satire-please:

Batfam Big Bang Day 1 – Cuddles = Movie Night or any other situation that others can take advantage of.

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This is how it should be.

At least that’s how Dick feels as he watches the scene. Not the one on the screen because honestly? What’s going on in front of it is much more entertaining and it touches Dick’s heart.

Damian is engaging popcorn warfare with Tim, the older boy is giving a relentless return of kernels right back. Here and there popcorn hits the furniture or lands in Dick’s hair and he swears he’s about to cry…in sheer joy.

Because they’re in the same room willingly with each other.

One piece smacks Jason in the forehead and he roars to tackle Tim because of course the replacement must be the perpetrator.

“Come on Jason! It was the gremlin, not me!” Tim’s protests, the said gremlin snickering with relish, but Jason’s not satisfied until he grinds Tim’s face into the sofa for three solid minutes. Then he turns on Damian.

Damian was sniggering. He’s not sniggering anymore. Especially not when Jason smirks, raises the gigantic bowl of popcorn–

“Do not dare, Todd.”

–and dumps it all over Damian’s head. There’s a moment where the boy just sits there in shock, kennels raining from his dark hair and into his shirt. Then a piercing battle cry and Damian attacks. He launches his body at Jason. The two lose their balance to veer sideways, falling towards Tim, who was just in the process of getting up, dang it. The poor guy halfway up on his forearms, his eyes so wide as he helpless watches the shadow over him grow as they crash on right on top of him.

It’s so beautiful.

There’s a loud noisy sip. Dick turns his head to Bruce on the armchair, the man casually lounging on his throne, mug in hand. It’s chipped with the faded print, “Because I’m Batman,” written on the front.

“Ah! My eye!”

“Why you little brat!”

“You uncouth corpse, return to your grave, you cretin–”

“Should we stop them?” Dick asks wagging his eyebrows. There are hisses, roars and other exclamations of attempted murder.

Bruce just takes another drinks more of his coffee. He notes the implementation of grappling styles, how there’s no sharp kicks from Tim, no brutal punches from Jason, no bites from Damian. The beast with many heads rolls over the carpet, but no one is king of the mountain for long. “No. they’ll get tired of it…eventually. But Alfred is going to be annoyed if the T.V. gets broken again.”

“On it, Batman!” Dick says with cheer. He rises from his seat and deadfalls onto the squirming fray. There’s a loud oomph and suddenly the game has changed. Instead of ‘how many times can you elbow your neighbor’s ribs before they crack’ with the new addition of one Dick Grayson, its ‘get away, get away before it’s too late.’  There are failing limbs, attempts to crawl away, but the former Robin, the first, is too flexible with too many working arms and legs.

It’s already too late.

“Grayson, I demand you release me immediately.” Damian’s voice chokes into a whine, “Your weight from disgusting intake of unhealthy breakfast foods is crushing us. I believe the term is get off. Get off.”

He paws, claws at the arm around his neck, the one that forces his head down and traps it against Dick’s chest.

“Nope. And for that fat reference?” Dick lets his entire body go slack, his full weight completely on top of the pile.

There’s a mutual groan of anguish and Jason is at the bottom absolutely miserable. “Come on Dick, lemme up, don’t be a dick.” Somehow he’s on the bottom of it all bearing the worst, sure Damian still putting up the good fight, atta boy, but that’s the third time he’s kneed Jay in the kidneys.  Dammit. Against his collar, Tim mumbles something incoherent. Jay shoves at his shoulder with the hand that isn’t pinned down. “What was that, Replacement?”

Tim’s face is smashed into Jay’s stupid jacket. He turns his head to the right and coughs. He’s the only one in the mess of tangled limbs that isn’t moving. Instead like a dead, limp fish he lies there absolutely resigned and says, “I said it’s useless to struggle. We’re trapped. Doomed. Take your pick because the end is here and he will never stop. He will never let go.” The words are a pitiful thing that only becomes more pathetic as Dick starts to cackle.

Bruce watches the whole thing fondly, and the boys hear the electronic snap of a phone. It’s a good photo. He’ll have to share with Alfred later.

“Would the young masters care for more popcorn? Or is more sustenance unnecessary?”

Speak of the devil.

Bruce takes in the state of the room. The way white popcorn has been rubbed into the carpet. The vast array of empty sodas and half-eaten candy bars littering the ground.

“No, that will be all, Alfred. Thank you.”

“Of course, Master Bruce.” The butler bows, “It is good to see the family enjoy a pleasant evening together.

Every Robin besides Dick makes a loud protest over how bullshit that line is…along with extreme cries for help and possible bribes if the old man would just give them a hand.

Their pleas fall on deaf ears.

Dick sighs in complete happiness.

He can’t wait for their struggles to subside and die down. Where eventually they’ll exhaust themselves to sleep among the chip bags and grease. Where four o’clock will strike and Bruce will stop watching infomercials to throw a blanket over the dogpile, his fingers gently patting each of his sons’ heads. Where their forms will finally relax, soften until they’ll lay side by side with Dick still sprawled on top like one giant protective starfish.

But they’ll be clutching him too. Clutching him back and he can prove it.

There’s plenty of photo evidence.

So bless movie nights.

Bless them.