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The problem with the beach was that it had an ocean. And the problem with the ocean was that it was full of things—things that could sting, bite, wrap around your ankle and drag you into the abyss. It was basically Gotham’s Crime Alley but with saltwater and an even lower survival rate.
Tim Drake had no business being here.
Unfortunately, his family didn’t seem to agree.
It all started when Bruce, in a rare moment of what he probably thought was parenting, decided they all needed a “bonding trip.” Apparently, fighting crime together every night wasn’t enough of a shared experience. He needed to see them in daylight, outdoors, in swimsuits.
Mistake number one.
Mistake number two was bringing Jason. Because Jason’s first act upon stepping onto the sand was to launch one of Dick’s sandals into the ocean.
Mistake number three was assuming Damian could be near seagulls without violence.
So, there Tim was, the only one with actual common sense, sitting under the biggest beach umbrella he could find, fully clothed, and regretting every decision that led him here.
Somewhere by the shore, Dick was flailing in the waves, chasing his lost sandal while Jason cackled from his spot in the sand. Bruce had sighed in that familiar “I regret adopting every single one of you” way but was still making an attempt to set up a beach chair like this was a normal family outing.
Nearby, Damian was engaged in a stare-down with a seagull.
The seagull blinked first. Damian smirked. Another victory.
“Tim, you’re going to get heatstroke under there,” Bruce called from where he was finally winning his battle against the beach chair.
Tim, who was currently sweating but still refused to remove even one layer, scowled. “I’m not leaving the shade. The sun is a scam.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you aware of the effects of prolonged sun exposure? Do you know how much bacteria is in ocean water?”
Jason, who had been eavesdropping, snorted. “So you do think about germs. Explains why you touch everything like it personally offended you.”
Tim flipped him off without looking.
And then—
A scream.
A high-pitched, Dick-Grayson-being-attacked scream.
Tim sighed, already resigned. “Do I even want to know?”
Jason, eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity, turned toward the ocean just as Dick staggered out of the waves, wild-eyed and horrified.
“Jellyfish!” Dick yelped. “One touched my leg!”
Tim made a disgusted noise and pointed accusingly. “See? That’s why the ocean is a mistake.”
“It wasn’t even a real sting!” Jason howled with laughter, doubling over as Dick shot him an offended glare.
“You weren’t there! It had tentacles!”
“Everything in the ocean has tentacles, Goldfish Brain.”
Meanwhile, Damian, still watching from the side, tilted his head. “Drake is right. This place is full of threats.”
Tim preened. “Thank you, Damian.”
“I say we take over the lifeguard tower and declare this land ours.”
“…Okay, maybe not that.”
Bruce groaned into his hands.
Things only got worse from there.
Jason decided that if they were already suffering, Tim should also be forced to suffer. Which was how Tim, in the span of ten minutes, found himself being physically dragged toward the water by a combination of Jason’s brute strength and Dick’s determination to make everyone “have fun.”
“Let go!” Tim hissed, clawing at the sand, because he was not getting into that cursed body of water.
“You’re going in, baby bird!” Jason cackled.
“This is kidnapping! This is a crime!”
“It’s family bonding!” Dick cheered.
Bruce watched from the side and did absolutely nothing to help him.
“Traitor!” Tim yelled at him.
Bruce took a sip of his iced coffee.
Then, as if the universe itself wanted to punish them, a wave came crashing down, knocking Dick flat on his back while Jason barely managed to stumble back onto the shore. The water receded, leaving Dick sprawled in the sand like a defeated soldier.
“That,” he gasped, “was so much fun.”
Tim stared at him, horrified. “You have a problem.”
While Dick was busy recovering, Damian had escalated his war against the seagulls. By "escalated," that meant Jason had started throwing chips around, leading to a swarm of aggressive, screaming birds descending upon them.
“THIS WAS A MISTAKE!” Tim shouted, ducking as a seagull nearly took his head off.
“STOP BEING WEAK, DRAKE!” Damian yelled back, wielding his towel like a weapon as he swung at the birds.
Then—
A sound. A distant cry for help.
Tim turned, and his blood went cold.
Farther out in the water, someone was struggling against the waves. A child—small, flailing, barely able to keep their head above the water.
