#lee!dick grayson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

b4tboys · 2 months ago

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➣ interlude

pairing: yj!dick grayson x gn!reader

wc: 2.7K

summary: interlude — a short period when a situation or activity is different from what comes before and after it. angst no comfort, set between seasons 2 & 3 of young justice.

notes from lee: i was searching for artemis’s new boyfriend who is also bab's ex and she set them up when babs went back to her ex (obv dick) so here’s to being the interlude in their love story. alt title: heather (since it’s dec 3rd)

It just happens, as many of his exes describe. One mission, one instance that exacerbates the feelings, and then you find yourself completely surrendered to his charms as he takes you to a too-fancy dinner and worms himself into every aspect of your life.

It feels that instantaneously he has the key to your apartment, (though his ridiculous superhero ass likes to use the window) you have a large portion of his hoodies and other amounts of clothes from the times he stays over, a designated mug, and his favorite cereal.

The domesticity of it all is something you’ve wanted for a long time, and it’s perfect because you don’t have to compromise who you are and what you do. After all, he’s the same. The same sort of crazy who has devoted his life to fighting crime and helping people at the cost of everything.

This is quite possibly the happiest you’ve ever been.

But there are still your doubts about the relationship, it gnaws at the back of your mind, and it shouldn’t. It is, of course, no help that many of his former lovers share your occupation. Though they are nothing but kind you cannot help but overthink the overly touchy way they are with Dick and the way he doesn’t mind in the slightest, the attention whore he is.

He’s given you every reassurance and gentle kiss to wash away the lingering stain of uncertainty but it doesn’t seem to fade. But his romantic gestures and sly, syrupy, sweet talk push the thought to the back of your mind before it comes up and bubbles over. Though perhaps you should’ve stayed more skeptical.

It’s been a bad day, everything soured, gone sideways, south, and to shit on your mission. Even so, when you step back into your apartment it’s warm and it’s home and your lover is there to sweep you off your feet in a fit of giggles and kisses.

It’s Dick’s night off, so naturally it is also date night. ‘Date’ for you is informally defined as a nice night in, takeout, and a movie that typically goes unwatched. He’s a cheesy romantic. He likes the stupid cliches and takes notes, mentally, so naturally he’s already ordered food, lit candles, put some sort of pillowed nest together, and a movie queued and ready for the moment you stepped in the door.

He sets you down gently after spinning you around but keeps his forehead rested against yours, crooked nose brushing against yours. “Hi,” he breathes out, a big smile stretched across his face. His hands slowly unfurl your fingers from the handle of your bag until it drops to the floor so he can loosely intertwine his hand in yours instead.

You look up at him with a silly grin on your face too, “Hi.” You kiss the tip of his nose, “Someone’s ready for date night.”

“I’m always ready for *you* time, baby. Morning, noon, and night.” His hands crawl to your hips, pinching them lightly as he kisses you and then tugs your bottom lip between his teeth. Dick lets your lip go with an audible pop. “But knowing you, you want nothing more than a shower and a change of clothes. So get to it so I can have you all to myself, pretty.” He spins the two of you around so your back faces the living room and gently shoves you towards the bedroom.

When you turn to look over your shoulder at him, he just shoos you, with no pretense of joining you tonight. So you take longer than normal, to spite him and simply because you can take an uninterrupted shower.

You come out of your room, dressed in some old t-shirt he’s left in your dresser, more than ready for date night. Yet he’s all dressed up for a night out, and one he’s not taking you on. “Sorry, babe. B, got wind of Joker threatening the UN Assembly and I’m needed.”

Things feel off, like how he had his suit on him/stashed somewhere at your place or answered the call when he’s been on a technical hiatus since Wally’s death. But you just sigh, because you love your boyfriend and don't want to keep him from the mission, the job, and something he loves.

“Just come back to me, yeah?” You ask, a half-smile plastered on as you wrap your arms around him.

He gives you his smile that’s won awards, “Always.”

He does not come back to you.

At least 12 hours later, you've checked your phone, and communicator, and gotten your laptop connected to the JL’s system at least 100 times in a semi-obsessive manner. Finally, you work up the courage to ring Tim as the rays of the sunrise make their way through your living room windows.

You pace around your couch, chewing on your lip while the phone rings. And a huge sigh of relief when Tim picks up. “Hey, hi, Tim.” You rush, not letting him get a word in, “Is Dick…?” you trail off, not quite brave enough to let the words slip past your lips.

Tim clears his throat, “He said he was heading back to your place. Is he not there yet?” And like a summoning spell, the window creaks as Dick slips into your apartment. You mumble a string of thanks as you turn around to see your boyfriend, taking in the complete exhaustion he’s exuding.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Your question is accompanied by a frown and drawn brows. You don’t bother to interrogate him about not taking any time to contact you. He pushes right past you to rifle through the drawers for civvies. “Dick?”

He’s started to strip as he gives you a short answer, “Babs’ in the hospital, paralyzed, I need to go.”

Your eyes widen as you ramble out your thoughts, “What? What happened? Let me take you. I want to visit too. Does she need anything? Let’s stop and get flowers.”

He pulls a shirt over his head and buttons his jeans as he shuts you down, “No. Only authorized visitors, the fewer people that visit the better. We don’t want to risk the possibility of anyone figuring out her identity.”

“Oh, ok. At least let me drive you?” You ask, watching wearily and trailing behind him to the front door.

Dick bends to tie his shoe, before grabbing his coat from the rack and shrugging it on. “Don’t want to make you pick me up later. Bye.” He kisses your cheek, either not noticing or caring about the obvious anxiety on your face, and takes his keys.

“Bye, I love-“ you’re cut off by the door shutting, “you.” There’s no time to process his lack of ‘I love you’ because your communicator goes off, signaling you’re needed back at the watchtower.

You’ve gotten the clearance to visit Babs, and technically your boyfriend who hasn’t left her side the entire time.

You bring a bouquet of marigolds, for a bit of color and the fact they symbolize resilience, plus a get well soon card signed by everyone on the team.

