this is not any of the projects i'm supposed to be working on lol, but the second that @lockedopus posted these mer art pieces my brain immediately locked on to the Bruce & Dick one and i couldn't stop or help myself lol
mind you, this is unedited and was written on my phone over the course of multiple days but almost always when I was about to fall asleep or just waking up, so dont judge it too harshly sdjfkhsdf
but, enjoy!!!!
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Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)
Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Dick & Ler!Bruce
Word Count: 1300 words
Summary: Dick doesn't care what Bruce says, he was absolutely cheating at stealth training.
[ao3 link]
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Dick rocketed through the reef, buffeting the coral with currents from his tail. He’d always been strong, he needed the speed and control when he performed with his parents, but that wouldn’t be enough to save him from his pursuer. He was at a size disadvantage here, and even his speed couldn’t match the power and stamina behind a predator of that size. Stealth had never been Dick’s strong suit, especially with the bright, eye-catching colors of his juvenile scales, but that’s where the reef came in.
The turns were tight, the pathways cramped, but that’s where Dick’s small size did provide an advantage. Get the eyes off him, then find a proper place to hide. Just like he’d been taught. After winding through several nooks and crevices, Dick finally slowed to a stop in a little alcove bracketed by corals of vibrant reds and oranges. The red and yellow of his tail would blend nicely, here — the green, not so much. He’d just have to hope it looked like algae at a distance, a simple part of the ecosystem from any hunters swimming above. His gills fluttered down the column of his neck, but he forced his breathing steady. Moments later, a black blur shot past his hiding place. Dick resisted the urge to flinch away or duck down; the movement would only catch a hunter’s eye and give him away.
Heart pounding, Dick counted the seconds. Every little movement set him on edge, from the idle sway of nearby seaweed to fish darting past. Eventually, his coiled muscles started to relax. Was he successful? Did he evade his pursuer? The black scales would’ve starkly stood out in such a colorful reef, and he hadn’t felt the subtle currents of something large moving through the water in several minutes. Slowly, Dick started creeping out of his hiding spot, making sure to check above him. The coast was clear, but only for now. All he had to do was get back to the pod’s cavern and—
Large hands snapped around Dick’s waist, digging in before he could even react. A shriek tore from his throat, making room for his heart to settle there instead. He thrashed his tail, wrenched at the arms of his captor, but to no avail. Even as the fingers kept probing, the hands reeled him back against a broad chest. Startled speechless with no chance to brace himself, Dick was helpless to succumb to his laughter. His captor’s chest rumbled with its own fond chuckle.
“Caught you, little fishie,” Bruce hummed.
Dick chittered in protest, but before he could remind Bruce that he was not a guppy, thank you very much, Bruce’s fingers launched upward and buried themselves in his armpits. Dick’s laughter jumped again, interspersed with screechy yelps. His gills flapped against his neck as they tried to keep up.
“Now, where did you go wrong, chum?”
Dick shook his head, turning to look at Bruce over his shoulder. “I didn’t! You’re just a cheat!”
“Oh? And how would I do that? I can’t sniff you out Dickie, I’m not a shark.”
“I dunno! You just— did!”
Bruce hummed, pausing his attack. Dick sagged in his arms, twitching as the idle currents of the water jostled him against Bruce’s still fingers. He couldn’t help the nervous chitters that escaped him, nor the flush that crawled up his face as Bruce’s mouth ticked up into a smirk from the sound.
“You know what? You may be right.”
Dick twisted around even more, narrowing his eyes up at Bruce. He knew Bruce had to have cheated! He’d been hidden so well. There was no way—
“Let’s see.” Bruce hauled Dick up even closer, tucking his nose close to Dick’s neck. He took a long sniff.
Oh. Oh, no.
“You’re onto something there, chum. Looks like I can sniff things out like a shark — but you know what I smell instead of blood?”
Dick bit his lip, squirming in Bruce’s arms. “What?”
Bruce inched his face closer and murmured, “Ticklish little fish.” He gave a menacing growl, fully burying his face in the crook of Dick’s neck. “And I’m hungry.”
Dick squealed as Bruce nuzzled in. Bruce’s growling vibrated into the sensitive skin of Dick’s neck, even as his stubble caught on the seams of his now-sealed gills with every movement. When he brought his sharp teeth into the mix, nipping at the skin as if he were eating Dick and making ridiculous “om-nom-nom” noises, Dick was lost. His giggles were frantic and squeaky and panicked, and he was dizzy with how giddy and bubbly he felt. While his neck wasn’t one of his worst spots, Bruce’s proximity and teasing never failed to make him feel like he was buzzing out of his own skin. It was like it made everything nelse feel more ticklish.
Which was a problem when Bruce brought his hands back into the mix, skittering and squeezing up and down Dick’s sides. He rocketed into belly laughter, tugging at Bruce’s wrists and trying to force Bruce out of his neck with his head and shoulder. When none of that worked, he resorted to beating his tail backwards against Bruce’s own.
“Oh, really? You sure you wanna do that?”
Dick threw his tail back particularly hard, just to be a menace.
Bruce hummed into his neck, drawing out one last squeal, before Dick was suddenly released and the world went spinning. He yelped, trying to get his bearings. Before he could, he felt Bruce’s hands lock on to the base of his tail, just above his fins.
Dick sucked in a giddy breath. “Bruce, wait!”
Bruce did not wait. He squeezed up and down the muscles beneath Dick’s scales with one hand, using the other to keep his grip. Dick burst into cackles, twisting up his tail to try and dislodge Bruce or pull his hands away or something. In response, Bruce started swimming backwards. Not quickly, but enough that the drag of water pulled Dick taut and kept him stuck there, since all his laughter and squirming had left him feeling like his muscles were made of jellyfish.
He snorted when Bruce squeezed at the lower half of his tail, snickering and wiggling as much as he could. The upper half of his tail, though? Dick thought he might lose his mind. His scales provided no protection, the ticklish sparks digging so deep that it felt as though his entire nervous system was lighting up with them. He couldn’t speak or bargain or free himself, all Dick could do was laugh himself silly while Bruce the Tickle-Shark tickled all the giggles out of him.
He’d never say it to Bruce’s face, but this was his favorite part of training.
Eventually, Dick’s laughter went silent, and Bruce had mercy. He stopped swimming and hauled Dick up into his arms, chuckling as Dick hiccuped out residual giggles and giddy chitters. After a few minutes, Dick heaved a sigh and snuggled deeper into Bruce’s hold, clicking at him with contentment. Bruce clicked back.
“Back with me, chum?”
“Mhm.” Dick nodded, stretching out his tail and back as best he could without shifting out of Bruce’s arms.
“Alright. Same rules as before: stealth, speed, and agility to get back to the cave, don’t let me catch you. This time, don’t only look up before trying to sneak away. You have a five second headstart.”
Dick gaped up at Bruce. He raised an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth twitching like he was hiding a smile. “Five, four—“
Dick shot out of Bruce’s arms and back into the coral reef, his giggles back with a vengeance. With the giddy swoop to his stomach and the silly grin he couldn’t fight down, Dick figured he wouldn’t win this time either.
a/n: no one help Dick ok he's having a blast. Originally this was going to show Jason and Tim plotting their conspiracy, but it got away from me and turned into wholesome ler!Bruce lee!Dick times.
summary: It's been a while since Dick got tickles and snuggles, but surely he's too old to want that, right? He's twenty now, and he has two younger brothers. Plus, Bruce is busy. Right? Right.
Wrong.
lee!Dick Grayson // ler!Bruce Wayne
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Dick had been minding his own damn business running comparative analyses of the latest biocontaminent that they'd found in an abandoned warehouse. Sure, he'd only half-changed out of his suit, but a tanktop and shorts were perfectly fine attire for the cave...as long as he kept his suit on for the boots. Okay, maybe he looked a little ridiculous, but the point was that it worked, and he'd been perfectly fine until someone had to come along and ruin it all with 'it's too late, chum, you should really be asleep' and 'I will revoke your access if you don't log off'.
“I said I’m wrapping up!” Dick shouted, all his words running together as he tried to writhe away from the hands tickling away at his sides. He reached for the mouse to at least put his program to sleep, but Bruce took the opportunity to start pinching his way farther up Dick’s sides.
“Of course,” Bruce rumbled. “Let me help you along.”
Dick nearly choked on a panicked screech when Bruce suddenly tasered into those horribly ticklish spots right under his ribs. He threw his head back, fruitlessly kicking at the floor for any kind of traction to push himself backwards or upwards or away, but his suit tangled around his ankles and kept him stuck. Oh, so he’d gone ahead and trapped himself this time. Great. Well done, Nightwing.
“You stahay up so muhuhuch later!” he protested.
“And I’m trying to save you from picking up the same habits.” Bruce switched from vibrating taser pokes to using his thumbs to rub little circles right under Dick’s ribs while the rest of his fingers scrabbled over his stomach and sides.
Dick tried to fold himself in half, to no avail, and he flailed out to grab Bruce’s wrists but he couldn’t make his hands obey his brain. Too many ticklish signals, they just got in the way. “B, no!”
“Besides,” Bruce continued, as if Dick wasn’t two more seconds away from melting into a heap of blue and black kevlar on the floor, “Your brothers wanted to know if you were still ticklish.”
Of course the gremlins were plotting against him.
“They’re not even here!” Dick wheezed. Okay, not his best repartee, but he was a little distracted at the moment.
“Right.” Suddenly Bruce’s fingers were sliding up under Dick’s tanktop, his blunt nails scrabbling lines and swirls beneath Dick’s lowest ribs. “They also want to know how to get you all…I think Tim said blushy and squirmy. Naturally, this kind of research question calls for hands-on experimentation.”
By now, Dick had fully succumbed to the high-pitched, screechy giggles that lighter tickles – or at least, lighter tickles from Bruce – always drew out of him. He slumped against the computer chair, reflexively hugging his arms to his chest, giggling like a much younger version of himself. It was embarrassing as hell. He was a grown adult, he shouldn’t just – just fold like this, but…
But it was fun.
Boy, did thinking about that make Dick want to scrunch his shoulders up to his ears and take up a new life as a box turtle.
And anyways, it’s not like he could really go anywhere at the moment, stuck between the chair, Bruce, and the edge of the computer desk.
