Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tim’s eyes shot to his door at the light knock. 

His door. Of his room. A tiny tight knot of guilt settled in his chest for all Dick had done for him ever since Bruce took him in as Robin no.3. Even before B let him in the suit, even when he was still in bat-bootcamp, Dick would invite him to the Tower every other weekend. It was the highlight of Tim’s life, if he was being honest. Dick was Tim’s childhood hero. He worshiped him. Jason might have been the Robin he got to document in action, but it was Dick’s legacy that had sparked Tim’s Batman & Robin obsession. Words couldn't begin to describe the excitement, the happiness it filled him with, to train, to hang out, to chat, to play video games, to patrol, to bond with Dick freaking Grayson.

He wasn’t sure when the lines had blurred and they went from friends to brothers, but brothers they were. And Tim cherished nothing and nobody in his life, more than he did his brother.  The fingers that rapped on his door for the second time, made him sigh, but he remained silent. He loved Dick. He respected Dick. But right now he was beyond pissed with him . Or beyond pissed in general and Dick’s overprotective helicopter-ish freakout was the drop that broke the dam. 

There was a beat of silence and Tim sighed in relief. At least Dick could take a hint. Turning to his laptop’s screen again, he clicked to replay the footage, eyes scanning every tiny detail of the rolling frames. 

“Coming in, Tim,” came a loud announcement from the other side of the door and Tim’s jaw clenched so hard he was worried for his molars. He shifted a little in his desk chair, coffee in left hand held near his nose, pen tapping a couple of times on his notebook, but made sure to keep his eyes glued to the screen and ignore his brother walking into the room a second later. 

“No point in knocking if you plan to barge in anyway, you know,” Tim said, drying his tone more than the sun dries Sahara. He kept his eyes glued to his screen, refusing to grace Dick with even a fleeting glance.

The door clicked shut. Footsteps. Then his laptop snapped closed under the weight of Dick’s palm.

“We need to talk.”

“What the hell, Dick?! I was working on that—”

“And you're not anymore,” Dick cut him off, tone firm. Firmer than firm. Firmer than any tone Tim had ever heard. And he’d been spending 90% of his time with Batman, so that said something.

“That's my call, Dick,” he spat prying at the laptop’s screen. It didn’t budge. Of course it didn’t—because his infuriatingly self-righteous older brother was still pressing down on it like the hand of God.

“It’s not, Tim. It’s mine . You either cooperate or I take it away for a week. That’s your only call,” Dick stated.

Tim's eyes widened at the words, his jaw dropping open. Take it away for a week? What did Dick think his laptop was, a video games console ? His laptop wasn’t some entertainment device— it was an extension of his damn brain. Tim seethed, but didn’t want to give Dick the satisfaction of a reaction. He briefly wondered if Dick was merely bluffing, but something in his gaze told Tim he didn’t.

Eventually, he huffed and slammed back to his chair, throttling his mug to avoid throttling his brother, and staring back at him with all the withering displeasure he could pack into a single glare.

Dick nodded approvingly. “Good call.” 

Hypothesis: Could a person feel their nerves fraying? Because Tim could. Right then and there. One by one, snapping like too-taut guitar strings, giving way with a sharp, discordant twang. And Dick was testing the fuck out of that hypothesis right about now.

Tim inhaled, forcing his tone into something resembling calm. "Look, Dick, I get that you freaked out, and this is your way of showing you care or whatever—"

“No, but this is more than that, Tim,” Dick cut him right off.

And there goes another nerve. Who needs them anyway?  

"Make no mistake, what's gonna happen here does come from a place of love. But that doesn’t change the fact that you need to learn a very important lesson, little brother. Actions have consequences. And right now? You’re about to face yours."

Tim didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit. Zero. Nada. He liked less than decaf. And there was nothing he'd ever liked less than decaf.

So—denial. That was the play. He wasn’t going to acknowledge where this was headed, even though he had a very good idea. In fact, he refused to. Hell no. Nope. Not happening.

He took a slow sip of his coffee, keeping his expression neutral as he studied Dick, weighing his options running scenarios. The lead weight in his stomach? Purely a side effect of frayed nerves. That was the official ruling. Any other interpretation was strictly off the table.