When you open the door to the room, it feels like you’re intruding on an intimate moment between lovers. Dick is asleep on Barbara’s lap and he’s holding one of her hands while she uses her free hand to card through his hair.

Her head snaps to the door, clearly on guard, but relaxes when she sees it’s just you. Her hand makes no attempt at stopping its gentle caress through his tresses.

You feel gross, inferior, to the red head paralyzed in a private hospital room. But you don’t want to look insecure or by asking her to stop hogging your boyfriend or stop playing with his hair. So you put on a smile and set down the vase and the card on the bedside table.

“Hey, just checking in on ya. The team got you a get well soon card. We’re all worried and hoping for your recovery and as soon as you’re out, the girls want to take you out for mani-pedis.” You look down at your still sleeping boyfriend. “Dick been giving you trouble?”

She looks down at him and smiles, a fond smile that you know you make when you look at him. “No, no, he’s been great, keeping me company and treating me like glass.”

You gnaw on your lip, not quite sure how to react to everything going on in front of you. It’s pretty obvious that she is still in love with him and you’ll bet he is too. “Glad he’s treating you well. I’ve got to get going, but happy you’re still with us. Keep us updated, because B is trying to keep a lid on what’s happening, I know the girls would appreciate it.”

Barbara nods, “Yeah, will do. Been missing my outside communication, but you know how these Bats are.” She laughs lightly, like you know what she’s talking about, like you also have some sort of overprotective circle for yourself. All you can do is nod and smile before leaving.

As you walk through the hospital and out to the parking lot, you know you’re about to cry. You can feel the heavy weight of emotions in your chest and the waterfall of tears begging to come out as it sits right behind your eyes. But you don’t even get the time to process it, because once again, you’re needed in the watchtower. At least now you weren’t lying about needing to go.

It’s been another hard mission, and it’s clear to everyone that your head isn’t in the game. M’gann makes a mention of being there to talk, but you brush it off, because everything is just noise right now.

The alpha squad you had been assigned to just looks at you and you can’t tell if it’s pity or worry that’s mars their gazes, and you wonder if they all know, if they feel sorry.

You duck out first, unable to not feel like a zoo animal in this situation. You try your hardest to maintain a neutral facade for the team, not needing them to see your emotions and prod, before you zeta back to Gotham.

When you make it back to your apartment, all the gear comes off immediately and you wrap yourself in a sweatshirt of Dick’s and bundle yourself on his side of the bed even though it no longer smells like him.

The watery eyes and quivering lip come out as you wait for him to pick up your video call and unfortunately you’re surprised he does. You need an ear to vent to, to get some reassurance, but it just devolves into an argument.

“Barbara needs me,” he says firmly, running a hand down his face with a sigh as he leans against the bland walls of the hospital hallway.

You’ve quickly lost your wits, not ok with his non-answer or seeming apathy. “Why does it have to be you?! There’s a whole team of people concerned for her, a whole brood of Bats. Is it so much to ask for my boyfriend’s time right now?”

You watch as he bites his tongue over the phone, presumably trying to not lash out and call you all the nasty things you’re thinking about yourself as you beg for just a shred of his attention. You know that it’s selfish and dumb, but you also know you shouldn’t have to fight for his attention and time.

You curl into yourself, backing down, and apologizing for getting emotional when you know you shouldn’t have to. “I’m sorry, I just- I need you right now. I need you to tell me you love me still,” you plead quietly, feeling so small and stupid for practically grovelling.

“You know I do, but god dammit, I can't always be there. That’s how this life goes, why can’t you just trust me when I say I do and believe me?”

It's very easy to pick up the lack of him even saying the word ‘love’. You can’t hold back the questions that feel more like accusations, “How am I supposed to trust that when you’re spending all your time with your ex-girlfriend?”

“You know it’s not like that. You know.” He almost hisses, like he’s sick of trying to defend their close relationship to you.

“Do I?” You ask quietly.

He sighs, “Look, I’ll see you later, ok?”

“She's still in love with you.“ You blurt before he can hang up. “She’s still in love with you and I want to know if you are too.”

He blinks slowly, clearly taken aback, “This-this is not an over the phone conversation.” He takes a moment, trying to see if you’re going to say anything as he purses his lips. When you don’t say anything he says goodbye again, “I’ll see you soon.”

Your phone goes to the home screen after he hangs up, it’s a picture of you and him. Of him laughing as he squished your cheeks, looking at you like you put all the stars and constellations in the sky. But you were nothing more than a consolation, a second place prize, if that.

It’s not long before he’s coming through the door, not the window, with a lopsided grin on his face, “Told you, soon.”

You watch him as he approaches the bed and sits at the end of it. The smile disappears and his face grows serious as his hand finds your knee through the comforter. “Baby, I’m sorry that I’m not giving you what you need right now.”

“That wasn’t the question I asked. Do you love her?” You ask, having to be confrontational in this moment, because otherwise you know he’ll talk his way out of it and find some way to make you feel like it’s your fault.

“It’s not a yes or no kind of question, because of course I do. I’ve known her for years. I love her as my friend and teammate.” He can’t look at you, rubbing circles into your knee.

“Damn it, Dick, just break up with me!” You screech, it’s not a request, but a demand. “You can’t even tell me you love me anymore. Did you ever?”

“I don’t want to break up with you though. I like what we have, it’s,” he pauses, “comfortable.” He’s side stepping the question again.

Your brows scrunch together, “Is that how you’d describe our relationship? Comfortable?” You take a moment to turn that over in your head. Why is it comfortable and not loving or fun or safe? But you answer your own question, “Because you’re settling. Dick, honestly, just tell me that you want to go back to her. Stop dragging me along through your drawn out feelings for Barbara.”

He sighs, finally resigned to telling the truth, “I’m sorry.” And for the first time it feels like he’s being genuine. “You’re just not her. And it wasn’t right of me to use you to get over her, I know that.”

