Hey Everyone! This is prompt 29: Fatigue. I got really excited for this prompt and it might show a little. So much angst and fluff, I couldn't help myself. I may have a little bit of a problem. Otherwise this is a scene from a story I'm considering writing about the Batboys all being locked in Arkham. There's a whole backstory but if I do write it, I don't want to give away too much. If anyone would be interested in that, definitely let me know! I don't think it really needs any more context other than they are in Arkham and they definitely shouldn't be. As always leave me any thoughts you have or prompts your excited for in the comments! Lots of Love to you all - Lorna:)
The brothers had finally started to fall into a rhythm at night. It wasn't perfect—nothing in Arkham ever was—but the routine gave them a sense of control in a place designed to strip them of it. They took watches, a necessity for survival and sanity. Nights were the worst—the shadows stretched longer, the walls seemed to breathe, and every sound felt like a harbinger of doom. But having a plan gave them a modicum of control, a sense that they weren't entirely at the mercy of this place and it's putrid, curdled walls.
Damian always took the first watch. It allowed the youngest some uninterrupted sleep later and let his brothers sit with him for a while. The first watch was also the least menacing; shadows weren't as deep, and the oppressive silence hadn't yet fully descended. Tim took the second shift, his body accustomed to sleepless nights. The boy had always been sharp, often too sharp for his own good, and the hours suited him best. Jason had the third watch, not because it was ideal, but because it was necessary.
Left to his own devices, Jason wouldn't wake the next person when his turn was done. He'd sit in the oppressive darkness, drowning in the noise, the memories, and the suffocating madness that seemed to pass like a disease through these halls. He probably should've been allowed to sleep through the night—he needed it the most—but Jason was as stubborn as he was selfless. For Jason, the third watch was a compromise to the selfless stupidity he had. Dick always took the last shift, his infernal internal clock ensuring he woke up early no matter what. Besides, he could help Jason settle afterward, guiding his younger brother to rest after a long, brutal night. Jason's tension had a way of seeping into the group, like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap. Dick made it his responsibility to get his brother to sleep.
It was a system. A fragile one, but it worked. Usually.
Tonight, however, nothing went according to plan. Damian's and even Tim's shift was punctuated by restless nightmares that left Tim thrashing and moaning in his sleep. He screamed and whimpered, caught in some unseen torment that none of them could pull him from. Jason and Dick stayed up with him, their own exhaustion ignored as they tried to comfort their younger brother. Damian had been sent to bed early in hopes that at least one of them could get some decent sleep. It was a testament to how exhausted they all were that Damian went to bed without a word of complaint and was able to sleep amidst the noise.
Tim's body twisted and thrashed as though he were trying to escape invisible chains, his soft whimpers escalating into muffled cries. Sweat drenched his hair, and his face contorted in fear, his lips forming broken words.
"No… don't… I didn't mean—" His voice cracked, barely audible. Then, louder, more desperate, "Stop!"
Jason and Dick exchanged worried glances. Dick was the first to kneel beside Tim, his hand resting gently on the boy's shoulder as he nudged him. "Tim, it's okay," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You're safe. We're right here."
But Tim either didn't hear him or didn't believe it through the throes of the nightmares. His eyes remained tightly shut, his breathing erratic, caught in the grips of whatever horrors his mind had conjured. Jason moved to his other side, crouching close. His hand hovered over Tim's arm, hesitant to touch him lest it make Tim panic more. "Timmy, come on, wake up," he said, his tone rough but not unkind.
Tim flinched violently, his entire body jerking as though he'd been struck. A strangled scream escaped him, sending a chill down both brothers' spines.
"Dammit," Jason hissed under his breath. He reached out and caught Tim's wrist, steadying him as the younger boy writhed. "This isn't helping. He's stuck in it."
Dick nodded, his jaw tight. He reached for the threadbare blanket tangled around Tim's legs and adjusted it, tucking it more securely around him as Tim fought. "Tim, it's me," he said softly, stroking the boy's damp hair after he was tightly cocooned in the blanket. "It's Dick. You're alright Baby bird."
But Tim's breathing only quickened, and he cried out again, his hands clawing uselessly at the blanket as though fighting off an unseen attacker.
Jason's face darkened with barely restrained fury as he tightened his grip around the blanket Tim was bundled in , hoping to stop him from hurting himself while thrashing. "Damn those so-called doctors," he growled, his voice low and venomous. "They know he reacts like this to Fluoxetine. Sleeplessness is one of the most common side effects. What the hell were they thinking?"
"They weren't," Dick replied, his voice tight with anger. He wiped the sweat from Tim's brow with the edge of his sleeve, his movements careful and deliberate. "They don't care. They just shove meds down people's throats and call it treatment."
