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It starts like this.
He wouldn’t catch them in time, couldn’t, and the net, something is wrong with the net. Something is wrong with the net. They’re falling, falling, falling. The world is on fire and there’s the sick sound of metal meeting flesh. He hears the nauseating crack of bones breaking and somebody gagging and retching blood onto the ground. Somebody is screaming. Somebody—no, no, no, NO! Help! It’s Jason—no! No! He’s screaming, screaming oh god, oh god, oh god—
Dick wakes up with a start, arms reaching out to chase the amalgamation of Jason and his parents. Instead he’s met with the stark blackness of his old room in the manor. He gulps in a harsh breath, shivering and curling in on himself. He runs a hand over his face, feeling wetness on his cheeks. His heart is running a hundred miles an hour inside his chest; he takes another deep breath to calm it. He presses the heels of his hands on his eyes, trying to tone down the clamor in his head.
He couldn’t save them. Couldn’t save any of them. It was his fault that Jason died, he should’ve been there for him more, should have been better, shouldn’t have been so petty and so jealous—
He lets out a choked sob, eyes stinging. His head is pounding and the world still feels like it’s on fire.
Dick hears a creak and looks up at the sound of his name being called. Tim is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, Dick’s pajamas too big on his skinny frame. The light spilling from the hallway silhouettes his figure from behind, making him look even smaller than usual.
“Dick?” Tim calls again, voice small.
Dick swallows, clears his throat. He forgets that Tim is staying with them that night. He sits up, gets dizzy over how fast he does it. “Yeah, Timmy?” his voice sounds hoarse even to his own ears.
Tim waits a beat, hesitant. “Are you okay? I, um, heard noises from the hallway.”
Dick tries to open up his mouth to say something but when he finds that he can’t, he closes it again, jaws trembling. “I—“ he starts, he’s what?
Tim levels him with an expectant look, blue eyes digging into Dick’s.
You’re what, Dick?
He wants to chide himself. He should reply with something, anything. He’s the adult here for God’s sake. He’s the one who needs to assure Tim, to ease those lines etched on his young face before they become permanent but he can’t bring himself to make a sound.
“Dick?” Tim’s hand clenches on the doorway, his face pulling into a frown.
Dick tries again, taking in a deep breath. Tim drake; ever the thoughtful one, always saving the day, always saving him and Bruce. Tim Drake, Robin, little brother.
“I’ll be fine,” he replies shakily. And that’s the truth isn’t it? He will be fine. He has to be fine. He takes another lungful of air. “I’ll be fine,” he repeats.
Dick glances at the digital clock on his desk. “Why are you still up so late?” he asks.
Tim shifts his eyes around, his teeth worrying his lips. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admits.
“Nightmares?” Dick raises his eyebrows.
Tim looks at him and nods. Dick gives out a weak chuckle and pats the empty spot next to him.
“C’mere Timbo.”
“What?” Tim blinks at him questioningly. Dick doesn’t expect him to comply, Tim is unusually independent for a fourteen-year-old, and so he’s surprised when Tim steps into the room, gently pushing the door closed behind him. The boy stands there in the darkness, hands fidgeting the hem of his shirt, seeming unsure of what to do.
Dick frowns, “Come here, Tim, on the bed,” he says, shoving the blanket aside to make room for Tim.
Tim climbs onto the bed slowly, all the while looking lost, and Dick’s frown deepens. He suddenly remembers that Tim probably never goes to his parents’ bed if he has nightmares. Goddamn the Drakes. Dick doesn’t even want to know what else they did—or rather, didn’t do—for their son. He’s afraid he won’t be able to restrain himself from giving them a black eye if he did.
“We’ll feel better if we sleep in the same place,” Dick reasons, shifting the blankets and piling them on top of a stiff Tim. “When I was smaller, every time Bruce caught me having a nightmare, he used to stay with me until I fell asleep again,” he continues, lying down and scooting closer to Tim so their shoulders bump, “but I think I’m a little bit too old for that. And since we both had nightmares and we both still need sleep, this only seems right, right?”