“But you’re not over her,” you say, looking at him for confirmation. He shakes his head. You swallow thickly, “I’ll get all your stuff packed up.” You draw your knees in closer to yourself, forcing his hand to pull away.

The finality of your statement hangs in the air until he accepts it quietly, “Ok.”

You hear him stand up when the bed squeaks, but you don’t look at him. You don’t look when you hear him walk out of the bedroom and fiddle with his keys and take the one to the apartment off the key ring or open the door and take a minute before shutting it. How can you when your vision is blurred with tears?

Not even a week later you watch Dick roll Barbara, finally discharged and in a wheelchair, into the tower and kiss her. It makes you sick. You would never be her.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x barbara gordon #dick grayson x you #young justice #young justice x reader #young justice dick grayson #[ + ] dc #! dick grayson #[ lee's writing ]#me trying to remember tags when i’ve literally not posted fic in a year i’m so sorry #do i hate this yes but it needs to get out and i’m heavily procrastinating

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august-anon · 1 month ago

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Brotherly Duties

Hey hey, @rosiesramblings! I cannot tell you how excited I was to be your @squealing-santa this year!! This fic was so fun to write and I love it a lot, so I hope you love it too!

When I saw your 3 prompts, along with your request for ler!Dick and lee!any-of-his-little-brothers, my brain went "Why Not All Three, Though?" So here's your batbrothers fic, featuring all 3 baby brothers and all 3 prompts! I may have gotten a little carried away lol

And also, a huge thank you to @cantsaythetword for hosting this year's @squealing-santa! You are hugely appreciated, Crow! I know hosting this event is no easy feat, especially with tumblr seemingly trying to block all avenues of communication. We all really appreciate you!!

(also obligatory warning to all that my characterizations are still very fanon-based, as I have been too busy to delve much into comics just yet lol)

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Brotherly Duties

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason, Damian, and Tim & Ler!Dick

Word Count: 6846 words

Summary: Whether it's to get his siblings to take a break or to stop them from being obnoxious little shits, Dick's patented brother-wrangling techniques are always successful.

[ao3 link]

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Dick didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing Jason back in the Manor again.

He was used to forcing brotherly bonding by breaking into one of Jason’s safehouses, or cajoling Jason until he agreed to drop by Bludhaven for a movie night, with or without their other siblings. When Jason started dropping by the Batcave every once in a while, even if it was originally just to steal gear and gadgets from Bruce, Dick thought he might cry. Bruce almost did. And Dick finally did cry the first time he entered the Cave to find Jason giving Tim a few pointers on the sparring mats, because despite all the sarcasm and their argumentative tones, they were bonding.

Alfred, the miracle worker, was the first one to get Jason back upstairs, if only for a brief moment to pick up a care package that Alfred had put together for him. And once Jason had gotten through that first hurdle, it slowly got easier and easier to convince him to head upstairs for a bit, until Alfred had convinced him once more to start joining in on family dinners.

So walking into the den and seeing Jason engaged in a Mario Kart tournament with their baby brothers? Dick had to swallow that swell of emotion damned fast before any of them called him out for tearing up. And then he promptly vaulted over the back of the couch to prove who the real Mario Kart champion is.

Except, after (losing) only a couple more races, Damian was called away by a disappointed Bruce – apparently he had some big test coming up that he was meant to be studying for, but he’d snuck away to play video games with Jason and Tim instead.

Tim himself only lasted one more (lost) race after that before flitting off himself. Dick knew he was sneaking off to do some work, whether it was for their nighttime cases or something to finish up for W.E., despite the fact that he’d practically been ordered to take a break for the day. Dick also knew he was completely taking advantage of the fact of Jason being here, because Dick hated having to walk away when Jason was right there and willing to spend time with them and was unlikely to follow after and make Tim rest.

But Dick decided to let it slide, just this once. It’s not like he could reach his usual state of overworked before Alfred called them all for family dinner, and Dick could always force him to take a break later. Even if he had to sit on the kid so that he couldn’t reach his laptop. It wouldn’t be the first time.

And then it was just Dick, Jason, and the Nintendo Switch.

“You gonna back out, too?” Dick taunted, raising an eyebrow at Jason.

Jason scoffed, settling more firmly against the arm of the couch, bringing his socked feet up to rest on the cushions. It was a position he took up often when they played video games or watched movies here in the den when Jason was still a short, scrawny kid, all curled up like a cat despite being ready to spring up at any moment. It looked a little silly now, someone as large as Jason tucking his feet up like that, but it made Dick’s heart ache anyway.

“As if,” Jason said. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Dick couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, because you’ve been doing such a good job of that so far. Remind me, Jay, how many races have you won since I got here?”

Jason grumbled something that sounded rather like “shut the fuck up, Dickface,” clutching his controller closer to his chest. “Just pick the next race, already.”

Dick chose a track at random and settled in against his arm of the couch, locking into the race. Though it was a close race, Jason staying on his tail the entire time, Dick still won the race. And the next one. And the one after that. Dick couldn’t help but laugh, even as Jason fumed.

Jason chose the next track without a word, refusing to even look in Dick’s direction. Dick couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried, and broke into even more laughter as Jason’s kart failed the startup boost and burst into a cloud of smoke. His laughter was quickly cut off as a foot jabbed into his arm, jostling him and making his own kart almost fly off the track.

“Hey!”

“What?” Jason said, as if he wasn’t stretched across the couch (curse his stupid Lazarus Pit induced growth spurt), and he shoved at Dick’s arm again.

“Cut it out, Jason!”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Another light kick, this time to Dick’s hands in an attempt to knock the Joycon out of them. Dick cursed, barely keeping the controller from going flying, and Jason crowed as he pulled into the lead.

“Take that, Dickwing!”

“Jason!”

“What?”

Another kick, Dick just barely managing to evade it as he tried to regain first place. Jason’s second foot came into play then, one continuously jostling the arm nearest to Jason while the other tried to knock the controller from Dick’s hands. Dick couldn’t even fight Jason off, because he’d chosen a track with too many twists and turns to take his hands off the controller for too long. When the foot dedicated to shoving at Dick missed his arm and instead jabbed a toe into his ribs (which Dick totally didn’t flinch at, thank you very much), the solution came to Dick all at once.

