Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian hated this. This was a ridiculous, stupid, infuriating situation that he could easily get out of except for the fact that he was Damian Wayne, son of billionaire Bruce Wayne and not Robin right now. He hated that he had to withhold his skills and talent and play at being a helpless child.

He was not a helpless child.

As it was, he wouldn't have to play that role much longer. He could already hear the shouts from deeper in the building, the goons who'd been guarding him already abandoning their posts to help their colleagues. It was a good thing, because now he could easily get out of the restraints holding him to the chair.

The amateurs had only used rope, and he almost scoffed at how easy it was to get out of them. He could have been quicker if his wrist didn't sting with every movement, but it was still quick.

The shouts grew closer, sounds of punching and bodies hitting the walls filling the hallway just outside his room. There was no accompanying quips as usual, but Damian still recognised who it was. He could identify his Batman in his sleep.

He quickly undid the rope around his feet just as the door opened.

Nightwing stood in the doorway menacingly, blood splattering the blue accents on his suit. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths, and he was missing an escrima, but when he looked up at Damian, he still smiled.

"Dami," he breathed, staggering forward.

Damian froze. Nightwing, his Batman, his brother Richard Grayson did not stagger. He was more graceful than that.

"Are you okay?" Nightwing asked, moving closer only to fall to one knee. Damian surged forward to catch his brother if needed, but Dick managed to stop himself from collapsing fully.

"I should be asking you that," Damian frowned, searching his brother for injuries.

Nightwing only shook his head, placing a hand on Damian's shoulder and looking him up and down. Damian was a little… startled to have to look down on Nightwing. Though the older vigilante was on his knee, he used to only be at Damian's eye level. Now Damian was taller. It made him… sad, to notice that.

"Dami, are you hurt?" Nightwing asked again, meeting Damian's eyes.

"I am fine."

"Damian," Nightwing said, in the same tone that he used to say 'Robin'. But this wasn't Batman asking Robin for a report; this was his brother encouraging him to admit - no, tell - his injuries.

"I suspect my left wrist to be sprained and I have some bruises, but I am otherwise alright," Damian sighed.

Richard's shoulders relaxed, and he nodded. "Okay, good. Let's get you home."

Damian watched nervously as Nightwing pushed himself up to stand, swaying a little. "Nightwing- "

"I'm okay. Let's just- let's go."

Damian stayed behind Nightwing as the vigilante led him through the hallways lined with unconscious bodies. He could tell that his brother had not held back as much as usual. They came across Nightwing's missing escrima and Damian ignoring the way that his brother almost lost his balance when he stopped to pick it up.

More sounds of fighting reached them from a larger room at the end of the hall. Damian could catch glimpses of Batman's cape as his father took care of the remaining crowd of goons, but more kept flooding in from somewhere.

As Damian and Nightwing stepped into the room, five more goons appeared to their left. Nightwing was quick to react, even if Damian could notice the sloppy form. He himself had to fight to not defend himself beyond simple blocks and dodges. He could easily help Nightwing take the goons out and save the both of them, but he couldn't risk exposing their identities.

"Damian, go to Batman," Nightwing ordered between dealing blows with his escrimas.

"But- "

Nightwing turned to look at him. "I can't protect you and fight at the same time right now. Batman can."

Damian huffed, but nodded. He understood the logic, of course, even if he hated to leave Nightwing when he was so vulnerable.

No, Damian corrected himself. Nightwing can take care of himself. You are the liability here.

He ran over to where Batman was, his father's cape almost immediately enveloping him protectively.

"Are you okay?"

Damian just nodded, trying to track Nightwing through the chaos. He didn't know how long the fighting went on, but soon enough, the goons were all on the ground, unconscious or groaning. Batman's cape dropped from around him, instead swirling around his father as he crouched down in front of Damian just like Richard had mere minutes ago.

Damian just looked past him to where Nightwing stood across the room with his back to them. His shoulders were rising and falling with stuttered breaths, favouring his left side, head bowed. His hand was only loosely wrapped around his escrimas, but as Damian watched, one slipped and clattered loudly against the floor.