“It’s good to hear you laugh,” Bruce said, his voice rumbling against Dick’s ear. Dick cringed helplessly away from the ticklish vibrations of his dad’s voice and tried not to hide at the sheer fondness there.
“If I–” Dick gasped in a breath “If I break the computer it’s your fault!” He dissolved back into hiccuping laughter when Bruce responded by squeezing at one of Dick’s knees with firm, sporadic pulses, all the while keeping his other hand wheedling those featherlight patterns on one side of Dick’s ribs. The contrasting methods of attack sent Dick lurching forwards again, silently gasping out breathless laughter.
Bruce grunted, thoughtful. The tickling paused for a couple seconds and Dick was too busy trying to catch his breath to pay attention to what Bruce did until he found himself scooped up, cradled like a little kid again.
He yelped. “Hey!”
“You made a good point,” Bruce said in reply. “Putting a knee through the monitor would be unideal, don’t you think?”
Dick wriggled around for a second, testing Bruce’s hold on him. With enough effort, he could probably break free, but it was late, and he was pretty tired after patrol, and…and look, getting snatched up and tickled silly wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And anyways, he hadn’t gotten that much facetime with Bruce lately.
But he was still Nightwing, and no self-respecting vigilante went down without a fight, no matter how performative.
“Or you could just not,” he grouched, pulling his knees up like he was going to backflip out of Bruce’s arms. Before he even tucked his chin, Bruce was already heaving him up over his shoulder and starting towards the elevator with an amused huff.
“Come on!” Dick shouted. He hid his burgeoning grin against his dad’s back.
Butterflies fluttered around in his stomach as Bruce stayed silent for the entire elevator ride up, silent during the walk through his study, silent until he entered his own bedroom and tossed Dick down across the mattress. The quiet made the anticipation worse, coiling up next to the butterflies and sending preemptive shivers through Dick’s limbs as he tried to squirm out of reach.
“I’m – I’m twenty!” Dick tried. His fingers drummed against the quilt on Bruce’s bed, seeking out seams to trace without looking. He wasn’t used to being on this side of the equation these days, and for some reason that made him almost giddy in the same way that games of hide-and-seek or tag did when he was younger. Oh, actually, that made sense, because those were playing, and this was –
Oh god, this was also playing. Bruce was winding him up on purpose, he knew full well that he was making Dick all squirmy and restless and – and Dick really didn’t know how to handle that right now, but he had a sudden rush of empathy for Tim’s ever-present response of burrowing into the nearest surface available.
Meanwhile, Bruce methodically toed off his shoes one at a time, then unbuttoned his cuffs to slowly roll up his sleeves. As he finished, he glanced up at Dick and flashed him a smile – a real smile, with enough affection to soften the lines of his face.
Dick felt his entire face heat up as he tried to scowl. “Are you gonna let me get back to my work, or…?”
Bruce laughed, then, and came over to sit next to him. He swept his gaze over Dick’s form, bedraggled outfit and all, then tsked once. “No suits upstairs.”
“You hauled me –” Dick protested, then shut up real quick when Bruce reached over to tug the rest of the Nightwing suit off from where it had pooled around Dick’s ankles.
“I did. But clearly, if you’re itching to get back downstairs, that wasn’t enough of a deterrent.”
Dick recognized that tone and fought the instinctive urge to wrap his arms around himself again. “Bruce.”
“Dickie.”
They stared at each other, neither breaking eye contact for several long seconds.
Bruce broke the tension first and lunged. Dick shouted in startled delight, already laughing as his dad pinned him to the bed and squeezed at his knees.
That – that shouldn’t tickle as much as it did, it was unfair, but Dick pounded his fists into the quilt as he laughed, cackles that even he thought sounded more happy than panicked. There wasn’t much time to dwell on that, though, because Bruce abruptly switched up tactics. Instead of squeezing, he sent one hand down to scrabble behind Dick’s right knee, and used his other hand to latch on to the muscles right above the kneecap on the same side, vibrating his thumb and index finger into the wildly ticklish points there. All that evil tickle monster energy concentrated on one side, on one of his legs, made Dick screech like he was being murdered. He wasn’t even sure if he was laughing anymore, but he flailed out with his three free limbs.
“B!” he cried. “It’s too–it’s too bahahad!”
“Hmm,” Bruce rumbled. “Would switching help?”
“No!”
The instant Dick felt his right knee being free, he flipped onto his stomach and tried to army-crawl further up the bed, only for an iron hand to grab him by the calf and drag him backwards. Oh no. Oh, no, no, no! Rolling over was a tactical error.
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Bruce said, and Dick could just hear the smirk in his voice. He shifted, sitting so he was pinning Dick down by his ankles, which gave him two hands to squeeze, scrabble, and pinch at Dick’s calves. “You did always have the best laughter, honey.”
Dick rocked back and forth but he was stuck, it was hard enough to move his arms without having much leverage, let alone get his legs free. Between being stuck and Bruce’s genuine, horrifying teasing, Dick wanted to melt into the blankets forever and ever.
“I do nahahat!” he shouted through the embarrassingly high-pitched laughter that was bubbling up from his lungs. “Behehe, plehehase! Not that not thahat!”
“Not what, chum?” Bruce asked, his voice a low murmur. He scribbled across Dick’s calves, then drummed his fingers against the delicate area behind Dick’s knees. “Is here better?”
Dick screeched, and it was his last coherent action as Bruce started scribbling his nails right there in slow, swirling patterns. All the zings of ticklish energy had nowhere to go because he was stuck, immobile from the waist down. He punched at the mattress, wound his hands into the blankets, but that was it. His eyes stung from the force of his laughter.
“Dad,” he wheezed. “Dad, it’s–” Another rush of laughter drowned out any other words he could’ve said.
“It’s what?” Bruce asked, amused. “It’s ticklish?”
“Y-y-yeah!”
“Are you sure?”
“I ahahaham!”
“And you’re sure you’ve always been this ticklish?”
“It’s–” Dick let out a screechy cackle when Bruce darted his hands up a couple inches to squeeze at the backs of his thighs. “It’s wohohorse when ‘s’you!”
“Hnh.”
The dreadful tickles stopped and Dick sucked in a breath, barely aware of feeling Bruce get up and release his legs. After a couple breaths, Dick tried to pull his thoughts back together. He shoved down the faint disappointment that tried to sneak in. There was work to be done, and surely Bruce only had so much time to waste.
A large, warm hand rested between his shoulders.
“Breathe, Dickie,” said Bruce with unmistakable fondness.
“You’re – you’re evil,” Dick muttered, but he leaned into the touch. Might as well appreciate it while he could. Plus, his crashing dopamine and endorphin high was quickly turning into sleepiness.
“Yes,” Bruce agreed. The mattress dipped as he sat down closer to the piles of pillows at the headboard, and suddenly two hands hooked under Dick’s arms and hauled him upwards. He let out a small, startled sound, and immediately felt his face redden. His dad’s arms tightened around him in the kind of hug that always felt like being wrapped up in Batman's cape during a cold winter night.
Screw it. The last couple weeks were full of demoralizing case setbacks and long hours, and perhaps Bruce was – was right (ew), and Dick was a little run down. Maybe. All in all, he could indulge his more clingy instincts for a few minutes.
He shifted around, not to break Bruce’s hold, but because doing so meant that the counter pressure from his own limbs maximized the feeling of held, safe, love.
“Hm…” Bruce said at last. “I think you’ve still got the squirmy part down, but I’m not sure about the blushy.”
Well, now Dick was wide awake again and that definitely wasn’t hope sparking in his chest. “What the hell are you on about?”
“Tim’s request.”
As if that explained anything.
Wait.
Dick’s mind raced furiously back through the last thirty or so minutes, and fuck. “Hey, you don’t have to – you accomplished your goal, I’m not working, I’ll go to bed–”
“And it’s good to make sure you’re tired enough to really get some rest,” said Bruce, like the absolute bastard that he was. “Plus, I’m still collecting data for your brother.”
“Nohoho,” Dick whined, a few giggles invading the word as Bruce slid his hands up to Dick’s ribs. “B!”
“C’mon, Dickie,” Bruce murmured, and all the laughing earlier must’ve given Dick a headrush or something because it sounded like his dad was cooing, which couldn't be….Bruce wouldn’t. Not with Dick. Not with his oldest kid who'd long since grown out of being cute or sweet or anything like that.
Apparently, though, Bruce would. “Tickle tickle tickle.”
The familiar cadence sent Dick’s skin crawling with anticipation and he buried his face in Bruce’s chest to hide his giddy smile. He snorted out a startled laugh when Bruce started clawing at the soft spot just under his lowest ribs with soft scritching motions.
“Hey,” Dick protested. He tried to twist his hips to the side but Bruce just dug in a little harder, and the ensuing jolt made Dick’s limbs feel like jelly.
“Careful,” Bruce chided. “You wouldn’t want to get away.”
Those stupid, wheedling fingers kept Dick in fits of wheezing laughter, even as he shook his head and snuggled closer because he couldn’t let his dad see how much he was blushing, that would just get him more teasing.
Bruce walked the fingers of his left hand around towards Dick’s stomach, and Dick flinched. That wasn’t one of his worse spots, but somehow Bruce made everything tickle more by sheer force of existing. “I think you’ve been overdue for some tickles for a while.”
…And by saying things like that, which had Dick groaning and dragging his hands up to clamp over his ears.
Bruce’s whole chest rumbled as he chuckled. “Whoa there, Robin, don’t disappear on me.”
Something warm and sparkly exploded near Dick’s heart that was similar to how he felt when Tim or Jason did something particularly cute, or sweet, or thoughtful. That was an old line from back when Dick was much, much smaller, and had a much more marked tendency to excitedly skitter on ahead of Batman during patrol. There were a few times Bruce had joked about getting one of those backpack leashes for under Robin’s cape. Thankfully, though, he’d usually just yanked Dick back by the scruff of his uniform. Sometimes, if it was a slow night, Dick would run ahead on purpose, chasing the favorable odds of being swept up into Batman’s cape for tickles.
Dick shook his head and tried to clamp his arms down to his sides when Bruce started poking and squeezing his ribs. By now his laughter was starting to sound hiccupy, and he fruitlessly shoved at Bruce’s shoulder.
“What’s that?” Bruce murmured. “Are you back? Are you looking for more tickles?”