He just hoped the Lazarus Pit hadn’t made his baby brother any less ticklish.

“That’s it,” Dick snapped at the next kick as he paused the game, grabbing an ankle in the same motion.

“Shit, wait!” Jason’s voice had gone hilariously high pitched, and he started kicking at Dick for a whole new reason. “Dick!”

“I’m not waiting for shit – you deserve this.”

Dick skittered his fingers against the socked sole in his grip and Jason grunted, sealing his lips shut. Unfortunately, Jason was a lot stronger now than he had been at thirteen, and he was easily able to rip his ankle out of Dick’s grip. He spared a moment to shove Dick into the arm of the couch with both feet before rolling over, trying to crawl over the arm of the couch to escape – as if that was somehow a better plan than just standing up from the couch and leaving.

Either way, it gave Dick the perfect opportunity to launch himself forward and sit across the backs of Jason’s thighs. Jason spat out a curse, kicking and twisting and bucking to try and throw Dick off to no avail.

“Get your fat ass off of me!”

Dick tutted, a habit he had slowly started picking up from Damian without realizing. “You’re gonna owe Alfred so much money in the swear jar by the time I’m done with you.”

Jason gave up on squirming, shooting Dick an absolutely lethal glare over his shoulder. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Mhm,” Dick said, absently, cataloguing Jason’s body language and facial expressions. “Sure.”

As skilled as Jason might have been at burying his thoughts and feelings (they were both trained by the Batman, after all), Dick was better at prying them out. Not only was Jason his first baby brother, as fraught as their relationship has been over the years, but he was the first son of the World’s Greatest Detective. Jason couldn’t hide those reactions from him.

The laughably awful escape plan, the lack of tension in Jason’s eyebrows, the twitching at the corners of Jason’s mouth. His nose wasn’t even scrunched up in anticipation of a snarl, which always happened when Jason was starting to get pissed off. Plus, while Dick could certainly take Jason in a fight (he’d been in the vigilante business a lot longer, after all), it’s not like he was extending a lot of effort into their little play tussle. If Jason had really wanted to throw Dick off earlier, he would have.

Jason was having fun.

And who was he to deny his little brother some silly goofing off? God knows Jason needed it.

And so Dick didn’t hesitate a second longer, reaching out to vibrate his fingers into the middle of Jason’s ribcage. Jason didn’t bother clamping his lips shut this time, instead burying his face into the couch as he let out a giggly yelp. His legs kicked out behind Dick, drumming against the couch cushions, and he tried to squeeze his arms against his sides for protection despite how awkward his position made it.

“Aww, Little Wing!” Dick couldn’t help but tease. “I think you’re even more ticklish now than when you were a kid.”

Jason peeled his face up from the cushion just long enough to shout a wobbly “Shut the fuck up!” before planting his face back in the fabric.

Dick laughed, squeezing sporadically up and down Jason’s sides just to watch him wiggle around like a frantic little worm. When they were younger, he used to curl up like a little pill bug whenever Dick or Bruce would tickle him, knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around his torso like it could ever save him from their wiggling fingers. It had never worked, of course – and was even less help to him when they realized just how ticklish Jason’s back was.

Speaking of…

Dick pulled his hands back, giving Jason a half-second of a breather, before delivering a series of sporadic, nibbling pinches traveling up Jason’s back. This time Jason shrieked, his legs scrabbling even harder at the cushions since they couldn’t curl up, and he reached back to try and slap at Dick’s hands. Being all bulky muscle now, he couldn’t quite contort that far anymore, so instead he settled for slapping at Dick’s knee.

“You dick!”

“Well, that is my name, Jay. Don’t wear it out.”

“You’re so fucking stupid!”

“I hope you know I’m keeping track so I can tell Alfred later. You’re up to at least six dollars, and that’s not even counting before I started tickling. You’re gonna get the disappointed grandpa look.”

Jason picked his head up to retort, but Dick chose that moment to start poking just below his shoulderblades, following along the edges of them. Instead of cursing Dick out again, he tumbled into bubbly giggles and shimmied his shoulders to try and throw off the attack. Dick laughed again, switching to prodding at the edges of Jason’s armpits.

“What’s-a-matter, Little Wing? Does that tickle? You regret messing with me yet?”

Jason’s laughter spiked, but it had nothing to do with the tickling. “You kidding me?” He warbled through his laughter. “I died, I’m not gonna break for a little tickling, Dickhead.”

Dick frowned at the death joke (he didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable with Jason joking about it), but narrowed his eyes as the rest of the sentence hit him. He paused his fingers, but even though his panting giggles, Jason still kept trying to (very obviously half-heartedly) wiggle his way out.

“Oh, yeah?”

Something about his tone made Jason freeze in place. Jason slowly turned to look over his shoulder, making eye contact with Dick (bright, smiling eyes, and so full of life).

“Dick.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Jason.”

“Come on, man.”

Dick’s other eyebrow jumped up. “You wanna be tickled that bad?”

Jason’s eyes went wide and he started wiggling again. “Wait– no!”

Dick chuckled and wormed his fingers under Jason’s body, settling his fingertips into the divots beside Jason’s hip bones.

“Any last words?”

“Um. Sorry?”

“Hmm. I don’t think you are, though.”

And Dick dug his fingers in, squeezing at Jason’s hips mercilessly. The noise Jason let out was almost a scream before he fell into hysterical, hiccuping cackles. His body went limp under Dick, giving up on fighting or even trying to pill-bug for protection as he laughed himself hoarse.

“Are you sorry now, you little shit?”

Jason managed a mangled “swear jar” through his guffaws.

Dick grumbled, but couldn’t help but grin. It had been so long since he’d gotten to goof off with Jason like this. It felt like something inside him was finally clicking back into place, the final piece left to settle his soul ever since getting Jason back.