Dick waits for the ensuing argument about how that doesn’t even make sense, Dick, but nothing comes. He nudges the boy again, “Tim?”
“I guess so,” Tim mumbles, the tension slowly bleeding out of him. When Tim yawns Dick wants to smile despite himself.
“Goodnight, babybird,” he whispers.
Tim hums sleepily, “Goodnight, Dick.”
He listens as Tim’s breathing evens out, Dick’s still too worked up to sleep, heart still hammering away in his chest. He feels like he’s floating in space, can’t tell where his nightmare ends and reality begins, can’t quite chase away the glare of teal eyes and the mirror of his own blue from his head. He feels like a crooked painting, like he needs somebody to grab him and set him the right way again.
His hand unconsciously wanders to Tim’s wrist, feeling for Tim’s pulse points. He relaxes slightly at the physical contact, letting the steady thump thump thump of Tim’s heart tether him to the moment. Suddenly the boy stirs, Dick tenses, worried that he’s woken him up. But Tim doesn’t, instead he shifts so he’s lying on his side, curling around Dick’s arm as if it’s his own personal pillow.
Dick smiles, Tim is solid and warm next to him and it’s comforting, anchors him in a good way. It’s funny how it feels like Tim is trying to protect him even in his sleep (even if it should be the other way around, Dick’s mind supplies). Dick yawns into his hand, settling back into the bed as sleep pulls him under again.
The next morning, Dick wakes up with his nose pressed against Tim’s hair, one arm thrown protectively over him. Tim’s face is peaceful in his sleep, hands clutching Dick’s shirt in a death grip. Dick has to pry his fingers slowly off of his shirt one by one when he finally gives in to his biological urges. He smiles when Tim’s face scrunches up and the younger flips onto his stomach, snoring softly. He resists the urge to ruffle the Tim’s hair, knowing it would only wake him up. He chooses to stare contently instead before going to the bathroom.
He sighs; at least he kept one of his little brothers safe tonight.
-
It becomes a sort of habit between them, when Dick is in town and Tim is staying over. The monsters never seem to chase them once they’re in the same bed.
Except later, when Tim’s dreams are filled with the slow spin of a boomerang and the echo of a gunshot. On those nights, Tim doesn’t stand a chance and neither of them sleeps.
-
Dick doesn’t know what Damian’s nightmares are about.
-
(Tim doesn’t know what Cass’s nightmares are about.)
-
But one night he finds the youngest thrashing in his bed.
-
(He watches as her body tenses and her face shifts into a pained expression. Small whimpers escape her mouth now and then.)
-
Dick rushes in immediately and shakes him awake; whatever hell that is his dreams, reality is so much better.
-
(He wakes her very slowly, his hand gently patting hers. “Cass,” he whispers, “wake up, sister, it’s only a dream.”)
-
Damian has a katana to his throat in seconds; his eyes are wild as his hands tremble, chest heaving with each breath.
-
(Cass immediately stops moving, stops breathing. Her eyes are two slits in the darkness. Her grip on his hand is strong. She could’ve broken his bones if she wanted to.)
-
Dick has seen the kid face monsters before and not even flinch.
-
(He focuses only on her gaze. “Nightmare?” he asks. She blinks once and nods.)
-
When Dick pats the spot on the bed next to him it makes something ache inside his chest. Reminds him of another Robin a lifetime ago who needed Dick to fight his nightmares for him as much as Dick needed him to do the same.
-
(Tim slides into bed with her and they share the warmth. He tries not to think about his empty bedroom back at the manor.)
-
Dick learns that Damian sleeps better with nightlights.
-
(In the morning she thanks him and he smiles. “Only seemed right, right?” he replies.)
-
Jason trudges up the stairs leading to his safe house loudly, each step of his boot resulting in a loud clang. Damian is silent behind him; in fact, he doesn’t hear anything from the brat except for his breathing. Jason looks behind him to see if Damian is still following him or not only to find the boy dangerously listing to the side. Jason sighs, grabs a handful of his hooded cloak (which—Jason will never admit out loud—is pretty cool) and practically guides him to the door by the scruff of his neck. The fact that the demon brat only says, “Todd, unhand me at once or I swear to the high heavens I will cut you into seven different pieces.” but doesn’t immediately maim him only proves how exhausted they both are.