“Bruce!” Dick wheezed. God, his dad’s teasing was the worst.
Another rumbling hum, this time with an unmistakable tinge of amusement. “I’m going to assume that’s a ‘yes’.”
Then, before Dick had the chance to try and pull some thoughts together, Bruce nuzzled into the crook of his neck and shoulder to start a barrage of raspberries and nibbles. The stubble on his face scraped along every single ticklish inch of skin there.
Dick lost it. He squeaked, sounding more like Tim than himself, and tumbled into uncontrollable snickers and cackles. He crumpled forward, hunching his shoulders up to no avail as shivers raced down his spine. Each ticklish nudge from Bruce’s scruff scattered any coherent thoughts far and wide.
What made it worse was that the whole time, Bruce hadn’t stopped tickling at Dick’s ribs and sides. He paired nibbling little pinches with flurries of raspberries, coordinating his attack to keep Dick in fits of giggly screeches even though he’d given up on trying to escape. All Dick could do was accept his fate and let himself slump further into the half-hug, half-trap, as Bruce tickled him silly.
Just when Dick had started to get used to his current state of laughing and wriggling and not going anywhere, Bruce’s hands shot up under his arms. Even if Dick had wanted to jolt upwards and lurch away, his arms and legs had the structural integrity of overcooked linguine. He was soundly trapped and – and fuck, shit, Bruce hadn’t let up on the raspberries either and Dick’s stomach muscles twisted from how hard he laughed.
“Be–BeeheeEEHK, it - it - ‘s th’worst!” he finally stuttered out. Talking was hard, what with the gales of screechy snickers that kept bubbling up out of his lungs. Getting that much out felt like a victory.
“Yes?” Bruce said, muffled, then he returned to making those stupid om-nom-nom noises like he was having a damn snack or something. It shouldn’t have sent Dick up the wall, but at this point he was already so wound up that doing anything other than laughing helplessly was basically impossible.
“Dad!” Dick yelped. He slammed his forehead against Bruce’s shoulder. He knew he sounded ridiculous from all the giggles and snorts and snickers that he couldn’t hold back but he couldn't help it. “Da-Dahahad! Plehease, Dadda!”
He blushed down to his neck when Bruce made a noise that was all fondness and love and pulled back. The sudden rush of cold air against his neck made Dick shudder and instinctively lean after him, but then he felt Bruce drop a kiss on top of his hair, and the restless urge settled.
“Dadda?” Bruce murmured. “I haven't heard that in….what, twelve years?”
Talking around the residual laughter seemed like too much effort, so instead Dick twisted to hide his flaming face against Bruce’s arm. He just knew Bruce had that melty look on his face that always made Dick feel shy no matter how old he got.
“Don’t tease me about it,” he mumbled.
In response, Bruce squeezed him in another warm, tight hug. “I would never, Dickie.”
Dick hummed, too tired for words.
“Rest all you want, honey,” Bruce said, rubbing one of his warm hands up and down Dick’s arm. “You’ve been working too hard, lately.”
Dick knew that Bruce wasn’t even trying, but he was so over-sensitized to any possible tickles that he shuddered through a quiet laugh. “You–you’re still tihihickling me!”
At Bruce’s questioning grunt, Dick finally dragged his face upwards to squint at him. The sheer sappy affection in his dad’s smile made him regret that decision almost immediately, but he powered through long enough to see the hint of a smirk playing around Bruce’s mouth.
“Am I?” Bruce asked. He lightly pinched Dick’s bicep, which was cheating because it’s not like Dick asked to be giggle-ticklish there, but now he was giggling again and trying to worm back into his hiding spot.
“Yehehes!”
“I’ll be sure to inform your brothers of this,” Bruce said. “They’ll be delighted to know that their older brother is still very, very ticklish. And squirmy. And blushy.” Bruce pressed another kiss to his hair. "And despite all that, you're still my baby."
here is the long awaited request for @lockedopus :’) I had a lot of fun with this eheh it was wholesome.. writing lee!bruce was kind of amazing I really enjoyed that HHH
could probably be read as superbat if that’s your thing <:)
Bruce could only not think anything of it for so long until he had to intervene. “It” being the fact that Dick decided he was feeling playful in the middle of a debrief with the commissioner. A debrief about potential signs of activity from Victor Zsaz. Serial murderer, criminally insane, all around bad news.
The moment a little gloved hand snuck around into his peripheral vision, he carefully stopped its path. Only for Dick’s other hand to shoot around and attempt to wiggle its way under his cowl.
Bruce’s shoulder twitched up towards his ear. Jim was never going to let him live this down.
“Robin—“
An entirely unapologetic snicker came from overhead, where he was carrying his son on his shoulders.
“Alright, alright… you just lost shoulder privileges.” He set Dick back on his feet. He didn’t look too distraught about it, at least.
It was astonishing how much of a dad he had become in the, objectively, small amount of time he’d had the acrobat under his care. He regularly pulled out all the stops. Now, he was kneeling down to meet Dick’s eyes. He was only restless, Bruce could tell. He must have wanted to go home. There were significantly more safeguards set in place for Robin than usual because of the climate in the city’s criminal underbelly.
It was understandable that a kid would get bored, and Dick was high energy by kid standards.
“The night’s almost over, hang in there.” He stood to his full height.
That little frown… pulling back his cape, Dick appeared happier to scuttle into the offered place of sanctuary.
Bruce exhaled a long, suffering sigh, slowly lifting his head to meet the commissioner’s eyes. He was sure he hadn’t experienced this much dread since the last time Arkham Asylum security breach rumors began to circulate.
Jim’s expression gave nothing away. Bruce attempted to mirror that.
“…I—“
“You know that I have a little girl. Just keep talking.” He more than understood. Chances were, he knew understood than Bruce did, and was a much more respectable father.
“Right…”
* * *
Bruce was tired. Both Batman and Robin were out of any armor, having changed into something more comfortable. When he realized that Dick always seemed to get a second wind after patrol, he’d started keeping more practical activewear in the training deck. Tonight was no different.
Did his aching muscles want to play chase? No, not exactly, but he wasn’t going to be as spry as he was now forever. Those aches would one day sink into his bones, and he hardly ever afforded himself any time to waste.
So, around and around they went, vaulting over and ducking under scattered equipment. Dick’s talent really shined in moments like this.
“You know I’m gonna catch you.” Eventually.
“No!” He squeaked.
Ironically, after taking a second to peer over his shoulder, Dick didn’t see the gym mat he was rapidly approaching. It came up to about his calves, he’d been running so fast that when they collided, he went head over heels.
The fact that it was a big rectangle of soft foam with the express purpose of cushioning falls marginally soothed Bruce’s spiking blood pressure.
He crashed down onto the mat next to Dick, setting a hand on the squirmy boy’s shoulder to roll him over onto his back.
“Well… I caught you. Now what should I do with you?”
The only response he got was frantic, boyish laughter.
“That’s not an answer.” Bruce was trying to keep his tone flat, but a smile was creeping onto his face.
“Okay, okahay, umm…”
“You should let me stay home from school next week— no, forever. You should let me stay home from school forever.”
Dick was starting to giggle in the following silence, but didn’t break eye contact as Bruce stared him down, who eventually huffed and let his smile take over.
“Nice try.” Prodding lightly into Dick’s tummy already had him squealing.
Taking notice of this, Bruce solemnly hummed. “Oh, Dickie, you’re in trouble.”
He hovered overhead, his little Robin free to wriggle around, though he never strayed far. He’d rolled onto his side, arms outstretched, pawing at the mat below. Bruce spidered a hand up his side to sneak under his arm. The fallout was instant.
“gEHIT out of there!” Dick squeaked. He was surprised when, shortly after, Bruce listened.
He was then caught by the calf, legs pulled into his father’s lap where he sat cross legged.
“We’ll go under your knees instead.” He spoke like he was being charitable, the facade cracking with a chuff when Dick, as he’d predicted, began to babble incoherently. His following shriek had Bruce worrying about the potential for falling stalactites.
“Inside voices, chum.” He coaxed, a quiet chuckle lacing his tone.
He shouted like this meant life or death. “sUPERMAN! SUPERMAN! Clark! Rescue meeEHEHE!”
Bruce slowly pulled back, releasing Dick’s leg as the words registered. As sweet as the bond between the two most upstanding, pure of heart individuals he knew was, it was late.
“I told you to only use that for emergencies.”
“Maybe this is an emergency…” The boy looked petulant. He probably knew that may not have been the best call, but he was stubborn, and wasn’t changing his mind now. “Clark said I can call for him whenever I want.”
That’s because he’s Clark. He would give up his life for you in a heartbeat.
“Yeah, because he sees your little face and melts.” The teasing smile on Bruce’s lips was a rare sighting. He reached out a hand to pinch at his son’s cheek, earning a wrinkled nose and a snort.
“Well that’s not my fault—“ The strong gust of wind that swept Dick away would have knocked Bruce into his back, had he not braced the ground with his hands.
“You came!” Dick rejoiced. With Clark already holding him, he couldn’t run up and glomp him to blow off steam. He instead looked to be squeezing as tight as he could manage.
“I— Y… Yeah… yeah. Of course I did.”
Bruce didn’t know if Kryptonians actually got winded, but Clark was ruffled, scanning the cave for any signs of imminent danger. He began to slowly collect himself. He did tell Dick that there wasn’t ever a bad time, whatever he needed, Clark would get there as soon as he could.
He hadn’t been in another galaxy on a suicide mission. Making himself look slightly more presentable and flying to Gotham wasn’t a big deal. He would rather be called upon for something mundane than so much as imagine Dick in Bruce’s definition of an “emergency.”
Seeing how excitable the boy was, Clark was able to come down from most of his panic.
“So, what am I rescuing you from, buddy?” He asked with a quiet smile. Dick pointed, and it had him raising an eyebrow.
“Oh really?” He cocked his head.
Bruce had stood up by now. He was eyeing them from a few feet away, arms crossed, probably brooding.
“Hey, Bruce, uh… late night, huh?”
Clark was too nice. It gave him the jitters. “I— yes, crime doesn’t sleep. I’m sorry about… he—“
“He has nothing to apologize for.” Clark hiked Dick up in his arms. Jitters.
“I’m glad you think so, I guess.” Bruce’s voice softened in a variety of ways, his gaze averting.