“Okay!” Jason wheezed, knocking Dick out of his thoughts. “Okay, I’m sorry!”

Dick chuckled, but stopped immediately. He swung a leg over Jason so he was no longer straddling him, but sitting against the back of the couch with his legs tossed over the backs of Jason’s legs. Jason panted and giggled and finally curled up like the little pill bug he was. Dick reached out and rubbed a hand up and down his back to help him calm down.

Jason’s eyes had drifted shut as he recovered, but Dick caught a shadow lurking out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up, he saw Bruce hovering in the doorway to the den, eyebrows drawn in worry. Dick inwardly winced, recalling the frantic scream Jason had let out only a few minutes before. He couldn’t exactly blame Bruce for coming running at the noise – and clearly just back from the office too, based on his attire.

But Dick just grinned at Bruce, winking and wiggling the fingers of his free hand in explanation. Bruce’s face cleared, his mouth twitching up briefly in amusement (what would likely be a chuckle on anyone normal) as his eyes melted in that fond way they tended to whenever Dick or his siblings did something Bruce found particularly endearing. Dick had to look away, always feeling oddly vulnerable under that gaze, and after a few more moments of staring, Dick saw Bruce’s shadow retreat. The warmth his smile had left in Dick’s chest had not.

“You know, Dickie,” Jason said, having finally caught his breath, “one of these days, one of us is gonna get you back.”

Dick laughed, briefly clawing up Jason’s back just to hear him squeal again before going back to rubbing it soothingly. “Keep telling yourself that, Little Wing.”

Jason scoffed. “You better watch your back. I’m bigger than you now, and I remember all your tickle spots too.”

The warmth still sitting in Dick’s chest turned into a swarm of butterflies. Fuck Bruce, actually, for tickling him in front of Jason often enough for that information to stick.

* * * * *

Apparently, being benched meant you couldn’t even run comms these days. Dick had to shove down the wave of frustration as Alfred shooed him away from the Batcomputer, as if a shoulder injury somehow meant he couldn’t operate a keyboard and talk into a microphone. He wasn’t an invalid, thank you very much. But Dick knew better than to argue with Alfred, and his tone brokered no room to do so as he told Dick to “go check on your brother.”

Because Dick wasn’t the only vigilante benched that night.

And as Dick picked his way through the Cave, Alfred kicking him off comms suddenly made a lot more sense. He could hear heavy breathing coming from the training mats, the sound of grunts and fists meeting vinyl. Dick sighed and changed course, heading for the training area instead of the stairs. Of course Damian was frustrated with being benched. He wasn’t even hurt.

Dick watched Damian train for a few minutes. His face was creased with irritation, sweat dripping from his jaw and hairline. Dick could see where the exhaustion pulled at Damian’s limbs, making his form sloppy and imprecise (at least, sloppy and imprecise for a former assassin and a current Bat). He had his fists wrapped properly in tape, but Dick could see his boxing gloves abandoned at the edge of one of the training mats. The velcro strap on one of them was broken, but whether it was from overuse or Damian’s frustration was unclear.

“Shouldn’t baby bats be in bed this time of night?” Dick called out eventually, kicking off his slides to step onto the training mats.

“I should be out on the streets with Batman,” Damian ground out, throwing a particularly vicious punch at the bag.

Dick sighed again, making his way behind the punching bag to brace it for Damian. “You know the rules, kiddo. No patrol before school tests, not even a reduced one. You need your rest.”

“It is a waste of time! My classmates are imbeciles, I could take the exam high on fear toxin and still get the highest grade of them all.”

Dick bit back a reprimand, seeing as Damian would certainly not be receptive to it at the moment. He’d been doing better with his peers recently, anyway – he had even joined the art club and started making a few friends. It was more than likely his anger talking than any real malice.

“I know how smart you are, Dami, we all do. But Robin still has rules, and they’re there to look out for you.”

At least, most of the time. Dick could still easily recall just how stifling a number of Bruce’s rules could get, and Damian wasn’t the only Robin to ever feel held back by them.

But Damian just heaved out a large sigh, briefly resting his forehead against the punching bag. “I know.” He just as quickly pulled back, fixing the scowl back onto his face. “But that does not mean I should neglect my training. Just because I am forced to stay in for the night does not mean there aren't ways to improve myself.”

Dick pursed his lips and glanced at a nearby clock (analog – all the digital clocks had been removed from the cave shortly after Jason started re-integrating. Dick still didn’t know who was responsible). It wasn’t too late yet, and Dick was all too familiar with how vigilantism could screw up one’s sleep schedule. If he tried to force Damian into bed now, he’d just lie there awake for the next couple of hours.

“Alright, Dami, we can train for a bit. But only for another 45 minutes, then it’s bedtime for baby bats.”

Damian scoffed and looked away, crossing his arms. “Tt. I do not need your assistance with my training. You’re still recovering.”

Dick rolled his eyes, then rolled his injured shoulder. It twinged a bit, but nothing like the pain when he had fumbled his grapple and almost wrenched it from its socket. “I’m fine – almost good as new! I can help you run through some drills, or work on your gymnastics.”

After some more prodding, Damian agreed to let Dick guide him through some new gymnastic and acrobatic moves, provided that Dick did not do anything to strain his arm and only stepped in when Damian needed it. They worked through a few flips and various ways to incorporate such moves into fighting. As always, Damian was a quick study.

And as always, Damian was far too stubborn and far too focused to quit when their time ran out.

“Dami, come on.” Dick rubbed at his eyes, feeling oddly tired himself despite the hours he usually kept. The injury must have taken more out of him than he realized, even as healed as it was. Maybe Bruce and Alfred were right to keep him benched for this long. “Time’s up, we can come back to it tomorrow when we’re fresh.”

Damian let out a frustrated growl. “I almost had it!”

“I know, buddy. And I bet you’ll get it even faster tomorrow, when you’re fresh and well-rested.”

Damian didn’t listen, continuing to try and execute the flip and only succeeding in flopping himself to the plush mats over and over.