“Well, you see, Dick, I'm a firm believer of natural consequences–” 

Dick let out a dry chuckle, Which Tim found completely pointless, because there was not even a tiny trace of humor in it. "The natural consequence of yesterday’s little shitshow would’ve been your death, Tim. You’re a smart kid. I’m sure you understand that in our line of work, ‘natural consequences’ mean injury, death, torture, or losing limbs. And I’m not a fan of any of those. Too permanent for my taste."

Tim groaned, knocking his head against the back of his chair with a frustrated whimper. He stared up at the ceiling, silently begging for divine intervention. None came. Shocker. "What do you want from me, Dick? What do you expect here? An apology? Fine, I’m sorry! It won’t happen again."

"I hope it won’t, Tim. Because if we have to have this particular conversation a second time, I won’t be as understanding as I’m being today."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Tim narrowed his eyes and let out an indignant scoff. Insufferable, preachy, know-it-all!

Dick peered at him unwavering for a moment. And Tim...Tim was nothing if not observant. And right now, he noticed everything. The tension in Dick’s brow. The squared shoulders. His tone that had dropped into something of authority and steel. His eyes that held Tim's glare effortlessly, a stormy grey bleeding in the blue.

Dick didn’t so much as blink. "It means I’m not gonna come down on you as hard as I should for this—because I know part of the problem is Bruce and all the things he’s let slide. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You will be punished."

"Punished?" Tim spat the word like it tasted foul. Which it did. It tasted of condescension and not-enoughness. "To hell with that, Dick! You can’t punish me! I’m not some naughty kid. I’m fourteen! I’m a vigilante, for fuck’s sake! And most importantly, you’re not my father. You’re not even Bruce—"

Dick’s lack of reaction only made Tim angrier. His jerk of a brother just stood there, leaning against the desk, hands crossed over his chest, looking completely passive, as if they were debating pizza toppings.

"No, I’m not your father. Or Bruce." Dick's voice was steady. Resolute. "But I am your brother. And since neither your father nor Bruce are in a place to step up, to see what’s going on with you, to guide you, to stop you and punish you when necessary—then I will."

Tim’s blood felt like it was rushing to his head and draining from it all at once. This couldn’t be happening.

Dick kept going, completely unfazed. "And if Bruce were himself—not this hollowed-out shell—trust me, he’d be the one laying down consequences right now. And he wouldn’t be as lenient as I’m going to be."

"Dick, stop!" A sharp laugh escaped Tim, before he could stop it. Was it incredulous? Nervous? He didn’t even know. "This is not—You have no right—"

"What this isn’t, Tim, is up for debate." Dick cut him off, his voice never rising but somehow hitting harder anyway. "This is happening. That’s why I’m here. You don’t operate solo as Robin. That’s rule number one. You know that. You don’t go on missions without Batman’s clearance—or mine, when you’re here. And you never go into the field without backup. These rules exist for a reason. And you broke all of them."

Tim slammed his mug onto the desk, coffee splashing out over the rim. "B doesn’t give a crap—"

"Yeah, well, I do." Dick stated, his words sturdy as his tone. Still no yelling, but somehow, this was worse. "I do give a crap about whether you live or die. I do give a crap about your complete disregard for even basic self-care—like sleep, or eating more than once a day. I do give a crap that you’ve been left running wild, dropping out of school, thinking you can take down criminals like Manuel-freaking-Escabedo alone, at fourteen years old, with barely six months under your belt as Robin!"

Tim tried to shoot something back, but for the first time in this whole argument, he came up empty. Dick on the other hand was apparently on a roll.

"I care too much to let this continue. I don’t know what the hell is going on with your folks, or Bruce, or even Alfred—who didn’t bother calling me to tell me how bad things were—but I know one thing: I’m putting a stop to it. I told you last night, and I’ll tell you again: this is not how the Batfamily operates."

Tim stared at his hands, his cheeks burning under the weight of Dick’s words. Part of him felt… touched, because more than anyone, Dick cared. That part of him wanted to curl in on itself. Another part of him hated it. It was easier to pretend no one cared. Simpler. Cleaner.

And another part wanted to punch Dick in the face. Because he was making him feel small. Needy. Young.

Tim hadn’t had the luxury of being any of those things in years. If ever.

Too little, too late.