He knew being reintegrated into the family would mean having to pay some price. But leaving Gotham to the two of them?
Why don’t you ask him to die again instead?
Jason quickly works on the locks of his safe house, does a mental head count in his head while his hands are busy. With fucking Batman on a Justice League mission that has something to do with the Lanterns (again, seriously, can’t those assholes not create trouble every three fucking weeks), Nightwing and Red Robin both on a Titans thing (isn’t Damian a Titans too? What’s up with that? Jason is not touching that with a ten-foot pole), Batgirl nowhere to be found (he presumes she’s hanging with her new flock somewhere in outer space too), and Black Bat still in Hong Kong, that leaves two of the not so level-headed part of the Bat Brood all alone on a path of destruction in Gotham.
It would have been a cakewalk except that apparently some of the rogues in Bruce’s (the ass) gallery caught wind of Batman going on a fucking space mission and decided to go on a rampage.
(Jason silently thanks the Gods that that one particular crazy motherfucker is only interested in the Bats, because he doesn’t know how he would handle that one alone. Especially with Damian around him.)
What with the no killing rule that he’s (very lightly) following, it makes everything a shit ton more complicated. It’s only been four days but Jason’s already missing the spray of blood on the concrete that means case closed because the criminal doing the crime won’t even be there to greet the sunrise and repeat the offense.
Jason leaves Damian in the living room, throwing some of the clothes that Tim left there (why and how the Replacement manages to put his clothes all over Jason’s safe houses are above him) at the little bat. “Go shower and get some rest, kid. God knows we need that two fucking days ago,” Jason says, taking off his armor slowly and really feeling the tiredness seep into his bones. Damian grunts, heading to the other shower in the kitchen while Jason proceeds to throw himself under the spray of hot water and soap in the main bathroom.
What? He used to be a crime lord; of course he has more than one bathroom in his very (considerably) luxurious safe house.
Once he’s done he throws on the nearest pair of pants and shirt he could find and drags himself to the bedroom, dropping himself to his bed and reveling in the warmth of his blankets.
Jason’s only on the edge of unconsciousness when he hears the door being opened and closed again and the shuffling of feet. Damian slips under the sheets next, his feet unnervingly cold against Jason’s thighs. Jason hisses, turns to lay on his back and only narrowly missing crushing Damian in the process.
“Fuck, why are your feet so cold.”
“Shut up and sleep, Todd.” Damian mumbles, eyes already falling shut as he readjusts himself so his head is mashed against Jason’s arm. Jason gives the boy an unbelieving look and pokes his head, Damian slaps his hand away. “For the love of God, there is only one bed in this pathetic place you call a house and I refuse to sleep on the couch,” Damian snaps.
Jason huffs and throws his hands up, “Fine.” He wants to say that the brat could always go back to that creepy Manor of his. But it’s late and if he’s tired, then he could only imagine how Damian must feel, especially if the kid would rather swallow his dignity and share a bed here with Jason instead of going back to his very big, very plush bed in the Manor (Jason’s snuck into his room before, and damn this demon child is spoiled).
Jason wakes up sweating some hours later, Damian plastered against his back like some damn baby animal. The kid’s temperature is so high he’s basically a human furnace. Jason wants to comment on how it’s probably because the brat is a demon and demons are made of fire but that seems like a rude thing to say first thing in the morning.
“Ugh fuck, gross.” Jason groans instead, shoving the blankets down and getting up to take a piss. Once he’s in the bathroom he decides to shower while he’s at it. He calls Dick from the shower; the older man picks up on the third ring.
“Hello?” he sounds slightly out of breath and Jason can vaguely hear the zing of Kory’s beams.
“So does the little demon snuggle in bed with every estranged family member or what?” he asks in lieu of a greeting.
“What? Who is—Oh, Jay!”
“One and only, Dickiebird,” he sneers.
“Is something wrong with Damian?”
“Nah, just never would have pegged the brat for a cuddle bug that’s all.”
