Work Text:
Dick Grayson silently ran down the stairs, headed straight into the kitchen, and stared very hard at the boy seated at the bar. The boy’s nose was in his data-pad and though exhaustion was evident through his slumped posture and large mug of steaming coffee, the boy’s eyes were hungrily scanning the tablet. Without looking up, the boy muttered,
“What do you want, Dick?”
Dick continued to stare at the boy. His eyes trained on the mug, watching the steam rise into intricate swirls and dissipate. Letting out a very light sigh, Dick took a seat at the bar, grabbed one of the books laying on the counter, and started to read.
Tim glanced up at Dick’s movement. He had been expecting him all night. It was always one of them, appearing when he was about to make a breakthrough. Always trying to drag him off to bed. Didn’t they understand that he needed to be awake to crack the case? To save lives? The victims needed him awake; Gotham needed him awake.
That was why he was in the kitchen at 2:28 A.M. after four all-nighters. He managed to avoid everyone so far. They expected him to be in the cave or in his room.
Of course, he would prefer to be in the cave. But Bruce banned him from the Bat Computer.
The kitchen had horrible WiFi so no one would look for him there. And it was extremely cold so he couldn’t easily pass out. He had just enough time and coffee to properly lock in before Dick found him. What surprised him was that, instead of trying to coax him off of his tablet, Dick had sat down. And was reading.
Something was wrong.
Tim quickly analyzed the situation. Dick was slumped on the bar-stool, his shoulders relaxed, but a trained eye could see the tension in them. His eyes were lazily scanning the pages, probably not even reading them.
Tim subtly looked around at the rest of the room.
The moon was shining through the kitchen window. The cabinets were casting sharp shadows across the floor. Sleepless nights were making his vision fuzzy, he could imagine the shadows lightly pulsing. Tim glanced over at the kitchen door. Empty darkness stared back at him.
Wait.
Was that a hand?
“Hey, Tim, can I have some of your coffee?” Dick’s words were like a nuke going off in the kitchen. Tim jerkily turned his head back to where Dick sat, squinting and pulling his mug closer to his chest.
“Mine. Get your own.” Tim hissed. Dick raised both hands in a surrendering gesture as he rose and went around the bar, to the coffee pot. Tim watched his every move, his tablet momentarily forgotten. When Dick was within arms reach, Tim got up from his stool and moved to the opposite side of the bar, now occupying the seat that Dick vacated.
Dick just hummed a mindless tune as he brewed himself a large cup of coffee. He turned around and raised an eyebrow at Tim’s guarded expression.
“What?” He asked in an innocent tone. Tim glared.
“What. Do you want?” Tim asked through gritted teeth, “What are you planning?”
Dick looked confused. An expression that was surely practiced before coming downstairs. Tim scanned the kitchen once again, this time more aware of the sounds surrounding him.
He could hear the coffee being poured.
He could hear Dick’s (forced) calm breaths.
He could hear the fridge disposing of ice.
It was at this moment that Tim realized that his back was to the kitchen door.
He quickly spun around and stared into the darkness, daring it to pull something.
He heard the creak of a foot stepping on a loose wooden board.
He heard a sharp intake of breath from Dick behind him.
Tim’s eyes grew wide with recognition and fear.
All at once the shadows in the hallway and around the kitchen moved as one.
A small figure sprang from the darkness and onto Tim’s back. Tim managed to dislodge Damian Wayne but the force sent him crashing into the kitchen cabinets. Tim had a single moment to look around and gather who was there to end his very productive evening.
Jason Todd was standing in the doorway wearing drawstring pants, a faded t-shirt, and a promise of murder. Damian was, somehow, already on top of the cabinets, ready to perform another airstrike. Dick was standing in a defensive position, coffee forgotten (or maybe it never really mattered). The three brothers surrounded the fourth, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.
“Tim. Timbers. Tiny Thorn In My Side. It’s time to put down the coffee and be a normal human for twelve hours.” Jason said in what he probably thought was a calming voice, when in actuality, it sounded like he wanted to rip Tim’s head off.
“Timmy, it’s been four--” Dick glanced at the clock, “Five days since you last slept. You’re going to crash sooner than later.”
“I'd listen to them,” Damian muttered from the darkness, “You can’t die from exhaustion, it's a coward's way out.”
“Just,” Dick cut in, “—just give me the coffee and we can all go to sleep in nice, warm, comfy beds.”
He held out his hand.