Part of him was just pure, raw rage—seething, like a fire he couldn’t control. But there was something else too, something buried deeper, scratching at the walls whenever he was high up on a rooftop or staring down a barrel. It churned inside, gnawing at the edges, threatening to spill over. His pulse pounded in his ears. The words started blurring together, warping under the pressure of something swelling in his chest—anger, panic, resentment, pain.

"Rules exist for a reason, Tim. To keep you safe, healthy, alive. You never go out solo again without clearing it with Bruce or me. Do you hear me?"

Tim’s vision bled to red, rage bubbling up like a firestorm he couldn’t contain. Something inside him snapped—his last nerve, maybe. Without thinking, he grabbed the mug from the desk and hurled it across the room. The crash of ceramic shattered the air, coffee splattering everywhere, soaking everything in its path. “Yes, Dick! I fucking hear you! I’ve fucking heard you all ten thousand fucking times!”

Tim had so much more to say, his words bubbling like a pressure cooker ready to burst, but Dick’s arm shot out, clamping around his bicep with a vice grip, jerking him out of his chair and dragging him across the room before he could blink. One second he was sitting there, ready to scream his throat raw; the next he was crumpled over his brother’s hard thigh, legs pinned between Dick’s, body forced down onto the mattress with the kind of authority Tim had never felt before.

"No! NO ! Dick, you can’t be serious… Let me up!" His pulse hammered in his throat as he struggled, pushing against the mattress like it would somehow free him. His legs tried to find leverage, tried to get traction against the floor, but it was futile. Robin training or not, Dick was the OG Robin. The freaking Nightwing. And Tim was severely outmatched here. That ominous realization was followed by a swift tug of his sweats and boxers.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Tim yelled, his stomach dropping, his face flushing in rage and effort and embarrassment. Reality gut-punched him— this was happening. Right there. Right then.

A hand pressed down on his back, forcing his chest further into the mattress. The pressure decreased his range of movement to nothing and Tim’s brain scrambled, stuttering in disbelief. He kept pushing, kept struggling, even though deep down he knew it wouldn’t make a damn difference. But he kept going, because it wasn’t about winning. Not at all. It was about making it hard for Dick. 

It was about his sacred control that he refused to surrender. 

No, he wouldn’t bow down, he wouldn’t make it easy. Tim was Robin. He  was taking hits on a nightly basis. Broken ribs, cuts, bruises. Hell, he'd kept going after getting stabbed and finished his patrol without even fainting. Sure enough a stupid, childish punishment wouldn’t be that hard to endure. No. This— embarrassment aside— would be nothing for him. He knew it.

It was then that the first smack landed, sharp and loud like a thunderclap, reverberating through his room, and Tim froze. Every muscle in his body tensed up, his mind screaming to move but unable to process what had just happened. A second. A third. A fourth and a fifth. Each one fell faster, harder, building like a storm.

His world splintered. His breath hitched, his chest grew tight, and everything inside reignited, thrashing and uncontained. He twisted. He bucked. He jolted, his pride screaming. His heart was racing, and no matter how much he fought, it felt like he was only making it worse. Dick’s grip didn’t loosen. His hand kept rising and falling, each strike seemingly gaining momentum, like it was feeding off Tim’s resistance.

“Let me up, you dick !”

The fire that erupted on Tim’s upper thighs made him grit his teeth so hard he thought his molars might crack. He clenched his fists, fighting with every ounce of control he had to not yell out in pain. Fuck, this hurts.

“You’ll do well to mind your tongue while we’re here, Tim,” Dick’s voice was steady— that icy calm he remembered from last night.

Hisses escaped his lips against his will as the stinging, burning sensation spread through his thighs and across his backside, too much, too fast. He wasn’t used to this. Not anymore.

“You made your point, stop!” Tim grunted, pushing himself up, but Dick didn’t budge. His hand didn’t give him a second of relief. Instead, it came down faster, and Tim’s thoughts splintered again. The last time he'd found himself in a similar predicament was years ago. And even then, it wasn’t like this. His dad had never been this thorough from what he remembered.

The pain grew, stretching to cover every inch of exposed skin. The sound of bare palm striking bare ass rang out through the room, each one scorching him more than the last. Tim’s breathing came in shallow bursts as his entire world shrunk to the pain, and the crushing frustration of knowing his sacred control was gone. He had none. Not over this. No matter how hard he tried.