“Damian.”

Damian did not budge. He flipped again, his body once again not reaching the rotation it needed to successfully execute the move. Except this time, Dick could track the trajectory – Damian would try to land on his feet, but at that angle… well, he would probably wind up benched for a lot longer than one school night.

Dick launched himself forward, managing to catch Damian around the middle to stop his momentum and halt the bad landing, but wrenched his injured shoulder in the process. He hissed a breath in through his teeth, hoping it was quiet enough that Damian didn’t hear, and lowered them both to the ground.

“I had it, Grayson!”

“No, you didn’t!” Dick snapped, then paused and took a couple deep breaths. Damian stayed quiet while he composed himself. “We’ll talk about what went wrong and how to prevent it tomorrow. Are you tuckered out yet?”

Damian crossed his arms. “If you’re so tired, then you go upstairs to bed. I’m fine to continue on my own.”

“Alright.” Dick took another slow breath to calm himself. “That’s it.”

Dick dug his fingertips into Damian’s sides, squeezing and wiggling away. Damian, clearly not expecting the sudden attack, had no hope for defense or hiding his reactions. He burst into boyish giggles instantly, slapping and shoving at Dick’s hands as he tried to wriggle away.

Dick grinned, the laughter of one of his baby brothers melting away his frustration faster than anything else ever could. “Maybe this’ll finally tire you out, huh?”

“Richard! Wait!”

Dick chuckled. “Why do you guys always tell me to wait? Wait for what, kiddo?” His hands converged on Damian’s belly, laughing along when his giggles got even squeakier. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna come to your rescue.”

Damian grumbled through his laughter, finally managing to wiggle out of Dick’s hold. “I don’t need a rescue, I can take care of myself!”

Dick let Damian retreat a few steps before hauling himself to his feet. He put on a show about it, stumbling around a bit and bringing one hand up to his head. “Uh oh, Baby Bat – better look out. I think I’m being taken over… by the Tickle Monster!”

Damian tried to scowl at him even as a goofy smile tugged at the edges of his lips. He clicked his tongue, watching Dick’s movements carefully. “Tt, the Tickle Monster isn’t real, Richard. I am too old for such childish games.”

Dick stumbled forward a few steps, reaching a jerking hand out to Damian. “Oh, save me, Dami! There’s only one thing that can help me now!”

Damian’s retreat faltered, one eyebrow raising in curiosity. “Which is?”

Dick grinned. Gotcha. “Your giggles!”

“I do not– Richard!!”

Dick laughed as he tackled Damian down to the mats, careful to twist them so he didn’t land on top of the boy or on his injured shoulder. He rolled so his own back was against the mats with Damian’s back flush against his chest, and made sure Damian was secure in one of his patented Octopus Grip hugs before resuming his attack. Damian burst back into silly giggles as one of Dick’s hands attacked his stomach, the other climbing up and down his sides and ribs sporadically. Every few seconds he would switch hands, and Damian squeaked each time without fail.

“What was that about not giggling, Baby Bat? What’s that I hear right now?”

“Shut up!”

Dick laughed, but laid off the teasing. The kid could only take so much playful embarrassment before he got genuinely upset, and Dick didn’t want to push it when he was already having such a frustrating night. He kept his tickling light, silly, and jumping, not wanting to overwhelm Damian on top of everything, but despite his squirming and protestations, there was no strain to his laughter or genuine undercurrent of anger in his threats.

Yeah, maybe Damian needed these giggles just as much as Dick did.

“Tuckered out now, kiddo? Tickle Monster’s happy to stick around if you’ve still got some energy to spend.”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“Well, in that case…”

Dick heaved them both up to a sitting position, barely giving Damian a moment of reprieve before reaching down to squeeze at the muscles just above his knees. Damian shrieked, laughter growing from giggles to guffaws. Though he kicked out to try and dislodge Dick’s hands, tugging at Dick’s fingers with his own, Damian still easily melted back into Dick’s chest as he laughed. Dick couldn’t help the fond smile that rose to his lips as he tapered the tickling off, pressing a kiss to the top of Damian’s sweaty head.

“Hit the showers, bud, then the hay. Got it?”

Damian huffed out a large sigh, clearly swallowing back residual giggles as he leaned even further back into Dick for a few moments. “Yes, Richard.” He hauled himself to his feet before holding out a hand to help Dick up. “Get an ice pack for your shoulder, and perhaps locate some anti-inflammatories before you head to bed as well.”

“I told you buddy, I’m fine–”

Damian shot him an unimpressed look. “I heard you when you saved me from injury, I know you aggravated it. I will tell Pennyworth if you don’t take care of it.”

Dick sighed, pulling Damian into a side hug with a gentle smile. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, bud?”

Damian rolled his eyes, as if it was a stupid thing to take note of. “Of course. Just because you’re not Batman anymore doesn’t mean that stops.”

Dick pulled him in for a full hug at that. “You’ll always be my Robin, Damian.”

Damian hummed and gave him a quick squeeze before detangling himself from Dick’s limbs. “I’m serious,” he called over his shoulder on his way to the shower. “I’ll tell Alfred if you don’t take care of it.”

Dick grumbled under his breath, but obediently turned to head toward the medbay. If he wanted to help Damian perfect that flip tomorrow, then he needed to make sure his shoulder was as good as he could get it.

* * * * *

By the time Dick finished up his patrol and returned to the Batcave, Tim was already planted in the Batcomputer’s chair, hard at work despite the cast that now swallowed his left calf. Red Robin had taken a nasty hit on patrol, thrown full-force through an already-crumbling wall by an irate Killer Croc. Dick was just grateful that he hadn’t gotten hurt worse, walking away from that fight with only a broken leg was a near-miracle. Clearly Tim didn’t feel the same way, if his scowl was anything to go by.

Dick sighed and eyed the several Zesti cans littering the desk. Tim hadn’t even been back in the Cave for two hours. “Bruce is going to kill you. You know his rules about food and drink near the Batcomputer.”

