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prodigalbadger · 27 days ago

Note

Hello my friend!! You called for batfam prompts and I will happily deliver!! Ok here is one of the ideas that have been circulating around in my head: dick tickles damian pretty often and every time his excuse is something like 'this is just what big brothers do!' and so damian starts thinking that jason and tim are out to get him when they're literally just Existing. Not even Breathing in Damian's general direction. But Damian is Hypervigilant and finally cracks under the pressure and is like "JUST DO IT ALREADY" but jason and/or tim is like do what??? and damian explains that grayson said big brothers tickle little brothers (but in his own Damian way like "what, you don't think I can handle it?? You don't think I'm WORTHY?!?!?") and so jason/tim are like this has literally never crossed my mind but now that you've ASKED how could i not??? and damian gets flustered and wrecked by a Tickle Monster of His Own Creation.

ROSIE!!! as you can tell by the sheer wordcount on this fic, i was Obsessed with this idea skdjfhdsf Tickle Monsters Of Damian's Own Creation coming right up, my friend!!

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Little Brother Privilege

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

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

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

Word Count: 6974 words

Summary:

Damian isn't quite sure why Todd and Drake have not made their attack yet, but he's not going to let his guard down until they do. He will not be made a fool of, even in brotherly contracts.

AKA, Damian gets tickled to pieces by two tickle monsters of his own creation.

[ao3 link]

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It was the third time that weekend alone. Damian kicked and scrambled and tried his hardest to get away, but Richard was bigger and stronger and could contort his body into the oddest of poses. His grip was near-impossible to escape. It was clear why Nightwing was such a feared and respected hero, even if those skills were currently being used to absolutely mortify Damian.

“Come on, Little D! I just need to hear a few of those giggles. I need something to tide me over for when I go back to Bludhaven!”

“I do not giggle,” Damian grunted before sealing his lips shut, trapping the condemning noise inside before he could prove Richard right.

“Sure you do! I just gotta get your giggle spot– which is riiiight here!”

Richard lowered a clawed hand to Damian’s stomach, digging his fingertips into all the correct pressure points to have Damian doubling over in a futile attempt at protection. Richard laughed above his head and twisted his hand ever-so-slightly, hitting that accursed “tickle spot” (as Richard called them) to the right of his navel. Damian swiftly lost the battle, his laughter bubbling out from between his lips in a horrendously childish display.

“There they are!” Richard crowed, doubling-down on his attack.

No matter which way Damian squirmed, Richard was easily able to follow. He bounced between Damian’s ticklish spots without rhyme or reason, drawing out surprised noises in between more of those horrendous giggles. He heard Richard cooing over his head and had the distinct urge to stab him, but he settled for jabbing an elbow hard back into Richard’s ribs. Not that it deterred him in any fashion. No, it just seemed to give him the idea to start crawling his other hand up Damian’s own ribs.

“You said– you said just a few!” Damian called out, his laughter garbling his words.

“Hm?”

“Just a few giggles!”

Richard laughed, slowing his attack. “Oh, alright, alright. I suppose that’ll have to be enough baby brother giggles to tide me over until my next visit.”

Damian scoffed. “I don’t delude myself into thinking you won’t attempt to attack me again before you leave.”

Richard grinned, wide and toothy. “Probably.”

Damian scowled – it was not a pout, no matter what his siblings said, it wasn’t his fault his cheeks were still plush with baby fat and puffed out when he frowned – and tried to get his clothing and hair back in order. “I do not understand why you insist on doing that so much.”

Richard scrubbed a hand on his head, ruining his attempts at straightening his hair. “You had fun – don’t deny it! You totally could have stabbed me if you weren’t.”

Damian said nothing. He kept scowling.

“Besides – that’s just what big brothers do! Tickle the snot out of their baby brothers.”

Forget stabbing. Damian was starting to feel the urge to bite. “I am not a baby.”

Richard tilted his head at him. “Jason’s my baby brother, too. Do you think he’s a baby?”

Damian tilted his head, considering, and it earned him another laugh from Richard.

“Okay, maybe don’t answer that one. But – it’s just a way to have fun with your siblings, Damian. It’s alright to let loose and laugh and have a little fun here and there.” Richard’s grin turned mischievous as he raised two clawed hands. “Especially when the Tickle Monster’s involved.”

Damian would forever deny that he let Richard catch him. He just wasn’t able to gain enough speed to escape Richard’s game of chase, was all. He’d have to work on that in training later.

* * *

It’s just what big brother’s do! was a common insistence of Richard’s, every time Damian demanded an explanation for one of his (mortifyingly frequent) tickle attacks. There did seem to be some merit in the phrase. After all, Damian wasn’t Richard’s only target. Todd, Cain, Drake, Thomas, even Brown, and she wasn’t even related to them. Richard launched his surprise attacks against them all, tickling them to the floor and teasing them all the while. Todd did as well – pinning Drake or Brown to the training mats and tickling them until they tapped out or screamed loud enough that Father put an end to it. Cain was a bit harder to catch in the act, but he swore he saw her tickling the others at various times herself.

But the only one who targeted Damian was Richard himself (and sometimes Father – but he did not count, as he was not a “big brother” to any of them). Damian did not know why the others seemed disinclined to participate in this bonding activity with him. They seemed to engage with it plenty between each other, so why was Damian left out? Not that he wanted to be tickled, certainly not – it was humiliating. It would be remiss of him, however, to not participate in this so-called “family bonding.”

The only explanation Damian could come up with was that they were luring him into a false sense of security. They wanted his guard down, so that they could topple him with little resistance. Well, Damian wouldn’t let them get away with that. No – Damian would be ready, whenever they decided to strike. He would be hypervigilant, ready for their attack at any moment. He wouldn’t rest. He wouldn’t let his guard down. Todd and Drake would never make a fool out of him.

Except – well, the thing was, hypervigilance became tiring after a while. He grew weary of being on edge when around his brothers. With Richard he’d learned to know what to expect. Any playful moment – an unserious argument, a competition, a spar, anything – Richard had the possibility of taking advantage of. He didn’t know Todd and Drake’s habits surrounding this event, he didn’t know what to expect from them or when to expect it. As the days went on, the anticipation wreaked havoc on his nerves. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Todd and Drake were having a pre-patrol spar in the Cave. Damian observed as he completed his own warm-ups on the mats nearby. He swore he could feel their eyes flickering in his direction and it took all of his hard-learned self-control to not fidget under their watch. Finally, after toying with him for nearly five minutes, Todd pinned Drake under his weight until he tapped out.

“Come on Baby Bat, you want a match?”

Damian’s guard immediately went up. The training mats – this is where many tickle attacks had taken place, from any number of his family members. Even Father was known to participate, if he was in a particularly playful mood.

“I suppose.”

Drake shifted himself to the sidelines as Damian took his place. He could feel Drake’s eyes burning through his back.

“Damian, are you injured?”

A false injury check – he’d seen Todd and Richard (and even, on rare occasion, Father) use that ploy on Drake more than enough times. With ribs as sensitive as that, it made him an easy target. Was that method now to be used on Damian?

“No,” Damian said firmly. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re just all,” Drake waved his hand in the air, gesturing to Damian’s form, “stiff.”

Todd’s stance shifted as he eyed Damian up and down. “The Bird’s right – you sure you’re not injured, kid?”

“I am in perfect physical condition. Are we going to spar or not?”

Todd raised his hands in surrender, backing into place across the mats. “Alright, alright. Timmers, you referee.”

Not the injury check, then. The spar was still in question. This may finally be the moment. Damian could begin to learn their patterns and perhaps finally relax in their presence again. He hated being so tense any time they visited.

Drake called for the match to start and Todd immediately lunged for him. Damian was put on the defensive, dodging and weaving between his attacks. He managed a few good hits, but despite his bulk, Todd was fast, and Damian always had to back off quickly. He knew he couldn’t take Todd head-on, the man was twice his height and three times his weight, so he needed a strategy. Without his belt or any of his gadgets, it would be a difficult victory.

Unfortunately, Drake had been correct – Damian was stiff. Not from injury, but hypervigilance. And it certainly had a poor effect on his focus in a spar. Every lunge, jab, swat, Damian was convinced it would connect with a ticklish area and Todd would proceed to pin him to the mats until he was red-faced and cackling.

It only took one failed swerve for Todd to tackle him down to the mats and pin him. Damian held his breath, watching Todd with wide eyes. After a moment to make sure Damian wasn’t going to try and break the hold, he was released and Todd maneuvered off him, wiping the sweat from his brow. The dam burst.

“That’s it?” Damian blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Todd and Drake both turned to him, frowns and furrowed brows in place.

“Damian?” Drake said.

“I grow tired of these games! Just do it, already!”

For the second time that evening, Todd raised his hands in surrender. Drake’s confused expression melted into concern. The jittery feeling in Damian’s stomach did not abate.

“Do… what, exactly, Dami?” Jason spoke to him like he was a child – the same voice he used on the young street rats of Crime Alley to try and build trust and rapport.

“Do not patronize me, Todd, I am no fool. Grayson made the rules of this game quite clear to me. Do you find me unworthy in some way? Too weak for such things? What is it?”

“Whoa – Damian, hold on,” Drake sat down on the mat, like he was trying to make himself smaller, and scooted closer. “We don’t even know what you’re talking about. Explain it to us first.”

“I told you not to–”

Todd cut him off. “We’re not patronizing you, Damian. Neither of us has any clue what the hell you’re talking about.”

Damian thinned his lips, shifting uncomfortably where he sat on the mat. He shoved his hands under his thighs so he wouldn’t be tempted to fidget with them. “Richard – he said older brothers tickle younger brothers. It’s ‘just what they do.’”

Drake let out an incredulous laugh, Todd pressed his lips together as if he was trying to avoid doing the same. Damian felt himself flush, starting in his neck and travelling all the way up to his forehead.

“Yeah,” Todd said, his voice trembling with withheld laughter. “I remember he used that line on me plenty, when I was as short as you.”

“Think he’s used it on all of us,” Drake said, still laughing. “Still uses it now, honestly.”

Todd plopped himself back down on the mat next to Damian. “It’s not a rule, kid – Dick’s just teasing you. Giving himself an excuse for why he tickles the snot out of you three times a day when he visits.”

Damian’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.” His face grew even warmer, travelling up his ears now.

Drake chuckled again, leaning forward with a sudden mischievous tilt to his mouth. “But, since you asked…”

Todd’s smirk took on the same quality. He wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulders and Damian’s breath caught in his throat. He was torn – did he run? Did he stay and face the torment he asked for? The jittery feeling in his stomach grew stronger, almost ticklish in and of itself. He was paralyzed with indecision, but found himself fighting off a grin anyway.

Drake crawled closer. Todd’s clawed hand inched towards his neck. Damian shrank in on himself, making no move to flee and preserve his dignity.

“Boys!” Father called. “Suit up, let’s go!”

Drake and Todd snapped to attention, grumbling under their breaths. Damian felt like he was still trying to catch his own. When Drake reached out to squeeze his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He let out an unbecoming squeak when Todd’s hand jumped away from his neck to scrub at his hair.

“This isn’t over,” Todd said, heaving himself to his feet.

“We are so talking about this later.”

Damian was, as Todd would say, fucked.

* * *

They didn’t even have the decency to put him out of his misery immediately following patrol. Todd returned to his own apartment afterwards to lick his wounds, and since Father had incurred an injury of his own, Drake took straight to the Batcomputer to log the night’s events and plan their next moves. Damian was sent upstairs alone, ate the post-patrol snack laid out by Alfred alone, and went to bed alone.