“Oh! Oh yeah, no he doesn’t usually sleep with Tim. He gets nightmares once in a while, usually that’s when—“
Jason waits, in the background he hears someone yelling—Tim maybe?—and guns going off.
Things must be running smoothly over there.
“—when he sleeps with me, it’s a thing.” Dick is outright panting now.
Jason raises an eyebrow even though he knows Dick can’t see him. “Didn’t know you were a cradle robber, Dickie,”
“What?” Dick shrieks. “No! Jay, it’s not like that. NO, God. He just, feels comfortable, or something.”
Jason chuckles, “Yeah yeah, I get your point. Go continue saving the world or something, tell Kory I said hi.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply as he shuts off his phone.
Comfortable, huh?
Interesting.
When he gets out of the shower he finds Damian—already dressed and showered—rummaging through his books. The teen picks up a hardcover and flips through it, his face contorting in disgust before shoving it back to the bookshelf.
Jason rolls his eyes, “Watch the merchandise, kid, those aren’t cheap.”
“Your taste in books leaves something to be desired,” Damian scoffs, crossing his arms.
Jason snorts, if the brat thought his taste in books are weird then he hasn’t found Dick’s collection yet. Jason shuffles into the kitchen, poking Damian’s head on the way, which earns him a growl and a punch to the arm.
“Try looking on the shelf next to the bedroom window, those will probably suit your tastes more, your highness,” Jason sneers, pulling out breakfast food—eggs, milk, turkey bacon, fruits—and setting them on the counter. Jason turns his head just in time to see Damian striding out of his bedroom carrying a paperback copy of Orwell’s 1984. The brat plops down on one of the stools and begins reading. Jason starts humming a tune as he cooks, for a while the sounds that exist in the room are only the snick-clang of Jason cooking and the soft swish of paper being flipped. He never thought the words companionable silence and Damian could exist in the same context.
It’s all very domestic, it makes Jason feel something akin to fondness blooming in his chest (or maybe it’s that nasty bruise he got last night). It stays and doesn’t go, not even when Jason pats Damian’s head again and a fork ends up lodged on a cupboard door.
-
It continues like this.
In between their crazy-ass Titans mission where everybody seems to forget that they’re actually regular human beings with no superpowers at all, Dick and Tim don’t actually get any real sleep.
So when Tim tugs him onto his bed after the shitstorm is over, Dick doesn’t think, just scoots closer until their shoulders brush and finds Tim’s pulse points.
It’s almost like old times.
(Long before Dick failed Tim like he failed Jason, before Tim decided to build back the wall Dick spent yeas breaking down, before Dick developed a habit of staying up at night wondering what his little brother was doing halfway across the world chasing the ghost of a man whose cape took more of Dick than he could ever give.)
It’s nice.
-
Cass is in town which always means good news except for today because right now if Cass is in town that means whatever crooked villain (sorry—villains—plural) she’s chasing after is also in town.
Even Bruce seems overwhelmed by Cass’s rogue gallery.
“The Council of Spiders, the League of Assassins, and the Court of Owls, really Cass?” Tim asks, his eyebrow receding into his hairline.
Cass returns the gesture, as if you can say better, brother.
She has a point, Tim shrugs.
Steph laughs loudly. “Let’s go punch some bad guys, guys,” she smirks, makes a fist with one of her hand and punches her other hand with it.
“Tt. Only you would be thrilled in the face of mass destruction, Brown,” Damian scoffs.
Jason snickers, “C’mon, demon child, even you have to admit that it’s kind of cool.”
Damian rolls his eyes.
Steph catches Tim’s eyes from the other side of the table (they, and by they Tim means Tim, decided to invest in an indestructible meeting table in the batcave seeing that they’ve had more team ups as of late, it’s very good for violent family meetings, and occasionally, all-nighter group gaming sessions) and mimics Damian’s eye rolling exaggeratedly. It makes her look like a stroke patient having a seizure.
Tim has to direct a lot of force to refrain himself from laughing.
Damian scowls, “I saw that, fatgirl.” He climbs onto said table, katana already brandished in one hand.
“Damian,” Dick scolds him, pulling the boy down by his cape.