“Here comes the age-old question, little brother. Why are you getting spanked?”

Tim’s mind was a blur, but the question caught on to his anger the way thorn catches on skin. 

“Because you’re an ass—” Tim bit out, but the words died in his throat when a new volley of swats came down—harder, faster. They found their mark on the lower part of his ass, and Tim tried to twist away, tried to get out of the line of fire, but it was like fighting against a brick wall.

“Ah, the age-old smartass answer. Well, the only thing your smartassery is gonna get you right now, Tim, is a smarting ass— yes, pun intended— so, cut the crap and take this seriously, before I make you take it seriously.”

Tim grunted out a sharp gasp as more smacks landed, their sting searing. “Aaaah! Ffffuck! Dick, stop! You gotta stop!”

But Dick didn’t stop. Didn’t even falter. “I gotta do nothing, but make sure you learn your lesson, kid. And we’re nowhere near there yet.”

The words hit Tim harder than the swats raining down on his ass. Because he knew Dick meant it. He could feel it. And right then, for the first time in a long time, Tim felt small.

The smacks kept landing on his undercurve. Every now and then one or two strayed lower to his thighs, but always kept falling, in a steady unavoidable rhythm. Relentless. Tim gritted his teeth, tried his damn hardest to keep any vocalizations silent, even though small yelps and hisses escaped him more and more. 

He hated this. He hated how young and weak he felt. Like a child. But he wasn’t a child. He was Robin. Gotham’s protector. Bruce’s partner. A soldier. And yet, no matter how much he told himself that— repeating it in his head like a mantra— a different truth had started glowing brighter and brighter, blazing sharper with every new swat.

Dick’s hand stilled for a second, and Tim struggled to catch his breath, desperately trying to gather his bearings.

“Tim, this is your first rodeo, but trust me when I say, you’re not doing yourself any favors by turning it into a power struggle. This is not some battle to win. This is about taking responsibility .”

Tim’s stomach twisted, the words hurting more than his brother’s hand. It was like Dick was shuttering his every defense, and Tim hated how easily he managed that.

“The only thing your resistance will bring you is a prolonged and more intense punishment,” Dick continued, his voice so flat it was disarming. “I am being easy on you, despite the severity of your actions. That can very easily change .”

Tim wanted to scoff. Easy ? But the promise behind Dick’s words made him gulp, his heart thudding louder in his chest. This was a bluff, right? No way was Dick serious. This was certainly as bad as it could get.

“Let me illustrate my point here.” A sharp smack hit Tim’s ass with a force that made him hiss, his body jolting. “That’s a mid-level smack. Lots of those will make your ass hurt and burn a lot, but it’s manageable. The pain lasts a day or so, maybe a little lingering discomfort tomorrow."

Dick landed a much harder blow, and the pain shot through Tim like fire. The pain penetrated the skin, rippled through his flesh and muscle, leaving a deeper ache behind that took his breath away. He blinked, just now registering how controlled Dick had been with swatting him so far. Even the sharpest swats he had gotten till now— the ones he swore Dick was using his full force for— had nothing on the one that had just landed. 

“That was a serious-shit-level smack. Lots of these will make your ass feel like it’s in need of a transplant. The pain will linger for more than two days, the discomfort for more. Serious-shit-level spankings are reserved for, you guessed it, serious shit — like needlessly putting your life on the line going solo and rogue after Escabedo .”

Dick punctuated the name with another serious-shit-level swat and Tim couldn’t hold in the loud yell of pain. His mind reeled. The casual analysis. The detail. He hated this. Had he mentioned he hated this? And he hated even more that there was nothing he could do to get out of it. There was no way out, there was only facing it. Enduring it. And apparently playing by Dick’s rules.

“A serious-shit-level spanking is what you should be getting,” Dick continued, “The one you would be getting, if it wasn’t your first spanking and if I wasn’t being the cool and understanding person I am.”

With that Dick started smacking him again, and tears were coming now, no matter how hard Tim fought them. The burning pain was becoming unbearable, his ass and thighs throbbing, the pain somehow intensifying with every new strike.