Batman's head whipped around, and he stood swiftly. "Nightwing, report," he called out.

Damian wanted to run to his brother, but he was stuck in place.

"Nightwing," Batman repeated, and Damian hated the masked concern in his father's voice.

Nightwing turned around unsteadily, one hand raising to press against his side. His face was scrunched up in pain and confusion. Batman moved closer and Damian followed.

"Something… something's wrong," Richard breathed out, swallowing hard. When he looked up to meet their eyes, there was a small amount of fear in them. "B, something- "

Nightwing's legs buckled, eyes fluttering as he fell. Batman darted forwards, but Damian was faster, diving down onto his knees and catching his brother's head before it could touch the ground.

"Nightwing!"

Batman came up next to him, kneeling down to check Richard's pulse.

"Nightwing, can you hear me?"

No response.

Batman searched Nightwing's body for injuries, but Damian couldn't bring himself to pay attention to that, focusing on his brother's closed eyes.

"Nightwing, wake up," Damian urged.

"Alfred, prep the medbay," he heard Batman say into his comms.

"Wake up, Richard," he whispered. "Please."

But Richard stayed still.

When Tim had heard that the Demon Brat had been kidnapped, he'd only been a little worried. Definitely not worried enough to insist on going with Batman and Nightwing on a rescue mission, but he stayed on comms. He didn't doubt it'd be a quick in and out, then he could spend some time with Dick who had come for the weekend, but came early on Friday night to surprise them. Instead he'd been the one surprised when he'd heard the news, but oh well.

When Tim had heard Batman on comms telling Alfred to prep the medbay, he'd gotten a little more worried. As far as they'd been able to tell, the group that'd kidnapped Damian had been some amateurs wanting Wayne money. The most dangerous thing about them was that they were operating from an abandoned lab, but nothing came up when Tim had done his research. But… what if they'd gotten it all wrong? What if they'd taken Damian as a test subject that they could make some money off the side from? What if they'd hurt Damian? They'd never mentioned anything about his state of wellbeing when asking for a ransom…

He watched the Batcomputer as it clocked the Batmobile entering the grounds, then stood waiting as the vehicle entered the Cave. Batman got out almost the second the car parked, forgetting to even close the driver's door before moving to the backseat. That meant it was bad; Tim prepared himself to see the worst.

But instead of Batman reaching into the car and pulling out a small, broken body, he emerged carrying a bloody Nightwing instead. Dick's eyes were closed, but his face was still scrunched up in pain. His body was too still, skin pale, arm hanging limp from Batman's grasp. Damian darted out a second later, following Batman as he carried his oldest to the medbay.

Tim… hadn't considered that possibility somehow. That it wasn't Damian who was hurt, but Dick. It threw him off, but he shut it all out. He was wasting time, wasting Dick's time by just standing around. He had to go and help.

By the time he entered the medbay, Dick was already lying on one of the beds, hooked up to multiple monitors. Damian was holding Nightwing's mask, standing off to the side, frozen. Alfred was busy ordering Bruce around to help. The butler noticed Tim and nodded towards Damian, his meaning clear. Tim nodded back.

He moved over to Damian's side, but the kid gave no indication of knowing he was there. Slowly, Tim moved to block his view of Dick. That got a reaction. Damian glared up at him, but said nothing and still didn't move.

"Damian, you- we can't do much for him now. Standing here won't do anything, except crowd the room. Why don't you go take a shower and get changed?"

"I'm not a child, Drake," Damian spat, but it fell flat, almost like he retorted on instinct alone. His eyes were back to looking past Tim.

"Damian, look at me."

Tim waited, but his younger brother didn't.

"Damian," he tried again, this time slowly reaching out to put his hand on Damian's shoulder. The younger boy's eyes snapped to Tim's this time. "He's going to be okay. You being here or not isn't going to change that. He'd want you to take care of yourself.

"I will not leave him."

"I don't want to either, bud, but you don't want to see this bit. Trust me."

Tim could remember countless times in the past where he'd had to help patch his siblings up. It wasn't fun, ever. The screams stayed with him, and sometimes he could still feel their thrashing limbs underneath his hands as he held them down to save them from themselves. He knew Damian had seen and experienced the same, or worse, but that didn't mean Tim didn't try to spare him from it when he could.

