed, settling himself more firmly over Jason’s thighs. “I’ll put you out of your misery.”
Jason’s wrists were freed, but before he could do anything about it, there were fingers prodding up under his arms, searching around his upper ribs and the soft spots in his armpits. He yelped, pinning his arms down against his sides in a classically futile defense, and prayed to any deity with their ears open that the Lazarus Pit fixed whatever part of his brain that made him completely useless when he was tickled.
“See! A liar!”
Jason grit his teeth, trying not to smile at the experimental prodding. “Cut it out, Dick!”
“No, no — see, I think you deserve this. You’ve been getting off way too easy since you got back. I mean, when’s the last time I even tickled the absolute snot out of you?”
Jason growled, ducking his head as his struggles continued to try and hide the heat gathering in his cheeks.
“Exactly! And see, I could just go right for your hips, quick and ruthless as the Red Hood himself, but where would the fun in that be?”
A wobbly grin started to form despite Jason’s best efforts. “I’ll make sure your death is slow.”
“So you can spend more time with me? Aww, Jay! That’s so sweet!”
Suddenly, the poking and prodding fingers wrapped around Jason’s upper ribs, some stretching up into his armpit. Then, they started pulsing. Jason’s nerves lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, the sensation shockingly nostalgic and starkly unfamiliar all at once. He wheezed once into the carpet, failing to hold back his laughter anymore, and cracked into low, raspy chuckles.
“Liar.” Dick said again, smug as hell.
Jason didn’t dare try to reply. He could feel the higher-pitched laughter filling his chest, and it was all he could do to keep the noises escaping him low and rough. If he tried to talk, he had no doubt he’d lose his grip on that control.
Except — Dick’s hands started moving. The pulsing turned into wiggly squeezes as Dick’s hands started making their way down his ribs and sides. A giddy sort of panic filled Jason’s chest. Dick just said going right for his hips was too easy, but was that a fakeout? He started squirming even more, trying to wriggle his way out from under Dick’s weight.
“Ge-get away!”
Dick laughed. “Why? Do my hands right here—“ he tazed his fingers into the meat of Jason’s sides, just above the hypersensitivity of his hips “—make you nervous?”
Growling through laughter was a bit of a moot point, Jason quickly found out. It was all wavering and jittery and stuttering. Dick only cooed at him even more, the absolute asshole.
“Don’t worry, baby bro — I’ll save the best for last.”
The hands vanished from his sides, letting Jason gasp in a full breath, before materializing around his nape and ears. Jason squeaked — fucking squeaked, goddamnit — and nearly slammed his forehead against the ground as he flinched away. The fingers gave a particularly devastating scratch at the curves of his neck and shoulders for that.
“Careful!” Dick didn’t even have the decency to sound sorry. “Knocking yourself out just delays the tickles — and then they build up and up and up, and they’ll be even worse when they finally catch you again!”
“That doesn’t—“ dammit, there was the high-pitched, warbling voice, “doesn’t even make any sense!”
He sniggered into the carpet, shaking his head as he tried to dodge the finger tips and nails wreaking havoc on his skin, and if he got rug burn on his face, Dick was going to pay. His shoulders shrugged and shimmied around like some kind of deranged turtle tearing it up on the dance floor, and Jason couldn’t even dedicate the brain cells he needed to be properly embarrassed about that. Every cylinder was too busy firing on it tickles, it tickles, it tickles!! Well, all except the one sneaky little cylinder betraying Jason’s hard-earned image, giddy and happy and full of mushy-little-brother feelings that he didn’t want to touch with a fifteen foot pole.
For a split second, Dick’s fingers jumped down and wiggled at the edges of his shoulderblades before returning to his neck. Jason jolted like he’d been electrocuted, his shriek so ear-piercing that it hurt even his own hearing. Fuck — did that always tickle that bad? Dick cackled above him.
“Careful, Little Wing! Those shoulders keep dancing and my fingers just might be tempted to join them.”
Oh, fuck no. No way. If that’s just how a quick tickle felt, his entire body lighting up with the sparks of it, there was no way that was happening again. And that was just his back! If Dick got to his hips? It was game over for Jason. His pride (and his vocal cords) would never recover. As much as that small little part of him was having fun, had made it so maybe he wasn’t trying to get away as best as he could, it was time Jason called it quits. He had a reputation to maintain, even if Dick had already shredded half of it to ribbons.
As unbearable as the tickles around his neck and ears were, it was far from being one of Jason’s worst spots. That meant, although he had to fight hard for those dregs of composure, he still had some control over his faculties. All he needed to do was to throw Dick off, and once the tingly tickles stopped, he could whip his metaphorical mask back on and be all surly and pissed and keep Dick from doing it again.
No matter how much this stupid torment felt like coming home.
Slow and trembling, Jason was able to get his arms braced against the floor. Still chuckling endlessly and swallowing back the giggles that wanted to burst forth, Jason counted to three in his head before finally pushing off the ground, his forearms grounded as his torso lifted.
“Oh — thanks, Jason!” Dick’s hands darted into the space between the floor and his body. “I was wondering how I was gonna get in there!”
The second Dick’s fingers touched down on his stomach, pinching and kneading and scratching and really just doing all of the most evil things possible to his nerves, Jason was a goner. The ticklish shock sent Jason right back to the ground, only pressing Dick’s hands deeper into his muscles. Though Jason’s initial squawk was in his usual deep register, the laughter that jumped out of him was nowhere close. It wasn’t giggles, thank fucking god, but the bright, bubbly laughter being forced out of him might’ve been just as bad.