“If I feel I’m not getting through to you, I will level up your punishment. Is that clear, Tim?”

Tim clenched his teeth, forcing his body to stop jolting so hard, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Y…yes!” 

Dick focused on his thighs again— those hurt the most, Tim realized with brutal clarity— before asking the same damn question.

“Why am I spanking you, Tim?”

Tim’s breath shuddered in and out. He closed his eyes tightly, face burning as he waved goodbye to the last fragments of his dignity and answered, his voice cracking.

“Because I went on a mission without clearing it with Bruce first.”

“And?”

Tim’s throat felt tight. “Because I didn’t have backup.” His voice was quieter, shaky, and Dick paused and Tim chugged down air.

“And?”

Tim drew in a breath. He closed his eyes and spelled it out for Dick, “And because it was dangerous.”

“Dangerous for…”

“Escabedo.” Tim couldn't help it. But the second the name left his lips, his left thigh exploded in pain as Dick landed four serious-shit-level swats in a row. Tim cried out, his body instinctively pulling back from the blows.

“Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry! For my life!” Tim blurted out. “I risked my safety! I get it now, I swear, Dick!”

“Glad to hear that, Tim. Hold to that enlightenment, as I’m finishing up here.”

Tim’s eyes widened. Finish up? Finish up? Before he could process the words, Dick started spanking again. There was a new pattern this time, one that Tim hated with every fiber of his being. Dick wasn’t just spanking him in random spots anymore. No, now he was relentlessly working each side of Tim’s ass for several seconds with an intensity that left him breathless, switching sides with meticulous precision. It wasn’t just the pain; it was the unrelenting rhythm, the way Dick’s hand seemed to become a drumbeat that Tim couldn’t escape.

Tim’s silent tears eventually gave way to loud, miserable sobs that echoed through the room, the sound of his agony filling the silence between each strike. He couldn’t make sense of it anymore, couldn’t process why this was affecting him so much. His mind didn’t even try to fight it. All he could think was that he just wanted it to stop.

Dick’s voice cut through the haze, thick with emotion. “You’re done being irresponsible. You’re done acting stupid. You’re done breaking rules. I’m not gonna lose you too, Tim.” The words broke something in Tim, the raw sincerity in Dick’s tone slicing through his frantic thoughts. His stomach churned. “If that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes. But I’ll be damned if I bury a second brother. If you think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you get yourself killed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The force of Dick’s words hit Tim like a wave, and it cracked him open in a way that the spanking hadn’t. There was no denying it now—Dick truly did care for him, more than anyone ever had. And the realization that he mattered so much, that Dick was willing to do this to him... for him… it hurt more than the punishment itself.

It filled his heart and shredded it all at once.

“I’m sorry, Dick! I’m sorry! P-please j-just stop,” Tim sobbed, his body going limp, the fight drained out of him. “Just stop. I’ll stop…”

Dick landed a final volley of swats, all focused on the sensitive undercurve of Tim’s ass, each one like a shockwave, before finally—mercifully—he stopped. Tim felt Dick’s palm resting between his shoulder blades, the pressure strangely grounding. His ears told him the spanking had ended, but his body hadn’t gotten the message. His ass throbbed and burned with an intensity that made him feel like it was actually on fire.

“We’re done, Tim. It’s over, kid,” Dick said quietly, his voice soft now, as his hand rubbed soothing circles on Tim’s back.

Tim didn’t move at first. He couldn’t. His entire body was limp with exhaustion, his mind racing. How could he face Dick after everything that had just happened? How could he meet his brother’s eyes after breaking down like that? The anger started to simmer in his chest, mixing with the shame, and he pressed his face onto the mattress. The comforter absorbing his still flowing tears.

Time passed—he didn’t know how much—and eventually, Dick’s hand stopped rubbing his back. Tim could hear him shifting a little under him, the sound of clothes rustling and a jolt of pain that made him hiss, as Dick gently tugged his pants back up.

And then Tim moved, almost on autopilot. He pushed himself up and turned his back to Dick, hastily wiping at his face with trembling hands. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. Dick had seen him sobbing, had seen him break down, but for some reason, Tim couldn’t stop himself. He still couldn’t face Dick. It was stupid, pointless even.

A hand landed on his shoulder, but Tim jerked it off instinctively, stepping away from Dick without looking at him.