They continued to not have the decency the next day, or the next, or anything for near a week. Oh certainly, when they would run into Damian on patrol they would give him those infuriatingly teasing smiles, perhaps wiggle some fingers in his general direction or give a quick verbal tease, but even they knew better than to start such nonsense on patrol. Still, it infuriated him to no end, all this buildup and no follow-through.

Damian had half a mind to stab them, the next time he saw one of them. No one could say they didn’t deserve it.

That was, in fact, what wound up nearly happening the next time Drake stopped by the Manor for an extended period of time. Damian had been in his bedroom, perfecting a sketch of Titus as he sat at his desk. He had taken up listening to music as he worked, finding that it helped calm his mind and improve his focus, and that day he’d chosen to use earbuds to properly experience the full layers and mixing of all the sounds.

As such, he didn’t hear the knock on his door, nor did he hear Drake enter. He only became aware of Drake’s presence when a calloused hand ruffled his hair, startling him out of his hyperfocus and nearly making him ruin his sketch. Without thinking, Damian snatched a spare blade off his desk and made to stab his attacker. A hand grabbed his wrist, squeezing the pressure points just right to force him to drop the dagger.

“Damian!”

Damian finally turned to face his intruder, then took a deep breath and tugged the earbuds out of his ears. “Perhaps you should learn not to sneak up on people.”

Drake scowled. “I didn’t even sneak! I knocked and everything!”

Damian scowled back, resenting the way his cheeks puffed up a little with the expression. It made him look far too childish.

“You know what,” Drake continued, tugging Damian out of his chair and over toward the bed, “I’m gonna make this even worse because of that.”

Damian’s face dropped in shock. “Wait, Drake–”

Drake gave him an absolutely devious smile. “Don’t stress, Dami. Just fulfilling my big brother duties.”

Damian resolutely did not yelp when Drake scooped him up underneath the arms and tossed him onto the bed, no matter what Drake claimed later. Damian scrambled against the sheets, trying to crawl off the bed, but Drake launched himself as well. The bed bounced under his sudden weight, knocking Damian off-balance just enough for Drake to snatch his ankle, tugging it to force him onto his back and quickly crowding into Damian’s space.

“Drake, no!” Damian’s voice had gone shrieky and shrill, embarrassingly childish and out of his control.

Drake, of course, laughed at him. Damian sealed his own lips shut to prevent any other incriminating sounds. Just in time, too, as Drake started squeezing at his sides. Damian made a protesting noise in his throat, but swallowed down any other sounds.

“You know,” Drake said conversationally, “you’d think after making such a big deal about this, you’d be less stubborn about it.”

Damian’s ears grew hot, but he knew what Drake was doing. He kept his lips stubbornly sealed.

“I mean, you outright asked for it – were practically begging for it, actually.”

The heat in Damian’s ears spread to his cheeks. “I did no such thing!”

Curse him.

Drake grinned, digging into Damian’s stomach the moment he began his protest. Damian snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late. Strained chuckles escaped through his sealed lips as he squirmed away from Drake’s hands. He fumbled for Drake’s hands trying to push them away, but Drake was unfortunately successful at tossing his hands off.

“I’ve seen Dick tickle you, you know.”

Damian tried to glare at him. He didn’t imagine he was very successful, what with the wavering smile on his lips. In fact, based on the way Drake paused his one-sided conversation and pressed his lips together in a tight smile, he was likely resisting the urge to coo at him like Richard often did. His face grew warmer.

“I know generally where to target, you can’t hide the tickle spots from me. Just takes a little effort to find just the right place.”

As if he timed it, Drake’s wildly skittering fingers passed over that accursed spot to the right of his navel. Damian squealed and tried to toss himself off the bed. Drake laughed, bright and open, and lunged after him, pulling Damian back in with an arm around his waist. Damian kept his face turned away from Drake, trying to hide just how bright his smile was. Drake would almost certainly know it wasn’t just from the tickling – he was infuriatingly insightful like that.

“Get back here!”

“No!”

Drake’s fingers found that spot again and Damian doubled over in giggles. He shoved fruitlessly at Drake’s arms, trying to free himself, or at least stop the ticklish feeling.

“What’s wrong, Dami? Ticklish tummy?”

Damian growled through his giggles. “I’ll kill you!”

Drake laughed again. “That’s fair.”

Thankfully, Drake moved away from that spot. Unfortunately, his next target was Damian’s neck. He scratched at the skin with short, blunt nails, occasionally skittering them behind Damian’s ears. Damian was lost to mortifying squeaks and snorts, shaking his head to try and throw Drake off.

“See, I get why Dick does this so much, now–”

“Shut up!”

“– you’re actually pretty adorable like this. Still got those murder-eyes, but they’re almost cute when you’re being tickled silly.”

Damian twisted around and flopped back onto his back, throwing himself away from Drake’s tickling fingers. Catching sight of Drake’s face again, he could see the bright, teasing grin splitting across his face. Based on the way Drake’s eyes brightened, he’d caught Damian’s smile as well and read into it much further than Damian wanted.

“Alright, I’ll quit with all the teasing. Let’s get on with the main event.”

Teasing? Main event? Damian’s heart thudded in his chest, that jittery, almost-ticklish feeling in his stomach taking over again. That hadn’t even been part of Drake’s true attack? Drake had just been toying with him?

“Wait, Drake–”

Damian held out a hand, as if that would do anything to hold Drake off once he lunged. Drake snatched his wrist and pinned it to the bed.

“Why? I’m just doing what you asked.” His smile turned evil and mischievous again. “Gotta prove that you’re not weak or unworthy, after all.”

“No–!”

Damian burst into loud, childish laughter as Drake attacked his exposed underarm, scratching and scritching away against the fabric of his t-shirt. Damian tugged at his arm, but unfortunately the tickling and laughter had weakened him, leaving him firmly trapped. Instead, Damian tried to pry at Drake’s fingers with his free hand, but he couldn’t quite get the coordination he needed.

Damian squealed as the tickling dipped below his underarm, fingers wiggling along the length of his ribs and delivering nibbling pinches between them. He kicked out at Drake, aiming for his midsection to push him off, but Drake dodged his uncoordinated attempts easily.

“Man, Dames, you’re so right – I should’ve been doing this the whole time.”

“Stoppit!”

“I really dropped the ball with my older brother duties before, but you have my word that I’m gonna rectify that.”

“Cut it out!”

Damian finally got a good amount of momentum and corrected his arm, landing a foot directly in Drake’s abdomen. Drake grunted, releasing Damian’s wrist and ceasing his tickling as he was pushed back. He let out a little “oof” as the air was forced out of him.

“Did you just kick me?”

Damian blinked at him. “Yes.”

Drake narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna regret that.”

Damian didn’t have a chance to protest or even gasp before Drake had thrown himself over his calves, pinning them to the bed with his body weight. The only sound that left Damian for a while after that was hysterical, cackling laughter and wordless almost-screams as Drake attacked his knees with ruthless precision.

“Are you sorry, yet? Apologize, you brat!”

Even if he wanted to, Damian wasn’t sure he could. The only thing he could think about was how badly it tickled. Richard’s tickling was ruthless and impossible to beat, certainly, but Drake’s methods were their own special form of torture. Damian felt as though he were being studied as Drake cycled through different techniques.

He would pinch at the pressure points just above Damian’s knee, making Damian’s legs jump as he choked out yelps between his laughter. He clawed at Damian’s kneecaps, driving Damian into a full-bodied squirm as he laughed helplessly into a pillow he tugged over his face. After tugging said pillow away, he did an egg-cracking motion over Damian’s knees, and Damian squealed until his voice went out. When he traced designs on the backs of Damian’s knees, Damian hiccuped with frantic, high-pitched giggles, the likes of which he had never made before.

Damian thought he might go insane.

“Drake! Timothy! No more!”

Drake’s hands faltered, but only for half a moment. Then the tickling started up again with a vengeance, combining all the most ticklish techniques he had found to make tears of mirth spring to Damian’s eyes.

“What was that, Dami? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh yeah? For what?”

“Kicking you!”

Drake released him, rolling off his legs to instead recline next to Damian. Damian did not move, lying boneless on his bed as he caught his breath and tried to get his residual giggling under control. He swore he could still feel Drake’s fingers on his skin, tickling away at his sanity.

“They’ll never find your body.”

Drake snorted. “You think that was bad? Just wait until Jason comes after you.”

The jittery feeling in Damian’s stomach came back with a vengeance. He smacked Drake in the face with a pillow for the crime.

* * *

Todd’s attack was almost predictable, after all the games of anticipation he had played. Damian had known Todd was in the Manor – his motorcycle was in the garage upon his and Thomas’s arrival home from school with Alfred – and he knew Drake’s warning would not have been without meaning. After all, he’d seen Todd take Drake to pieces many times in the past. Drake would know well the brutality he was capable of.

They entered the Manor through the side entrance, the door closest to the kitchen, and were accosted almost immediately by Todd. An apron hung around his neck, dusted in flour and some sticky-looking batter, which he began untying once he caught sight of them.

“Hey, Alfie,” he said, passing the apron off when Alfred reached out an open palm. “Cookies are in the oven, I’ve got a meeting.”

Before Damian could think of a snappish retort, Todd was yanking the backpack and school blazer from his shoulders and tossing them to Thomas.

“Hey!” He yelled.

Thomas stood there, slightly dumbfounded. “I didn’t realize I was a coat rack.”

“You are today, sunshine. I’ve got business to attend to.”

Damian yelped as his feet left the floor, and grunted as his stomach met Todd’s shoulder. He started squirming almost immediately, trying to break Todd’s grip.

“Unhand me, you imbecile!”

“Do try to keep it down, Master Jason.” Alfred seemed uninterested in the happenings of the mudroom as he entered the kitchen, taking in the state of it. “Master Bruce acquired a concussion last night and I’ve only just finally convinced him to get some rest.”

Todd scoffed, bouncing Damian’s writhing body on his shoulder a couple times. “Come on, Alf – you know those bedrooms are basically soundproof.”

Alfred leveled them both with a look, so flat that Damian even stopped squirming for a moment. “Do not disturb your father.”

Todd huffed, moving toward the door leading to the rest of the Manor. “Fine, we’ll keep it first-floor only.”

“Thank you, Master Jason.”

“Uh – should we not be, like, concerned?”

Damian scowled at Thomas. “Are you going to just stand there? Help me!”

Thomas hesitated. Todd shot him a look over his free shoulder. “You intervene, you get your own big brother treatment. Where was it that got you shrieking, last time? Your feet? Or maybe it was your armpits? Eh, my arms are pretty long. I’m sure I could get both at the same time.”

Thomas cleared his throat and took a step away from them. “No, yeah – I’m good. I’ve got, like, homework and shit.”

Todd hummed. “Better get to it.”

“Yup.”

Thomas, the coward, fled via the kitchen.

“Thomas, you get back here and help me! Thomas! Duke!”

Todd snorted and made his way through the door of the mudroom, stalking through the halls as Damian fruitlessly kicked his legs and pounded on Todd’s back. “Resorting to first names, kid? Damn, you must be ticklish.”

Damian growled and twisted his hips in Todd’s grip, aiming to knee him in the face. Todd grabbed his ankle before he could, holding it fast as the rest of him continued to wriggle.

“Damn – ex-Boy Wonder was right, you’re a real squirmer. Dick ever call you a wiggly worm?”

Damian let out an enraged shout, punching at Todd’s back even harder. Richard had, in fact, called him a wriggly, wiggly worm before. Damian had bit him in response.

“Let me down, you brute! You bumbling beast! You–”

Damian yelped as he was unceremoniously dumped onto a plush couch. He scrambled upright, barely getting a glance of his surroundings – the library, he should’ve known – before Todd was upon him, properly wrestling him down against the cushions. A dangerous smile crossed his face.