“You— asshole!”
“Aww, listen to you! Did I find a good tickle spot?”
Fuck Dick, he knew that — and he knew rubbing it in only made it worse, too. The urge to curl up in a protective ball was all-consuming, but with Dick pinning him on his stomach, his legs could only scrabble uselessly at the floor as they tried to draw up to his chest. Jason’s arms, at the very least, still had freedom of movement. He glued his elbows to his sides while his forearms tucked up under his chest, his hands curled into fists. That bright, boyish laughter continued to tumble from his lips, and not even shoving his face into the carpet could muffle it.
“You always had the cutest reaction to tummy tickles, huh? I mean, Timmy does too, so you guys are tied now, but still! Maybe it’s just a baby brother thing.”
Dropping Tim’s ticklish secrets wouldn’t save Dick from getting murdered later, but Jason definitely tucked that one into the back of his mind. Well, he tried to. Hoped he did. It was kind of hard to think around the tickles and Dick’s teasing.
“You sound just like you did when you were a kiddie, though! All cute and bubbly and bright – I didn’t even know your voice could go this high anymore.”
Yeah, neither did Jason. “Shut the fuck up!”
Dick chuckled. “Really, Jay? Have you been reduced to nothing but curse words and posturing anger already? We need to get your tolerance back up!”
Oh god, Dick was going to do this again? His chest did that mortifyingly melty, gooey thing again and Jason shoved his face further into the carpet. He’d undoubtedly been pink since Dick had started, had probably blushed darker when his laughter turned all bubbly and borderline fucking sweet, but now? Jason could feel the heat flush down his neck and up into his ears – even the back of his neck burned. Based on the way he cooed above Jason, Dick had definitely noticed.
“Don’t worry – I’ll make sure you get plenty of tickles going forward. We have so many missed tickles to make up for, too! Say, when are you free next?”
“Never!”
Dick blew a sudden raspberry on the back of his neck. Jason squeaked and giggled and hunched his shoulders, drumming his feet against the carpet.
“Don’t be a brat. I can always just break into your safehouses, Tickle Monster style.”
Motherfucker. Jason hadn’t thought about that in years – not even on his trips during memory lane the past weeks. Sometimes, on Dick’s rare Manor visits, he’d come by without letting anyone know and hide himself away. Usually, it was an area Jason frequented, like the library or den or even kitchen. Hallways weren’t off-limits, either. Hell, he even hid in Bruce’s study once, when the old man had already been downstairs. And then, when Jason would pass through the space, he’d get a surprise tickle attack from none other than Dick Grayson. He’d learned to check the front hall upon arriving home eventually, looking for Dick’s jacket or shoes or keys, but knowing the dumbass was there and avoiding his attacks were two very different things. It had led to some absolutely legendary chases through the Manor, though. Even if Alfred nearly had their hides for it a few times.
“Try it,” Jason hissed, miserably failing to sound as threatening as he wanted to. Laughing like a little kid tended to do that.
“Challenge accepted, JayJay.”
“Stop fucking babying me, you– NO!”
Jason was given absolutely no warning as Dick’s hands shot from his stomach down to his hips. He all but screamed before going limp against the floor, cackling madly. A thumb to the divot of his hip was bad enough, but being pinned face down meant Dick had four whole fingers to dig into the spot.
“I think we oughta ease you back into the swing of things, huh Lil’ Wing? Figured I’d give you your grand finale now, before you got too tuckered out.”
“Dickie, no no nonono!”
Dick’s weight shifted, but he didn’t lift himself from Jason’s body. His voice was mortifyingly fond and thick when he spoke next. “Wanna know something, baby brother?” He leaned down again, putting his voice right next to Jason’s ear. “I missed spending time and playing around with you, too. You could’ve just asked.”
Jason scrubbed his head against the floor, only giving a fraction of his attention to trying not to rug burn himself. The rest of his mind was all warm fuzzies and ticklish screams.
Dick’s voice turned playful again, though the fondness remained. “I guess this is more fun though, huh? Good thing you invited me over to do it again and again and again!”
“Dick– Dick, please!”
Jason can’t remember the last time he begged from tickles. Even as a kid, he was stubborn as all hell, but – the fondness, the emotions, the teasing dialing everything up to eleven? It was a lot. Jason’s pride would have to take the hit this time. Thankfully, Dick immediately drew his hands away and reseated himself next to Jason on the floor. Jason curled up his protective little ball, knees tucked up toward his chest and arms wrapped around them. It was more difficult than the last time he’d done it, his new bulk and musculature getting in the way, but he hadn’t lost all of his Robin-hood flexibility.
Dick snorted softly. “You always were a little pillbug.”
“Sh’dd’p.”
Dick chuckled again. His hand landed on Jason’s back, but even palm-flat, Jason instinctively flinched and yipped. Another laugh, and Dick’s hand was removed. Despite the assumption of tickles, Jason had to hold back a whine from the loss of contact.
“Alright, alright, sorry. Too ticklish, I know.”
Dick’s hand reappeared in his hair instead, dragging through the tangled curls, slow and steady. Jason hummed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Just take some time to recover. Then we’ll get back to the movie, all cuddled up on the couch now that you can’t pretend that you’re a big grump anymore, and you’ll get some good sleep. All snug as a bug in a rug.”
“Not a lil’ kid.”
“I know, Jason. But you’ll always be my little brother.”
And maybe, just for tonight, Jason could be okay with that.
