Work Text:
During the formative years of his life, Tim had been treated by those around him with a level of respect befitting of his status. The status of the only Drake heir, of a high standing in society from birth. His childhood, although a rather lonely one, had seldom been disturbed by bullying from his peers, or disrespect from other Gotham elites, beyond the usual sardonic smiles and stuffy condescension.
Tim had become quite accustomed to being treated with that same distant respect by everyone who knew him as Timothy Drake. Which meant no one would ever think to initiate physical contact. No one would be so impolite as to randomly grab him or touch his hair. Besides the occasional longing for an embrace from his parents, Tim was happy with this fact.
It was a shame a certain group of vigilantes seemed to love Tim’s personal space as much as he did.
It was Jason’s fault, a fact Tim was highly unlikely to forgive him for. The man had discovered that Tim’s short stature and lithe build made the boy comically easy to pick up. After an uneventful patrol, Jason had, as a joke, pretended to lift Tim into the air in some ridiculous impression of that monkey and lion from a popular children's movie. Only to discover that he could, with little effort, pick Red Robin up.
No matter how many colourful expletives Tim had shrieked into the freezing night, the damage was done. Dick, easily amused as he was, had been close to tears as Tim’s legs kicked uselessly in the air. Damian had even begun to join in on the mirth. Bruce hadn’t stepped in. Tim wouldn’t be forgiving him, either.
It was all downhill from there.
——
It had been a long time since Tim had gotten a full night’s sleep. Longer still since the early morning sun had glimpsed the boy up and awake. But patrol had been cut short the previous night, after which Tim found very little casework to finish. A truly remarkable occurrence.
Thirteen hours of peaceful sleep later, Tim awoke. Feeling terrible after oversleeping, but for once conscious in the morning.
He rose and dressed, glad he’d stayed at the manor to enjoy Alfred’s pancakes. The manor was quiet, absent from the majority of the family. Bruce was likely at WE, and Jason hadn’t been home in a while. Dick had been out since last night. Damian had probably fallen asleep with Batcow somewhere again.
Tim padded down the stairs, yawning, stretching his stiff back. It was peaceful, being up so early, the silence hanging around him like a frosty blanket. That is, until the front door opened.
Tim reached the bottom of the grand staircase just as the door swung inward.
“Morning,” Tim called to Dick, observing as the man stumbled inside. His eldest brother looked utterly exhausted, the kind of bone-deep weariness that comes from spending too many nights awake.
Upon seeing such tiredness, Tim felt a rush of sympathy. It was this sympathy that would be his downfall.
“Hey, Timmy,” Dick hummed, dropping a backpack by the door. He held out his arms, “C’mere.”
The sympathy tugged Tim towards his brother. He wandered over, still sleep rumpled and without thinking much. He obediently slumped into Dick’s chest as the elder wrapped his arms tightly around Tim.
“You okay,” Tim said softly.
Dick hummed again, pressing his face into the side of Tim’s head. “Mhm. Tired.”
Tim nodded, understanding. That understanding evaporated when Dick slid an arm under his thighs and lifted him up abruptly.
“Dick!” Tim squawked, attempting to twist free. “Hey- put me down!”
Dick chuckled, the arm around Tim’s back keeping the boy firmly tucked against him. “Nah.”
Tim writhed. Well, attempted to. He was too squished against Dick’s chest to even kick him. “Diiiick!” Tim whined as the man started up the staircase.
“Shh,” Dick hushed, having the audacity to push Tim’s face into the crook of his shoulder to silence him. “I don’t hug you enough. And you’re nice and warm.”
Tim had thrashed himself into exhaustion by the time they’d reached the top of the stairs. He relented, if only because he’d expended what energy his body had retained from sleep. He went limp, hanging bonelessly from Dick’s arms like a dead cat.
Dick laughed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Tim’s head. “That’s better.”
Tim remained limp as Dick carried him back to the family wing. He stayed perfectly tenseless as Dick wandered into his room, tossing the boy onto the bed with little caution.
Tim attempted to make his escape, rolling towards the edge of the bed.
“Nuh-uh,” Dick cackled, his arm snagging Tim around the middle.
Tim grumbled as he was dragged, only somewhat unwillingly, back against his brother. Dick happily smothered him in blankets before wrapping him in an octopus hug.
Tim sighed, staring at the opposite wall as Dick’s face buried against the back of his shoulder. Richard Clingy Grayson strikes again. Tim has a foreboding feeling that this isn’t the last time he’ll be humiliatingly hoisted into the air by one of the etiquettely handicapped buffoons he was forced to share a house with.
But… it was nice, right then. With Dick snoring peacefully at his back, Tim wrapped in his arms like a disgruntled teddy bear. The morning was still quiet.
It wasn’t hard to allow himself to fall back into a warm, fuzzy sort of sleep.
——
The patrol had been utterly miserable. Rain had poured for most of the evening, casting the already dull night into a near pitch darkness. Ordinarily, Tim wouldn’t have minded. Tonight, however, Mr Freeze had decided it was the ideal weather to break out of his cell.
Screw Arkham, honestly. By the third time he’d slipped on a frozen puddle, Tim had been genuinely considering torching the asylum and making it look like an accident. Let the freezing bastard burn with the sort of vicious irony that the papers would scream about for months.
At around four in the morning, they’d managed to take down the villain. Or, more accurately, Tim had grown tired of taunting and cajoling and just beat the idiot with his bo staff until he’d been sent into a bloody unconsciousness.
Bruce, for once, hadn’t cared in the slightest. Freeze had nearly murdered Damian less than ten minutes prior, so perhaps that was a factor. Whatever the case, he’d simply nodded grimly at Tim before tossing the bloodied villain into the back of the Batmobile.