“See, Dickie? He would’ve used that little comment to play some silly tickle monster game with you, really play into the whole ‘beast’ thing.” He effortlessly caught Damian’s wrist in his hand before Damian could punch him in the midsection. “Me? I’m just gonna make you regret it.”

“Todd, wait–!”

Todd cocked his head to the side. “Why wait any longer? Thought you would’ve had enough of that, by now.” His grin widened. “Timmers said you were practically crawling out of your skin. Don’t think I didn’t notice too, on patrols.”

Damian gasped as his other wrist was captured, feeling the heat flood his face at Todd’s words. His heart thumped in his chest and he stared up at Todd’s face helplessly.

Todd’s grin twisted into a diabolical smirk. “Giving up already, baby assassin?”

Damian could just accept his fate. He could give in, let his nervous system have a rest from the hypervigilance, allow Todd to tickle all of that out of him… But when had Damian ever endeavored to make things easy for his brothers.

Damian wiggled, half-trapped under Todd’s bulk as he leaned over him, and managed to squeeze his legs underneath Todd’s arm and up into his own chest. Then, he shot them out towards Todd’s chest, putting all the power behind the kick that he could manage. Todd laughed, deep and low, and darted backwards. It was almost like he had been anticipating the attack.

He snatched up Damian’s legs, bringing them to a tight hold against his chest with one arm as he stood from the sofa. Damian growled as his world titled upside-down, trying to kick out of Todd’s grasp and finding it near unmoveable. Only his head and shoulders still rested against the cushions, the rest of his body dangling in the air from the anchor point of his calves.

“Todd!”

Todd chuckled. “You know – maybe you should be eating more. You feel way too light for a baby vigilante.”

Damian threw a punch at Todd’s thigh, though he didn’t even flinch. “I am in peak physical condition!”

Instead of answering, Todd latched his free hand onto one of Damian’s knees, sending him into immediately hysterical laughter. Being held in the air like this, his legs so securely pinned, Damian had nowhere to squirm. All he could do was twist his body back and forth and bounce his knees – though as he quickly lost strength due to his laughter, he lost the ability to do even that effectively, as bouncing his knees meant raising his whole body along with them. After what felt like an eternity (but likely wasn’t more than a minute), Todd stopped and let him breathe.

“See, I could stay there all afternoon – make you beg and cry. I think it would end too quickly if we did that, though.”

Damian groaned and uselessly tried to kick out again. It was no use, Todd’s grip was inescapable.

“I mean, I made you wait more than a week. It would be pretty shitty of me to tickle you out so fast, huh?”

Damian bared his teeth. “I will make you regret ever being born.”

Todd mimicked his expression, though his version was far more gleeful. “Wanna bet?”

Damian inhaled, opening his mouth to speak, and all the air immediately left him in a giggly yelp as Todd began clawing at his stomach – right in that spot next to his navel. In the privacy of his own mind, Damian let out a slew of curses. Did everyone know about that accursed “giggle spot?” He blamed Richard’s repeated exploitation of it.

“See, I do my research, kiddo. I know all the best places to tickle already – and we might even find more along the way. And I’m not going easy on you like Timerbly did.”

Damian shot a wide-eyed look up at Todd, trying to pry his fingers off his stomach. Todd smirked.

“Good thing you’re already having fun, then, right?”

“Screw you,” Damian hissed through his giggling.

“How viscous,” Todd said, voice flat. “Like a truly fearsome kitten, really.”

He switched to clawing his hand up and down Damian’s ribcage, jumping back and forth between his left and right. Damian screeched, trying to leverage his shoulders against the cushions to twist away from Todd’s hand. Todd grumbled something in response and hitched Damian up even higher, lifting him away from the cushions, and stepped away from the couch. Damian dangled freely now, hanging uselessly in the air. Every squirm sent him swinging, making it even harder to control his movements despite the fact that Todd was able to follow his momentum easily.

Easily enough for his hand to crawl all the way up into Damian’s underarm, massaging deep into the muscle.

“No!” Damian cried out before losing himself to bubbly, boyish laughter and humiliating snorts.

Todd chuckled along. “No? No, what? Is something wrong down there, little demon? Something bugging you?”

Damian barely caught the sound of jingling through his own laughter, tilting his head up (or was it down, considering his flipped position?) to see Titus trotting into the room at the sound of his torment. Damian reached an arm out for him – the one not currently glued to his side from ticklish shock – which quickly turned out to be a mistake, as Todd switched to tickling that underarm instead. His arm snapped back to his side, but the brief movement had still caught Titus’s attention and he approached.

“Titus, help me!”

Todd laughed above him. “What’s the dog gonna do, you little snot? Take me down? Doubt it.”

Damian made his voice as commanding as he could despite the laughter. “Titus, attack! Bite him!”

Unfortunately, childish guffaws did not a commanding voice make. Titus tilted his head to the side at the unintelligible words before lowering himself down into a bow. Damian gasped as he realized what was about to happen, bringing his free arm up for protection, but it was too late.

Damian had learned early on that Titus loved the sound of laughter. He seemed to recognize what it meant – a happy, joyful human – and it always put him in a playful mood. Damian’s laughter in particular seemed to excite him more than most, likely due to the close bond they shared.

Low in his bow, Titus barked twice, before bouncing back up and prancing a bit on his front paws. Then, he shoved his cold noise right into the crook of Damian’s neck, snuffling away against the skin.

Damian squealed, then shrieked, then flapped his hands uselessly at the overwhelming ticklish feelings flooding through his body. Todd laughed again, thankfully pulling his own hand back, but doing nothing to deter Titus. Damian waved his hands around in the air, disoriented from hanging upside down and not certain how to even push Titus away with his lack of leverage. Titus, spurred on by Damian’s happy noises, continued to nuzzle away in his neck and at his ears.

“Titus, no! Down!” Damian shrieked again at a particularly breathy snuffle to his ear, trying to swing his body away from Titus unsuccessfully. “Todd! Todd!”

“What?” Todd’s voice was heavy with his own laughter, low and fond in a rare way that made Damian feel even more bashful. “I’m not even doing anything, Dames. That’s all Titus.”

“He’s– it’s– No!” Damian cut himself off with another squeal.

“Aw, what? Does it tickle? See, look, you’re so ticklish that even Titus knows what to do. Didn’t realize your neck was that bad, though. Reminds me of the one time I was able to get Bruce.”

Damian put his hands on either side of Titus’s head, trying to push him away. The touch only excited Titus even more, his licking and sniffing getting even quicker.

“Like father like son, I guess.”

Damian slapped at Todd’s thigh. Normally when Titus started this game, Damian would have been able to redirect him by now. The longer Titus stayed in his neck, the more hyper-sensitive he seemed to get. He knew it wasn’t his most ticklish spot, that curse lay firmly in his knees, but he didn’t think he’d ever been tickled so unbearably in this spot before. Todd seemed to get the message, shooing Titus off towards the dog toys in the dog bed in the corner of the library.

“Alright, go to bed, boy. Don’t want you tiring him out and stealing all my fun.”

Titus huffed, but trotted obediently off towards his bed, his tail wagging wildly at Damian’s continued giggles.

“How do you get anything done when you’re this ticklish, huh? I bet your clothes even tickle.”

“They do not,” Damian said, though the vehemence of his protest was lessened by how breathless and giggly he still was. The slight wooziness from the blood rushing to his head made the laughter even harder to stop. “I’m not that ticklish!”

“Really, you’re not?”

“No!”

“Hm. Are you sure? Why don’t you tell me how much this tickles.”

Todd’s hand shot towards his side, and Damian shrieked and swung his body the opposite way. All that did was get him swaying like a pendulum, practically swinging his body into Todd’s wiggling fingers and away again. Todd hummed out another chuckle, rocking to add a little more sway to Damian’s body to keep him rocking into and away from his tickling hand. It was a horrible tease that had Damian whimpering and giggling in equal measure, trying to shove at Todd’s hand every time he grew close.

“You’re doing it to yourself at this point, kid.”

“Stop talking!”

“Mm, nah. It’s pretty funny when you go all red. Especially since you’re the most uptight preteen I’ve ever fucking met.”

“I’ll kill you!”

“Been there, done that. Get some original material.”

Damian tried to growl, but the sound was interrupted as Todd targeted his giggle spot again as the pendulum swinging slowed. Damian clutched at his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut. After Titus’s attack seeming to set his nervous system alight, everything seemed to tickle even worse than before.

“Jason! Cut it out!”

Todd whistled, low and impressed. “I get a first name shoutout? Damn, maybe it’s time for the grand finale before your brain turns to mush.”

Damian’s eyes snapped wide open. His hands started flailing to try and catch Todd’s before he could up his attack. It was a pitiful attempt, and Todd’s hands connected with the muscle above his knee in moments, massaging away at the pressure points.

Damian practically screamed, and he hoped beyond hope that they were far enough from the stairs to the family wing to avoid waking Father. No doubt he would join in, seeing Damian red-faced and cackling. He was as bad as Richard when it came to his childishly named “tickle monster” tendencies, and if he decided to join in, Damian doubted he would see mercy for a long while yet.

And as much fun as Damian refused to admit he was having, adding in another set of tickling hands when he was already so consumed by the ticklish feelings with just one of Todd’s? He might truly die from it.

Todd jumped around, exploring around his knees as Damian cackled and snivelled and screamed in laughter. Clawing at his kneecaps, skittering at the thin skin behind his knees, jumping down to his claves or up to his thighs when Damian started to run out of air to give him some semblance of a break. He wasn’t methodical like Drake, but he was still precise. Every minute weak point was found and targeted with single-minded focus, until Damian thought he was going to die from tickles from just one hand.

Then, just when Damian was beginning to think he couldn’t take anymore, just when he was debating swallowing his pride and begin begging, Todd stopped. Damian gasped in a deep breath and it left him in a whoosh as he was dropped unceremoniously back onto the couch. His head swam from how long he’d been upside down and Damian allowed himself the luxury of going boneless, sinking into the plush cushions. He could see why Todd spent so much time in the library when he came by the Manor – this was exceedingly comfortable. He could fall asleep right there.

“Still with us, Baby Bat?”

Damian debated kicking Todd as he plopped on the couch next to him, but decided that it was ultimately too much effort to move that much.

“Your days are numbered,” he mumbled instead.

Todd let out a humming chuckle deep in his throat, reaching over to ruffle Damian’s hair. If Damian leaned into the touch, it was entirely because his neck was too tired to support his head. It was absolutely not because he enjoyed the affectionate touch.

“Me ‘n Alfie’s cookies are probably cooled enough to eat, by now. Want one?”

This time, Damian did kick at Todd, just lightly against his hip. “I deserve at least three.”

Todd ruffled his hair even more. It was probably sticking up in every direction, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, probably. You got it, kid. Three cookies and a glass of water coming right up. If your limbs start working again, pick a book out. I’ll read you something.”

If Damian wound up cuddled up to Todd’s side under a fluffy blanket, munching on cookies as Todd read to him aloud, no one needed to know. Especially not the fact that he dozed off only a few minutes after finishing his snack, Todd’s deep rumble soothing him into slumber before he even realized what was happening.

* * *

“Heard you had quite the eventful couple weeks,” Richard said as he practically bounded into the training area.

Damian refused to look at him. “We will not speak of it.

Richard slipped behind the punching bag Damian was attacking, forcing his cheery grin into Damian’s sight. “Aww, Dami – it’s okay! You wanted some more big brother tickles. No one will blame you for that!”

Damian delivered a particularly vicious punch to the bag, but Richard was unphased, only smiling brighter.