"Just ten minutes to shower and change," Tim started. "Let me look you over, and then you can come back if Alfred lets us. He won't get worse in fifteen minutes."

Tim was lying through his teeth. Everything could change in fifteen minutes. But he knew Damian knew that too. They both knew that everything could change, but for better or worse, them being there wouldn't affect the outcome. Not at this stage. Bruce and Alfred were here for now and that would be enough.

Damian seemed to realise the same thing, and he frowned, shoulders slumping over in defeat. He still didn't move.

"The quicker you go, the faster you can be back here," Tim said quietly, raising an eyebrow.

"I am not a child," Damian repeated, but he did leave, walking swiftly out the door. Tim glanced back behind him at Dick, only to meet Alfred's eyes. The butler gave him an appreciative look before turning back his patient. Then, Tim followed Damian's path out the door.

Chapter Text

"Dick, stay down," Jason warned, eyeing the restless acrobat.

"But I'm fine," Dick whined.

"You can barely sit up on your own," Tim exclaimed. "Not to mention your very high fever- "

"- blood loss- ," Jason added.

"- dislocated shoulder - ," Tim continued.

" - multiple stab wounds, mild concussion- "

"- and general lack of rest."

"Rest, that in fact, is not happening because you got fucking poisoned somehow."

"Eloquently put," Tim rolled his eyes.

"Why, thank you," Jason nodded, shit-eating grin on his face.

Dick just huffed and sank back into the pillows, frowning. He tried to cross his arms, but it only ended in him wincing, which sobered Tim up.

His oldest brother wasn't looking much better. Sure, he was awake, which was generally good, but it wasn't by choice which was bad. In the past, they'd had enough trouble getting Dick to rest during recovery but now it seemed physically impossible. They'd had to call Jason in to keep Dick in bed, especially after Damian had been forced to go to school. It was proving harder than they'd have thought. At least with Damian, the kid could curl up next to Dick and the acrobat wouldn't dare move in case he disturbed his younger brother, but now they didn't have that option.

Dick still looked pale, bright blue eyes dulled and ringed with dark bags. He was weak, and sweaty from his fever and the poison. Whatever parts of his body were visible under the thin blanket was covered in bandages, some of them bled through. Yet… Dick was under the impression that he was perfectly fine. Tim theorised that the fever was making him delirious. Jason had just laughed and said it was just Dick being Dick.

"What time is it?" Dick asked.

"Time for you to listen to us and stay in bed," Jason replied.

Dick pouted, and Tim took pity on him. "It's one thirty. Still a couple of hours until Damian is back."

"That's not why I was asking," Dick mumbled, sinking further into the pillows.

"Sure it wasn't," Jason scoffed, but he smiled softly anyway. "Get some rest, Dickface."

Dick huffed. They all knew what he was thinking. Resting was all he'd been doing for days now… or at least trying to. Still, Dick shuffled until he was lying down and hid his face in a pillow. Tim noticed Jason frown when he glanced over at their oldest brother, but the second Jason noticed Tim looking, he just shot him a smile.

"I think Alfred would agree that this is a long enough break for you. You can go back to working on the antidote, I got him," Jason said softly.

Tim hesitated.

"What, don't trust me?" Jason raised an eyebrow.

Tim rolled his eyes as he stood, pushing Jason's shoulder when he passed his older brother. "You know I do," he said quietly.

And he did. Just like Jason and all of the others trusted Tim to find an antidote to the poison that persisted in Dick's body.

As far as they could tell - including the theories him and Bruce had pieced together - Damian had been taken for a ransom but also as bait to lure Batman there. Neither Tim nor Bruce suspected the men knew their identities, but instead were just going off of past instances of high-profile Wayne's getting saved by Bats. The actual kidnapping was just regular goons, but they had likely been hired by someone else. The abandoned lab had been purposefully chosen as a base, used by some Scarecrow fanatics - a detail Tim had missed the first time around. They seemed to have been experimenting with a version of fear toxin and needed a test subject.