Tim looked at the magical potion of energy in the mug and then back to Dick.
If he refused, they would attack.
If he complied, they would force him to abandon his case.
Tim made his decision.
He made sure to look Dick in the eyes as he took a sip from his coffee.
Then all hell broke loose.
“Grab his legs!” Dick shouted before ducking to avoid a flying coffee cup, the dark liquid splashing onto the tile.
"Look what you did, you made me waste coffee and make a mess!" Tim shouted back, keeping one eye on Dick and the other on the cabinets where Damian hid. If he could keep distance between them, he could—
Arms with the strength of iron bands latched around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides.
"Gotcha." A voice said triumphantly.
Wow, he must really be out of it if he had forgotten Jason so easily.
Tim thrashed around kicking out every time Dick tried to get close. Which was doing a fine job of keeping him away until his feet were caught.
"You're so lucky Alfie's out of town," The chest behind him rumbled, "No way he'd be this nice about gettin' you to bed."
At the mention of Alfred, Tim felt a stab of dread pierce his chest. Behind Dick, Tim could see the spilled coffee seeping across the tiles. Luckily, the mug hadn't broken but that wouldn't matter if the coffee permanently stained the floor. And if they knocked him out, he couldn't clean it up. And if he couldn't clean it up, Alfred would be disappointed.
Disappointed Alfred was even worse than not finishing his work.
Adrenaline surged through Tim as he struggled with renewed vigor. Jason's arms, which had been slowly relaxing, instantly seized up again.
"Nope, nuh-uh," Jason said, sounding slightly winded, "Dickface, stick him before he starts head-butting."
Tim's attention snapped to Dick, who was holding something small and sharp.
Tim started jerking his legs around, forcing Dick to set down the sedative in favor of keeping him captive.
"No—Tim, stop— damn it, just—— gimme your foot—-Ow!" Dick flinched as Tim landed a particularly good jab in his chest.
"How the hell do you even have this much energy?" Jason asked, leaning back against the counter to give Dick more leeway.
"Gotham doesn't sleep, why should I?!" Tim shouted, trying to twist out of the grips binding him.
"Tim, Gotham is a city. You are human." Dick said in a soothing tone.
"Plus it's Gotham." Jason snickered.
Exhaustion was seeping into his bones, every jerk more difficult to pull off than the last but Tim refused to give in.
He was a Robin for pete's sake, Robin's don't give in. Unfortunately, so were his assailants.
"My case is almost finished, I just need to make a few more adjustments to the file." Tim pleaded at Dick with big eyes.
Dick's lips quirked up in a smile, "Those eyes of yours don't work as well when they're bloodshot from lack of sleep, baby bird."
Tim huffed in defeat before trying to get another good kick in.
The good news was it landed directly on target, if the pained grunt was anything to go by.
The bad news was it took the last of his strength.
And now Tim was tired. His limbs were aching and his head hurt and he wanted to scream and cry at the same time.
Why couldn't they just leave him be?
"Because, unfortunately for us, we actually care about your well-being." A curt voice answered him.
Oh.
That's nice.
But the case…
"We'll cover it." A different voice muttered.
But.. the coffee.
"Already cleaned up." Another said in response.
Tim opened his eyes (when did they close?) to see a blurry blob approaching before blipping out of sight. He craned his head to try and track it but was distracted by a hum of amusement from the person holding his feet.
Latching onto the presence in front of him, Tim desperately tried to focus his eyes to no avail. Everything blurred together in a mix of shadows, quiet humming, and cold air.
Tim shivered.
The warm thing restraining him got tighter and Tim shuddered before finally relaxing into the hold.
There was a pinch on his neck and he made a noise of protest that was quickly shushed out of existence.
A nagging thought of 'you have work to do' tried it's best to get Tim's attention but Tim was tired and warm so he ignored it and filed it away for later.
It would be okay if he slept for a little bit, right?
"Absolutely." One of the voices gently affirmed.
Tim hummed in response and noticed blurrily that someone had let go of his legs and his head was positioned near someone's collarbone.
Oh, nevermind, his legs were being held again. Only this time, by the one who carried him.
They were moving.
Someone was whispering above him... something about sentient buildings.
The chest he was pressed against rumbled and Tim heard a quiet laugh in response to the whispers. It made him feel warm and safe, like nothing in the world could touch him as long as the person the laugh belonged to was there.
With that thought at the forefront of his mind, Tim relinquished his hold on consciousness, allowing the dizziness and warmth to pull him down.