“I think Jay and Timmy had fun, too. Better look out though, kiddo – now that they know you’re tickle-able, you won’t be escaping them anytime soon.”

Damian’s ears grew hot. “I know,” he grumbled. “They’ve already proved as such.”

Now that whatever unspoken wall protecting Damian had come down, it seemed as though he couldn’t go more than two days without Drake or Todd deciding he deserved another round. Damian didn’t think he’d laughed this much even when Richard was in town, tickle-attacking him at least twice a day. He would likely never have a day's peace again.

Richard smirked, releasing the bag and leaning down so they were closer to eye-level. “Something tells me you don’t mind as much as you pretend to.”

Damian bared his teeth, aiming his next punch for Richard’s nose, overly telegraphing the movement. Richard laughed, snatching the wrist up and using it to spin Damian around, pulling him into a backwards hug to dig his fingers into Damian’s sides and ribs. He immediately burst into bubbly laughter.

“That’s okay, though, kiddo. Those are just the privileges of being a little brother.”

Someday, Damian vowed, he would be bigger and stronger than all of them. He would exact his revenge ruthlessly and without mercy, and as frequently as possible. Someday, they would fear his “tickle monster” prowess.

For now, though, he supposed he could live with these so-called “little brother privileges.”

#tickle fic #dc tickling #batfam tickling #this is so cute and precious and I love it soooo much #thank you august #ahahahhhhhh #asdfghjkl

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prodigalbadger · 29 days ago

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You are NOTTTTT a phony! Your fics are incredible regardless if you choose to write in the laughter or not. I am one of the (occasional) fic writers who do write in the laughter in and my auto text options in my text bar are paying the ultimate price whenever I want to write "haha", it auto populates "AHAhaHa" or please is "pLeheahehehehEAse". So I have to be super careful when texting others' general things because my fic verbiage always seems to auto populate. Lmao! It's totally valid if you don't write in the laughter in your fics. You use a lot of description and anticipatory verbiage, and that's awesome in itself.

i always get insecure as a tickle fic writer that doesnt write the laughter into the dialogue like almost every other tickle fic writer lol

i think i have only one fic I've ever done it like, testing out the style in some years-old TAZ:B fic i wrote and it felt so unnatural for me to write even though i enjoy reading it, but i always feel like a phony because i dont write it dskjfhsdf

#reblog #tickle fic blog #tickle fics #fic writing #fic writers are my favorite peeps #fic writer

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prodigalbadger · 29 days ago

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Those little spots on your back and sides that cause you to arch and squirm when someone softly traces them?? Yeah that’s my shit.

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prodigalbadger · 1 month ago

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THIS IS SO HILARIOUS SND ADORABLE, I LOVE IT SM.

jason damian and tim arent gonna let dick get away with that im sure... 3v1 revenge STAT

Brother Wrangling series: 1 - 2 (you are here)

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based on when this came in and what I had published at the time, i just assumed that it was meant as a revenge sequel prompt to Brotherly Duties, so I hope I got that right sdkjfhs I actually had some ideas in my head jangling around for a sequel to that fic already, but I think this prompted fic works well as a bridge between the first fic and my own idea! so in the future there Will be a third installment to this series lol

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Brotherly Revenge

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

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

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

Word Count: 4684 words

Summary: Dick's brothers decide that he's gone unchecked for too long. They decide to team up and take down their tickle monster.

[ao3 link]

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Dick practically skipped up the front steps of the Manor, humming some earworm pop song that had been playing on the radio before he’d slipped out of his car. Alfred would probably chastise him for parking out front instead of the garage, but the main entrance was so much closer to the family den than the side entrance, and Dick didn’t have the patience for that extra minute, short as it was. Because it was movie night.

Movie nights were far harder to coordinate than family dinners, but Dick lived for them. He got to force as much of his family as he could onto the couches — or maybe even cajole them into building a blanket fort — wrap himself with blankets and cuddles to chase off the chill, and spend time with his far-too-busy family for a well-needed night off patrol.

Of course, one of the downfalls of a far-too-busy family that worked nights was that movie night rarely had a full house, just like tonight. Bruce was off in another country with the JL, the girls had a big case they couldn’t afford to take the night off for, and Duke was on a weekend-long school trip to Metropolis. Dick just hoped the remaining Birds of Prey were able to handle Gotham that evening – if another movie night got interrupted by an Arkham breakout, Dick was going to scream.

As he ventured deeper into the Manor, the buttery smell of popcorn filled his nose. He could hear his brothers talking, but miraculously, there were no arguments. They must have already argued out the movie pick before he got there. He nearly ran smack into Alfred as he rushed down the hall, knocking half his armful of bedding to the floor. He grinned sheepishly as Alfred raised an eyebrow, leaning down to pick up the mess.

“Welcome home, Master Dick.”

“Hey, Alfred. They starting without me?”

“I believe they were growing impatient, sir. Something about you ‘always being late?’”

Dick gave an exaggerated gasp, whirling around to head towards the den. Alfred followed behind at a more sedate pace. He tossed his armful of blankets aside when he got there.

“I am not always late!” Dick grabbed for the nearest brother – Tim, as it happened, and trapped him in the tightest tickle-hug he could. “You try driving in all the way from Blud – I’m perfectly on time!”

Tim shrieked with laughter, trying to fight his way out of Dick’s arms. “I wasn’t even the one who said it!”

“Who said it then, huh? Tell me!”

“Jason! Jason said it!”

“Wow,” Jason said, sprawled in an armchair across the room. “What a wuss.”

Dick chuckled and stopped tickling, turning his hold into a real hug that Tim easily slumped into. “Watch out, Little Wing – you’re next.”

Damian tossed a throw pillow in Dick and Tim’s direction. “We are already behind schedule. Save your childish games for later.”

Dick released Tim, giving him a hair ruffle for good measure. “Maybe Dami wants to be next instead, hm?” He formed his hands into claws, allowing a mischievous grin to spread across his face. “Maybe all the Gotham grumps need a visit from the tickle monster before we have movie night.”

“I would suggest being cautious trifling with your siblings today, Master Dick,” Alfred said as he entered the room, adding his stack of bedding to a neat pile being formed on one of the sofas. Looked like it was a blanket fort night.

Dick snorted. “And why’s that?”

“Jay’s been on a rampage,” Tim stage-whispered.

“Indeed.” Damian glared at Jason. “We’ve already had to endure such foolish activities once tonight.”

Dick raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction.

Jason raised one back. “Someone had to win the movie pick argument. I got sick of listening to them sniping at each other.”

“And I’m sure you did no sniping of your own.”

Jason bared his teeth in an aggressively fake smile. “Watch it. You’re more than deserving of comeuppance, Dickhead.”

Dick tilted his head to the side, bringing out his innocent, puppy-dog eyes. “What do you mean, Little Wing? I’ve been stuck in Bludhaven for weeks!”

Complete bullshit. Dick knew he probably deserved a healthy dose of revenge, seeing as he often went full tickle-monster whenever he dropped into Gotham. He’d avoided getting a taste of his own medicine so far, but he knew it would only last so long before one of his siblings — or even Bruce — took him down.

Tim and Damian both perked up.

“Richard is ticklish?” Damian asked.

“I figured he had to be,” Tim said, frowning. “I just can’t catch him.”

Jason checked his wrist, despite the fact that he wasn’t actually wearing a watch. “You know, I think we’ve got time for one more round.”

“Whoa, hold on—“

“What for?” Jason casually stood from his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s not like you wait to attack, say, during Mario Kart.”

“You’re a cheater! What am I supposed to do?”

“What about when you drag me away from work?” Tim asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t run yourself into the ground. At least I do it in a fun way!”

Damian stepped forward, his arms crossed. “And your interruptions of my training?”

“You’re a kid! You should not be training that much.”

Jason stepped forward, his steel-toed boots thumping heavily against the carpet. “Maybe you need a taste of your own medicine, Big Bird.”

Dick started backing out of the room. “You know what, I’m pretty sure I heard Alfred call for help–”

“No he didn’t,” Tim said. “He just left, he’s not that far away. We’d hear him.”

Jason rolled his neck. “Sic ‘em, kiddies.”

Tim and Damian charged him. Dick couldn’t help the fond laugh that escaped him as they barrelled into his middle, trying to wrestle him to the ground. Unfortunately for them, Dick was well-versed in playful roughhousing. He scrubbed at their hair to knock them off balance, then darted backwards to make them lose their footing. While they were disoriented, Dick managed to twist them both around so their backs were to his chest. He hugged them tight, laughing at their sudden panicked struggling.

“Should’ve known better.”

He started clawing at whatever tickle spots he could reach. Tim was easy — his ribs were far too accessible in this hold, and he lost himself to desperate cackling almost instantly. Dami took a bit longer, squirming and thrashing in stubborn silence as Dick clawed over his sides and tummy until — there, that little patch of skin next to his belly button that always got him giggling like the little kid he was.

Dick couldn’t help but laugh along with them. “Did you guys really think that would work? Come on, it’s me we’re talking about.”

Jason stepped forward again, eyeing Dick thoughtfully. “Looks like your hands are full there, Big Bird.”

Dick narrowed his eyes.

“I wouldn’t count yourself the winner just yet.”

“Jason, help!” Tim screeched, frantically trying to tug Dick’s hand away from his ribs.

Dick was gratified to see Jason’s mouth twitch up at the corners as he looked at the boys laughing away in Dick’s grasp. “Yeah yeah, Timmers — hold your horses, I’m getting to it.”

For a moment, Dick actually thought that the Older Brother Instinct might win out, that Jason instead might join him in tickling the snot out of their baby brothers and forget about revenge. That hope was dashed as Jason met his eyes again, smirking deviously. He should have known. Jason had always been good at holding a grudge.

With Jason still advancing, he didn’t have much time to think. In a moment of panic, Dick launched Damian in his direction, forcing Jason to catch him. Dick wrapped both arms around Tim then, brandishing him like a shrieking shield.

“Dick, no! You jerk!”

Jason set Damian aside like a disgruntled cat. “Arms are still full, asshole.”

Dick cocked his head. “Are they?”

Once Jason got close enough, Dick thrust Tim in his direction too. Jason, the secret softie, paused to steady Tim to make sure he didn’t fall flat on his face. Dick should’ve taken the opportunity to run. Instead, he darted around his brothers and hugged Jason from behind, digging his fingers into Jason’s stomach.

Jason doubled over with a strangled chuckle. Tim and Damian, after being subjected to more than Jason’s fair share of tickle attacks, eyed him as prey just as much as Dick for a moment. At least until Jason got an elbow solidly into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him.

“I’m not letting this go,” Jason said, twisting around in Dick’s now-loosened grip. “You’re going down, Dickface.”

Dick saw eight different escape routes from where he stood. Six different ways he could easily take Jason to the ground. He knew he could defend against Tim and Damian’s attacks if he took Jason down – he knew all their moves, had taught them a lot of them himself. Dick knew how to win a fight that was stacked against him, especially against such familiar enemies. He was Batman’s first and oldest student, after all.

Dick let Jason tackle him to the floor.

He put up a bit of a struggle against having his hands pinned, but in a straight-out grapple – especially when Dick was already downed – Jason naturally had the upper hand. His wrists wound up pinned to either side of his head, grip tight enough that even with all his dexterity, he would have a difficult time twisting out of it. He was well and truly trapped. The anticipatory butterflies started swarming around in his stomach.

“C’mere kiddies,” Jason said with an absolutely vicious grin. “Let me show you just how to take Big Bird down.”