For a moment, Tim couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
A flash of memory—deep water, suffocating pressure, hands reaching but never quite catching—
Jason was already sprinting toward the shore. Dick right behind him. Bruce moving faster than Tim had ever seen.
And Tim—Tim was frozen, shaking, barely hearing the lifeguard’s whistle, the shouts, the rush of people running toward the scene.
By the time Jason dragged the kid out of the water, coughing and gasping, Tim was still standing where he’d been, hands clenched into fists, chest heaving.
Someone touched his shoulder—Dick, maybe. He barely registered it.
“Tim?”
He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak.
The ocean stared back at him, dark and endless and hungry.
And suddenly, Tim knew.
He’d never feared the ocean because of germs.
He’d feared it because once—long ago—it had almost taken him too.
Tim wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the waves, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. The world around him was moving—he knew that. Jason was patting the kid’s back, saying something reassuring. Bruce was talking to the lifeguard, his voice low but firm. Dick had a hand on Tim’s shoulder, his usual warmth dimmed by something more careful.
But Tim was still stuck.
The memory pressed against his ribs like an iron weight. Cold, dark water. A pull stronger than his limbs could fight. The feeling of sinking, of waiting for something—someone—to pull him out.
The problem was, back then, no one had.
Tim had saved himself.
And now, standing here, in the middle of the chaos of his family and screaming seagulls and the smell of salt thick in his nose, he realized he wasn’t sure if that had been a good thing.
“Hey,” Jason’s voice cut through the noise. “You good?”
Tim blinked, his fingers twitching at his sides. Jason was watching him, brow furrowed—not mocking, not teasing, just watching.
Tim tried to say I’m fine, but the words stuck.
Jason clicked his tongue, then turned and—oh no.
He shoved Tim.
Right into Dick.
The force sent them both sprawling onto the sand, limbs tangling, Dick squawking like an injured pelican. “Jason!” Tim snapped, furious, his shock temporarily drowned out by a mouthful of sand.
Jason smirked. “You’re back.”
Tim spat out sand and glared at him. “I hate you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dick groaned, still half on top of Tim, and muttered, “At least buy me dinner first, man.”
“Get off me!”
Bruce sighed like this day had already aged him ten years. Damian, who had not stopped fighting the seagulls, declared, “Father, I have bested three of the enemy, but they keep returning. I request a sword.”
“No.”
“I hate this family,” Tim muttered, brushing sand off his face.
Bruce gave him a long look, then, to Tim’s surprise, crouched down next to him. “Do you want to go home?”
Tim froze.
The offer was… unexpected.
Bruce was many things—overprotective, emotionally constipated, a man who thought brooding on rooftops was a form of therapy—but he noticed things.
And right now, he was noticing Tim.
Tim swallowed, glancing toward the ocean again. The waves rolled in, steady, uncaring. If he left now, he could get away from them. Get away from whatever was clawing at his insides.
But…
He looked at Jason, who was still watching him, expression unreadable. At Dick, who was brushing sand out of his hair like an actual golden retriever. At Damian, who was still locked in mortal combat with Gotham’s most aggressive seagull.
At Bruce, waiting, offering him the choice.
Tim exhaled slowly.
“…No.”
Bruce didn’t look surprised. Just nodded, as if he’d expected it.
“Alright.”
Then Jason slung an arm around his shoulders, grinning like he hadn’t just been part of Tim’s breakdown. “Cool, because I was gonna bury you in the sand either way.”
Tim elbowed him.
----
Tim should have gone home. He should have accepted Bruce’s offer, packed up his dignity (or whatever was left of it after the seagull disaster), and removed himself from the vicinity of salt, sand, and sea-related trauma.
But no.
Instead, he was here.
Still on the beach.
Still suffering.
And now, buried up to his neck in sand.
“Jason,” Tim said, voice flat.
“Yes, my dear little brother?” Jason grinned, patting the last mound of sand on Tim’s shoulders like he was finishing an art project.
“I hope Alfred feeds you dry, overcooked steak for the rest of your life.”
Jason gasped, clutching his chest in mock horror. “That’s so much worse than just saying you hate me.”