Steph sticks out her tongue. “Whatever, brat wonder.”
“You are one badass lady, I am so proud to be your illegally alive, supposedly dead brother,” Jason comments, delighted. He holds out his fist, which Cass bumps smugly.
“Jason!” Dick yells, eyes comically wide and mouth open, horrified.
Bruce clears his throat, a universal sign for everyone to shut the fuck up. It doesn’t usually work on his children, but tonight somehow it does.
Bruce begins to dish out an elaborate plan that is very sophisticated and astoundingly effective. Still, Tim thinks—no he knows—that they’ll need outside help though. He says as much to Bruce, who only replies with a frown and a very strong ‘no’.
Tim narrows his eyes. “We don’t have enough manpower.”
“We’ll have to make it work,” Bruce grunts.
Tim opens his mouth to argue but Damian beats him to the punch. “As much as I loathe to admit it, Drake is right, father. Even if we have dealt with all of these people before, we lack the necessary strength.”
“He’s right, we could use some help. I know a few people.” Dick nods.
Bruce looks at Jason, who only shrugs and crosses his arms, “Babybird’s right old man. Besides, whatever pisses you off the most,” he smirks.
Cass tilts his head in agreement and Steph looks at Bruce as if he was stupid for not listening to Tim in the first place. Bruce sighs. “Fine, call in the reinforcements.”
-
Tim, of course, is right.
They come out the other side with minimal injuries, albeit a few buildings getting set ablaze in the process. The fight would have dragged on much longer with a much higher body count if they hadn’t brought in Superboy and the Flash (Wally, not Barry, you have to clarify that these days) into it.
Oh, and some of Roy’s illegally obtained techs too.
Of course, that last bit ends with Bruce and Jason having a screaming match in the batcave, their arguments loud and grating on Tim’s ears.
“But I did it! Like I always do, I cleaned up your mess, I do the things you can never fucking do!”
“You know that’s not the point. We don’t kill, Jason. How many times do I have to remind you—“
Tim slams his hand down the table, the bang it makes echoing throughout the entire cave. The air suddenly feels heavy with tension, tangible and taut like a livewire. He can feel eyes boring holes onto his back.
“Tim?” Dick’s concerned voice floats from the right. He spins around, index finger held up. Asking for a moment, for some moment, to collect himself so he doesn’t completely explode. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Cass putting a hand on Dick’s chest. Steph is sending worried glances his way while Damian just blatantly stares at him from his spot beside her.
Tim clenches his fists and takes a very deep breath.
“Bruce, Jason made the right decision, he didn’t kill anybody. Don’t you think I would’ve counted the possibility that Jason might have had a weapon of mass destruction on his person?” Tim seethes. He turns to a glowering Jason next. “Jason, you should have told Bruce what you were up to, you know how he gets, you should know better.”
He's met with silence, until Bruce breaks it with a stern, "Tim." The man always has to have the last word, doesn’t he?
Tim shakes his head. “No, that’s it, I’m tired. You can expect my report tomorrow.”
Then he climbs up the stairs without even being dismissed.
-
After a very much deserved hot bath, Tim sneaks into Dick’s room and throws himself on the bed face first, his head landing near Dick’s thigh. The older Titan doesn’t even look up from his book, instead he starts carding his hand through Tim’s still damp hair. Tim sighs, leaning into the touch and moving up so his head is properly resting on Dick’s lap.
“Meh,” Tim starts.
“Ugh,” Dick replies.
“Nggghhh.”
“No.” Dick flicks Tim’s nose.
He punches Dick’s stomach halfheartedly in retaliation. “You’re so weird.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
“Are you reading porn again?” Tim asks, twisting his head up and craning his neck to see the spine of the book Dick is holding in his hand.
“No?” Dick answers, lifting the book higher so Tim can’t read the title. “Steph said bye.”
Tim snaps his fingers. “Right, she still owes me fifty bucks.”
“For?”
“She bet I couldn’t stop Bruce and Jay’s little love spat this time.”
Dick snorts, still steadily going through his novel. “And she bet against you?”
“She never learns,” Tim tsked.