Nightwing and Batman had been separated for at least ten minutes while the former had gone to find Damian. Dick doesn't remember, but Alfred noticed a pinprick on Dick's arm where the suit had been ripped, so it's possible someone had dosed him on his way to Damian.

Tim flinched as he heard whimpers coming from the medbay. He can hear Jason's low voice, likely comforting Dick. Tim can only hope Dick got some rest before the nightmares interrupted it.

This version of the toxin seems to be triggered only during sleep. The longer and deeper Dick sleeps, the worse the nightmares are. Not even sedatives prevent it, only trapping him in the nightmare instead of helping.

Jason's voice rises, probably trying to wake Dick. It must have gotten worse. Tim frowns. They all know that Dick has more than enough nightmare fuel, from his childhood and his decades of vigilanteism. Whatever he's seeing can't be pretty.

Tim needed to find an antidote, and fast.

Jason isn't used to this, being the one doing the comforting. He's much more used to being comforted by Dick, even when he doesn't want it. Hates it, in fact, but now that he's on the other end, he's learned to appreciate what his older brother does for him.

"Breathe, Dick," Jason reminds his brother, but he's not entirely sure Dick is even listening. The older vigilante is too busy sobbing into Jason's chest, so Jay just tries to rub his brother's back, hold him the way Dick always held him. His hitched breaths are almost painful to listen to, especially on top of days and nights of this.

"I'm… sorry… Jay," Dick manages to say between gasping breaths, and Jason's heart twinges.

"You don't have to be sorry, Dick."

"But your… your tshirt…"

Jason laughs. He can't help it. He knows Dick isn't thinking straight because of the fever and concussion and lack of sleep but that was unexpected.

"I have more, it's okay. You're sick, you get a pass this time."

"But it's like… the fifth one I've ruined… in two days…"

"Once you get better, you can feel free to do my laundry or buy me new ones. You have to get better first though, okay?"

He feels Dick nod against his chest. The crying seems to have slowed, if not stopped. Dick's body is limp against his, the man exhausted. But he can't go to sleep as much as he wants to and Jason hates it.

This isn't something they can solve by beating someone up or threatening crime bosses. Tim's working on an antidote, and Dick has to fight this on his own. Well, not all on his own, but still. It's an internal threat, and the others can only support him. Jason hates it. He hates feeling this… helpless.

"Your chest is comfy," comes Dick's muffled voice, so quiet that Jason almost misses it.

"Um, thank you?"

Dick is silent for just long enough that Jason wonders if he might have fallen asleep. "Dick?" He whispers.

Dick just shifts, resting his cheek against Jason's shoulder, but his eyes are closed and his breathing even. Jason doesn't dare move, even if he's half falling off the bed and his foot is falling asleep. Dick needs this more than Jason needs to feel his toes, so he can suck it up, for Dick's sake.

Dick felt like shit.

He was exhausted, every inch of his body hurt, he was tired of waking up screaming or crying, he was tired of having to go to sleep, his blood burned in his veins, and yet he was shivering, and nothing in his body felt right. His brain was foggy in a not-fun way, he was wasting time just sitting here, but there wasn't anything else he could do.

He squinted down at Damian, who was huddled against his side, drawing something in his sketchbook. They'd managed to convince Alfred to let Dick move upstairs, so they were lying on the large couch in the living room where Dick could get some sun. It felt nice, even if he still felt like shit.

"What are you working on?" Dick asked Damian.

Damian sighed softly. Maybe Dick had asked him already, but he couldn't remember. His younger brother still answered.

"I am experimenting with realism. I am currently attempting to understand the anatomy of a cat."

Dick frowned. "So you're drawing Alfred the Cat?"

Another sigh. "Yes, I am drawing Alfred the Cat."

"I can draw a cat, did you know that?"

"I have seen some of your childhood artworks, yes. The ones that Father insists on covering the fridge and his office walls with, and the ones he has packed away in the attic."

"I made the ones on the fridge a few months ago..."

"Ah."

"Are you saying they aren't good?" Dick asked accusingly.

"No artwork is bad. It's merely… abstract. I admire your abstract style, even if I do not understand what you intended to draw sometimes."