Dick, who had been laughing through the entire process, piped up, “At least give him a cool sandcastle on top.”
“I swear to god—”
Before Tim could finish his threat, something cold and wet squished onto his head.
A fish.
A whole, dead fish.
Tim screamed.
The seagulls screamed back.
And then chaos descended.
The gulls, sensing weakness—or maybe just their rightful offering—began swarming. Jason, to his credit, tried to fight them off, swatting at the air and yelling, “BEGONE, FOUL BEASTS!” But there were too many. They came in droves, wings flapping, beady eyes locked onto Tim’s fish-crowned head like he was some kind of cursed deity.
“GET IT OFF ME,” Tim shrieked, unable to move, trapped in his sandy tomb.
“WE HAVE TO CHOOSE—SAVE TIM OR SAVE OURSELVES,” Dick yelled, already running away.
“You cowards!”
Bruce, ever the paragon of justice, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Someone dig him out.”
“I am trying!” Jason said, swinging wildly at the air. “But they’re so aggressive!”
Damian, who had been spectating in disgust, finally stepped forward. With the deadly precision of an assassin, he plucked the fish off Tim’s head, turned, and yeeted it into the ocean.
The seagulls paused. Considered their loss. Then dove after it, leaving Tim gasping for breath like he’d just survived the first five minutes of a Gotham crime spree.
He turned to Jason, eyes blazing with the fire of vengeance.
“You are so dead.”
Jason, the human disaster that he was, just grinned. “Worth it.”
Tim was going to kill him.
But first, someone needed to get him out of the sand.
----
Tim was still in the sand.
Everyone had abandoned him.
Jason had flopped onto the ground, laughing so hard he was wheezing. Dick had already run a full mile down the beach, as if Tim’s suffering was a natural disaster he needed to evacuate from. Damian, the traitor, had simply dusted off his hands like his work here was done and gone back to his seagull war.
Even Bruce had walked away. Not because he didn’t care, but because Bruce was so used to his kids causing catastrophic public disturbances that he needed a ten-minute break before he could properly deal with them again.
So Tim, still half-buried in damp sand, made a choice.
He turned his head as much as he could and bit Jason’s ankle.
"OW—what the hell, Gremlin?!" Jason yelped, jerking his foot away.
"You deserved that," Tim muttered, spitting out sand.
Jason, because he was the worst, immediately retaliated by flicking sand directly into Tim’s face.
Tim spluttered. "I swear to every god out there—"
A bucket of water splashed over his head.
Tim froze.
Slowly, like a man moments away from committing a crime, he turned.
Damian stood there, empty bucket in hand, completely expressionless.
Tim blinked water out of his eyes. "Why?"
"You looked hot," Damian said, before throwing the bucket aside and stalking off.
Jason collapsed onto the sand again, laughing so hard he choked. Dick had finally jogged back, still breathless from his tactical retreat, and clapped Tim on the (only exposed) part of his back. "Man, I love beach trips," he sighed happily.
Tim was going to kill them. All of them.
But first—
He twisted as much as he could toward Bruce, who had just reappeared, coffee in hand, looking exactly like a father who was regretting all of his life choices.
"Dig me out," Tim pleaded, voice hoarse.
Bruce took a sip of his coffee. Stared at him for a long moment.
Then sighed. "Jason," he said, in that voice that meant You are responsible for fixing the disaster you caused.
Jason groaned. "Ugh, fine."
As Jason begrudgingly started digging Tim out, Dick stretched, cracking his back. "So, what do we think? Next stop, water park?"
Tim, still drenched, still half-trapped, sent him a look so murderous that even Bruce looked faintly impressed.
Jason, the asshole, grinned.
"Oh yeah," he said. "This day isn’t over yet."
----
It should have been over. The sensible thing to do after nearly being sacrificed to Gotham’s seagull population was to pack up and go home. Maybe stop at Alfred’s for emergency cookies. Maybe never see the ocean again.
But no.
Because Dick Grayson, professional agent of chaos, had uttered the cursed words:
“Next stop, water park?”
And Bruce, in a moment of weakness—or maybe just surrender—had sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered, “Fine.”
So now they were here.
At a water park.
Tim, still recovering from the seagull incident, pressed his forehead against a locker in the changing area and whispered, “I want to go home.”