Dick growled, pretending to put up a fight to preserve his own pride. He squirmed under Jason’s weight, bucking slightly as if trying to throw him off. A twinkle sparked in Jason’s eyes and Dick had to fight down the flush that immediately wanted to crawl up his neck.

Jason knew he wasn’t really trying to get away. He knew Dick was letting this happen. Dick was never going to hear the end of this again. The mocking was already ringing in his ears now.

“I’m not a kid,” Tim grumbled, but kneeled at Dick’s side anyway.

Damian kneeled down on Dick’s other side. “How do you know where Richard is ticklish?”

“I saw Bruce tickle him down to the mats enough times when I was a kid. I know all his weak points.”

Dick gave him a mischievous smile. “Just like how I know all yours.” He kneed Jason in the back.

Jason grunted, narrowing his eyes, and he let go of one of Dick’s hands just to reach back and squeeze at the offending joint. Dick choked on his suppressed laugh, ripping his leg out of Jason’s grip. His free hand gripped Jason’s shirt, not able to reach his hand to pull it away.

“See? Goldie’s ticklish as all hell.” Jason’s grin turned predatory.

“Where do we begin?” Damian asked, shuffling even closer on his knees.

“Nowhere!” Dick said, playing up his squirming a bit more. “Get off!”

“Where’s his tickle spot?” Tim asked, scanning his torso.

“From what I remember, he’s a walking tickle spot – almost as bad as you, Baby Bird.”

Okay, he was actually going to kill Jason later.

Scowling, Dick kneed Jason in the back again, harder this time. He straightened out his leg quickly, trying to avoid Jason grabbing at it again.

“Still not as bad as you,” Dick said, a saccharine smile on his face

Jason stared him down. “You’re gonna regret that.” He glanced up at their brothers. “Ready, kiddies?”

Tim glared at him. “Call me ‘kiddie’ again and we’ll team up against you instead.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

“No, you’re onto something, Timmy. You knock him over, and I’ll–”

“Damian, start tickling. Shut him up.”

“Wait, no–”

Damian, for once, did as he was told. Hesitant fingers started spidering against his stomach and the side closest to Damian, where his shirt had ridden up in his struggles. Dick bit his lip on a smile, jerking away from the touch. The reaction seemed to give Damian the confidence he needed, as he started to dig into Dick’s stomach in search of the laughter Dick was holding back. Being the youngest of all of them, whether it be the Wayne clan or the full Bat clan, Damian had the least amount of experience being on this end of the tickling. It seemed he was going to take advantage of this opportunity for all it was worth.

“There you go, kid,” Jason said. “You wanna get him real good, go up near–”

“No!” Dick shouted, actually putting some effort behind his squirming now. “Giving away spots is against the rules!”

Jason laughed. “Since when are there fucking rules to tickling?”

“Since now!” He whipped his head back and forth, giving his two youngest brothers a desperate look. “I’ve never told Jason any of your spots!” He looked back up at Jason. “And I never told them yours!”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Dick gaped at him. “What happened to loyalty?”

“There is no loyalty in war,” Jason said. “Only casualties.”

Tim and Damian leaned forward again, as if on queue.

“Let’s start him off easy. Domain – start up again on his stomach. Tim – armpits.”

Dick squawked as his brothers shifted into position. “That’s easy?”

“What’s wrong, Dick?” Tim asked. “Can’t take your own medicine?”

Dick wasn’t given a chance to reply. Immediately after the words left Tim’s mouth, Damian’s fingers were digging back into his stomach, clawing clumsily into his abs. Despite that, it still tickled pretty well. He was clearly unpracticed, but he was doing his best to mimic the torment all of them had inflicted upon him.

Then Tim started in on his underarms, and all hope of Dick keeping his composure was lost. Tim was always nothing if not precise, and apparently that carried over to tickling, too. His fingers travelled slowly around his designated space, paying attention to every tug of Dick’s arms or twitch of his torso.

Dick couldn’t help but burst into laughter, tossing his head back and finally squirming for real. He never could hold still while tickled, even if he tried. Everyone always seemed to find it hilarious; Bruce teased him about it to no end, and the Titans had a habit of teaming up to pin down every limb and tickle him breathless. He wrenched at his arms, but even when Dick wasn’t weakened from laughter, Jason was stronger than him. It would take some tricky Bat shenanigans to get out of his grip, and that was something that being tickled didn’t exactly leave him the brain power for.

“You’re all gonna regret this!” Dick called out.

Jason scoffed and muttered, “Yeah, right.” He raised his voice to direct their brothers. “He can still talk – time to kick things up. Timmy, ribs. Dami, sides.”

Confusion flashed through Dick as they switched spots, his laughter trailing down into giggles. Stomach and sides, they were pretty similar for the most part, but moving from armpits to ribs? How was that meant to be worse for Dick? Then as Tim’s fingers spidered down his ribs and Damian’s fingers crawled up his sides, Jason’s plan hit Dick like a truck.

“Don’t you dare–”

Jason grinned down at him, toothy and mischievous – a spitting image of the grin Jason wore whenever he donned the Robin costume as a teen. For a brief moment, Dick’s heart ached.

“Boys, focus just on the side closest to you, keep up exactly what you’re doing.”

The heartache was swiftly replaced by excited panic.

Tim and Damian exchanged a confused look but obeyed Jason nonetheless. It was the easiest he’d ever seen either of them take orders – maybe he should let them team up against him more often, if it would make them this agreeable. Team bonding and all that jazz.

And then Damian’s fingers hit that horrible spot just beneath his ribs and Dick lost all coherent thought. He shrieked with laughter, rolling his upper body away from Damian’s fingers as far as he could. Both Tim and Damian jumped at the sound, pulling away briefly. Then, Tim gave him an absolutely evil grin.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

“Timmy–” Dick said, wriggling like a worm under Jason as Tim and Damian shuffled back into place. “Timmy, you don’t have to do this.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” Tim made eye contact. “But I’m going to, anyway.”

Dick yelped and jolted to the side as Tim’s fingers approached. He turned his pleading look on Damian. “Come on, kiddo – you had your fun. Let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

Damian raised his eyebrows. “Do you think me a fool, Richard?”

Jason leaned down, looking Dick in the eyes. “You deserve this, asshole.”

Tim’s fingers latched onto that awful spot, and Damian’s fingers weren’t far behind. Dick shrieked again, arching his back to try and escape, but with Jason sitting across his thighs, he had nowhere to go. He collapsed back onto the carpet, cackling like a madman.

Tim continued to be methodical in his exploration, feeling out the exact boundaries of the tickle spot by gauging Dick’s reactions. Once he’d figured that out, he went to town with every tickle method in the books: spidering, massaging, wiggling, tracing, squeezing. He was probably trying to find the most effective way to pick Dick apart, but Dick didn’t think it really mattered. Every single one of them made Dick lose his mind.

Damian, though he would likely stab Dick for saying so, was a bit more clumsy – but that didn’t mean it tickled any less. He started with pokes and prods, feeling out the tickle spot similarly to Tim, before going in with quick, sporadic squeezes that were absolutely ruthless on his hypersensitive nerves. Every once in a while he switched to wiggling his fingers deep into the muscles there, something that made Dick jolt every time, but he seemed more partial to the squeezing than anything else.

And the whole time Jason just watched, a taunting grin on his face. Sometimes, if Dick made a particularly amusing sound, Jason (and the boys) would laugh along with him. In other moments, Jason teased him, and Dick knew if the laughter hadn’t already stained his cheeks red, Jason’s words would’ve done the trick.

“What’s wrong, Dickie? Can’t take your own medicine?”

“Whoops, that one really tickled, didn’t it? Dames, do that again, he jumped like, a fucking foot in the air.”

“Timmy’s fuckin’ ruthless, huh? Bet you regret tickling the shit outta him. How’s revenge feeling, Big Bird?”

“God, if only Bruce were here. You think he’d break out the Bat-camera, take a picture of his golden child getting the snot tickled out of him? Seems like something the old man would do, the damn sap. I bet he’d put it on his desk in the study, and then you’d have to see yourself getting tickled to death every time you went down to the Batcave.”

This was it. This was how Dick died. He could barely even protest or call out threats of his own, he was laughing so hard. His brain had turned into absolute mush, though the space between his ribs felt lighter than he had in a while. Goddammit, this was fun, and that was something he could never let his brothers know – at least, not more than Jason already knew. They’d never let him live it down and he’d never go another Gotham visit without one of them trying to stage an attack. Not that he’d exactly be complaining, but he was the oldest sibling, it was kind of his job to tickle the shit out of the rest of them.

“Let ‘im breath for a sec,” Jason said after an eternity. “Just a quick break.”

Dick gasped for air as Tim and Damian pulled their hands away, looking far too smug for his liking. Dick breathed out a threatening chuckle. “Oh, you’re all so going to regret this, later. I’m gonna tickle you until you cry.”

Jason hummed. “Big talk for someone still pinned to the carpet.”

“Can’t keep me pinned forever, Little Wing.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “No, but we can provide plenty of discouragement.”

Dick matched his expression, twisting his hands in Jason’s grip. Whatever was coming, it was about to tickle like hell. The butterflies returned to his stomach in full-force, feeling almost ticklish in their own right. Totally not fair.

“Do your worst,” Dick said.

“You heard him, boys.” Jason gave his wrists a quick squeeze, whether reassurance or a threat to behave, Dick wasn’t sure. “Do your worst.”

Damian immediately took that as incentive to begin again, Tim following not far behind. They tickled everywhere they could reach – armpits, neck, ribs, stomach, hips. Expectedly, though unfortunately for Dick’s sanity, they both seemed rather keen on returning to that soft spot just beneath his ribs, over and over and over again.

As Dick cackled and snorted and wheezed, just generally laughing his lungs out, Jason gave his wrists another squeeze.

“Alright – keep an eye out for flying limbs.”

“Todd – what?”

“Jay, don’t let him go!”

Jason didn’t listen, freeing his wrists after just a moment more. His hands flew to Tim and Damian’s tickling fingers, but the laughter and ticklish sensations had made him so weak and feeble that he had no hope of actually pushing them away. All he could do was hold on for dear life, only letting go when they started to crawl up his ribs or try to sneak into his underarms, snapping his arms to his sides as his last line of defense.

Jason only gave him a few moments to process his newly freed limbs before making his own attack. The moment Jason’s fingers touched down on Dick’s thighs, he screamed. Tim and Damian’s fingers faltered, but they didn’t pull back this time, apparently getting used to Dick’s dramatic reactions. Jason squeezed at the muscles, massaging into pressure points just right to turn the touch unbearably ticklish. Whenever he found a weaker spot, somewhere that really made Dick squirm and his legs jolt, he honed in with dangerous precision until Dick’s laughter was almost silent. Tears of mirth were beading up at the corners of his eyes, his lungs burning with the force of his laughter. It was almost euphoric.

“Home stretch!” Dick heard Jason call over his near-deafening laughter.

Dick had no time to mentally prepare as the three of them honed in on every worst spot imaginable. Damian and Tim returned full-force to those spots under his ribs, using all the knowledge they’d gained from their experimentation to drive him mad. Jason, somehow having memorized all those hyper-senstive little spots on his legs from his own brief exploration, narrowed in on them with a marksman’s precision.

Bruce had never gotten Dick this bad in his life. The man only had two hands, after all – not six. While he was known to jump between the sweet spots on his sides and his ridiculously ticklish legs, he could really only get one side and one leg at once. Between Jason, Tim, and Damian, they could tackle every debilitating tickle spot with ease.

He didn’t even think the Titans had ever gotten him this bad. Sure, they would make a game of pinning him down and tickling him breathless, but even they had never been this ruthless. They didn’t shy away from his worst spots, but they’d never targeted them like this before. Probably because they didn’t want to kill him. His brothers had no such reservations.