“You should still call her though, she seemed pretty worried when she left,” Dick offers.
Tim shrugs. “Ehh, I’ll do it later. I'm sure she's fine.”
“Are you okay, Timbo?”
“What?” Tim scrunches up his face confusedly. “Oh earlier? Yeah, just y’know, the bet.”
Dick nods, humming. “You grew up to be really scary, you know?”
Tim sighs proudly, “I know.”
“Whatever happened to the cute little boy with the spiky hair and the camera?” Dick shakes his head wistfully.
Tim waves him off. “He grew some sass and used better hair products.”
“Hair products, the beginning of the death of our youth.”
“Oh like you know better, Mr. Nightwing Ray Cyrus.”
Dick thumps Tim on the forehead with the butt of the book he’s reading. “I was finding myself.”
“Ow, okay, okay, jeez,” Tim whines, rubbing the spot where Dick hits him. He tries to see the spine of Dick’s book one more time just to annoy the other man. “Are you sure that’s not porn? I think I saw that exact same cover in the erotica section the last time I went to Barnes & Nobles.”
Dick hurls the book to the direction of the light switch, hitting it with perfect accuracy, effectively plunging the room into darkness.
Tim quirks up an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
Dick shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah and I’m Batman.”
“Aren’t you tired, babybird?”
“I am,” Tim yawns loudly, rearranging himself and snuggling into the comforter. Next to him, Tim can feel Dick shimmying down to join him. Moments later Tim feels familiar fingers on his wrist. He smiles in the darkness, Dick’s never really gotten rid of that habit. Then again, despite the things that have gone down between them, Dick is probably the only person he’d trust (outside of Bruce, Alfred, and the Titans) to have his back even in his sleep. He’s one of the few people in the world whose physical contact is always welcome to Tim. Especially on nights like this, when Tim’s too tired—both emotionally and physically—to be anything but the equivalent of dead asleep in the next few hours.
“Night, Dick.”
“G’night, Timmy.”
-
Dick is woken up by the sound of a yelp and light scuffling. He blinks himself into consciousness just as Cassandra marches into the room, dragging a shame-faced Damian behind her.
“This one,” she starts, shoving the boy forward, “was peeping.”
It takes a while for Dick to process what’s going on. “What?” he croaks smartly, propping himself up on his elbows.
“Damian,” Cass warns.
“What?” Damian retorts.
“Tell Dick why you were peeping into his room.”
Dick doesn't know Damian could flush that deep shade of red. “I was not peeping!”
“Uh guys can we keep it down, please?” Dick glances at Tim. Thank God Tim’s a deep sleeper; otherwise he would’ve been woken up by all the noise they were making.
“Also, I don’t think Damian was peeping, Cass,” Dick continues, smiling softly at the boy. “Nightmare?” he asks, reaching out for Damian.
Damian jerks his head as if slapped, balling his fists, his eyes looking anywhere but Dick’s face. Dick can feel Cass’s cool gaze observing the two of them, he ignores it, choosing to pay his attention to the boy in front of him instead.
“Dami?” he asks again. Finally, Damian meets his eyes and nods.
“It’s okay, babybat, c’mere.”
Damian’s eyes move over the lump underneath the blanket. “Drake is here.”
“So?”
“I will not—hmff!” Damian’s yell was cut off by Cass’s hand covering his mouth. Beside Dick, Tim tosses in his sleep, they all visibly tense.
Dick lets out a breath when Tim stills, mumbling something about revolutions and a dragon. He whips his head back to Damian and Cass. The latter still has her hand on Damian’s mouth; her head tilted to the side. Dick wishes he had her—ah, special—skill sometimes, he wonders how she sees the world; if it’s any different from the way he sees it. Suddenly she turns Damian around, her eyes gazing intently into his; she speaks a few quiet sentences in Mandarin to the boy that Dick doesn’t really manage to catch.
“What?” Damian asks, a frown beginning to form on his face.
Cass purses her lips, thinking. She says a few more sentences in Mandarin and Damian’s eyes widen, finally he gives her a curt nod and she gives him a smile. She puts her hand on Damian’s cheek and kisses his forehead. Dick’s eyebrows shoot up when Damian doesn’t immediately threaten her with bodily harm.