“Too bad,” Jason said, slapping a hand on his back. “You’re part of this family, and that means you suffer with us.”
“I hate this family.”
“Love you too, Timbo.”
Bruce was already staking out the lounge chairs like they were prime Wayne Enterprises stock options. Damian had stormed off toward the slides, declaring he would “conquer” the tallest one before any of the “weaklings” could even think about trying it.
Which left Tim here, with Jason and Dick, staring at the giant wave pool.
Tim inhaled. Exhaled.
Then turned on his heel and started walking in the opposite direction.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Jason lunged.
Tim dodged. Jason grabbed him.
“I WILL fight you,” Tim hissed, kicking.
Jason was too strong. He hauled Tim up like he weighed nothing and bolted for the pool.
“JASON, I SWEAR—”
And then Jason yeeted him.
Right into the water.
Tim resurfaced with a sputtering gasp, coughing up half the wave pool. Jason, the absolute menace, was already laughing. Dick, also a traitor, was cackling so hard he missed his step getting in and got body-slammed by a six-year-old with a pool noodle.
It should have ended there.
But then—
Then the siren sounded.
The waves started.
And Tim froze.
For a second, it wasn’t a water park. It wasn’t fake waves, happy screams, lifeguards watching carefully.
It was cold. It was real. It was the feeling of being pulled under—
Tim couldn’t breathe.
A hand grabbed his wrist.
“Hey.”
Jason.
Tim barely registered it before Jason was tugging him toward the shallow end, moving fast, too fast for the waves to pull at him. The moment Tim’s feet hit solid ground, he realized his hands were shaking.
Jason didn’t let go.
“Alright,” Jason said. “Wave pool is off-limits. Got it.”
Tim swallowed. “I—”
“I said, got it.”
Tim hesitated. Then nodded.
Jason clapped him on the back—gentle, this time. “Cool. Let’s go steal Damian’s slide.”
And just like that, the moment passed.
Tim exhaled.
And let Jason pull him back into the chaos.
----
The sensible thing to do would have been to take a break. Maybe sit on a lounge chair, eat some overpriced theme park food, and pretend for five minutes that his family wasn’t actively trying to murder him via recreational activities.
Instead, they were now in line for the slide.
Not just any slide.
The tallest, steepest, most poorly thought-out piece of engineering this park had to offer.
Damian stood ahead of them, vibrating with bloodlust. “I will be the first down this monstrosity,” he declared, staring at the plastic death trap like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
Tim, still recovering from nearly drowning in two feet of artificially generated waves, pointed at the sign. “It literally says race slide, Damian. Multiple people go at once.”
Damian gave him a withering look. “Do not be foolish, Drake. I will reach the bottom first, and that is all that matters.”
Jason cracked his knuckles. “Oh, now it’s a competition.”
Dick bounced on his heels. “I mean, it wasn’t, but now it definitely is.”
Tim turned to Bruce, their responsible adult guardian, their father figure, the only sane person present—
Only to find Bruce adjusting his towel like a disappointed soccer dad, already resigned to the madness.
“We are doomed,” Tim muttered.
The climb up the slide was an ordeal. There were at least a hundred steps, half of which Tim was certain weren’t up to building code. The sun was too bright, the ground was too hot, and Jason had been humming the Jaws theme for the last five minutes straight.
Finally, they reached the top.
The lifeguard, a bored teenager who had absolutely given up on caring, barely glanced at them. “Alright, rules are—”
“No rules,” Damian interrupted.
“Actually, there are rules,” the lifeguard said.
“No rules,” Jason repeated.
The lifeguard sighed. “Just—go.”
And they did.
Tim barely had time to regret his life choices before he was plunging down the slide at a speed he was certain was illegal.
The world blurred. Wind rushed past his ears. Somewhere, Dick was screaming in pure joy. Jason was laughing.
And Damian—
Damian, cheating little demon, had somehow managed to get ahead.
“HOW?!” Tim yelled.
“I do not lose!” Damian shouted back.
Tim narrowed his eyes. Alright. If Damian was going to cheat—
Tim shifted his weight, tilting just slightly to the side—
And slammed directly into Jason.