The tears finally leaked out of the corners of Dick’s eyes. His laughter grew hoarse, starting to fall silent from the intensity. His lungs and abs burned from the workout. The sensations started to overwhelm him, almost more than he could handle.

“Okay!” Dick called with the air he had left, slapping one hand repeatedly against the carpet. “Okay, okay!”

Jason pulled back immediately, Tim and Damian quickly following suit. Jason’s weight left his body, but Dick barely noticed. He melted into the carpet and shut his eyes, his body completely boneless. Every limb felt like overcooked pasta, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own right now if he tried. Dick wanted to be annoyed at them for going so far, he really did, but… as much as he hated to admit it, he’d had a lot of fun.

“I warned you not to trifle with them, young master,” Alfred’s voice rang from the doorway.

Dick coughed a little between his leftover giggles, trying to clear his throat. “You know me, Alfie. Never was all that good at listening.”

Alfred sighed, though it sounded distinctly fond. “Quite so, Master Dick.” His footsteps grew closer, so Dick peeled his eyes open, seeing Alfred hold out a chilled bottle of water. “I suppose it’s too much to think that you might’ve finally learned your lesson.”

Dick gave him a tired grin, reaching out one jellied arm for the water bottle. It seemed to be answer enough, because Alfred just smiled and shook his head.

“I’m sure your father will enjoy seeing you boys getting along.”

Dick’s eyes went wide and he shot up into a sitting position, immediately getting a headrush. Damian and Tim rushed to steady him, while Jason snatched the water bottle out of his hands to crack it open.

“Did you send him pictures?”

“Perhaps next time, if you’d like to remain undetected, avoid screaming.”

Dick’s face, which had finally begun cooling down, flushed with warmth again. Alfred’s eyes twinkled with good humor as he turned to leave the room.

“Are you quite alright, Richard?”

Dick groaned, quickly returning to his floor time with a controlled collapse. A moment later, his now-open water bottle was pressed into his hand.

“I’m fine, Dami. Just tickled out.”

Jason snorted. “Serves you right.”

Dick rolled his eyes and chugged some of the cool water, careful not to choke since he was still lying down. Tim screwed the cap back on as he pulled it away from his mouth, having somehow stolen it off Jason already.

“Maybe you’ll think twice before you tickle me next,” he said.

Dick flicked him on the forehead. “Not a chance, Baby Bird.”

“We made him beg–”

Dick squawked, slapping at Jason’s knee. “I did not beg! I just said I had enough!”

“– he’s definitely gonna make sure we regret it.” Despite his words, Jason ws remarkably relaxed.

Tim and Damian on the other hand, eyed him warily. He let out a weary chuckle. “Don’t worry – you’re all safe at least until the end of the night. Now, somebody carry me to the couch. I’m not moving again until tomorrow afternoon.”

His brothers rolled their eyes, but twenty minutes later, Dick was half-dragged, half-carried into Tim’s very structurally sound pillow fort as Jason set up the movie. Damian helped Alfred carry in some snacks (and Alfred definitely looked constipated at the sight of all the junk food) before immediately cuddling up to Dick’s side without even a complaint. Five minutes later, he had a pile of brothers on top of him while some period piece played on the TV.

It was nice. Dick was warm, surrounded by his brothers, and eating his weight in pizza and popcorn while he still could. His chest still had that light, airy feeling, though it felt like something was melting between his ribs at the same time. The feeling only intensified as Damian snuggled into his ribs and Tim rubbed his head under Dick’s chin like a cat.

But even still, Dick thought as he watched Jason stack snack cakes on a half-asleep Tim’s spine, no matter how sweet his brothers were being now… he would make certain that his revenge against them was just as ruthless. They didn’t deserve anything less.

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prodigalbadger · 2 months ago

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AHHAHAHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!! THEY ARE SO ADORABLE!!!

Brothers Bound in Revenge

Brother's in Arms series: 1 - 2 (you are here)

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It's finally done!! Definitely wound up longer than I meant it to lol, but I have no regrets. As usual, I have barely edited this. Also, I have still barely read any comics yet (working on it) so these will be very fanon characterizations.

While I already wanted to write a sequel for Brothers Forged in Laughter, ao3 user sweetlikesalt solidified the idea with this comment of theirs, so everyone say thank you lol:

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Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

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

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason & Lers!Tim and Dick (plus VERY brief ler!Jason, and lees!Tim and Dick)

Word Count: 6106 words (how did this wind up LONGER than the last one sdkjfh)

Summary: Jason's figuring out how to be family again, and learning how to be a big brother. Dick decides he needs to be reminded what it's like to be a little brother, too -- along with letting Tim get a little revenge.

[ao3 link]

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“Are you coming to family dinner this week?”

The Red Hood bit back a sigh – not that the voice modulator in his helmet would have necessarily picked it up – and kept his back to Robin, focusing instead on the gang members loitering beneath his ledge.

“Don’t know about that, Robin,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, “Sorry.”

Aside from his little bonding moment with the new bird, his first (and last) family dinner didn’t go so well. It was tense and awkward, Bruce asking stilted, surface level questions that turned more and more pointed as the night went on. Dick and Tim tried to buffer him, and even Alfred admonished him a couple times, but Bruce always managed to circle back. Dessert ended early with a screaming match and Jason storming back down to the Cave to his motorcycle before anyone could chase after him and convince him to try and patch things up. He’d missed the past two family dinners since, and had avoided the Batcave as much as he possibly could.

It always came down to the same things with Bruce. Jason was reckless, dangerous, out of control and, as always, it was Bruce’s responsibility to curb, calm, and corral him. Bruce’s responsibility to rehabilitate him, as if Jason needed to be rehabilitated at all. He’d dropped the crime lord thing almost as soon as his plan for Bruce to kill the Joker blew up in his face (literally), and it wasn’t like the bodies he’d been dropping since were without merit. No one would miss those scum – abusers, pedophiles, serial murderers. Batman needed to learn that not everyone was capable of being saved.

“Are you sure?” Robin asked, creeping up to crouch beside him on the ledge. “Agent A misses you.”

The we miss you went unsaid. Hood knew he’d dropped the ball with his brothers since that dinner. Avoiding that Batcave (and the Manor) meant avoiding them by extension, since he was too wary of Bruce stalking their lines of communication to give them directions to any of his safehouses. Not to mention the fact that he moved between them so frequently that it would be difficult for them to keep up with where he was staying, anyways. He’d just started becoming family to Tim, and he almost immediately left the kid high and dry. Some big brother he was.

“Tell him I’ll try to come by soon.”

Robin hummed noncommittally, clearly seeing through Hood’s attempt to placate him. This time, Hood did sigh, the helmet translating it into static, and reached over to ruffle Robin’s hair. He resisted the urge to dig his fingers into one of the softer joints of Robin’s armor – his targets would absolutely hear that squeaking laughter.

“Tell you what, kid – I could use some help, here. Wanna help me take this group down?”

Robin perked up, sending a grin in his direction.

“Just make sure to leave one awake – we need to know where their boss is.”

“You got it.”

“On three. One, two–”

* * *

Nightwing didn’t even try to be stealthy as he landed behind the Red Hood, practically skipping across the rooftop to plop himself on the edge next to him. Hood didn’t spare him a glance, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the clouds above, as if he could see beyond them to the stars above. Though Gotham was his home, he couldn’t help but feel a bit homesick for the shine of the stars. He’d seen so many when he was with Talia and the LoA, but between Gotham’s constantly shit weather and all the light pollution, he hadn’t seen a single one since he returned.

“If you’re here about dinner,” Hood said, “I already told the little bird ‘no.’”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nightwing shrug. “Figured. I’m not going to try and convince you.”

“Really?” He said flatly.

In his peripheral, he saw Nightwing turn to stare at him. Hood kept his gaze forward. He’d taken his helmet off for a breath of fresh air, and having little more than a domino mask to protect his expressions made him feel far too exposed at the moment. At least the profile view added some sort of barrier to reading him.

“When I was close to your age, I didn’t exactly want to be around B most of the time either. There was a reason I moved out, and there was a reason I always made myself so busy with the Titans.”

Hood let out a long breath. “You’re around a lot more now than you used to be”

Nightwing finally turned away, looking down at his hands clasped between his knees. “It’s one of my biggest regrets, letting my shit relationship with B affect my relationship with you. When I did come by, it was mostly to see you – steal you away, teach you to be Robin, sneak out for train-hopping.”

Hood didn’t know what to say. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“With Robin, it still took me a while to get over myself, but I didn’t want to make the same mistakes twice. I overcompensated for a while before finding my balance.” He chuckled. “It drove Robin crazy sometimes. I was just so scared to lose another brother, especially without him knowing how much I cared about him. Me and B… we came to an understanding – at least, for the most part – over time, with me being around so often again.”

Guilt churned deep in Hood’s stomach. “Nightwing–”

Nightwing shook his head. “I’m not saying you have to come around. Honestly, stay away for as long as you need. Sometimes I still can’t even stand to be around him, no matter how much we’ve grown or how much I care about him. That’s probably why it hurts so much.” Nightwing turned to stare at him again, and this time Hood couldn’t keep himself from looking in Nightwing’s direction. “But don’t lock us out too just because B can’t get his righteous head out of his ass.”

Don’t make my mistakes, Hood heard underneath.

“Yeah,” was all Hood could manage.

They sat in silence for a bit longer before Hood heard the tell-tale buzz of a distant comm line. Nightwing raised his hand to his ear, likely for Hood’s benefit because Hood knew that’s not how the Bat-comms operated, and said, “I’m on my way.”

“Duty calls?”

Nightwing shot him a strained grin. “When doesn’t it?” His smile became a bit more natural as he scrubbed his hand over Hood’s head, making his helmet-hair even worse. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Red Hood didn’t have a chance to reply as Nightwing dove off the building, shooting out his grapnel line halfway through his fall. He waited until Nightwing disappeared in the smog before shoving his helmet back on. The Bats could handle the rest of the city, but Crime Alley wasn’t going to protect itself.

* * *

Jason got himself a phone.

He had plenty of phones, honestly – enough burners to cover all his bases and then some, and he frequently dumped and replaced them. This phone though, it was his first personal phone since he came back. He made sure to pass it off to Barbara first, get it souped up with all the Bat-grade protections it could possibly need, and with her sincere promise that Bruce himself wouldn’t have any way into the device despite that.

When she returned it, she’d done more than just upgrade his security. Where his contacts before had been a blank slate, there was now a neat list of five names. He flipped through them, changing four of the contact names to be much less formal. Opening the final contact, he hovered his thumb over the “Delete” button for several long minutes before letting out a slew of swears and closing out of the contacts app, leaving that final contact untouched.

He shot off quick texts to Dick and Tim, nothing more than a “Hey, it’s Jason.” and got a set of responses back almost immediately. Dick was a spam-texter, it seemed, cheering through his messages and telling Jason it was “about damn time” he got a phone. Tim sent him only two messages in reply. A brief “ew” and a follow-up of “you text with proper grammar??”

From that day on, there was not a single moment where Jason was free of his brothers. Dick started sending him dozens of TikToks a day (where he found the time to scroll TikTok so much in-between his day job and the vigilantism, Jason had no idea), practically forcing Jason to download the app just to keep up, as much as he despised social media. He was loathe to admit it, but every once in a while, some of the videos Dick sent him were actually kind of funny.

Tim, on the other hand, seemed to get a kick out of sending Jason memes that he either wasn’t alive to see come about, or he was stuck with the League at the time with no knowledge of the current popular culture. He communicated almost exclusively through them, and Jason knew it was intentional to get under his nerves. It felt like he was trying to translate hieroglyphics at times, and whenever he asked Dick or Barbara for help, they just laughed at him.

