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The rumble of the Batmobile dies down as the vigilantes all crawl out, Jason and Tim arguing about something or other (Dick isn’t paying attention, but he thinks he heard something about which aquariums are most ethical?) while Damian chips in every so often to dissuade a point, or add to one. Dick’s head is pounding, every sound grating on his senses and each thud behind his skull echoing throughout his entire body. He makes his way across the Batcave tiredly, dragging his feet to the Batcomputer, deciding to complete his logs before changing out of his suit, since he thinks that if he changes out of his suit, he’ll end up falling asleep. Nothing like a skin-tight, spandex suit to keep you awake, he sarcastically thinks to himself.
Bruce immediately goes to change, probably already having finished his logs, either during brief breaks in patrol, or while in the batmobile on his way home, since Dick drove. The sound of his brother’s arguing travels throughout the underground base, the rock that surrounds their equipment amplifying every sound. The chittering bats comes from above, the thudding of the boy’s heavy post-patrol footsteps travel through the floors, and the binding light from the computer makes Dick’s headache even worse.
The clicking of they keyboard thuds against his skull and his eyes feel heavy. He has to get the logs done, though, since Bruce will get mad if he skips them. Dick has gotten in trouble a few too many time to not have learned his lesson, so he pushes through the pain, even as it weighs throughout his entire body.
Dick leans his head against his hand, grimacing as Jason and Tim come nearer, their voices nearly moving Dick to tears from pain. All at once, though, the voices stop and everything goes quiet. Dick sighs a breath of relief, turning back to the computer to continue his logs, not taking the silence for granted. He doesn’t question the silence, either, too tired to wonder what made them go quiet. He can hear small whispers a little ways away after a moment, but the sound doesn’t hurt too much, so he continues nonetheless. Quiet footsteps fall closely beside him, though, and that makes him pause.
“Hi, baby bat.” Dick smiles to Damian. Damian does not return the smile, and Dick doesn’t take that personally, knowing that Damian struggles to convey emotion, especially when tired, but what Dick does notice, is Damian’s frown.
“Are you okay?” Damian asks. Dick’s eyebrows furrow. Did something happen? Is he bleeding? Dick looks down at himself, not seeing nothing other than Gotham’s usual grime on his suit, so he looks back up at Damian, confused.
“Yeah, I’m okay, why? Is something wrong?” Dick glances around the Batcave, not seeing anything out of place, his worry going when Damian purses his lips.
“You’re tense. Like you’re in pain.” Damian observes. Dick laughs nervously, ignoring how to action proves to make his headache even worse.
“I’m okay, baby bat, just a headache, you don’t have to worry.” Dick responds, pushing off his youngest brother’s concern, turning back to the computer to continue logging his night. Damian does not look convinced, not moving from his spot beside Dick.
“You should sleep.” Damian states, although it comes out more as an order. Dick sighs, leaning back in the Batcomputer’s padded spinny chair.
“I’ll be okay, I just need to finish my logs. You should go up, though, we’re going out for lunch tomorrow and I don’t want you to be too tired.” Dick once more pushes off the concern, but his words only serve to make Damian more frustrated.
“You need sleep.” Damian pauses, “if you do not sleep, then Jason will make you.” He threatens, causing Dick to laugh.
“Alright, baby bat, I will in a moment.” Dick turns back to the computer, ignoring Damian’s glare.
“I am not joking.” Damian tries again. Dick nods, amused.
“I’m sure you aren’t.” Dick replies. Damian stares at him for a second before turning around.
“Jason!” He yells, right next to Dick’s ear, causing the older bat to flinch, clutchint his head in pain.
“Good lord, Damian, there’s no reason to be so loud.” Dick’s voice in strained, trying not to cry from the pain. Damian merely looks proud of himself, as if he proved a point. Dick is not amused. A shadow falls over the two, and when Dick turns around, still in the chair, Jason stares down at him, his face blank.
“You have migraine, don’t you.” Jason says, unimpressed. Dick purses his lips.
“It’s just a headache, don’t worry–” Jason scoffs.
“That’s BS, you need to rest and not be looking at screens.” Jason cuts off, his words very pointed. Dick opens his mouth to argue, but Jason doesn’t take any of it, instead bending down to reach his arms around Dick’s waist, throwing the older brother over his shoulders. Dick yelps angrily.
“Ow! That hurt, what the heck?!” He exclaims. Jason merely hums in agreement.
“It did, didn’t it.” He replies, a smirk clearly adorning his lips. Dick huffs angrily, his actions akin to that of a small child throwing a tantrum.
“It’s not because of the migraine, being thrown over one’s shoulder just hurts.” Dick retorts. Jason hums, still annoying this.
“So you admit that you have a migraine?” Jason grins, Dick annoyed that he let that slip.
“You’re impossible.” Dick replies instead.
“That’s not denial I hear,” Jason says in a sing-songy tone. Dick huffs.
Jason brings them up to the elevator, not putting Dick down even thought he has to bend down in order to fit into the elevator. Damian follows close behind like a baby duckling (not that Dick would ever tell Damian that, both for fear of his safety and for care of Damian’s ego)(Mostly for Damian’s ego, since Dick knows that Damian wouldn’t seriously harm them in any way– more that he would kindly inconvenience Dick is every way possible for month). The ride up to the manor takes absurdly long, Dick slumping in Jason grasp as he finally accepts that he isn’t going to be put down at least until they reach the family wing of the manor, if not all the way to Dick’s bedroom.