“Get out of my room.”

His voice was hoarse, raw from crying, and still shaking slightly from the aftershocks of the punishment. He didn’t even know why he said it. Maybe he just needed space, needed time to breathe. Or maybe he was angry. Either way, it was the only thing he could get out.

“Tim…”

Dick’s voice was soft now, but Tim clenched his fists. “Out.”

“That’s not how it works, buddy.”

“Don’t… Don’t call me buddy,” Tim snarled, whipping around to face him. “You… You beat me up!”

“I spanked you,” Dick corrected, his tone and expression even, but the emotion behind his words was undeniable. “And I know it can’t be that much of a shock. Bruce must have told you about discipline protocols, as he so eloquently named them.”

“He did, but he never…” Tim trailed off, still glaring at Dick, his anger burning hotter than ever.

“He never did a lot of things the way he should have, Tim,” Dick said quietly. “But like I said… I’m not backing up. I’m not letting you slide through my fingers. You matter to me, kid. Do you have any idea how worried I was about you yesterday? Seeing you at the point of that fucking gun, helpless? Knowing that if I took a second too long, I’d lose you?”

Tim’s anger faltered, melting into something that churned painfully in his chest. His own breath hitched as he looked at Dick, the weight of his brother’s words sinking into him. The haunted look in his eyes, shaking him to his core.

“I didn’t spank you because I’m an asshole, Tim,” Dick continued, voice tight. “Despite what you might be thinking right now, I just want to make sure you start thinking before doing stupid crap like that. I want you to stop breaking the rules meant to protect you, meant to keep you safe.” Dick’s voice cracked, and the boiling rage in Tim’s stomach died down as quickly as it had ignited.

“We’re vigilantes,” Tim countered weakly, his hand wiping at his nose. “There’s nothing safe about what we do.”

“Exactly, Tim. Things are risky enough without us breaking safety protocols and going rogue. It’s one thing to take risks while crime-fighting the right way—with your backup, with at least one other person knowing where you are and who you’re engaging with. It’s another thing to sneak out of the house, diving into action hoping for the best.”

Tim stood there, staring at Dick for a moment but not responding. He tried to hold Dick’s gaze, but couldn’t. His eyes drifted to the floor, focusing on his sock-clad feet.

“It’s like claiming wearing a helmet on a motorbike is pointless,” Dick continued, "because riding it is dangerous anyway.”

Tim’s eyes shot up at that, looking at Dick in shock. For a moment, he wondered if Dick somehow knew about… but the rising eyebrow told him that Dick probably hadn’t known before. But now? He definitely suspected.

“Which, you’d better never do, by the way,” Dick tacked on, his voice dropping into his warning tone. “Because if you do, you can count on a serious-shit-level spanking, with a dose of my belt on top for good measure.”

Tim’s face blanched. Nope. No way in hell.

“Back to business,” Dick said more seriously now. “Like I said, In our line of work disregarding rules can easily mean death or permanent injury. A spanking? Unpleasant as hell, sure. Effective? Definitely. And the damage lasts, at most, a couple of days.The worst thing it impairs is your ability to sit comfortably temporarily. Hell, I’d go as far as to say the damage is milder than an A4’s.”

Tim felt his face heating up and averted his gaze again. It fell on the shattered mug and the coffee stains all over the wall and the rug. His face burned hotter. He didn’t know what to do or say, so he just stood there, the inferno in his ass a constant reminder of o what had gone down not just today but yesterday, too.

Dick took a step closer to him and Tim stole a glance at him in time to see him opening his arms. He hesitated, looking at the offered embrace. He didn’t want to want it. He wanted to remain angry. He wanted to stick to his guns to his stubbornness and to pretend he hadn’t realized going after the cartel wasn’t the brilliant plan he thought it had been. But he couldn’t. The first step was the hardest, but once he took it, he closed the distance in the blink of an eye and fell into Dick’s arms. He hid his face in his brother’s chest and soaked in the comfort.

“Please tell me you heard what I said,” Dick said quietly, his hands wrapping around Tim softly. “That you really heard me. That you’ll never do anything so dangerous and irresponsible again.”

Tim took a couple of seconds before nodding against his chest. “I won’t. I’m sorry, D.”