Jason, thrown off balance, crashed into Dick—
And then it was chaos.
They hit the pool all at once, an explosion of tangled limbs, water, and what was probably at least one concussion.
Tim surfaced first, coughing, dazed, and somehow missing his goggles. Jason popped up next, hacking up chlorinated water and laughing like a lunatic. Dick followed, wheezing.
And Damian—
Damian stood at the pool’s edge, dry, victorious, and looking way too smug for someone not old enough to drive.
“I win,” Damian declared.
Tim, Dick, and Jason exchanged glances.
Then, as one, they lunged.
Damian’s smug victory was cut short as three older brothers tackled him into the water. He screamed, flailed, and—
The lifeguard’s whistle shrieked.
“NO DROWNING THE CHILD!”
Bruce, still perched on his lounge chair, sighed.
Tim spat out a mouthful of water and turned to Jason. “Worth it?”
Jason grinned. “Absolutely.”
Tim grinned back. He was just about to drag himself out of the water when a drop of something warm hit his upper lip.
He wiped at it absently.
His hand came away red.
Tim blinked.
And then the pain finally registered.
“Oh, son of a—”
Jason, who had been busy laughing over Damian’s sputtering revenge attempts, paused. “What?”
Tim held up his hand, still smeared with blood. “I think my face exploded.”
Dick, ever the responsible older brother, gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, you’re dying.”
Tim, who wasn’t, in fact, dying, scowled. “I face-planted into the pool. I think my nose just—”
“You face-planted?” Jason wheezed, doubling over. “I thought that was an aggressive landing.”
Tim’s glare intensified. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I supposed to fall gracefully?”
Jason ignored him, grinning like the menace he was. “You delayed the pain long enough to commit violence on Damian before noticing. That’s, like, peak Gotham.”
The lifeguard, who clearly regretted all their life choices leading up to this job, trudged over. “Uh. Do you need a medic?”
Bruce, because of course Bruce had appeared just now, sighed from the poolside. “We’re fine.”
Tim, still pinching his nose and contemplating murder, shot him a glare. “We? We? Bruce, I am bleeding. Where is this ‘we’ coming from?”
Bruce didn’t even blink. “Do you want to go to first aid or not?”
Tim hesitated.
Then he caught sight of Damian, smirking at him through water-slicked bangs, and immediately decided against it.
Because if Damian saw him actually accept medical help over a nosebleed, he’d never live it down.
Tim inhaled.
Exhaled.
And muttered, “I’m fine.”
Jason slapped his back, sending him forward with a fresh nosebleed. “That’s the spirit, champ.”
Tim was going to kill him, because; could feel it. The trickle of blood still running from his nose, dripping down to the water below. It was probably nothing, just a small amount—
Except the water was turning red.
Dick, who had definitely been watching too many horror movies lately, yelped, “Oh my God, shark attack!” and scrambled backward, nearly knocking over a toddler with floaties.
Jason, wheezing with laughter, pointed at the slowly spreading cloud. “Dude. You’re contaminating the pool.”
Tim, done with everything, just wiped at his face—smearing more blood across his fingers—and then lunged at Jason.
Jason had half a second to react before Tim grabbed him by the arm and smeared all of the blood across his bare shoulder.
Jason screeched.
Tim, still furious about the whole face-planting incident, went all in. He dragged his bloody hand down Jason’s arm, leaving long, dramatic streaks like some kind of war paint.
“I CURSE YOU,” Tim declared. “WITH MY BLOOD.”
“WHAT THE HELL, TIM?!”
Jason tried to dodge, but there was no escape. Tim had the upper hand—and he knew it. He went for the chest next, leaving a bloody handprint smack in the middle.
Dick, doubled over from laughter, wheezed, “Jason, you look like you just walked out of a horror movie.”
Jason looked down.
At the massive red stain now covering his chest and arms.
At Tim, who was still grinning like an actual villain.
Then—then—
Jason turned slowly to Damian.
Who was also in grabbing range.
Damian, understanding immediately, lunged backward. “DO NOT TOUCH ME, TODD.”
But Jason was already in pursuit, full sprint through the pool, arms outstretched like a revenant from hell, shouting, “COME HERE, BABY BAT. JOIN THE BLOODLINE.”