“Dickie said I’m rescuing him from you. What do you think about that?”
This was so stupid.
“I was teasing him.” Bruce’s frown was slowly starting to look less frown-like.
“He was tickling me! On purpose!” Dick was set back down on the ground to take his stance, once again pointing in accusation.
“Because you were pushing my buttons on patrol.” Bruce bent at the waist to better meet his son’s eyes, unable to keep himself from smiling for any longer.
“Yeah, well… I’m a kid. It’s okay when I do it.” The aforementioned kid overruled.
The adults in the room exchanged delighted glances. Cute.
Dick wasn’t going to be a kid forever. That was the next best talking point, but Bruce wasn’t sure he was any more ready to face that than his little Robin.
He quietly sighed. “You really couldn’t have called for Alfred?”
“Alfred needs his sleep, B.” Dick almost sounded chiding.
“What abou—“
Clark chimed in. “I don’t need sleep in the same way a human does, let alone a man his age who hasn’t retired.” He sounded very pleased with the fact that he was invulnerable to insomnia just like nearly everything else.
Alfred couldn’t simply retire from being a father figure. He wouldn’t know how. “Butler” was nothing but a formality, he acted like a mother hen because that’s what he was.
But that was personal. Bruce rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, I’ve learned my lesson, Superman. You can go home now.”
“That’s not justice and you know it.”
He did not like that smile on Clark’s face, and that was saying something.
“Say what you mean.” He said it with more intensity than he would normally allow to rear its ugly head around Dick.
“Well… I’m pretty sure the game goes, you tickle, you get tickled back.” Clark’s body language painted a vivid picture. He was this close to getting one of his closest friends to let down one of the many walls he kept up. You would think Clark had toppled more of them by now. He hadn’t.
“Is that what you think?” Bruce had donned his punchable billionaire smile.
“Why would I be ticklish?”
Dick squinted at him. Even the little one could see that he’s bluffing.
“You’re human, Bruce.” The phrase rolled off Clark’s tongue with a sarcastic smile, like it was just so obvious.
He would never, ever get to know how that momentarily touched Bruce’s heart. But it did. It often didn’t occur to Bruce that trying to be near superhuman was supposed to be out of his reach. It stripped him of his humanity.
Depressing, honestly. He shouldn’t have to be reminded.
“Most people are at least a little ticklish.”
He had to come down from cloud nine. “I’m not like most people…” a pathetic, mumbly excuse of a counterpoint.
“You’re stalling.” Another thing that Clark saw as a very normal observation, another thing that rocked Bruce’s world.
“I’ve got a job to do, can’t leave justice waiting all night.”
Absolutely awed, Dick trotted along behind him like a fawn following a big buck. It took a moment for Bruce to conduct a thorough enough analysis of just what he’d gotten himself into.
Even if he were to have been honest, he couldn’t have given Clark a concrete answer. People didn’t tickle him. That was an insane, alien concept to most. Although, Clark did technically fall into a gray area on that front. More well adjusted than most of the human population, not necessarily human.
Bruce stood his ground as they crept closer. “You’re not invincible, Clark.”
“You’re going to resort to kryptonite because I threatened to tickle you?” That was a little too good of a point. The dark knight’s stomach turned.
“You’re being ridiculous…” He muttered, turning tail to approach the Batcomputer. Because what did Bruce always do when he was faced with something he didn’t want to have to deal with? He threw himself into work.
Even if he was ticklish, if he somehow wouldn’t be able to keep a hold of himself, then he’d clearly failed as an individual and needed to go for another round of global apprenticeship under the best of the best.
Bruce didn’t foresee that happening. Sitting himself down, he began to boot up the various monitors looming over him.
“Are you hiding?” He could hear the smile in Clark’s voice, who came up from behind to lean rest his arms over the back of the rolling chair.
Bruce was, if anything, entirely too visible for his liking. He momentarily tensed when fingertips tapped ever so gently against his side. As he’d suspected, he was able to gather himself with little trouble.
“We can do this all night, you’re wasting your time.” A bold claim.
One that Clark took as an offer. “Maybe we will.” He hummed.
“Yeah, Bruce, maybe we will.” Dick puffed up. So big and strong.
Bruce shook his head, remaining stone faced. It was, admittedly, difficult to focus on work. He couldn’t so much as remember what it was that took priority. A very low bar.
He exhaled as the nagging feeling against his waist crawled upwards. Bruce was sure this would be a lot easier if he felt he could so much as move, but that was showing a sign of weakness.
“Somebody’s getting a little tense.” Clark remarked with a smile.
He just couldn’t win. Paralyzed wasn’t the way to go, but that was how he stayed as a hand cupped his bicep, and lifted his arm.
“Down here, maybe?” It was mind boggling how a man with strength that neared godhood could be so gentle. Bruce was helpless to stop how he twitched at the fingers fluttering under his arm.
“Yeah? Maybe?”
“I’ll kill you—“ His threat broke off into a soft, mirthful gasp, a quiver running through his body. He didn’t have a contingency for this.
“St— ugh…” He bit his tongue, twisting uncomfortably in his chair.
A second hand began to cautiously pinch at his waist. Bruce didn’t know what to do with himself, not a single part. His arm wasn’t stuck, Clark wouldn’t do that unless he wanted Bruce to wake up with bruised knuckles— men of steel didn’t get bloody noses.
He couldn’t commit to any sudden movements regardless. Seeing stars, he just stayed there, shuffling about in his seat like an idiot. The sharp huffs he’d been letting out through his nose were getting dangerously close to resembling laughter.
“You’re not used to this.” Clark was sympathetic. Endeared, in a way.
No, of course he wasn’t. Before Dick came into Bruce’s life, the extent of physicality he engaged in was a hand on the shoulder from Alfred, and Brucie Wayne sleeping with bachelorettes who he didn’t care about. That wasn’t counting the combat Batman engaged in most nights.
“I… I dohon’t—“ You laughed, is what you did. He turned down to face his lap. He was sure he was burning up. A neuron finally decided it wanted to fire, and one arm came down to wrap around his torso.
That did little to stop “justice.” The rush Bruce got trying to protect himself from something that wouldn’t hurt momentarily might have put some of the light back into his eyes. He breathed out something resembling “oh my god,” posture hunching further.
Clark was the only thing keeping their fugitive from rolling away when Dick suddenly bounced up onto Bruce’s lap. A collective oof came with the impact.
When little fingers wriggled into the crook of his neck, Bruce’s nervous system flared in a way he could only remember from his early childhood. His shoulder jerked up with much more force than he would have liked. It was less a matter of sparing his pride by this point and more about not crushing Dick’s hand like a bug.
A surprised laugh followed, one that he was grateful was significantly louder and more boisterous than his own. He’d lost their game a while ago now, he felt it in the hitch (and warmth) of his chest.
“Is that the spot, Robin?”
The goofy grin Dick directed towards Clark told him everything he needed to know.
He wasn’t sure what he should expect. He scratched a pointer finger against the nape of Bruce’s neck, the quiet “tickle, tickle” that he gave was mostly ironic. He too wasn’t sure he could have prepared himself for the way his friend, the hardass who still occasionally tried to insist they were only coworkers, responded.
Bruce tossed his head back, his smile was wide, but simultaneously timid. His eyes were squeezed shut, and the sound of what would have been a laugh muffled through his teeth.
Clark never had that conversation with Ma or Pa Kent, he didn’t think he had to, all things considered, but he knew a beautiful man when he saw one. He didn’t see much of Bruce without his cowl, and Batman rarely smiles. He couldn’t imagine why, it was so charming. He was starting to think that needed to change.
“I… hah, um…” Bruce’s voice was lacking its usual sternness.
“I think you’ve humiliated me enough for one night.” He settled for sarcasm.
Dick squealed when he was swept up and draped over his broad shoulders like some kind of scarf.
“And I think you’ve caused plenty of trouble.” He murmured in a voice that let the boy know he was off the hook because it was bedtime. All of that yipping and yowling settled into quieter, content titters.
Clark eyed them, wearing the small smile that he didn’t think had left him since he started this. Dynamic duo.
“Get out of my cave.”
He blinked. “Well… alright. Are you gonna be nice while I’m gone?”
Bruce flushed, his lips twitching. “Out.”
Clark grinned. He left with a kiss to Dick’s forehead and a “sleep tight.”
* * *
Bruce had been tucking Dick in for about half an hour now. It wasn’t meant to be this long of a process, but Dick wouldn’t stop raving about the night’s events.
“Chum. Enough.” He smoothed back his son’s hair, whose wide eyes made him resemble a cat whose forehead got pet a little too hard.
“But B…” Dick whined, shaking his hair back into place. “I like when you laugh.”
Bruce’s mind went quiet for a moment. Such an outlandish concept.
“Now you tell me ‘thank you.’” A sidekick always had a smart remark.
“Oh, where are my manners?” That drew a giggle from the boy. He let a smile cross his face, as real as he knew how.
“Thank you… you’re very sweet.” He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a second chance at a family after the path of vengeance he’d gone down. Bruce needed Dick just as badly as Dick needed him.
“You’re such a good kid, you know that?” He didn’t say it nearly as much as he should.
Dick preened, his dimples deep in his cheeks. He was happy.
“You want me to stay with you for a bit?” They didn’t do it every night. It was normally Dick seeking Bruce out if he couldn’t fall asleep. They would end up back in his bedroom, Bruce would sit with him and stroke his hair until he knew Dick was off in dreamland.
Perking up at the offer, he scrambled to get comfortable like Bruce was going to change his mind. The affectionate smile being cast down on him was the last thing Dick would see before being soothed into a deep slumber. What a sight for sore eyes.
Tim falls asleep on Dick, and as per protocol, if a younger sibling falls asleep on you, then you must adhere to the rules of the 'Cat Problem': You are stuck there until said younger sibling wakes up, and any attempt to move is punishable by death. Jason sees this, and knowing that Dick will die on the hill of this rule, he tests his older brother's resolve.
Word Count: 1,819
Warnings: Footer tickles, I know that isn't everyone's cup of tea <3
This is a SFW tickle fic, if you don’t like that then don’t read :)
I was inspired by the third chapter of "Stubborn" by bowditch on AO3 with this one. Highly recommend their works!! Fantastic writing and their dash is absolutely STACKED with fics to enjoy :D
Link to Stubborn here --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/9425156/chapters/21550379
“Jase- Jason, cut it out.”