When they arrive in Bruce’s office, the man glances at his three children, opening his mouth to say something, or question them, or something, but decides against it, instead bidding them a good night before finishing something that is, presumably, for Wayne Enterprises, since he keeps all bat-related business in the Batcave, as per Alfred’s rule. Jason hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything else as he steps into the cold hallway, marching down to the other side of the manor where the family wing rests. Dick’s eye’s fall shut, despite the uncomfortable position, from the gentle bounce of Jason’s steps, putting him into a near-sleep state for the remainder of the walk. Jason makes a sharp turn, jostling Dick, when the arrive at Dick’s door, decorated with years of notes and doodles (much like most of their doors– Damian’s being the prettiest, since he’s the only one with real and true artistic abilities when it comes to drawing and painting).
Jason kicks open the door (even though it was already open) and the sound of the door hitting the wall in Dick’s room startles him out of his sleepy stupor, a groan escaping his mouth as Jason tosses him (read as ‘gently sets him down’) onto his bed. The sound of a drawer opening and being shifted through hits Dick’s ears as he rolls around int he bed miserably, his eyes screwed shut from both annoyance and pain. He feels something soft and on his legs.
“Change into your pajama’s. I’ll be back with food in a few minutes.” Jason orders, leaving Dick alone in his room, since Damian followed Jason out. Dick pouts, even though nobody is there to see it, as he pushes himself out of bed, grabbing his pajamas– his softest pair, Jason clearly choosing them because of that– and locking himself in his bathroom.
He changes as quick as one can when they’re peeling off a sweaty, skin tight suit while in tremendous pain. Not that Dick would admit that, since he’s still feigning denial against his migraine. After an unspecified amount of time, Dick flops back in to bed, not clean but at least in clean clothes (He’ll wash his sheets the next morning, since he can at least agree that seeping in those sheets again would be gross.
He falls asleep before he he hears Jason come back in to his room.
~~~
When Dick wakes up again, sunlight is streaming through his window and there’s a weight settled on his bed that is decidedly not his own. He peels open his eyes, groaning as hid eyes readjust to the brightness of the room. He glances to his side, Damian asleep in the bottom corner of his bed, curled in a little ball the way he always in when he’s worry. Dick lets out a displeased hum, a frown growing on his face as his pushes himself up. His head feels better, although it’s still pounding, he no longer feels the deep-set nausea that he felt the previous night.
He crawls over to where Damian is, setting a gentle hand in Damian’s hair. The boy starts to shift, looking up at Dick tiredly, his eyes only half open.
“You’re awake.” Damian whispers. Dick smiles and nods.
“Yeah, I didn’t mean to wake you up. Sorry.” Dick apologizes. Damian hums dismissively.
“It’s okay.” He brushes off Dick’s apology, pushing himself into an upright position before crawling into Dick’s lap, burying his face in Dick’s neck. Dick lets out a breathy chuckle.
“Are ya’ feeling alright?” He asks. Damian hums once more.
“I should be asking you that.” He responds, shifting once more when Dick starts to rub his fingers through Damian’s hair.
“I’m feeling better than yesterday.” Dick answers Damian’s unspoken question.
“That’s good. Jason made soup.” Damian changes the subject.
“Jason’s soup is the best.” Dick hums happily. Damian nods.
“It’s chicken noodle but he made mine without the chicken. It’s very delicious.” Dick smiles.
“I can’t wait to have some.” As if on que, Jason opens the door to Dick’s room, a tray of soup in one hand and a cold compress in the other.
“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Jason greets, sounding all-too-unenthusiastic to see him. Dick snorts.
“That I am. Is that the scrumptious soup that Damian was raving about a second ago?” Dick eyes the soup greedily.
“No. This one is poisoned.” Jason deadpans, setting the tray on the desk beside the door before wrapping the cold compress around Dick’s head, acting annoyed but Dick can tell that he enjoys taking care of them despite all of his complaints. Dick smiles up at Jason.
“You’re too kind to me, taking the time to poison my food and get me a cold pack? Truly, you spoil me.” Dick jokes.
“The cold pack is to keep your body from decomposing.” Jason retorts, turning around to grab the soup.
“That isn’t how it works.” Dick raises an eyebrow.
“It is if I will it to work like that.” Jason holds the soup out for Dick to take, but pausing when he seemingly processes that Damian is in Dick’s lap, his breaths even, the boy likely having fallen asleep again. “I am not feeding you.” Jason states after a moment.
“Of course not.” Dick says as he slides off the bed, Damian barely moving even as Dick sets him down on the bed and covers him with a blanket, nearly cooing when Damian tangles himself in the fabric, mumbling something incomprehensible before settling again. Dick’s smile merely grows. He takes the the soup from Jason’s hand, blowing on it before realizing, or maybe just finally processing, that there was no steam coming off of the soup and the bowl is lukewarm.
“What?” Jason smirks when Dick looks at him quizzically.
“Did you give me cold soup?” Dick asks. Jason shrugs, obviously amused.
“You feel asleep, you didn’t expect warm soup after you so rudely fell asleep before I could stuff you full of food, did you?” Jason asks in a faux-surprised tone. Dick glares at him in response.
“You’re so mean to me.” He whines. Jason snorts.
“Yes, the meanest. How dare I make you delicious, homemade soup when you’re not feeling good.” He sarcastically retorts. Dick clicks his tongue, instead focusing on eating the soup that is, although lukewarm, still tasty. Dick always loves when Jason makes them food.
Dick crawls back into bed as soon as he finishes his food, leaving the brown in his desk as he curled up against Damian’s sleeping form. After a moment of deliberation, Jason crawls in beside them, drifting off soon after Dick