Tim stood, leaning on his staff, watching through narrowed eyes as the frozen miscreant was locked up in the vehicle. He didn’t really notice Jason landing beside him, just the thud of boots on pavement.
“You coming back to the cave?” Jason asked, ruffling Tim’s hair.
Tim batted him away halfheartedly. He really was too tired to deal with anything more tonight. “Nah. Heading back to the Nest. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or, whenever you show up again.”
Jason huffed, clearly displeased by his answer. “You’d be better off coming home and warming up. Ya look like a popsicle, kid.”
“Uh huh,” Tim shot him an unamused look. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ve got things to do. Besides, there’s-“
Tim cut off with a shriek as Jason tossed him, none too gently, over his shoulder.
“Hood- what the-“ Tim yelled, fists hitting Jason’s armoured back, to no avail. “Put me down!”
“Sorry, Baby Bird,” Jason snickered. “Gotta look after you.”
“Hood- no- Batman, help!” Tim shrieked, looking pleadingly at Bruce as Jason walked past the Batmobile.
Bruce- was that a smile on his face?- merely turned away as if he’d seen nothing.
“Screw you too!” Tim yelled as he was carried away by a crime lord.
Jason was just laughing at him, his arms holding Tim’s legs far too firmly for the smaller boy to wriggle free.
Tim gave up after that. Unlike Dick, he really had no hope of escaping Jason. The thought held no terror, not anymore. Merely annoyance.
He complied when Jason set him down on Red Hood’s bike, flopping like a deadweight against the elder’s back when he sat in front of Tim.
“You’re a jerk,” Tim mumbled into Jason’s back.
Jason started the engine, prompting Tim to wrap his arms firmly around his middle. “I’m aware, Birdie. I’m also a fantastic big brother.”
Tim didn’t grace that with a reply.
He zoned out for most of the trip back to the cave, too tired to complain more. He showered and changed into comfortable clothes in a blur of exhaustion, his bruised and still rather cold body aching to curl up in bed.
Jason was waiting outside the locker room when Tim exited. Tim didn’t even try to evade him, merely slumped into the taller man without prompting.
Jason snickered, scooping Tim up more comfortably this time, an arm under his knees, one supporting his back. “Hey, Timmers. C’mon, Dickie is forcing me to watch some cringy movie, so you have to as well.”
Tim mumbled something unintelligible by way of reply.
He found himself curled up on the couch in the family room, wedged between Dick and Jason. He didn’t complain further, enjoying Dick’s gentle fingers in his hair, and Jason’s grounding arms around his ribs. Perhaps it was just exhaustion.
He dozed off feeling warm.
——
Tim could admit, at least to himself, that he had a terrible habit of working himself to the point of collapse. It was rarely intentional, the pattern he’d fall into every month or so when a big case cropped up. Bruce had lectured him halfway to an early grave about his sleeping habits, or lack thereof. Tim knew it was unhealthy. But sometimes, he truly didn’t notice the hours passing him by.
This was one such time.
Tim was woken with a sudden jerk, bolting upright in his seat when a hand touched his shoulder.
“Ti- I apologise,” Damian said hurriedly, stepping back with hands raised.
Tim wasn’t fond of being woken abruptly. Least of all by Damian. There were quite a number of knife-filled memories to back up his knee-jerk reaction to sock the kid in the mouth.
Tim refrained from any violence this time, barely. He glared at the boy. “What?”
Damian lowered his hands, brow furrowed. “You fell asleep.”
“I’m aware,” Tim bristled. Although Damian had been… trying, as of late, it was still difficult to forget the constant ridicule of the years prior.
Damian’s frown deepened as he looked down at Tim. The brat had shot up like a weed over the summer, overtaking Tim by a noticeable margin in a cruel turn of fate.
“You are exhausted,” Damian said, slower this time. “Perhaps you should rest.”
Tim sighed, leaning back in his chair. The boy was better now, trying harder. He knew that. “Yeah. Sorry, Dami. Don’t wake me up like that, please.”
Damian nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“S’fine,” Tim mumbled. Now that he’d rested his head back once more, the dizzying tiredness descended on him. Maybe he had worked too long again.
“Timoth- Tim,” Damian said, his tone oddly gentle. “Father won’t be happy if he discovers you’ve been imitating a nocturnal creature again.”
Tim huffed a tiny laugh, eyes sliding closed again. He heard Damian sigh softly.
Gentle arms slid under Tim’s body, lifting him up with far more care than Dick or Jason. Tim didn’t even have the energy to be startled or irritated that Damian could pick him up now.
Tim must have dozed off, drifting back to semiconsciousness when he was laid on a soft mattress. He relaxed further, the dizziness subsiding somewhat. He didn’t think when he leaned into the hand that began carefully brushing through his hair.
Damian huffed a small laugh from nearby. “You really are like a bedraggled cat.”
Tim managed to open one eye, frowning in partial confusion and offence.
“Richard described you as resembling a very irate, rather bedraggled cat,” Damian explained softly from where he was seated on Tim’s bed.
Tim glared, which only resulted in his eyes sliding shut again without his permission.
Damian gently scratched his head, sounding oddly… fond. “Go to sleep. Honestly, you’re such trouble.”
Tim couldn’t muster a coherent comeback. How ridiculous. How utterly, humiliatingly ridiculous it was that every member of his family had both the audacity and the ability to manhandle him into such situations.
He found he couldn’t quite muster up the right amount of indignation, not with his little brother’s hand still brushing through his hair.