Tim had been up for far too long, for far too many stupid reasons, and now he’s being roused back into the land of the living far too soon. He grumbles, shoving his face back into the warm cushions he’s lying on. Tucking his arms more firmly around the plush fabric, he mentally wills whatever disruption to either leave the room or just die. He wasn’t picky.
“...You almost woke him.” The whispered hiss far above only made Tim burrow in further, another discontent murmur rising from his throat. He felt the surface he was lying on tense, as if in anticipation that he would awaken.
An amused scoff sounds out. “No, you almost did. He’s lying on you, Dickiebird.”
“And you’re- Jason- for fuhucks sake!”
There’s an abrupt jolt of his cushion, fully disrupting Tim’s attempt to fall back asleep. How dare it. He voices his displeasure with a groan, eyelashes fluttering open. After a moment of initial blurriness, he can make out a tomato above him. Huh. Maybe the hallucinations weren’t totally gone yet. Four days of refusing the siren calls of his bed did have its downsides, apparently.
“Oh no, Tim-” The tomato is speaking now. How long has Tim been asleep for to allow vegetables to gain sentience?
There’s a click of a tongue, but it’s not quite Damian’s style used for dissatisfaction. This one sounds more mocking. “Aw shit, man. You actually woke him up?”
“You woke him up, you little-! GAH! Stohohohopihihit!”
Tim is jostled again, and it finally clicks. He’s in someone’s lap, and by the sounds of the bubbly laughter above him, it could only be one person. He rubs his eyes and blinks up at Dick, who’s flushed a rich scarlet, one arm wrapped around Tim’s back, while the other is clamped over his mouth. It didn’t hide the wide smile that was stretched out across his face, or muffle the laughter spluttering out of him.
Tim rolls over onto his side to find the culprit.
Jason is sitting on the coffee table, an amused grin on his face as he scratches his fingers across the sole of Dick’s socked foot resting next to him. He notices Tim looking, and his grin widens. “Morning, Timmy.” He greets, his grin going from amused to downright shit-eating.
“Wh’t’s g’ing on?” Tim slurs, scrubbing a fist over his face again to get rid of the crust in his eyes.
Dick whines through his giggling, pressing his back deep into the couch. “Jahason ihis tohohorturing mehe!” he accuses, fingers tightening on the fabric of Tim’s oversized jumper.
“Dramatic,” Jason scoffs. “I’m desensitising you, obviously. God forbid, a villain tries to interrogate you for information. You’d crack within two seconds.”
“Jahahason!” Dick’s legs jolt when his younger brother scribbles at his arch, shaking his head helplessly. “Quhuhuit ihihit!”
Ah. Well, that explains why Tim’s ‘cushions’ have been moving so much.
“Say, kid,” Jason hums conversationally, like he isn’t responsible for his older brother’s giggling whines on the couch. “I think Dickiebird broke his own rule with all that wigglin’.”
Tim scrunches his brow, staring at Jason, who’s looking at him like he’s waiting for the dots to connect. He might be waiting a while. Tim really wasn’t firing on all cylinders quite yet.
Dick chokes on a gasp when Jason gives a particularly vicious scratch on the ball of his foot. “Yohou mahade mehe mohove! Thahat cahan’t count!”
The offended outcry clicks the pieces in place. Tim slowly rolls back over to stare up at his brother, his face chillingly serious as he murmurs, “You interrupted my nap.”
Dick had made this rule well before Tim’s time within the manor; If a younger sibling falls asleep on you, then you must adhere to the rules of the ‘Cat Problem’. You are stuck there until said younger sibling wakes up, and any attempt to move is punishable by death.
It was likely a result of Jason’s scrappy, street kid comportment when he first moved in. When he finally allowed himself to trust the residents of the manor and fall asleep around or on them, it was so momentous that a law needed to be passed to not break that tenuous olive branch.
It was a rule that held dominion over the manor ever since. Bruce used it too, though for him it was more sacred because those were his kids.
And something so special, being broken despite the mandated order, deserved a punishment to be remembered.
Dick opens his mouth, something akin to horror washing over his face as he registers how well and truly fucked he is right now, but Tim doesn’t allow him to plead his case. No matter what kind of bullshit that man was about to spin, point and case was simple; Tim’s nap was interrupted, and he was not taking that lightly.
He drives nimble fingers into Dick’s sides - easily achieved with how he’s lying over his brother’s lap - and wriggles them incessantly. He’s rewarded with a sharp yelp and peals of laughter, along with Dick’s heel banging atop the coffee table. Though that might’ve also been caused by Jason’s scribbling over both of Dick’s arches.
“Guhuhuhuys!”
Tim’s hoodie was going to be stretched in places with how hard Dick was clinging to the fabric. He was trying to pull his knees up to escape Jason’s torment, but Tim, lying over his legs, acted as a counterbalance. Not to mention, they’d fallen asleep almost fifteen minutes ago under the additional weight, causing their movement to be uncoordinated with the numbness. Despite Dick’s claims of how Tim was his ‘baby brother’, the kid was putting on muscle. The laughter wracking him was no help either, turning his strength all the way off and leaving him as capable as a fledgling. Needless to say, he was going nowhere until his brothers let him up.
“You earned your sentence, do your time,” Jason volleys back with a grin, blunt nails skittering over his brother’s toes, Dick’s socks doing nothing to protect him. “Oi, Timbit, get his ribs, would ya? He ain’t squealing enough.”
“I dihihidn’t meHEHEAHAn tohohoho!” Dick shrieks when Tim finds that damning little spot on his bottom ribs, ducking forward to bury his face into his little brother’s hair, like it could muffle the fits of laughter pouring out of him. “PleHEHEHEease!”
“I j’st wanted to sleep, can’t h’ve shit in Gotham,” Tim grumbles, half-intelligible from where his face is smooshed back into Dick’s stomach, though a smile tugs at his lips as Dick begins hiccupping from the force of his giggling. It wasn’t often he could get back at Dick for all of his tickle attacks, not unless he teamed up with another member of the family, so despite the tiredness lingering in his bones, he was enjoying the payback.
He wheedles his nails against the bones, unable to go much higher than the third set due to his current position. Though honestly, that wasn’t his fault, considering Dick had practically melted over him, and was keeping the teenager trapped in his lap. The targeted attack on one of Dick’s worst spots kept the man trapped in an endless whirlwind of fizzling sparks and laughter.
The plead was accompanied by loud cackles rolling through the room from the relentless attack. The pair watches with amusement as Dick unfolds himself from his hunched position to press against the couch again, surrendering himself to the sensations.
Now free to move, Tim rolls from his stomach onto his back, smirking up at Dick. His pink flush has spread across his grinning cheeks, and mirthful tears bud at the edges of his eyes. Tim reaches over and pats Dick’s knee to get Jason’s attention - unable to hold back a snort when Dick flinches and starts giggling harder through his rushed words of, “Nonononono, Tihihim- nohohot thehehere, c’mohon!”
“Relax, Dick, I wasn’t gonna,” Tim assures him with a laugh, sending a wry grin to his other sibling. “I think we broke him, Jase.”
Jason’s smirk is getting dangerously close to fond as he surveys his older brother. “Yeah, he’s done,” he agrees, giving the man’s big toe one last tweak, and chuckling when Dick gives a small giggly whine of protest.
“Thank gohohod,” Dick slumps into the couch, completely boneless. Tim shuffles further down the couch until it’s just his head in Dick’s lap, giving his thighs a break from the additional weight. The older vigilante grimaces at the change. “My legs are gonna get pins and needles.”
“Drama queen.” Jason deftly picks up Tim’s legs and flops on the couch, dropping them uncemeronously into his lap. Tim eyes him with no small amount of distrust. Jason simply winks and flicks the television on. “You two care if I throw a movie on?”
Dick raises a brow. “Are you going to do it regardless of what we say?”
“Yes.”
The eldest brother chuckles, but doesn't argue against it. Tim is pleasantly surprised when fingers start to card through his hair and scratch his scalp. He blinks slowly up at Dick, eyelids growing heavy as a Pavlovian response to the hair petting. He tries not to obviously lean into the attention, but it’s painfully clear as day. Dick smiles down at him; this time it’s soft and fully voluntary.
“Sorry for interrupting your nap, Timmy,” he apologizes, pressing a gentle kiss to his little brother’s forehead. “You can go back to sleep, I promise I won’t move this time.”
“Do you now?” Jason hums innocently, fingers sliding across the cushions slowly.
Tim feels more than sees Dick’s flinch. “Jason Peter Todd.”
The responding cackle is utterly gleeful. “Ooo, cracking out the full names now?”
Tim gently prods Jason’s thigh with his toe, cracking an eye open - and hey, when did they close? - to pin his brother with a look. “I wanna sleep, Jay.” He may make his voice just a little pathetic and weary, but the courts will never prove it was intentional.
It got the result he wanted. Jason settles back with an amused smile. His period piece drama plays quietly in the background, occupying the man from stirring up more trouble just for the fun of it. “Alright, alright. No more ruffling the Big Bird’s feathers. Knock out already, Timbers.”
Well, with Dick’s fingers returning to scratch his scalp, Tim couldn’t exactly resist the siren song of sleep anymore.
He curls onto his side, wrapping an arm around his eldest brother like he did earlier in a comfortably warm embrace. Jason’s hand comes down to rest on his ankle, a thumb strategically massaging into the overworked muscles there.
Tim’s asleep within two minutes. Dick follows after not even five minutes later. Jason takes a photo, and after a moment of deliberation, sends it to Bruce. The man could do with a new lockscreen image.
Hey, guys!! A little bit late for a christmas gift but the thought is there 😅 Hope everyone has a happy holiday season!
(Fair warning but this fic is loooong I got a little carried away whoops)
Familiarity
Summary: Memories and parts of Bruce's childhood and growing up as an orphan from the perspective of Alfred, who had to learn to care for a grieving young boy and teach him how to grow past his hurt, plus the good parts, because grief changes throughout life.
Contrary to what the media constantly loved to write, Bruce was a happy child growing up.
He spent most of his early days with his Mother, roaming the halls and playing with the endless toys he had. When he started going to school, his father would usually pick him up and listen to Bruce talk about his school day.