People were staring. Lifeguards were contemplating quitting on the spot. Bruce was standing at the pool’s edge, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was considering disowning all of them.
Tim wiped the last of the blood on Dick’s arm.
Dick, still laughing, gasped, “Tim. Tim, I love you. You are my favorite now.”
Tim smirked, watching Jason chase Damian through the shallow end while half the park screamed in terror.
“Worth it,” he muttered.
Bruce should have stopped them.
But at this point, it was probably better for his blood pressure to just… let it play out.
Jason, now looking like the revenant of vengeance, was still sprinting through the water, arms outstretched, yelling, “COME HERE, DEMON CHILD. JOIN ME IN THE BLOOD PACT.”
Damian was dodging like his life depended on it, leaping over pool dividers, shoving innocent bystanders into Jason’s path, and at one point, attempting to bribe a lifeguard to intervene.
(It almost worked, until Jason turned toward the lifeguard, completely covered in blood, and the poor guy just noped out of there, pretending he saw nothing.)
Meanwhile, Dick, the traitor, was still dying from laughter. He was half in the water, clutching his stomach, tears in his eyes. “Oh—oh my God—Tim, you’ve created a monster.”
Tim, who was finally getting the respect he deserved, smirked. “I am an agent of chaos, Richard.”
Bruce, done with all of them, finally spoke. “Tim. Get out of the pool.”
Tim, who had zero intention of leaving before Jason completed his mission, blinked innocently. “Why? I’m fine.”
“You are actively staining public property with your blood.”
Tim squinted at the water, where the red had begun to thin out, no longer dramatic enough to cause a full evacuation. “Eh. I’ve seen worse.”
“You face-planted five minutes ago.”
“Your point?”
Bruce sighed. “Get. Out.”
Before Tim could argue, Jason finally caught Damian.
And tackled him.
There was a moment of pure, stunned silence.
And then—
“AAAAAAAAHHH—”
Damian’s screech could have shattered glass.
Jason, now genuinely cackling, grabbed Damian’s wrist and smeared a perfect bloody handprint across it. “Boom. You’re one of us now.”
“YOU—FILTHY—”
Damian attacked.
Now all three of them were wrestling in the pool, lifeguards actively debating if they should intervene or just let natural selection do its job.
Tim, casually strolling out of the water with the best view possible, looked up at Bruce and said, “You knew what you were signing up for when you adopted us.”
Bruce exhaled through his nose. “I need a vacation.”
“This is your vacation.”
Bruce was standing there, trying to look like the responsible adult, but really, he just looked like a guy who had no idea how to handle a family of chaotic lunatics. He adjusted his sunglasses, took a deep breath, and looked back at the pool.
Damian, meanwhile, was doing his best to break free of Jason’s surprisingly strong grip, while Jason—the menace—was busy rubbing his hands all over Damian’s face, smearing more blood on him.
“You are a Wayne now!” Jason howled, clearly loving every second of it. “Join the bloodline!”
Damian, completely furious and now sporting a new red streak on his cheek, yelled, “You disgusting plebeian! Let go of me!”
Tim, who was still standing off to the side like a very well-behaved teenager, snickered under his breath. “Oh, this is priceless.”
And then—because this was Gotham—somewhere in the distance, a kid with a toy water gun ran past, shooting them all in the face.
Jason, not one to back down from any challenge—even if it was from a toddler—lunged for the kid. “THAT’S IT. THIS IS WAR.”
The toddler giggled, clearly having no idea what was going on.
Dick, who had recovered slightly, finally wiped the tears from his eyes. “Tim. I think we broke Jason.”
Tim, who was somehow both horrified and entirely entertained by the absolute chaos, shrugged. “Jason’s always been a bit broken, don’t you think?”
Bruce’s voice carried across the chaos. “Jason, stop trying to murder the child.”
Jason, in the midst of trying to wrestle the water gun from the toddler’s hands, paused and turned around, mouth agape in mock offense. “I’m not murdering him. I’m educating him!”
Bruce rubbed his temples, looking like he was about three seconds away from pulling the plug on this entire family vacation. “Right. And what exactly is the lesson here, Jason?”