Jason's jaw clenched, his hand tightening slightly on Tim's shoulder before loosening again. "This place is a damn nightmare factory," he muttered. His eyes darted to Tim's face, softening as the boy's features twisted again in fear. "Timmy, it's okay. You're not there. You're here with us."
For a moment, Tim stilled, his breathing slowing as though Jason's voice had reached him through the haze. But then he whimpered again, the sound small and broken, and Jason's heart clenched.
"Dammit," Jason muttered again, his anger now mixing with worry. "I don't know what else we can do."
Dick shifted closer, his hand never leaving Tim's face as it softly drew patterns on his forehead and flushed cheeks. "We just keep trying," he said quietly. "That's all we can do."
Jason nodded, his hands now rubbing gentle circles into Tim's arm through the threadbare blanket. "You're safe, Baby Bird" he whispered, his tone softer than usual. "We've got you."
Dick didn't know how much got through to Tim through the haze of medication induced nightmares, but having them near with a stream of constant reassurance seemed to help soothe his terror.
After what felt like an eternity, Tim's trembling began to ease. His cries softened, and his breathing evened out, though his face still held traces of unease. Jason and Dick stayed where they were, afraid that even the slightest movement might shatter the fragile calm.
When Tim finally settled, his body limp in uneasy sleep, Jason let out a long, shaky breath. He rubbed a hand over his face, leaning against the cold wall. Tim's head rested on his lap, his face pale and drawn even in sleep. The chill of the cell pressed in around them, but the brothers huddled close, drawing warmth and solace from one another. "Go to bed Dick, my watch started ten minutes ago anyway."
Dick hesitated, his gaze lingering on Tim's pale face before moving to Jason. Jason's eyes were guarded, the vivid green of his irises sharp even in the dim light. He looked exhausted, but there was a stubbornness in the set of his jaw. He wouldn't win this fight anyway. With a tired nod, Dick lay down beside them, letting the tension seep from his body as Jason gave his shoulder a brief squeeze.
"You sure Little Wing?"
"Yeah." Jason leaned back against the cold wall, cradling Tim's head in his lap. "I've got him. Go get some rest."
Jason could feel Dick nod against his side, watching for a moment as Dick fell asleep almost immediately. Jason turned his attention back to Tim, his fingers brushing lightly through the boy's hair as he carefully unwound the blanket now that Tim was no longer in danger of unintentionally hurting himself. The young boy whimpered as he was jostled.
"You're okay now, Timmy," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "We won't let anything happen to you."
The faint, familiar sounds of Arkham's night pressed in around them—the distant screams, the unsettling laughter—but Jason blocked it all out. For now, his focus was on his brothers, on keeping them safe in the small ways he could. Jason kept his vigil in the darkness, his fingers unconsciously carding through Tim's hair.
Dick woke up several hours later to a still dark room, though he could see that the black of night was fading into navy blue, signaling that the sun was finally making its way across the sky. He felt warm, comfortable even. Damian was wrapped around his waist, curled into his side like a small, protective shadow. The youngest Wayne often sought out physical comfort in his sleep, something he'd never admit aloud. Jason was next to him, his steady presence a comforting weight. Tim was still in Jason's lap, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep. It was a rare and precious sight, one that made Dick's chest ache with a mix of relief and sorrow.
Groggily, Dick pushed himself up, careful not to disturb Damian. He glanced over at Jason, who was watching him with green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim light. His eyes met Jason's, and he frowned at the exhaustion etched into his younger brother's face. Jason's fingers moved gently through Tim's hair, smoothing away the tense lines of worry and unease that made there way onto the younger boy's face.
"Anything happen?" Dick's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper but his tone was laced with concern.
Jason shook his head, his eyes never quite meeting Dick's as he looked off into the distance. "Tim woke up again, but he went back to sleep pretty quick. I think he could hear one of the other inmates. Somebody else is having a rough night." His voice was low, steady, but there was a tension in it that Dick didn't miss. Jason paused, his jaw tightening minutely. "Joker's got someone else tonight."
Dick nodded, heart sinking at the thought that Jason had been sitting alone here in the dark listening to the cackle of his murderer. He rubbing a hand over his face to chase away the last traces of sleep and force himself to focus. "Alright, Jay, you've been up all night. Trade-off time." Dick said gently though his tone left no room for arguments.
Jason's lips parted to argue, a protest already on the tip of his tongue, but the look in Dick's eyes silenced him. Wordlessly, Jason shifted, keeping Tim close as he lay down beside him. Tim stirred, a soft, broken sigh escaping his lips, but he didn't wake. Jason pulled him closer, tucking the younger boy against his chest as though shielding him from unseen threats, his face finally relaxing as Jason wrapped one of his arms around the thin teen frame.