“No, sister,” Damian whines, (whines, how does she do that) wiping at it with his hand. Cass nudges him to the direction of the bed. Whatever she said to him, it seems to have hardened Damian’s resolution. Because he climbs into the bed almost instantly, curling around Dick like a koala—a cute but very scary little koala—tucking his face into Dick’s neck. Dick reflextively rubs his back affectionately. He looks at Tim beside him and Damian in his arms, then at Cass.
“Not joining us, sis?”
Cass smiles. “In a while,” she says, “something is lacking.”
Again, before Dick could process her words she strides out from the bedroom. Minutes later she comes back with an alarmed half-asleep Jason in tow.
“What the fuck? What the fuck is happening?” Jason exclaims.
The image of the small, petite Cass dragging Jason around makes Dick smile. It looks exactly like she was dragging a bull through a China shop (or in this case, a bedroom).
Cass effectively pushes Jason into the bed; making the 200-pound man land in an ungraceful heap next to Damian. Dick moves both himself and the youngest to make room for him.
“Sleep,” Cass orders sharply.
“Fuck, what?” Jason looks at Dick confusedly, who only shrugs at him in return, but what Cass says Cass gets so Jason shuffles in, the blanket on his end barely covering his body.
Cass rounds up the bed and slips in next to Tim, letting out a content sigh. “Now we sleep.”
“What?” Jason asks again.
Dick grins and gives out a soft laugh. “Sleep, Jaybird, didn’t you hear her?”
“I heard her the first three times but I’m still having a hard time accepting it,” Jason says, pulling at the blankets, “am I dreaming? Is this a fucking dream? Is this a prank? What the fuck is going on? This bed is way too small for all of us.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SLEEP," Tim suddenly yells.
Cass’s grin is audible even in the dark. “Goodnight, brothers.”
-
It’s too hot. Tim doesn’t remember Dick’s bed to be this hot. Why is it so hot?
Tim cracks open his eyes and squints at the sunlight filtering in from the half open curtains, he glances around and blinks.
There are five people sandwiched in Dick’s bed.
There are currently five people sandwiched in Dick’s bed.
As big as the beds in the Manor are, he doesn’t think the one in Dick’s room is equipped to accommodate two grown men (one who is almost as big as Bruce is), a teenage boy, a teenage girl, and a preteen from hell.
“What,” he whispers.
Next to him Cass is sleeping soundly on the edge of the bed, arms clutching his middle. Dick is on Tim’s other side with Damian practically draped over half of his body, the other half of Damian is pressed to Jason who is sleeping tightly on his side. Together Cass and Jason are the bread to the sandwich that are his brothers and himself.
“What,” he says, out loud this time.
Dick slowly blinks awake; Tim mentally hits himself for forgetting what a light sleeper the older man was.
“Morning babybird,” Dick yawns, trying his best to stretch with a demon spawn sleeping on top of him. Damian’s nose scrunches up at the action; next to the brat Jason stirs.
“Cass?” Tim asks.
Cass hums, “Morning.”
Jason yawns loudly, everything that guy does is loud, Jesus. Tim vaguely remembers dreaming about yelling at someone who sounded like Jason last night.
“Is this a thing? Is this going to be a thing?” Jason inquires, rubbing his eyes while accidentally hitting Damian in the process. Damian growls in reply and elbows Jason’s stomach.
Tim looks at Dick questioningly. He has to admit, this was one of the best sleep he’s ever had. There isn’t any remaining residue of a headache that suggests a fitful sleep or a nightmare. Even with Dick, it was hard to be peaceful in his sleep sometimes.
But if this whole thing was an experiment, this was only the first try, he has to test it again.
At least four more times.
Dick seems to be sharing the sentiment because he beams at him, slightly lifting his shoulder in a shrug.
“Probably,” Dick answers, trying to break the fight already happening between Jason and Damian, “we’ll need a bigger bed, though.”
Tim stares at the ceiling for five seconds and smirks, “I can think of a bigger bed.”