Jason grinned wide enough to show all his teeth. “Never underestimate the power of a Wayne.”
The toddler, unphased, shot Jason right in the face with the water gun.
“I underestimated that, yeah,” Jason muttered, wiping water off his eyes.
Meanwhile, Damian, who had been mostly forgotten in the tussle, wiped his face and glared at Tim. “This is your fault.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I didn’t do anything.”
Damian shot him a look that clearly said, Oh, you did—but it wasn’t nearly as effective as he thought, especially when Tim smirked and added, “At least you’re part of the team now. You have a blood bond and everything.”
Damian crossed his arms and looked more offended by that than anything else that had happened today. “I am not part of this insane—”
And then Jason, finally having grabbed the water gun, shot him square in the face.
Damian’s jaw dropped. His mouth opened to say something, but all that came out was a strangled noise as he sputtered in pure disbelief.
“That is for the face-planting incident, Damian,” Jason said seriously. “Payback bit—”
Damian spluttered again. “YOU—”
“Oh, I think that’s enough fun for today,” Bruce said, sounding eerily calm as he walked toward them. “Everyone, out of the water. We’re leaving.”
And that, in true Wayne fashion, was how everything fell apart.
Dick was still wheezing with laughter, clutching his stomach as he tried to stagger toward the exit. “Wait, Bruce, this is supposed to be a vacation!”
“Yeah!” Tim chimed in. “This is the best vacation ever.”
Bruce’s glare was deadly. “Out. Now.”
Jason, still holding the water gun like it was his new prized possession, gave Bruce a sloppy salute. “Aye-aye, Captain.”
And that’s how it ended.
With Jason making the entire walk of shame out of the pool area, covered in blood and water, while Tim and Dick tried—unsuccessfully—to suppress their laughter.
Damian, begrudgingly and way too dignified for this, walked beside them, still covered in Jason’s handiwork, and now waterlogged.
Bruce? He was seriously reconsidering everything.
“Next time,” he muttered, “we’re going to a museum.”
----
The car ride back to the hotel was dead silent.
Not because anyone was actually calm, but because Bruce had activated his dad glare, and no one—not even Jason—was willing to push their luck.
Tim, now freshly changed into dry clothes but still internally dying from his face-first water-planting incident, was slumped in his seat. The nosebleed had finally stopped, but every time he sniffed, Jason gave him this stupidly smug look, like he was just waiting for another fountain of blood.
Tim flicked him off.
Jason just waggled his eyebrows.
Damian, arms crossed so hard they might be permanently stuck that way, was still coated in the faint remains of Tim’s blood. Bruce had offered to let him shower before they left, but Damian, being the stubborn gremlin that he was, had merely lifted his chin and muttered, “I will bear the scars of battle.”
Bruce had sighed.
Dick, at some point, had fully passed out in the front seat, head tilted back and mouth open like a cartoon character.
Which meant, obviously, that Jason leaned forward and—
Honk honk.
He squeezed Dick’s nose.
Dick snorted himself awake, flailing dramatically and nearly smacking Bruce in the face.
“What?! What happened? Are we under attack?”
“Nope,” Jason said, grinning like the absolute menace that he was. “Just making sure you’re still alive.”
Dick groaned and pushed Jason’s face away, muttering something about “menaces to society” before curling back up into the passenger seat.
Tim, ever the voice of reason, looked at Bruce through the rearview mirror. “So. I’m guessing this means the water park was a one-time thing?”
Bruce exhaled so hard it was practically a primal scream.
“If you ever mention a water park again,” he said, voice like pure steel, “I will personally ground all of you until Gotham ceases to exist.”
There was a pause.
Then—
“So… when are we going to the amusement park?” Jason asked.
Bruce gripped the steering wheel so hard it creaked.
Tim bit the inside of his cheek, holding back laughter.
Dick, somehow still half-asleep, mumbled, “Ooh, roller coasters,” before immediately passing back out.
And Damian, who had been silent this entire time, looked directly at Bruce and said, completely serious:
“If Todd is allowed to throw family members into large bodies of water, then I demand the right to throw him off a roller coaster.”
Jason cackled.
Tim muttered, “I would pay to see that.”