Jason settled himself on the mattress, curling into Dick as the older man sat up. Damian snorted softly in his sleep as Dick adjusted him to be tucked more firmly under the blanket, but he didn't wake either, fatigue thick in the air. Jason lay on his side, his back pressed against Dick's thigh while Tim remained tucked against his chest.
A piercing scream suddenly cut through the oppressive silence of the night, sharp and agonized. It was followed by a sound that made Dick's stomach churn— unmistakable, cruel laughter echoing through the walls like a taunt.
He glanced down to see Jason stiffen, his body coiled like a spring, curling protectively around Tim. The sound was unmistakable: the Joker's sadistic glee reverberating through the walls as he tormented yet another victim. It wasn't fair. Tim and Jason shouldn't have had to listen to this, nobody should have had to listen to this, much less experience it. The weight of that sound, the memories it dragged up, was written across Jason's face. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his breathing had quickened, though he tried to keep it steady. Dick counted the familiar rhythm of the breathing exercises that Bruce had taught every Robin. In for 4, hold for 2, out for 6.
Dick's heart ached at the sight. Gently, Dick nudged Jason closer, his fingers finding their way to the wild, two-toned hair that had become one of Jason's most easily recognizable features. He mimicked the motion Jason had used on Tim earlier, running his fingers through the strands with slow, deliberate care. Jason leaned into the touch, his tense posture softening slightly under the gentle reassurance.
"Jay," Dick murmured. His voice was steady, a quiet anchor against the chaos around them. "You're okay. You're here with us alright? He can't get you."
Jason's tense posture softened slightly under the gentle motion, but his breathing was still uneven. He moved closer to Dick without a word, the cracks in his carefully built armor beginning to show.
Dick continued his soothing rhythm, his hand sliding down to Jason's neck and shoulders. The muscles were knotted, so rigid they felt more like stone than flesh. Dick began to massage slow, concentric circles into them, applying just enough pressure to coax the tension away.
Jason let out a small, almost inaudible sound—a choked noise that wasn't quite a sob but carried the weight of one. It was the sound of someone carrying far too much for far too long.
"It's okay, Jay," Dick soothed, his voice even softer now. He leaned forward slightly, his hand moving in long strokes along Jason's back before returning to his hair. "You're safe. I've got you."
Jason's breath hitched as another scream tore through the air, accompanied by that horrible laughter. For a moment, he didn't respond. Then, slowly, he let himself relax against Dick's touch, despite the noise. He curled further into the warmth of his brother's presence, his head tilting slightly to lean into the contact. "I can't do this anymore, Dick," he whispered, his voice raw and trembling. "I just can't."
Dick's hand moved back to Jason's hair, carding through it with infinite care. "You can. I know you can," he replied firmly, and yet it was soft in the quiet.
Jason released a bitter and hollow laugh, shuddereding as he spoke. "How can you be so calm here? You know these people. You've put half of them here as Robin and the other half as an officer."
Dick inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment before releasing it in a slow, measured exhale. "I'm not calm, Jaybird. I'm terrified." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I'm scared for Damien. He's just a kid for heavans sake. I'm scared for Tim. He's been neglected for so much of his life, and now he's drowning in meds he doesn't need and fighting demons that no one should have to face. And you… I'm scared for you, Jason, because I know how much this place hurts you. I can't imagine what it took to survive what you went through before, let alone being thrown back into this hell for round two. I hate this place. I hate what it's doing to us. I hate that I can't protect any of you. But..." He paused. "We're going to be okay, Jaybird, because we're together. You've got my back, and I've got yours. Always."
Jason's breaths were coming in short bursts, silent sobs shaking his body. Dick kept his hand steady, his touch grounding.
"You don't have to be strong right now," Dick continued, his voice soft but resolute. "You don't have to carry this alone. I've got your six. You can rest, Jay. It's going to be okay. I've got you."
Jason's breath trembled as he exhaled, but he let out a sound that wasn't as close to a sob this time. "Thanks, Big bird," he whispered.
Dick smiled, brushing a hand through Jason's hair one last time. "Always. Good night, Little Wing. Love you."
"Love you too, Dickie," Jason murmured as he finally let himself drift into sleep. Jason's breathing evened out, his weight settling against Dick's side. For the first time in what felt like forever, Dick allowed himself a small, genuine smile. The world outside their cell was chaos, but here, for this moment, they were safe.
And that was enough.
They were battered and bruised, but they were together. And as long as they had each other, they could face whatever came next.