And then, a few weeks in, the invites started coming through.

A new coffee shop just opened up in the Bowery, you in? Jason was never getting coffee with Tim again after that, because holy shit, was his order horrific.

There’s this adult arcade downtown — you in? Jason knew that they were the heirs to a billionaire, but he still couldn’t fathom the amount of money Dick spent on goddamn claw games. And somehow, he won every time. Jason didn’t even know where to put all the plushies Dick forced on him after that trip.

Bowling?? Steph said this place is actually only marginally sketchy. Jason and his brothers were now banned from the bowling alley.

Okay so bowling was a bust — roller-skating? Jason and Tim were now banned from the skating rink. Dick somehow got off scott-free. Jason blamed the puppy-dog eyes.

* * *

Even once he and Bruce were on speaking terms again, the invites didn’t stop – which was how Jason found himself making the drive to Bludhaven one evening. Dick decided that they were due for a movie night, and since Jason was still avoiding the Manor itself, he’d decided that the next best place would be his own apartment.

They ordered some absolute monstrosities from the nearby pizza joint (Dick’s pineapple and andouille pizza was always horrifying, but at least Jason had been prepared for it – Tim’s Canadian bacon pizza with onions and artichoke hearts, Jason never wanted to see again), and Dick left the two of them to pick the movie while he went to pick up the pizza.

Of course, the little snot was nothing if not an absolute nerd, and most of his suggestions were weird sci-fi shit. As if they didn’t get enough of that with their gallery of doctorate-wielding Rogues and their insane fucking inventions. Then again – Jason had the perfect solution to get what he wanted out of the kid.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Tim shrieked in-between frantice giggling, trying to pry Jason’s hands off his sides.

Jason hummed. “Dick would be very disappointed in you when he got back if you did.”

Tim managed to twist out of his grip, throwing himself across the rug to create distance between them. “What’s wrong with Interstellar anyways?”

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Don’t we deal with enough dimension-travel and time-travel shit enough in our night jobs?” He launched himself forward after Tim, ignoring the kid’s squeals as he dragged him close again. “Besides, letting you win the movie pick means I don’t get to do this.”

Jason wasted no time on this second attack, immediately digging his fingers into Tim’s highest ribs. Tim almost choked on his laughter, shrieking out a few curse words, and Jason had little doubt that Dick would have a noise complaint by the end of the night. Whatever – it wasn’t like it was Jason’s problem. No, the only thing Jason needed to worry about right now was what method made Tim laugh the hardest. Fingernails or fingertips? Wiggling or squeezing? Vibrating fingers or fast skittering? He just couldn’t decide.

Tim was practically in tears by the time he finally conceded to Jason’s movie choice, having laughed himself nearly hoarse. Just in time, too, because Dick just texted their group chat (also new – and the incessant spam of notifications that often burst from it annoyed Jason to no end) that he was on the way up.

“Just you wait,” Tim said, chest heaving and face cherry-red. “I’m gonna sic Dick on you, and then you’ll be sorry.”

Jason snorted, making himself comfortable on Dick’s lumpy-ass sofa. “Good luck with that kid. I already told you both – the Pit took care of that. I’m immune.” He gave a playfully malicious grin. “Leaves me with plenty of chances to torture you, though, don’t worry.”

The front door to the apartment banged open. “Hey – does anyone know why my neighbor just cussed me out in the hallway? I swear, he’s never looked that– Timmy? What the hell happened?”

Jason laughed.

* * *

Bruce was out of town for a few days – an actual business trip this time, no JL covers – and he took Alfred with him. Which meant that someone needed to cover Gotham for the week. Which meant that Dick was in town for an extended period of time. All of this also meant that Dick and Tim were left in the Manor unsupervised with no Alfred to keep them from burning down the kitchen.

That’s how Jason found himself being guilt-tripped into spending the week at the Manor with them, if only to ensure they didn’t survive solely off of cereal, microwave meals, and caffeine. Dick, of course, was thrilled at their “Brother Sleepover,” and promptly spent the week kicking their ass at Mario Kart. Not even Tim, in all his nerdy, geeky glory could beat him, and death had done Jason no favors with his own virtual racing skills.

Overall, despite the constant skin-crawling feelings Jason had for half the week, his stay at the Manor didn’t go horribly. Plus, it was kind of nice cooking for more than just one person. He might have to establish a more permanent safehouse so he could have his brothers (and Barbie – he’d have to make sure the elevator was actually working in whatever building he chose) over for dinner. Or maybe he’d finally try coming to another family dinner, just for the excuse of helping Alfred cook.

Either way, by the end of the week, Dick was adamant that it was about time for another brothers’ movie night. Jason rolled his eyes and put up the expected complaints (it was a familiar song and dance now – even if he didn’t mean it), but still found himself at the grocery store while Dick picked Tim up from school, picking out ingredients to make them a special dinner for the last night of their “Brother Sleepover.” He was shoving everything into the kitchen when Dick and Tim got home, Tim groaning as he entered the kitchen for a snack.

“Jason – your food is amazing and all, but can we please just get takeout tonight?”

Jason turned around, his eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”

“We can just order pizza instead – I won’t even get anything weird on it!”

“You’d rather have greasy takeout pizza than a home-cooked meal?” Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the kitchen island. “You’d give Alfred a heart-attack.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve never begged Alfred for takeout instead of something from home.”

Jason pursed his lips. He couldn’t exactly argue that – they all had at some point. Still, “I already got the shit, we’re eating here.”

Jason pinpointed the exact moment when Tim went from normal vigilante teenager to horribly obnoxious piece of shit. He narrowed his eyes for a moment before his expression turned to an exaggerated pout. He slumped his shoulders and gazed up at Jason with his little wounded-baby-bird eyes.

“Come on, Jay, please? We can make it another night – can’t we have pizza?”

Jason huffed and pushed himself away from the counter. “Alright you little shit – get over here.”

He made a swipe for Tim, who shrieked and immediately launched himself out of reach when Jason’s fingers grazed his ribs. When he looked up at Jason this time, gone was the faux-pout. Instead, his eyes were wide with surprise and anticipation, the twitch of his mouth almost giddy as he eyed Jason’s hands warily. Jason grinned and took a heavy step forward, drawing out the game. Then, suddenly, Tim’s eyes narrowed and his jaw set. Without warning, he bolted from the kitchen.

“Wha– get back here! Face your sentence like a man, TimTam!”

Jason raced after him, winding through the labyrinthian halls of the Manor. As they got closer to the front side of the mansion, Tim started shouting.

“Dick! Dick, help me!”

Jason’s jaw dropped. “You fucking– running to Dick for help, as if you don’t deserve this!”

“Dick, he’s doing it again!”

As they approached the den, Jason put on a burst of speed. Unfortunately, it seemed as though Tim was holding back as well, breaking into a dead sprint to reach the den first. The two of them crashed through the entryway, knocking down a whole stack of pillows and blankets that someone had piled by the door. Dick stood in the middle of the room, clearly having been rearranging furniture for the “ideal movie night positioning,” looking absolutely flabbergasted.

Tim, still with that young Robin springiness, was able to extricate himself from the avalanche of comfy items easily. He bounced out of the pile and darted behind Dick, using him as a human shield. Jason, while highly trained, was now all bulky muscle instead of flexible springiness, and had a harder time wading out of the mess.

“What on earth is going on, here?” Dick asked, gaze darting between Jason and Tim behind his back.

“He’s trying to kill me!”

Jason scoffed. “Please – you were being a little shit, you can’t tell me you didn’t deserve it.”

Tim peeked around Dick’s torso to stick his tongue out at Jason, before ducking back behind Dick as Jason finally got his foot free of the last blanket and began to approach.

Dick had a look on his face, that constipated one he made when he wanted to laugh but was still trying to take them seriously for the sake of their pride. “And how, exactly, was Jason going to kill you?” Dick tilted slightly to the side to look at Tim, exposing him to Jason’s sight.

The apples of Tim’s cheeks went pink as he scowled at them both. “Tickle me,” he mumbled.

Jason clicked his tongue, advancing on them both. “You heard the kid – he said to tickle him, let’s get to it Goldie.”

Dick broke, laughing as Tim yelped and ducked fully behind him again. He laughed even harder as Jason tried to reach around him and snatch Tim, doing nothing to help.

“You know, Jay – you’ve turned into quite the tickle monster over the past few months.”

Jason grunted, barely paying attention. “Yeah? He’s getting the full little brother experience, I remember what you were like when I was a kid.”

Dick’s eyes narrowed. Before Jason had even fully processed the change in expression, his hackles had raised. He backed out of Dick’s space quickly, eyeing him with suspicion. Tim perked up, picking up on the change in vibes. Jason was no longer the most dominant personality in the room.

Dick’s mouth twisted into a smirk. One that Jason remembered all too well. “Maybe a little payback is in order, Little Wing. What do you think?

Jason crossed his arms, raising to his full height to try and cut a more intimidating figure. Dick’s eyes twinkled, and he could practically imagine Dick cooing at the posturing inside his own head.

“I’ve already told you both, the Pit got rid of all that.”

Dick looked him up and down. “Really? Why are you all the way over there, then?”

“Muscle memory.”

“Right, right. You know, you never have let us prove that theory of yours.”

Jason widened his stance as subtly as he could, preparing to run. “What would be the point of that?”

Dick bared his teeth, a facsimile of a friendly smile. Jason turned tail to bolt, but a body suddenly latched onto his back. Knocked off balance, Jason found himself tumbling face-first into the mountain of pillows and blankets. Seriously – why had Dick brought so many? He tossed the body off his back, hearing Tim’s laughter filled oof as he got swallowed by the plush pile as well. He barely managed to roll over in time to catch Dick’s hands as he dove towards Jason’s prone form.

“I think someone’s been lying,” Dick sing-songed, trying to twist his hands out of Jason’s grip

“I think you’re full of shit – let me up, Dick.”

Dick pulled out his most innocent expression. “But Little Wing – you’re the one holding onto me.”

“Yeah because you’re going to– be a jerk!”

Dick laughed, his own grip on Jason’s hands flexing. “Yeah? How am I gonna be a jerk?”

“I’m not falling for that.”

Dick shrugged. “Doesn’t change anything.”

Tim popped up from the bedding, hair sticking every which way from being mussed against the fabrics. “You do kinda deserve it.”

“Shut your trap, snotface.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “Rude.”

Jason pursed his lips, running through every escape plan in his mind. He was trapped in this comfy avalanche, sinking deeper with every struggle – even if Dick wasn’t hovering overtop him, it would take him way too long to crawl his way out. The second he let go of Dick’s hands to try and get away, he was a goner – Dick knew all his worst spots, and exactly how to target them. Dick was like a shark who smelled blood, there was almost no getting out of this now.

Unless he took Dick down first.

Jason tossed Dick’s hands to the sides as hard as he could. He heard Tim yelp and collapse back into the blankets to avoid a flying limb, but he figured the kid was fine – Robins had quick reflexes. Before Dick could recover, Jason dove his own hands toward Dick’s knees and thighs, squeezing away the moment he found muscle. Dick cried out, immediately bursting into cackles. After a few seconds, he wavered and collapsed sideways into the blanket pile next to Jason.

“Fucking jerk!”

Jason grinned. “Don’t forget Dickie – I’m bigger than you now.”

Despite laughing his head off and failing to squirm away from Jason’s hands, Dick still had that devious twinkle in his eyes. He fought to speak through his laughter, “You may be bigger, but we have numbers.”

“We–?”