Dick’s hand cupped his head, fingers threading through Tim’s strands and Tim closed his eyes tightly, trying to gulp down the lumb in his throat. 

“I love you, T. I gotta make sure you stay alive and kicking, ok?”

“Yeah. I promise I’ll start making it easier,” Tim said quietly, breaking the embrace and wiping at his eyes again. 

Dick moved to the desk next, unplugged the laptop and tucked it under his arm. “This is mine for the duration of your grounding—”

Tim’s head snapped up again, his jaw dropping. “My what?”

“Your grounding,” Dick said conversationally. “One week, grounded and benched, double training every day.”

Tim blinked, his mouth hanging open as his brain tried to process what Dick had just said. "What? Dick, you just spanked my ass right off, are you for real?” He prayed Dick was messing with him—though, the way his brother’s expression stayed serious, the way his posture didn’t shift an inch, made it painfully clear that he likely wasn't.

"One hundred percent,” Dick’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, steady and sure. “I told you, what you pulled warranted stricter punishment. But I’m not a cruel person,” Dick continued, still looking him dead in the eye. “It was your first time, so toned down smacking, grounding, and benching on top to make things fair.”

"Fair? Nothing about this is even remotely fair,” Tim managed to get out, his voice still hoarse.

"Well, tough." Dick said evenly. "Like I said, one week. Grounded, Benched, double training. Think of it as more time for you to think about the bigger picture." Dick didn’t sugarcoat it, but there was a gentleness in the way he said it. He wasn’t being harsh, not really. But Tim felt the sting of it, all the same and wasn’t sure who he was more pissed at—Dick for being such a damn stickler about the punishment, or himself for getting into this mess in the first place.

Tim trudged to his bed and dropped face first into it with a miserable groan, before turning to look at Dick with the most miserable expression he could muster. “This sucks!”

Dick gave a skeptical hum, then leaned casually against the doorframe. “You know what? I hear you. So, here’s what we can do,” Dick said, his tone conversational. “You can go over my knee again for a second round with my belt to make the punishment fit the crime, and then we can cancel the grounding and the benching. Deal or no deal?”

Tim's eyes went wide, his stomach dropping. A second spanking, with something made of leather made his insides twist. If the throbbing in his ass was any indication, he didn’t even want to imagine the kind of damage Dick’s belt would do. The mental image was enough to make his entire body cringe in horror.

Forget it,” Tim groaned. He wasn’t even trying to look dignified anymore. He just wanted the whole mess to end.

“That’s what I thought.”

Tim barely bothered to lift his head from the mattress, but the satisfaction in Dick's voice grated on his nerves. 

“You’ll get your laptop back in a week. But because I’m monumentally cool, I’ll let you keep your phone.”

“Wow, thanks, Dick. Truly, you're the epitome of generosity. I’ll try not to cry from the overwhelming kindness.”

Dick’s voice came back in a calm, almost amused tone. “You got an hour to mop and rest, then come find me.”

Tim’s hand shot up, almost out of reflex, fingers curled into a fist. He stopped just short of flipping Dick off, suddenly unsure. Was he allowed to do that now? Was there some unwritten rule that came with the spanking that meant no more middle fingers or dick jokes? His mind started to spiral, but before he could go any further down that rabbit hole, a snort interrupted his thoughts.

Tim reluctantly lifted his eyes to Dick, who was watching him with a fond expression.

Dick raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You can flip me the finger now, Tim. As long as I'm not in the middle of lecturing or spanking your butt, you can be a reasonable amount of little-shit. We’re still brothers after all.”

Tim blinked and tried to hide his relief. Lips twitching, his middle finger shot straight up at Dick, who chuckled, shaking his head before disappearing out the door, his voice floating back to Tim, “Catch you in an hour. Get some rest.”

Tim waited a few seconds after the door clicked shut, before gingerly reaching back to rub his sore ass, wincing at the fire of pain that flared. His groan was low, almost pathetic, and he couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out when his hands touched the sensitive area.

The effort to relieve the discomfort felt like a joke, so Tim pulled his pillow into a tight hug instead. He tried to think through everything—reflect, analyze, figure it all out—but his body was screaming exhaustion. His mind was foggy and before he even realized what was happening, his eyelids fluttered shut.