Alfred was comfortable and familiar with the youngest Wayne member, but his parents rarely had him take care of Bruce. Though they were successful, they always made time for Bruce.
Another thing the media always got wrong about Bruce was how damn talkative he was.
Once he was comfortable with you, he'd talk your ear off about anything that came to his mind. On many afternoons he would follow Alfred around, helping him with whatever task he was doing, and explain whatever he was fixated on at the moment. Though this was sometimes frustrating when quiet was needed, it was also extremely endearing.
One late evening, Alfred was going about his regular tasks around the house, cleaning up dinner and picking up any stray toys Bruce had left out.
"Alfred?" Thomas Wayne's voice called out and he turned to see the eldest Wayne walking down the stairs with a pile of blankets in his arms. "Do you mind tossing these in the dryer for a few minutes for me?"
"Of course, sir." Alfred responds as he takes the blankets and takes them to the laundry room.
He could have guessed what the purpose of this was without asking, but he liked to tease anyway. Bruce was extremely energetic in the evenings, more so than he normally was. The two parents had trouble wearing him out enough to sleep so they'd recently been warming up blankets and cuddling with him to see if that would help quicken the rate he falls asleep.
"Young master Bruce still awake, I presume?" He asks with a hint of a smile
Thomas smiles back as he follows Alfred. "You already know he is." That was true, Alfred could hear his little footsteps from upstairs as he ran around the hardwood floors.
"Have you learned of any way to tamp down his energy in the evenings?" Alfred asks as he tosses the blankets in the dryer to warm them.
"Martha is trying a few things, but all I've got is run him around until he gets tired." Thomas smiles fondly at the thought of his son and Alfred smiles too.
After the blankets are warmed by the dryer, Alfred carries them up to the bedroom, Thomas leading him there. The two men are met with loud, bubbling laughter as soon as they enter the bedroom.
"Good evening, Alfred!" Marth calls from where she's sat on their large king sized bed. She has Bruce laid out next to her in his pajamas, giggling wildly as her fingers wiggle against his sides and belly.
"Good evening, Mrs. Wanye." Alfred says and he holds back a smile as Thomas walks over to where Martha is tickling Bruce.
"I don't know how many times I tell you Alfred to just call me Martha." She smiles as she lets Bruce crawl away from her on the bed.
"And where do you think you're going?" Thomas growls playfully as he pounces on Bruce, his son happily shrieking as Thomas' weight bounces them.
Alfred smiles fondly at the scene in front of him. It was an interesting tactic to tire out a young boy, but it seemed effective. He felt bad that the outside world never really got to see the Wayne family and how they truly act.
"Alfred, h-ahahah-help mehehe!!" Bruce calls out squealing when Thomas rolls him over and presses a raspberry into his belly.
"I'm afraid I can't, Master Bruce." Alfred smiles, playing along with the little game they have going to tire out the boy. "My arms are quite full." He says, gesturing at the warm blankets he holds.
Thomas only lets go of Bruce once he's sure that Bruce was fully tired out, letting his son crawl into his mother's lap. Alfred hands the blankets to Thomas and leaves to let the family relax in peace.
It was memories like that that Alfred liked to look back on fondly whenever times got tougher.
Of course, things changed ever since the passing of Bruce's parents. Right after it happened was the worst of it all, the grief that over took Bruce and Alfred was immense. No amount of condolences were helpful.
Alfred then went through the legal part of now making himself Bruce's full legal guardian while trying to help Bruce grieve and take care of the young boy, who was still only a kid.
The poor boy didn't even know how to grieve yet, just sad and hurt and angry all at once. He'd cry for hours on end, hiding up in his parents room and in their closet, still full of clothes that smell like them.
The most Alfred could do was try and comfort him and get him to eat, which Bruce refused to do for a week until Alfred begged him.
After that, the nightmares started.
Alfred would come sprinting into Bruce's room when he heard shouting to find Bruce asleep in his bed, shaking in his sleep. At first he thought they were seizures but he quickly learned about the nightmares that plagued Bruce.
Alfred would stay up some nights, too worried about Bruce to be able to sleep. He tried tea (whenever Bruce would actually drink it) and medicine to help try and get him to sleep through the night peacefully, but they never worked.
Alfred woke with a jolt when he heard his door open and sobbing from the entrance. He reached out and flicked on his lamp, softening when he sees Bruce crying hard, walking slowly over to his bed.
"Come here," he whispers, already reaching out for Bruce who melts as soon as Alfred picks him up.
"I s-saw someone." He hiccups through his tears. "In m-my room."
"Lets go take a look." Alfred murmurs, rubbing Bruce's back as he walks to his room.
This also wasn't uncommon now for Bruce to wake up from a nightmare and think a shadow in his room is a person, there to hurt him like they hurt his parents.
Alfred turns on the light and lets Bruce sob into his shoulder as he looks thoroughly through the room.
"There's no one here." He says quietly. "Do you want to try and sleep again? I'll stay right-"
"No!" Bruce cuts him off, sobbing so hard his body shakes. "No, no!" He cries into Alfred's shoulder.
"Okay, okay." Alfred says softly. "It's okay, we don't have to stay here. How about the living room?"
Bruce nods and Alfred takes him downstairs to the living room, doing his best to comfort him. He turns the lights on but at a lower setting and turns a fire on in the fireplace below the television, to warm up the room.
Alfred hums as he sways side to side, rubbing Bruce's back and letting him cry as he grips Alfred's pajamas tight.
He only sits down when Bruce has calmed down enough to talk. "Take deep breaths." Alfred says quietly, instructing by taking a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth.
Bruce follows along, which does help him to calm down. Now he just looks exhausted, his eyes weary and tears left on his face that Alfred gently wipes away.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Alfred says softly as he brushes Bruce's hair back off his forehead.
Bruce shrugs as he fiddles with the front of Alfred's pajamas. "I don't know."
Alfred hums as he thinks. "How about some warm milk then?" He offers and Bruce nods.
Alfred props Bruce on his hip as he works one handed to heat up some milk in a glass and give it to Bruce, who then drinks it in a few seconds.
"Better?" Alfred asks and Bruce nods again, wiping away any milk on his mouth with his sleeve.
He goes back and sits down on the couch with Bruce, letting him curl up against his chest. It was early morning, way past when either of them should be awake and he knee Bruce needed sleep.
Alfred also knew however that mentioning sleep would cause another bout of tears and that was the last thing either of them needed. He remembered an old trick Martha used to do and hoped that it still worked.
He shifts his hand to go from rubbing Bruce's back to gently tracing the skin, up and down the young boy's back. He trails his fingers up and down to help relax him and feels rewarded when Bruce melts into him.
"Feel good?" Alfred asks softly. Bruce tenses a little but allows himself to relax and nod. "Yeah." He whispers back. "It tickles a little."
Alfred smiles at that. "Does it?" He teases, allowing his hand to stray closer to Bruce's side to hear him giggle. He hoped that Bruce never grew out of being ticklish, though, with how sensitive Bruce was he doubted that he ever would.
"Yehes!" He giggles, arching his back but Alfred follows him, now tracing his fingers from the bottom of his side to the top of his ribs.
"I'm just trying to relax you, I don't know what you're talking about." Alfred replies, feigning innocence.
"Alfred!" Bruce grins and tries to bite down his laughter but fails.
Alfred chuckles at Bruce's giggles and sneaks his other hand to flutter fingers around Bruce's neck and ears, watching as Bruce scrunches up his shoulders.
"Okahahay!" Bruce laughs, his hands too clumsy to try and catch either of Alfred's.
Alfred slowly stops but still continues to trace on Bruce's back, this time just in a soothing way.
It doesn't take long for Bruce to fall back asleep against Alfred's chest, now with a small smile on his face and a fond memory to look back on instead of the usual night terror.
Sometimes Alfred wondered if he knew the same kid.
Teenage hood was fresh upon Bruce, along with everything that came with it. He was angry and moody, barely talking some days. His nightmares were worse now too, though he wouldn't admit it to Alfred.
That was another thing he had to adapt to with Bruce growing up, was the quiet.
When he was younger, quiet always either meant he was asleep or something was wrong. Now Bruce was mostly quiet now, at least whenever he wasn't angry.
His latest rant of today was about Alfred's parenting.
"I'm not a baby!" He says it like an accusation as he's sat at the dinner table, a scowl on his face as Alfred makes dinner.
"And no one said you were." Alfred says, trying to keep his voice level. "You're a bright young man with a good head on your shoulders."
"Yeah, well, you treat me like one." Bruce grumbles and Alfred shoots him a look but continues.
"However," he adds. "You're also thirteen and still growing and maturing. Just because you're a teenager does not mean you can do whatever you like."
Alfred ignores the eyeroll that Bruce gives him and continues.
"Your teacher told me you were picking fights in class?" Alfred asks.
Bruce scoffs immediately, his tone sharp with irritation. "I didn't pick any fights, my classmate started it."
"But the fact is that you got into a fight?" Alfred raises an eyebrow.
"We just argued and I shoved him and he happened to fall." Bruce says. "He's lucky I didn't knock his teeth out."
"Bruce." Alfred levels the teen with a stern glare. "Why did you even argue in the first place?"
"I answered a question wrong in class and he started whispering to his little friends. I told him if he had something to say then to say it with his chest. He said that money isn't everything and can't buy me an extra braincell." Bruce explains, sneering at the thought.
"So, I told him to put whatever money he had where his mouth was and then he brought up my parents." Bruce mutters. Alfred held back a sigh at that.
Bruce's parents had always (and most likely always will be) a sore spot for Bruce. Alfred had had many talks with the principal over incidenta that were caused by another classmate bringing up Bruce's parents.
"So I shoved him and he shoved me and then when I shoved him again, he tripped backwards and fell." Bruce shrugs.
"Your teacher said he hit his head?" Alfred says.
Bruce shrugs again, but doesn't fail to be smug about his words. "Not my fault none of his friends caught him." Alfred lets out the sigh he'd tried to hold.
"Bruce, you can't act this way." He tries to come at it with a soft approach.
"I'm not just gonna sit back and let some wimp in my class insult me and my family!" Bruce yells.
Alfred could see Bruce's point but the way he went about it wasn't ideal. On one hand, he had a point. Bruce was always going to be touchy about the subject of his family but he needed to teach Bruce to be able to pick his battles, not every battle.