For the second time in as many minutes, a small body barrelled into Jason’s back. Overbalancing, Jason was forced to take one hand off of Dick and plant it into the blankets to compensate for the new weight.

“I still don’t get why you had to throw me at him like a ragdoll the first time,” Tim piped up from behind him.

Dick twisted and contorted in ways only he could and suddenly Jason found himself swallowed by the blankets and cushions once more. Tim yelped and barely scrambled off in time to avoid getting crushed.

“You threw him?” Jason asked incredulously.

Dick shrugged. “Enrichment for baby birds. They love flying.”

Tim popped back up, his hair even worse than before. “That’s fair.”

While Jason was distracted by the absolute robin’s nest on Tim’s head, Dick lunged again. They entered into a grapple, one that Jason quickly lost at the unexpected flutter of Tim’s fingers in the crook of his neck. He yelped at an embarrassing pitch as one hand darted up to snatch the offending fingers.

“You are still ticklish!” Dick crowed.

“Liar!” Tim shouted at the same time.

Dick took full advantage of the moment of distraction, grabbing onto the wrist of Jason’s raised hand with both of his and pinning it in the pile of fluff. His torso wound up draped diagonally over Jason’s chest to do it, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“Get him!”

Small, precise fingers slipped under Jason’s leather jacket, scribbling against the hoodie underneath. It was thick enough to provide protection from the hesitant touch, but Jason still couldn’t stop the instinctive flinch from fingers just existing that close to his underarms.

“Fuck you!” He yelled, struggling under Dick’s weight. He had Jason’s arm well-pinned, he had far better leverage and the angle was awkward from the shifting of the blankets. Jason reached to pry the fingers away with his free arm, but Dick’s body blocked his arm from being able to reach.

“Harder, Timmy! He’s got layers–”

“I’m not fucking Shrek–”

“Are you sure?” Tim, that little snot.

“You’re such a fucking– No!”

Two hands delivered a series of nibbling pinches up and down Jason’s exposed side and ribs, the sensation cutting through his hoodie like it was nothing. He tossed his head back with laughter, hating how bubbly it sounded. His legs lurched up, bending at the knees.

“Wow,” Tim said over his laughter. “I didn’t know you could laugh and it actually sound happy.”

Dick chuckled. “You should’ve heard him when he was younger – all shrieky and giggly. I’m glad he didn’t grow out of it.”

“I’m right here, assholes!”

Dick clicked his tongue. “That you are, Jay. Are we not paying enough attention to you? Here, I’ll help.”

“Dick, no!”

Obviously, Dick did not listen. With Jason already growing weaker from the laughter and tickling, Dick could easily keep him pinned with just one hand. With his newly freed fingers, he reached down and clawed into Jason’s stomach. Jason shrieked, his legs lurching up again as he instinctively tried to curl around the weak point and was halted by Dick being in the way.

“Wow,” Tim said. “Dick really wasn’t joking, you are freakishly ticklish.”

Jason tried to bare his teeth. With how wide his smile was, he wasn’t sure the threat came across. “Not as ticklish as you.”

Tim only smirked at him. “Well, I’m not the one pinned down, am I?”

Little shit. Jason was absolutely going to get him later. And Dick, too.

“Might as well get revenge while I can, right?” Tim continued. “What’s that thing you like to do to me? Rib counting?”

Dick laughed again, leaning his weight more heavily on Jason’s torso. He took his own tickling fingers away, using that hand to try and shove Jason’s legs down instead.

“Diabolical, Baby Bird. Count away, I’ll try to keep our little pill-bug here from messing you up.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Tim’s voice was the epitome of innocence. “If he messes me up, it just means I have to start over again. I mean, that’s what you taught me, right, Jay?”

“I’m gonna kill you!”

Tim hummed. “Yeah, it pays to be thorough.”

Jason’s ribs were far from his most ticklish spot, but when Tim’s hands slipped underneath his hoodie, leaving him only with a threadbare t-shirt as his last layer of defense, Jason thought he was going to die. He always knew he was ticklish as all hell, but going without the feeling for so long, every sensation felt electric. He couldn’t even keep track of his own laughter, and he tried his damndest to tune out Tim’s count because he was not about to let his baby brother get the upper hand in teasing, too.

The most infuriating part? The fact that he couldn’t stop the warm, melty feeling in his chest, hearing Tim giggle along or seeing Dick beaming down at him. He was the goddamned Red Hood. He should not be having this much fun in a one-sided tickle fight with his brothers – especially not on the losing side.

Jason’s legs jumped up again, and this time Jason put a little more control into it. He tried to ram his knees into Dick’s side – jostle him, knock him off Jason’s torso, or hell, even just annoy him. Jason didn’t care, so long as he landed a hit. Unfortunately, Dick’s free hand was still poised to ward off any attacks, shoving his legs away every time they got too close. When he finally slipped a knee past Dick’s defenses, he called out an affronted “hey” and reached out to grab the joint.

The squawking little yip that Jason let out as the joint was squeezed may have been the most embarrassing noise that he’d ever made in his life. Both Dick and Tim tumbled into laughter, pausing their attack.

“Let me go,” Jason demanded as he regained his breath. His voice didn’t quite carry the heat he had been looking for.

Dick turned to give him that creepy stare-down that made it feel like he was tearing Jason’s soul open to look inside. Satisfied with whatever he found, his mouth twisted back into his patented “tickle monster” smirk.

“I don’t think so, Little Wing. I mean, a few rounds of rib counting is hardly revenge.”

Jason started squirming and kicking, making a show out of trying to get away despite knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Dick gave him a few squeezes to the kneecap for the trouble, sending Jason into mortifying titters.

“Where’s his tickle spot?” Tim asked eagerly, raising up on his knees to scan over Jason’s torso. “That’ll show him.”

Dick pressed his lips together on a smile. Apparently, laughing at Jason was fair game, but laughing at the adorable menace that was Tim Drake was not allowed.

“Dick—“

“I think it’s cheating to tell, Timmy.” Dick cut off Jason’s protest before he could even get started. Jason nearly let out a sigh of relief, but Dick wasn’t done. “I think you’re just gonna have to keep going until you find it.”

“What—“

Tim let out an evil laugh, far more menacing than any 15 year old had the right to be — let alone one that looked so much like a wet cat.

Too quickly for Jason to take advantage of, Dick raised off his body and slid into place behind his head. Jason tried to go for Tim with his newfound reach, but Dick snatched his wrist out of the air and easily pinned it down. After a brief struggle, Jason gave up and just laid there, staring at the ceiling.

“I hate you both.”

“Sure you do, Jay.”

Tim waddled up to Jason, wading through the blankets and pillows surrounding them on his knees. He hovered over Jason for a moment, uncertainty flashing through his eyes.

Aw, hell.

“Well, Timbo? Do your worst. I know you won’t find it.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, the uncertainty vanishing as Tim was confronted with a competition.

“Oh, yeah? And what if I do?”

Jason hummed, pretending to consider. “You might earn yourself a pizza.”

Tim lit up like a Christmas tree. His hands shot out to Jason’s ribs, provoking that bubbly laughter once more.

“Well, we already know it’s not here.”

“So why are you tickling there?!”

Dick laughed at them.

Tim stuck his tongue out at him. “‘Cause it’s funny.”

But he did move his hands, crawling them up into Jason’s armpits like two devious little spiders. Jason jolted, snorts intermingling with his laughter.

“Get out!”

Tim perked up. “Did I find it?”

“Sorry, Baby Bird,” Dick said. “Not just yet.”

Tim frowned and furrowed his brow — his thinking face looked uncannily like Bruce’s — and scanned Jason’s torso. His hands flitted down to Jason’s stomach and sides, his laughter dying down the slightest bit but thankfully not at giggles quite yet. The Red Hood did not giggle.

“Dick got you here, so it’s not here.”

Jason’s legs bounced up as he instinctively tried to curl around the hands. Tim took a page out of Dick’s book, squeezing Jason’s kneecap until it jumped out of his grasp.

“Or here, but you sound ridiculous right now.”

Jason tried to growl through his laughter, but Tim wasn’t exactly wrong. Jumping between the light laughter from his stomach and the high pitched tittering from his knees, Jason was making an absolute fool of himself. His only saving grace was that Bruce wasn’t home to witness it. He’d never live that down.

Tim gave Jason a break, lifting his hands to run them through his messy hair. “Am I completely off track, is it your feet or something?”

“Not. Telling.”

Tim glared at Jason for a moment before flicking his eyes up to Dick’s, giving him that puppy-gaze. Jason looked up too, trying to burn holes through Dick’s skull with his eyes. Dick smirked, his eyes darting down to Jason’s torso and back up to Tim’s face again. Tim got that constipated look again, his own eyes darting back down to Jason’s abdomen.

“But—?”

Then Tim made The Face. The same face he made when he’d solved a tough case that he’d been working for a while. The wide eyes, the slightly parted lips, as if he was surprised at his own success, the relaxing of his ever-scrunched-up eyebrows. A jolt of giddy panic sparked up Jason’s chest.

“You already lost,” he said quickly. “You asked Dick for help. You cheated.”

Tim met his eyes. “Well then, I guess I have nothing else to lose.”

Giving Jason no time to prepare, Tim started squeezing away at Jason’s hips. It wasn’t as bad as his memories of Bruce or Dick attacking him, but they’d had the benefit of practice. A lot of practice. As it was, it still tickled like hell. Jason’s mind went blank as he practically screamed out cackles. He tried to curl himself into a ball again, and this time, his brothers let him. Dick released his arms and Tim let his legs shoot up, and Jason curled himself into the tightest ball that he could around all the bulky muscle he had now.

That didn’t mean Tim had stopped tickling though. No, even as Jason rolled onto his side in a feeble defense, Tim just targeted both hands on the hip that was still accessible.

“Aw, little pill-bug Jay is alive and well,” Dick cooed.

I’ll kill you here and now, Jason wanted to say. Unfortunately, all his breath was currently being directed to support his laughter. Thankfully, Dick only let Tim go on for a couple more minutes before pulling him back, leaving Jason to heave in breaths as he recovered.

“Next time,” Dick stage-whispered. “I’ll show you how ticklish his back is.”

“Next time,” Jason grumbled. “I’ll cut off your damn hands.”

Tim snorted. Dick patted him on the back.

“Sure you will, buddy.”

“So,” Tim said, drawing out the word, “since you’re so tired from that and all – maybe you wanna get pizza instead of cooking?”

Jason took a deep breath before heaving himself up to a sitting position, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Nope.”

Tim groaned as well, flopping back into the mess they made of Dick’s pile of bedding.

Shaking off the last of the ghost tickles, Jason gave Dick a heated glare as he pushed himself to his feet. Dick blinked back innocently. His brothers were such goddamned liars.

“I already bought the ingredients,” Jason said. “I’m cooking and you’re going to like it.”

Tim levelled him with a challenging look. “And what if I don’t.”

“Then you’ll suck it up and eat it anyway.”

Jason tromped out of the room, heading back toward the kitchen. Dick and Tim could handle the den setup without him – they were much pickier about blanket nests than he was. Where Jason would just slap together a blanket fort with some kitchen chairs and sheets, Tim preferred to engineer a structurally sound blanket castle when he had the chance. Leaving Tim with free reign of the den furniture and half the Manor’s worth of bedding to accomplish this task gave Jason more than enough time to finish up dinner with the prep he’d done earlier that day.

Seeing Tim’s face light up as Jason personally delivered his monstrosity of a pizza order, made from scratch, almost made the whole meaningless argument that led to his torture worth it.

Almost.

Dick and Tim weren’t going to escape from his revenge that easily.

#tickle fic #batfam tickling #reblog

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