Dick hummed, unsure if Damian was insulting or complimenting him. Instead, he just pulled the younger boy closer, and planted a kiss on his head. He couldn't see Damian's face, but his brother's shoulders relaxed, so he guessed it was okay.

"Is your wrist feeling better?"

Damian lifted his hand, testing his wrist.

"Yes. Drake did a… satisfactory job in treating it."

Dick smiled. "Good. At least one of us is feeling better," he added under his breath.

Damian was silent for a few moments, before he picked his pencil back up.

"Drake will come up with something soon. I'm sure."

Dick just hummed again.

Chapter Text

Dick was flying.

Spotlights blinded him as he soared through the air, legs wrapped around the trapeze, hands dangling below him. The air felt nice as it rushed between his fingers, almost a physical force he could manipulate.

Two pairs of hands were swinging towards him, reaching for his own. The figures were swathed in shadow, but he knew who they were. He reached out, but just as their fingers were about to touch, their trapeze line snapped and they fell. His parents' faces grew startlingly clear, their shocked eyes staring straight into his as they fell down, down until their bodies thudded brokenly against the ground.

Except… there was three bodies.

Jason stared up at him, one eye visible through the cracked Robin mask.

'Help me', he mouthed, body shuddering. Suddenly, Dick was on the ground with them, but he loomed over Jason, his parents gone. Something hard and cold dug into his fingers, and he looked down to see his hand wrapped around a bloody crowbar. Jason looked at him with fear, mouth open in a scream that only grew louder…

That wasn't Jason's scream though. That was Damian's voice, mixed with Tim's sobs. Dick looked to his left to see the bloody bodies of his siblings, a huge Batman towering over them all and blocking out the spotlights, swathing them all in darkness.

Damian and Tim attacked, both in torn and bloody Robin suits.

"You did this to us," they hissed. "Our pain is because of you."

Dick tried to fight back, but the crowbar was his only weapon and he couldn't bring himself to use it. His brothers were fighting to kill, Batman's shadow around them growing tighter and more suffocating. Hands grabbed his, restraining him and he twisted to see that it was Jason, Red Hood kicking aside dead Jason-Robin's arm to reach down and grab the crowbar that Dick had dropped. Dick struggled against Red Hood's grip, still trying to dodge Tim and Damian's attacks, but he should have been watching behind him.

One of them strikes the back of his knees. He goes down hard. A sword slashed at the crook of his arm, and it burns. He gasps as something lodges itself into his back, and he looks down to see the crowbar poke through his stomach.

Burning ice flows in his veins. He's painfully aware of it as it travels through his body. The crowbar is keeping him in place, so as much as he wants to thrash around, it only sets his whole body on fire. Batman's shadow suffocates him, and he gasps for breath.

"It's for your own good," one of the Robins hisses.

"You could never be what I needed you to be," Batman's voice tuts in his ear. "Such a disappointment."

"You failed me," Red Hood growls.

The voices and shadow slowly consume him. Dick lets them.

"Drake, the antidote was supposed to help!"

"It should be working!" Tim's panicked voice shouted back. "I didn't see you doing anything!"

"Damian, Tim, calm down," Bruce said firmly. "Damian helped by keeping Dick company, Tim. And both of you, the antidote is helping. This is just Dick's body getting the last of the poison out of his system." Bruce frowned, rubbing Dick's back as his oldest son heaved into the toilet again. He hated the way Dick was shaking under his hand, tears staining his cheeks but it was better than earlier when they'd first administered the antidote. Dick hadn't stopped thrashing, then, screaming and sobbing and fighting against them.

"Now why don't the two of you go and help Alfred?" Bruce suggested, glancing at the younger boys hovering in the doorway.

His younger sons grumbled, but left, and Bruce pretended to ignore the grateful look that Dick shot him before turning back to the toilet. He knew that Dick loved his brothers, but he also knew how Dick tried to protect them, pretending he was okay when he wasn't. Bruce knew from experience that acting took energy, energy that Dick didn't have from the way he was slumped over.