Tim shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “What B doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I needed the caffeine.”

“You should be resting, kiddo – Croc’s back in custody, it’s okay to take a break.”

“No time.” Tim waved him off. “Jason asked for my help tracking down some murders in Crime Alley, whoever it is is good. And Two-Face escaped last week and we’re no closer to finding him. Ivy’s seemed jittery lately, despite how well she and Harley had been doing, so I need to keep an eye on both of them. And I’ve got this case for the Teen Titans –”

“Whoa, Timmy – take a breath. Not all of that has to get done tonight.”

Tim took a deep breath in, then suddenly finally turned to look at Dick. His face was twisted in disgust, wrinkled button nose and all.

“You smell like shit.”

“Gee, I wonder why. Who could we possibly know that frequents sewers around here?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Go take a shower, I can’t focus with you stinking up the place.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll just stay right here, then. Drive you out with the smell so you can finally get some sleep.”

“I’m fine – I’m not even tired.”

“Tim, your eyebags have eyebags – just looking at you is making me tired.”

“Then maybe you should go to bed.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. Getting Tim to take a break was nearly impossible, and he didn’t know if he had the energy or patience for it tonight after dealing with Croc. He was glad that Batman and Robin were handling things with the GCPD, letting Nightwing head back first.

“Look,” Dick said, keeping his voice light and level. “You have until I’m in civvies to clean up the desk and finish up, and then we’re both heading up to bed – even if I have to carry you up there.”

“Mhm, yeah, Dick. Sure.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at the back of Tim’s head. “I will sit on you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Dick held in another sigh and made for the locker rooms, snatching up some solvent for his mask along the way. He took his time in the shower for once, forcefully scrubbing the sewer stench off his body while letting the hot water ease the aches and pains from getting thrown around like a ragdoll. When he was finished and dried, he pulled on a soft, warm pair of sweatpants and broke into Jason’s locker to steal an oversized sweatshirt (it wasn’t like Jason used the Cave’s locker room often enough to miss his clothes – Alfred always washed and replaced them before Jason even noticed).

Smelling fresh and feeling cozy, Dick emerged from the steaming locker room and back into the chill of the Batcave. Tim hadn’t moved an inch in the time he was gone, still hunched over the Batcomputer. In fact, Dick could swear there were even more cans of Zesti than when he had left. Where was he even hiding it all? There was no way Alfred allowed that much soda into the Manor, let alone the Batcave.

“Come on,” Dick said, jostling Tim’s chair as he approached. “Let’s take care of these cans and catch some Z’s.”

Tim didn’t dignify him with a response, only throwing him a bloodshot glare. Dick took a careful breath and switched tactics. Flippant sometimes worked with Tim, depending on his mood, but it was more the tactic to use on Jason. Tim, attention-starved little gremlin that he was growing up, historically responded a lot better to affection – so long as it didn’t feel like coddling.

So Dick carefully leaned up against the back of his chair, reaching down to squeeze gently at Tim’s shoulders to try and get him to release some of the tension there. “Alright, bud. Anything I can help with?”

Tim shot him a hesitant look. “Not really. I’m mostly just combing through security footage for Jason, right now.”

Dick hummed, turning his squeezing into more of a shoulder massage. “Two sets of eyes are better than one, right? Let me help – you’ll get it done faster, which means you’ll get some rest sooner.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Never too tired for you, Baby Bird.”

Some of the tension bled out of Tim and he blinked heavily before turning back to his screens. Instead of pulling up one of the spare office chairs they had tucked away exactly for this purpose, Dick continued to lean up against the back of Tim’s. It left him with easy access to Tim’s neck, shoulders, and upper back – all places he carried immense amounts of tension from hunching over computers and laptops just like this. He kept up the gentle massage as they reviewed Crime Alley’s limited CCTV, and despite Tim’s evident frustration with their lack of progress, his shoulders stayed relaxed under Dick’s ministrations.

After a while, Dick switched up tactics. One of his hands travelled down to rub at the gooseflesh along Tim’s arms, thanks to him only wearing an oversized t-shirt in a literal cave (though, notably, it was one of Dick’s soft old t-shirts, clearly stolen from his locker just like Dick stole from Jason’s, and something about that made his heart melt). The other hand travelled up, combing through Tim’s hair and scratching gently at his scalp. After a few passes, Dick could feel Tim fighting off the urge to go completely boneless. A careful peek over the chair and Tim’s shoulder showed his eyelids fluttering as well, valiantly trying not to close completely.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tim grumbled.

“Oh?” Dick’s voice was low and quiet, as soothing as he could make it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes. And it’s not gonna work.”

Dick hummed. “Seems like it’s working to me.”

Tim frowned, bracing himself for a moment, and pulled away from Dick’s hands, rolling the chair closer to the desk to try and create some space between them. Dick’s blunt fingernails caught on the nape of Tim’s neck as he rolled away, earning him a rather adorable little squeak and a brief turtling of his shoulders.

Well, there was an idea.

Maybe a different method of brother-wrangling was in order.

“Well it’s not,” Tim said, clearing his throat and shaking his head immediately after, clearly trying to wake himself up.

Dick sighed, long and dramatic. “Then I’m afraid you’ve brought this upon yourself, Timmy.”

Tim whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. “Wait– what?”

Dick’s only answer was a mischievous smirk as he rolled the desk chair even further forward, until Tim’s chest was flush with the desk. No squirming away on his watch. He leaned up against the back of the chair (careful not to put too much pressure, lest he crush his baby brother) to prevent Tim from pushing back and set to work, skittering his fingers around Tim’s neck and ears. Tim, tired as he was, immediately burst into bubbly giggles, unable to bury them like usual. His shoulders hunched up as he chased after Dick’s hands with his own.

“Dick! Wait, no!”

“No more waiting, Baby Bird! I tried to be nice, but it looks like now you’re just gonna have to giggle yourself out. Let me know when you’re ready to take a break from working, yeah?”