"And I know that," Alfred sighs. "I just need you to think before you act."
"I'll do what I want." Bruce snaps. "You're not my dad."
Bruce seems to look shocked at his own words and regret fills his eyes when Alfred looked surprised and hurt. Alfred rubs his eyes before walking around and sitting in front of Bruce.
"You're right, I'm not your dad." He says, gentle but stern. "But I think we both know that your father would agree with my advice and what I've told you."
"I guess so," Bruce mumbles. "I...I'm sorry I said that."
"It's alright, Bruce." Alfred says. "I just need you to listen sometimes, I'm trying to help you here. Even if you can't see it."
Bruce nods quietly as he keeps his eyes low, ashamed of his own words.
"Sometimes the wisest thing you can do is be silent." Alfred says. "I'll write back to your teacher about it, don't worry on it."
"Okay." Bruce says. "Thanks."
Alfred nods. "Do me a favor though and try to be a little more cheery."
Bruce eyerolls again at that and scowls. "Alfred." He grumbles.
"I remember a young boy who used to laugh at the slightest thing," Alfred says as he rounds the table and gives Bruce a plate of food for dinner.
"Dead parents'll ruin that for you." Bruce says bitterly, ignoring the plate of food in front of him.
"Come on now," Alfred says as he walks back over. "I know you aren't grumpy all the time, I've seen you with your friends."
Bruce shrugs and stays quiet.
This was more difficult than Alfred had expected. Maybe a lighter approach was better.
There was always one thing that could make him cheer up, but Alfred hesitated. He didn't know if it would upset Bruce or cross any boundaries.
"Maybe your friends are more funny than me?" Alfred offers with a small smile and squeezes Bruce's knee as he talks.
Bruce jolts and squirms in his seat, a flush already rising on his cheeks. He pushes Alfred's hand off of his knee but to Alfred's delight, Bruce follows his lead, cracking a sarcastic joke right back.
"Yeah, maybe they are." He smirks up at Alfred. "All your jokes are British old man jokes."
"Old man jokes?" Alfred gasps in mock offense. He moves to stand behind Bruce and reaches out, fluttering fingers into Bruce's neck and against his ears. He smiles when Bruce grins and then breaks into quiet laughter, trying to cover his neck but to no avail.
"I'll have you know, I make the finest jokes for any old man." He says over Bruce's giggles.
"T-They're dumb!" Bruce grins and laughs, both at the tickling and Alfred's offense.
"How dare you!" Alfred growls, his tone entirely playful. His hands move to wiggle finger into Bruce's armpits, the move immediately effective as Bruce's laughter pitches up and gets louder.
"How could you hurt me by saying these things?" Alfred says, pretending to sniffle.
"A-hahah-Alfred!" Bruce calls out, trying to twist away from his hands.
"No, no, it's quite alright, Master Bruce." Alfred says. "I get it, too cool for my old man jokes."
"Quit tihihickling mehe!" He laughs before finally hobbling out of his chair, his arms wrapped around his sides as he grins at Alfred.
He looks much healthier with a smile on his face and the pink flush on his face and neck, contrary to his usually pale skin.
He grows sheepish under Alfred's fond smile and looks down to hide his own smile. "You done tormenting me?"
"I suppose so." Alfred replies and ruffles his already messy hair as he sits back down. "Eat, before your food gets cold."
"Okay, old man." Bruce jokes and finally starts to eat.
Alfred smiles as Bruce finally starts warming back up. Teenage hood is difficult, especially for Bruce, but they were both learning one step at a time.
Bruce was set to return for his most recent patrol night. It was close to 5 in the morning, but Alfred liked to be awake when Bruce got home. He may be an adult now but he'd always be Alfred's kid.
Alfred didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing Bruce as Batman.
He had known Bruce since he was literally in diapers, he'd been the one to record the video of Bruce first steps and when he said his first words. So seeing Bruce come home every evening roughed up, an assortment of tools in every pocket imaginable, was a little shocking.
Sometimes he still saw the little boy Bruce once was, all full of energy and life. When he'd solve a tough case that had him stumped for a long time, he'd excitedly tell Alfred about it the next morning over his coffee, the same smile (now much more rare to see) lighting up his face as he talked.
The sound of the Bat Mobile's engine bounced off the walls of the cave as Bruce drove it into the parking space for it.
The top of the car lifted and Bruce got out if it gently, already taking off his cowl.
"Good evening, Master Bruce." Alfred says, setting down his tray that carried water, a first aid kid, and some protein snacks he knew Bruce would actually eat. "Or should I say morning?"
Bruce grunted as he leaned against his car and tugged off one of his boots. Alfred could see a shard of glass sticking out of his now exposed foot.
"Oh dear," Alfred murmurs as he walks over and helps Bruce hobble to a chair. "What happened now?"
"This gang broke into one of the storage buildings down by the boat dock." Bruce grunts. "Used an explosive to bust all the windows."
"A shard got through my boot while I was chasing one who'd gotten away." Bruce sighs as he sits down. "I'm gonna need to do more testing on my boots and under armor so it doesn't happen again." He muses outloud.
"Let me clean it first before you go off on another spiel." Alfred says, grabbing one of the first aid kits he'd hidden around the cave and the manor.
Alfred gently take the largest piece out of Bruce's foot before work on getting out any of the smaller ones. "How did you even walk back to the car?" Alfred asks.
"Hobbled my way back." Bruce says. "And used my grappling hook to swing. I had to land one footed though, which was difficult."
Alfred hums as he works, gently flushing out the smaller pieces so he can start to clean the wound. Bruce tenses his foot and half, gripping the chair as Alfred works.
"I will try and make this as pain free as possible." Alfred says, his tone apologetic.
"No, you're fine." Bruce shakes his head. "It just feels weird."
"Weird?" Alfred raises an eyebrow as he takes an antiseptic wipe and gently cleans around the wound and the rest of Bruce's foot.
Bruce holds back but nods as his toes scrunch down as the wipe goes over his foot. "Y-yeah, weird."
"Hm." Alfred hums skeptically, clear amusement in his face.
Bruce groans, covering his face. "Be nice." He mumbles into his hands.
"I always am." Alfred responds. He drags a finger down the side of Bruce's foot, smiling when he flinches. "You make it so easy, though."
"I can't help that it's...sensitive." Bruce drops his hands to scowl at Alfred who hides his smile.
Bruce does a decent job at trying to contain his laughter, his chest humming with yhe effort, but he eventually breaks when the cold antiseptic wipe touches the top of his foot. Quiet chuckles burst from him and he closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Alfred's fond smile.
"Take your t-time, Alfred." Bruce says sarcastically as Alfred finishes cleaning the wound.
He scribbles his fingers under Bruce's toes in retaliation and Bruce yelps, pulling back his foot with a frown.
"You never cease to embarrass me still." Bruce mumbles as Alfred wraps around the wound with some bandages, going around his foot and tying it off.
"Some would say it's my duty to." Alfred responds as he cleans up his supplies. "Do try and stay off that foot for at least a day."
"No guarantees." Bruce replies as he rolls his chair over to the large computer and he pauses. "Thank you, Alfred." He murmurs but his tone has layers to it, not just talking about his most recent injury.
Alfred softens and he squeezes Bruce's shoulder with his free hand. "Anytime."
Bruce glances up at his father figure and smiles before growing sheepish, as he always did. Affection was not exactly Bruce's area of expertise, no matter how much Alfred tried to help him with it growing up. Some hurt was too much to try and reopen, at least for now.
So Alfred let Bruce shy away from his gaze but that didn't mean he'd stop looking at the man he considered his son.
Warm, loud, boyish laughter filled the house, bouncing off the wide halls and high ceilings and filling the usually empty halls with noise.
It was unusual for the house to be loud again, after so many years of it being quiet. But having a young boy in the house again also helped with that.
Dick had recently come to live with them in the past year or so. He had been in a similar case as Bruce when he was at Dick's age. Alfred suspected that was what caused Bruce to make the decision so quickly. He had been shocked at Bruce's decision at first, since Bruce had told him vehemently since he was young that he didn't want kids.
Which had always confused Alfred, because even though Bruce claimed to not want any children (he suspected a fear of being an absent parent or just not enough time for them, but he never pushed Bruce for answers), he loved kids and was fantastic with them too. There were many instances where children would be at a charity event and Bruce always beamed his real smile at being able to talk with them.
He displayed this skill now with Dick, as the two of them sat in the living room (or what Dick liked to call 'The Den'). Dick was laid across Bruce's lap, his head thrown back as he laughed. Dick's shirt was rucked up from squirming and a wide grin accompanied the flush across his face. Bruce grinned down at the young boy as he fingers scuttled across his belly and up to his armpits, finding purchase and wiggling there.
"What's so funny? Huh?" Bruce teased with a rare grin that matched Dick's. "Not so cocky now, are you?"
"Should I ask what's going on?" Alfred said but his tone with full of amusement, as he walks in with folded, warm blankets that were fresh from the dryer. Bruce perks up at the blankets and the familiarity of the memories they brought back and smiles up at Alfred.
"Just teaching a little lesson on being polite." Bruce says playfully and punctuates his words with quick squeezes to Dick's exposed ribs.
"Alfred, sa-hehehey!-save mehee!!" Dick calls out, laughing as he rolls onto his stomach and reaches his hands to out to Alfred. Bruce shifts his hands and goes back to wiggling fingers into Dick's armpits, smiling when he squeals and his arms come back crashing down.
"I'm afraid my arms are quite full, Master Dick." Alfred sighs as if it pains him to not be able to help Dick. Bruce smiles at Alfred's words, the familiarity of it all making Bruce grow fond.
Dick had that way with people as well, when he could simply walk into the room and make everything a little brighter. Alfred had noticed this happen with Bruce the more time he spent with Dick.
"Okay, okahahay!" Dick's laughter turning close to shrieks when Bruce leaned down and planted a raspberry on Dick's neck. "You wihihin, B!"
Bruce grins playfully as he finally lets up and allows Dick to lay across his lap and release any leftover giggles. Alfred tosses on of the warmed blankets over Dick and Bruce, now that Dick was calm down and less squirmy.
Alfred watched as Bruce smiled down at Dick - the fondness in his eyes too strong not to miss - as Dick melts into Bruce, his eyes closing comfortably.
Alfred could only see Bruce now as he was when he was young, except now he only sees his son instead of Thomas'.