"Just breathe, Dick. Let it all out, you're okay," Bruce murmured, trailing meaningless patterns on his son's back and occasionally brushing Dick's sweaty hair out of his face. Dick groaned miserably and Bruce winced in sympathy.

It was another few minutes until Dick could only dry heave, and five more before Dick felt well enough to shuffle back and lean against the bathroom wall. Bruce got up to grab a towel, running it under cold water before bringing it over to help clean Dick up. His son leaned into the cool cloth, eyes drifting closed.

"Not yet, chum. Let's get you back to bed first."

Bruce hated to prevent his son from sleeping, not when he finally could, but he couldn't let Dick fall asleep on the bathroom floor. He'd never hear the end of it from Alfred.

"Ready to get up?" Bruce asked, but Dick just shook his head. "Okay, we can stay here for a bit."

Dick leaned against him almost immediately after Bruce sat down next to him. The older man didn't mind. Despite the situation, he'd missed this. It was no secret that Dick was one of the more physically affectionate of his kids, but Bruce didn't realise how much he craved it until now. He'd gotten used to Dick not being at the Manor, and thus the amount of physical touch between himself and his kids was much less, but this was nice.

He wrapped an arm around his son, pulling Dick closer so he could settle his head on Bruce's shoulder.

"Thanks," he heard Dick mumble.

"For what?"

Dick didn't answer, instead waving his hand in the general direction of the door, and then indicating to all of Bruce. The billionaire smiled, understanding easily.

"You're welcome," he said quietly, pressing a kiss on the top of Dick's head.

They stayed there for a few more minutes, in silence. Bruce kept an eye on Dick, watching for his son to fall asleep, but each time Dick's eyes closed for a few moments too long, they would fly open again.

"Think you can manage the walk to your bedroom now?"

Dick lifted his head, sloppily rubbing his eyes with a shaking hand. "Yeah," he yawned, nodding.

"We can take it slow," Bruce reassured. Dick nodded again.

Bruce helped Dick up onto unsteady feet, ignoring just how much his son leaned on him as they made their way slowly to Dick's bedroom. Bruce knew the way by heart, years spent carrying or leading a sleepy Robin to his room, then following a stubborn teenage boy only to have the door shut on him, then just making his way to the threshold on instinct despite knowing his son wasn't beyond it.

This time, the door was wide open, revealing Alfred's handiwork of the remaining medical equipment needed already set up and ready, beside a bed with fresh sheets. Damian was already perched in a chair, prepared to watch over his brother for however many hours Bruce would let him. Tim was watching nervously from the opposite corner as Bruce set Dick down against the pillows.

Dick, to his credit, gave a weak thumbs up to Tim, accompanied by a tired grin before yawning again.

"Get some sleep now, Dick," Bruce ordered softly, brushing his son's hair off of his forehead again. "We'll be right here."

"You're sure the antidote is working, right?" Jason asked Tim in a hushed voice.

"I've checked his bloodwork. The poison should be out of his system," Tim hissed back.

"Then why the fuck is he not asleep?"

Dick cleared his throat. "I can uh, I can hear you, you know."

"That's the problem!" Jason threw his hands in the air. "Go to sleep, Goldie."

"The antidote- " Tim started but Dick cut him off.

"- is working fine, Timmy. You did a good job."

"Then why aren't you asleep?"

"I'm not tired," Dick lied.

Jason called him out immediately. "Bullshit. You might not be poisoned anymore, but you still look like the dead, Dickface. And I don't mean the handsome type like me who came back, I mean the guys I saw in the grave."

Dick flinched, but tried to cover it up by rolling his eyes. "Gee, thanks," he said sarcastically. "That makes me feel better."

But Jason was right. If he looked like the dead, it only reflected how he felt anyway. The poison might be gone, but his body was still in pain at every movement, the fever that clouded his mind getting better, but still bad. He knew he'd be fine after some sleep, and now he could actually do that, but how could he explain to them why he couldn't - wouldn't - let himself sleep? There was no guarantee now without the poison that he'd have a nightmare, but he'd seen enough. His rest had been plagued enough and he was sick and tired of the horrors his traitorous mind kept coming up with.

He wasn't ready to deal with another nightmare so soon.