Tim squealed again, thrashing in his seat as Dick dragged all his nails up the length of his neck, bursting back into giggles as Dick went back to spidering all over the delicate skin.

“That’s not fair!”

“‘Course it’s fair, Timmy! It’s practically Big Brother Law that I tickle you a certain amount per week. I’ve been slacking lately – gotta make up for lost time.”

Finally, Tim managed to latch onto Dick’s wrists, and Dick let him pull them away, if only for a moment. He panted and tried to pout up at Dick, but the expression was rather ineffective when he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

“Come on, just let me finish? Just thirty more minutes, I swear.”

Dick titled his head, pretending to consider the offer. “Mmmmm-nope!”

At a speed even the Flash would be impressed by, Dick twisted his hands out of Tim’s grip and shot them down between Tim’s body and the armrests of the chair. Expecting the worst, Tim shrieked before Dick had even touched him, plastering his arms down against his ribs.

No matter, Dick could easily come back for those later if Tim kept being stubborn. Dick instead targeted Tim’s hips, readjusting so he was attacking from either side of the chair rather than from above. Tim snorted, which made Dick laugh, which made Tim’s hands shoot up to cover his nose and mouth.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all this laughter.” Dick vibrated his hands into Tim’s stomach, making Tim burst out into full-bellied laughter. “Man, it’s so loud in here, huh? That echo really carries.”

“Dick!”

“Hey, could you keep it down? I’m trying to focus on this CCTV here and you’re really distracting me right now.”

“Fuck you!”

Dick laughed again. “Jason would be proud.”

Tim’s hands latched back onto Dick’s wrists. Success. Dick grinned down at the rats nest that was Tim’s hair and put his plan into action, slowly crawling up Tim’s sides.

The thing was, having not been tickled much growing up, neither by the neglectful Drakes nor his friends, Tim was a bit inexperienced in how to defend himself. Despite Dick’s countless tickle attacks from the moment he named Tim his baby brother (long before the adoption papers came along), Tim had never really grown out of that.

For someone who was always thinking twelve steps ahead and had at least six contingencies for every possible outcome, Tim was on a rather one-track mind when he was tickled. Usually, that one track was simply Oh God, Stop Dick’s Hands. It was a sound line of logic – after all, if Dick’s hands stopped, so did the tickling. However, Tim rarely took into account how laughter weakened even the hardest-earned muscles and leached the coordination from even the most well-trained gymnasts. Dick knew from experience – he flopped around like a fish out of water when he got tickled. All this to say, Tim tended to forget that in trying to capture or push away Dick’s tickling fingers, he left open weak spots that were all-too-easy for Dick to exploit.

Like now, with Dick’s fingers slowly crawling onto his now-exposed lower ribs. Tim cackled and, based on the thumping coming from below the desk, was kicking his legs fiercely. He didn’t seem to realize that the higher Dick tickled, the higher his own arms went too, exposing all his worst tickle spots.

“Last chance, Baby Bird. Taking a break?”

“N-no! I have to finish–!”

Dick let out a fake sigh. “Then you leave me no choice, kiddo.”

Dick latched onto Tim’s upper ribs and Tim’s arms finally crashed back down, trying to launch a defense all too late. Tim wheezed before bursting into the loudest, most hysterical laughter Dick had ever heard anyone make (outside of Harley and the Joker, that was, but they were outliers and should not be counted). He tossed his head back against the chair and shook it, scrubbing his already messy hair into one big knot against the leather.

Even with Tim’s cheeks going an endearing tomato-red from the laughter, Dick didn’t stop. He knew Tim’s bull-headedness all too well for that. He poked and prodded, scribbled and scratched, searching around for those hidden little hyper-ticklish spots across Tim’s upper ribs and armpits with relative ease, despite the arms pressed against them.

“Okay!” Tim eventually shrieked. “Okay, okay!”

Dick didn’t stop his attack, but he did slow his fingers slightly. “‘Okay’ what?”

“I’ll – I’ll take a break!”

Dick blew a stream of air against Tim’s ear and neck, just to hear the squeaky snort he let out, his head jolting sideways for protection. “Hmm, I dunno if I believe that.”

“I promise! Dick, please!”

“Alright, alright.”

Dick chuckled and pulled back, wheeling the chair away from the desk and turning Tim to face him. His face was flushed, his eyes were teary, and Dick wasn’t even sure if his hair was salvageable at that point or if Alfred would wind up having to cut some mats out. Still, the dopey smile remained plastered to Tim’s lips as he went completely boneless in the chair.

“You, Baby Bird, are sleeping all day tomorrow. Even if I have to sit on you.”

Tim blinked blearily at him. “Don’t you drive back to Blud tomorrow?”

Dick shrugged. “The city can survive another day without Nightwing. Not sure my baby brother can go on another day without Dick Grayson.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but didn’t correct him. Dick fought off a frown. Maybe he needed to make the drive from Bludhaven more often, if Tim was missing him enough to not give him shit. Or maybe Tim was just that tired.

Either way, Dick pushed the thought away for the night. Deciding the cans were a lost cause for the night (which, Tim was totally getting grounded from the Batcomputer for those), he leaned down and swept Tim into his arms, tossing Tim over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tim squawked in protest.

“What are you doing?!”

“Cashing in on that break you promised – we are having a movie night, all curled up in your bed–”

“It’s covered in W.E. documents.”

“– all curled up in my bed with warm blankets and Alfred’s famous hot cocoa–”

“You’re just trying to get me to fall asleep.”

“You’ll keep beating sleep off with a stick if I leave you alone. If I can get you to rest with some hot cocoa, brother cuddles, and hair pets, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

“Oh no,” Tim snarked. “Dick Grayson being forced to cuddle, what ever will he do?”

Dick grinned and bit back a laugh, tweaking the back of Tim’s knee to make him yelp. “Watch it. Timmy. We can still go for round two.”

Tim grumbled under his breath, something about stupid big brothers and revenge, but Dick decided that could wait for another day. He had a baby brother to tuck into bed, and hopefully his own sleep to catch soon after.

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