"What?" Bruce murmurs when he catches Alfred watching. He shakes his head as he walks around the couch.
"Just allowing myself to be a little nostalgic." Alfred says softly, so he doesn't disturb Dick, and runs a hand through Bruce's hair that was already messy from his shower.
"You getting soft on me, old man?" Bruce jokes and they both pretend not to notice as he leans back into Alfred's touch.
"Haven't I always been?" Alfred murmurs and Bruce hums in reply.
"Guess so." He says as he looks down at Dick and matches Alfred's action by petting Dick's hair gently, brushing it back off of his forehead.
"He's a lot like you." Alfred thinks out loud.
"I know," Bruce huffs with a small smile. "That's what scares me."
Alfred shakes his head. "Nonesense. You were a fine child, you just were a little troubled."
"Yeah, a little." Bruce says sarcastically. Alfred flutters his fingers down to Bruce's ear and Bruce scrunches his neck up with a quiet yelp.
"Are you ever gonna stop doing that?" Bruce huffs but he isn't really irritated.
"Not unless you grow out of it." Alfred responds with a ghost of a smile and Bruce groans.
"I'm not a kid anymore." He says (which Alfred finds mildly amusing, considering he'd been saying that since he was around twelve or thirteen).
"Yet you still act like one?" Alfred teases, glancing down at a dozing Dick.
"Guilty." Bruce grumbles with a smile, also looking down at Dick.
"And anywho," Alfred shrugs, picking up the small mess Dick had made earlier with his crayons (he was a big fan of drawing). "You'll always be my son." He adds.
Bruce looks away, still having difficulties with affection but growing better at it, especially with Dick around now. "Yeah," he agrees quietly.
Alfred smiles at him before leaving Bruce and Dick to have some one on one time. Bruce really had grown so much since when he was young and Alfred knew he'd grow more as he continued through life.
But for now, none of them had to think about growing and just enjoyed the quiet evening in the manor, this time not quiet by force but peacefully quiet.
briefing: dick’s week long trip to gotham to visit with the batfamily is coming to a close. he was about as excitable and clingy as you’d expect after fighting crime mostly by himself in blüdhaven for a good while. but before he can leave, he’s given a taste of his own medicine by the person he’d least expect.
this one’s short and sweet so no ꄗꗃ needed <:)
After a week of being subjected to Dick Grayson visitation hours, the entire manor seemed to be crawling. Tim had managed to avoid the brunt of it— of which he was normally at the forefront of. He was recovering from a fever, courtesy of Mr. Freeze, and the moment Dick knew why he sounded so strangely similar to Jason’s old bike, big brother backed off. Tickling privileges revoked.
It was a little cool, having a leg up on Dick like that. Tim felt invincible, even if the reasoning behind that invincibility was because he was feeling weak. He knew he’d have to weaponize that advantage at some point, but found himself pretty caught up. What else is new.
He’d fallen asleep again while borrowing Bruce’s study to proofread the quarterly report for Wayne Enterprises. After the third or fourth, “Tim,” vaguely registered in his dead brain, a neuron finally fizzled. It’s alive!!
Tim lifted his head, and was greeted by the man himself, Bruce Wayne. “My bad…?”
Bruce shook his head, taking a moment to fuss with Tim’s collar. It must have popped while he was napping. “Dick is heading back to Blüdhaven. I thought you’d want to say goodbye.”
Tim perked up. Had it already been a week? He supposed his, “advantage” was also a little lonely. He hardly got to spend any time with anyone, let alone Dick, outside of patrol. He had already been benched for a couple days. The time that he wasn’t, he was either too drained to be with them or quarantined.
He just kept telling himself that they’d get around to it tomorrow. Tim had a car, he wasn’t above driving to Blüdhaven and simply breaking into Dick’s apartment if he really wanted to see him. But that felt a lot less cute and excusable now that he wasn’t an elementary schooler.
Tim’s hand, still all wobbly with sleep, shut his laptop and tucked it under his arm. He was limber and awake enough by the time he reached the stair landing. And yep, everyone was saying their goodbyes. It was always a little sad when anyone left after they’d had a full house for any extended period of time, but he was sure he’d go back to his apartment too once Daggett Industries realized they weren’t going to win the lawsuit against WE.
Dick’s expression lightened and he waved Tim downstairs, “I was starting to think you were cold shouldering me.”
Tim less than gracefully slid down the handrailing. “Nope. Just have a cold.”
“I do not know why you insist on doing that, Drake.” Damian was eyeing Tim with the same judgement he normally would.
“They’re sick skate spots, handrailings. I dunno, I can’t help it when I see one—“
“Are you going to tell your brother about the time you actually skateboarded inside the house?” Bruce chuffed from behind them.
“Biggest trouble you were ever in outside the Robin costume!” Dick’s Dick Grayson instincts seemed to finally kick in as he scooped Tim up in a big bear hug, swaying him around.
“Guilty as charged, but I was an angel compared to you. I, uh, have to set a good example for the baby of the family.” Tim forced his smug look back at Damian’s, “I’ll skin you,” look. Self preservation. It was still pretty creepy after all these years.
“What’re you talking about? Dick has never done anything wrong in his life ever.” Babs’ sarcasm was palpable.
Dick preened, choosing to ignore the sarcasm part of that comment. “Now we’re talking! Ain’t that the truth.”
The bantering continued. Tim was still being squished, Dick either genuinely didn’t remember he was there or was pretending not to remember to be smart. Judging by his smile, it was the latter option.
Tim began to kick and squirm, wanting both feet on the floor again. Dick wouldn’t budge.
“You know, I’m thinking I should just keep you. Considering how you so coldly IGNORED ME for the whole week.”
Tim tried not to look as entertained as he was. “Well, sorry. If you want my germs all over your apartment, be my guest.”
Dick pretended to think about it, a fond glint in his eye. He set Tim down. “Yeah, I guess I can’t risk you bringing the plague to Blüdhaven.”
Tim knew the moment he came down the stairs, and saw almost their entire family in the same room, that he needed to embarrass Dick somehow. Not an easy feat, but it was too good an opportunity not to at least try. That had been the idea. But now he had a plan. An awful plan. A wonderful, awful plan.
This was probably only going to be embarrassing for him in the beginning stages, Tim wasn’t the best actor. He just hoped the sappiness of it all would be enough to blindside Dick until he got to the good part.
Swallowing his pride, Tim fell limply to the floor and wrapped himself around Dick’s leg. “Nooo…”
Dick went still. Quite frankly, the entire room did. Tim had only done something like this once in his whole life. He was six, and experimentally attempted to play this little game with his mother after seeing other kids do it with their parents. Her immediate confusion and following, not very well hidden discomfort was humiliating enough for Tim to never do it again. To anyone. Ever.
Commit to the bit, commit to the bit, committothebit—
Tim felt Dick go all mushy before he heard him crooning.
“Aww… what’s gotten into you, Timmy?” Dick combed a hand through Tim’s hair, attempting to gently shake him from his leg. When Tim wouldn’t let go, he looked up to the others.
“Does he have the sniffles or was he hit with cuddle pollen or something? This is crazy!”
Dick was only met with smug silence. The soundless sound of schadenfreude. He gave them a look.
“So does anyone want to help me out here? Anyone at all?”
“For you? Never.” Jason, in all his edgy, annoyingly well timed glory, had just come in from the garage.
“Well, that’s more of a Jason problem than anything. I bet Damian would help me.” Dick smiled down at the boy. Damian shamelessly stared back and did nothing.
“The man who raised me?” Dick turned to Bruce.
“Tim’s not hurting anyone. I don’t see the problem.” Weaponized incompetence. Classic.
“Well, yeah! He isn’t yet, B!” Dick put his hands on his hips. Bruce hummed noncommittally.
“Fine. I gave you a chance, baby bird, but now you’ve gotta deal with mE—“
It was the perfect moment for the use of irony, so Tim put his plan into action. He braced himself by holding on even tighter and began to claw into the back of Dick’s knee.
“TIM!” Dick cackled, honestly sounding sort of delighted at Tim’s execution of his evil plan, “Get ohoff! You little shit!” His voice was all high pitched and wobbly. As the others also realized what Tim was doing, Dick wasn’t the only one laughing.
“Ooohhh… Dick said ‘shit.’” Steph whispered not so quietly. Alfred’s presence in that moment was suddenly a lot more intense.
Now that Tim had actually started tickling, just his fingers digging in as he tried to maintain his grip was enough to make Dick squeal. For whatever reason, rather than just coming down to the ground where he could easily turn the tables, Dick clung onto the doorknob and tried to stay standing. His legs were wobbling like Bambi’s when he walked on ice for the first time.
Tim jumped back and forth between the back of Dick’s knee and thigh, occasionally just barely running his fingertips up from one spot to the other if he was feeling fancy. Dick yipped each time without fail. This was the best day of Tim’s life.
“Real talk, I didn’t know legs could even be that ticklish until I met Dick.” Jason idly quipped, wanting in on the fun in his own way.
“Dohohon’t!” Dick cried, knowing Jason was an evil tease.
“Do I say it?” Don’t what?
“JASON.” Even if Dick was grinning, his infamous scolding voice was enough to briefly silence the room. He relentlessly nudged his knee up against Tim’s chin, clearly wanting out, but not having the heart to put up a real fight.
“Stahahaaawpppp…” Tim whined, pulling out the tickly taser maneuver to retaliate.
Dick made a disgraced sound through all that laughter and wiggling. “And what?? Just— nehe! Just let you keep tickling me?!”
“I mean… yeah, maybe—“ Tim was cut off by his own immediate, high pitched screaming as Dick escaped the hold by crouching down to the floor. Scrambling to his feet, Tim hightailed it out of the foyer.
Behind him, Tim distantly heard Dick’s very self assured tone: “Somebody go pick up my dog or something, call the Titans. Because you all just earned yourselves another week with me.” his pounding footsteps rapidly growing closer followed.
Tim had failed to consider just how flippant Dick could be with the right motivation. With no prep time, in an enclosed space, he could evade Dick for maybe two or three days. Even those odds weren’t looking great right now.
This was going to be a rough week, but he had been a little disappointed he didn’t get to see much of his brother before. Now Tim probably wouldn’t be able to get Dick to leave him alone. Mission failed successfully?
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.