As if knowing what he was thinking, Jason softened. "Dick, you need to sleep," he sighed.

"I know," Dick said quietly.

Jason and Tim shared a look that Dick pretended not to see.

"We can try sedatives?" Tim suggested, but Dick shook his head. He didn't want to risk being trapped if he got a nightmare, like last time.

"You wanna do a movie night?" Jason asked.

"I don't think I can get up," Dick admitted. To be honest, a movie night sounded good, but he really didn't want to move. It took a while to get comfy in his own bed, with all of his injuries and the IV that Alfred insisted on keeping him hydrated with - he didn't want to ruin that.

"I can get my laptop," Tim said slowly, and Dick could almost see the cogs working in his brother's mind. "We'll just move the movie night to you."

Dick laughed. "Yeah, I guess."

"So that's a yes?"

"It's a maybe." It was a good solution, but Dick knew watching a movie would only end one of two ways. One, he fell asleep before the movie even really started, and risked nightmares. Two, his headache would get ten times worse and he'd need some medicine that would likely make him drowsy and he was back to the same problem.

Jason sighed dramatically. "Timtam, I think I know exactly what we have to do. But I don't know if I have the strength to do it."

Tim rolled his eyes. "What?"

"We must wait for the Demon Brat to return from his bathroom break. This needs to be a coordinated effort."

"What are you planning?" Dick asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Hush." Jason held a finger to his lips as he glared in Dick's direction. "Shut up and go to sleep and you'll never have to find out."

"Mm, nope, no thanks."

"Then have it your way, bitch. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Todd?" Damian frowned, glaring at Jason. "What is going on?"

"Your dearest brother is still refusing to sleep, so for his own good, I'm afraid we must use drastic measures." Dick hid his smile as Tim and Damian shared a concerned glance, but Jason ignored them all to instead pace around the room, imitating the old detective shows he denied loving. "You see, this was all an elaborate ruse, a desperate plea for brotherly affection. An elaborate ruse, by none other than one" - Jason froze suddenly, before dramatically pointing at Dick - "Richard John Grayson, otherwise known as Dickface."

There was a few moments of silence, before Tim sighed. "I'm confused."

"Of course you are, Timmers," Jason shook his head sadly, patting Tim's head curtly.

"Todd, explain," Damian ground out.

"Oh for the love of-" Jason abandoned his act, pinching his nose in disappointment. "A hug. Dick wants a stupid group hug. All of us snuggling" - he shuddered dramatically - "is the only way I can think of that he'll sleep."

Dick laughed. "I don't- "

"Yes, you do," Tim said flatly.

Dick frowned and tried again. "It won't- "

"We all know it will, Richard."

"Wait- "

But it was too late. His brother had already crowded his bed, unanimously agreeing. Two minutes later, Tim was glued to his left side, carefully adjusting the IV to accommodate, and Damian was curled up on Dick's right side, sandwiched by Jason who had his arm draped over Dick's shoulder.

"I give it a two minutes and a half," Jason whispered.

Tim scoffed quietly. "You kidding? One minute and a half."

Dick eyed them. "Are you two betting on- "

"Hush, Richard. Help me win and fall asleep in two minutes."

"I'm not going to- "

"You will," they all chorused, the gentle hum of their voices making Dick's shoulders automatically relax. His eyelids felt heavy, and he fought a yawn.

Damian shifted slightly, head resting just below Dick's chest. Tim set his head against Dick's shoulder, and Dick helped him adjust by pulling him closer. His blinks were becoming longer, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open.

"It's okay, Dick. We're here," Jason said softly in his ear. "We'll be here when you wake up. You can sleep now."

Dick just hummed.

He was still scared of the nightmares. They'd come eventually, he knew. He was never really free of them. But… Jason had been right. All of them were right. He could sleep if they were near.

As relaxed as he was now, he'd never be more relaxed anywhere else. He'd never be more safe. If anything happened, no matter what his nightmares told him, he could wake up and see three of the people he loved the most, living, breathing, peaceful.

Their breaths were like a lullaby, the rise and fall of their chests mesmerising. He focused on that.

In the end, none of them won the bet.

He was out in less than a minute.