Bruce, with the look of a man who had given up on life itself, simply groaned and muttered, “I should’ve left you all at home.”
But he didn’t.
And, well.
Tim supposed that was what made them a family.
----
The car rolled to a stop outside their hotel, and for a blessed moment, Tim thought—hoped—that the chaos was over. That they would go inside, shower, and sleep like normal, sane people.
But, unfortunately, he was related to these idiots.
Because the second Bruce turned off the engine, Jason bolted out of the car like a feral raccoon, cackling as he ran full-speed toward the hotel entrance.
“Last one in has to buy breakfast!”
Tim’s soul left his body.
There was a beat of dead silence.
Then—
Dick: “Oh, hell no—”
Damian: “I refuse to eat another one of Todd’s revolting selections—”
Tim: “Oh my god, I hate all of you.”
And then they were running.
Bruce, still sitting in the driver’s seat, groaned and pressed his forehead against the wheel. He had to be questioning every life decision that led to this exact moment.
Tim, fueled purely by spite and the need to not pay for overpriced hotel breakfast, booked it. The hotel lobby loomed ahead. Jason had a head start, but Tim was fast—he could make it—
Then, out of nowhere—
BAM.
A blur of pure evil in the form of Damian Wayne drop-kicked Tim right in the back.
Tim face-planted into the hotel carpet with a noise like a dying goose.
“YOU ABSOLUTE GREMLIN—”
“Victory is mine,” Damian said smugly, stepping over Tim’s collapsed form like he was nothing more than roadkill.
Dick, laughing so hard he was WHEEZING, skidded to a stop beside them, hands on his knees as he tried to breathe.
Jason, having already won and claimed the elevator, leaned against the doors with the smuggest grin imaginable.
“Aw, man,” he said, grinning down at Tim. “Tough break, Replacement. Looks like you’re on breakfast duty.”
Tim, still sprawled on the floor, glared absolute death at his older brother.
“I am going to poison your waffles.”
Jason just laughed. “Joke’s on you, Bruce is paying.”
Tim groaned into the floor. He was so done.
He had lost the race, gotten betrayed by Damian’s unholy dropkick technique, and now Jason was standing over him like a conqueror.
Which was bad enough.
But then—
The familiar, traitorous tickle hit his nose.
Oh. Oh no.
Not again.
“Uh, Tim…” Dick said, eyes widening.
Jason grinned. “You look like you’re gonna sneeze, man—”
And then.
BLOOD.
A full-on red waterfall gushed from Tim’s nose, again, because apparently fate hated him personally.
Jason screamed.
Not in concern.
In pure horror.
“WHAT THE HELL—”
“OH MY GOD—”
Dick cackled, scrambling back while Damian just stared, looking half-impressed, half-disgusted.
Tim, now leaking like a broken faucet, glared absolute murder at the ceiling.
“This is it,” he muttered, voice nasal from the blood pouring out of his face. “This is how I die.”
Jason, fully panicking now, yanked off his hoodie and slammed it over Tim’s face.
“Take it back!” Jason yelped. “Don’t say ominous shit when you’re bleeding out like a horror movie character!”
Tim, his entire face now shoved into Jason’s sweater, made a muffled, furious noise of protest.
Dick, still laughing so hard he was crying, gasped out, “I can’t believe—this is the second time today—”
Damian, voice flat, said, “Drake, if you get blood on my shoes, I will stab you.”
Tim lifted his head just enough to violently smear blood on Jason’s arm.
“YOU LITTLE—”
Jason launched him.
Tim screamed.
Unfortunately, midair physics was not on his side.
Instead of landing normally, Tim crashed—face-first, again—into the lobby’s decorative potted plant.
Bruce chose that exact moment to walk inside.
He stopped.
Looked at Jason, who was covered in blood.
Looked at Damian, who was standing over Tim like a victorious gladiator.
Looked at Dick, who was now on the floor laughing.
And finally, looked at Tim.
Who was now half-buried in a ficus and actively dying.
Bruce inhaled deeply.
Then exhaled through his nose.
Then, very, very slowly, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “I am never taking you all on vacation again.”
Jason, wiping Tim’s blood off his arm onto Dick, just shrugged.
Tim, nose still actively dripping, lifted his hand from the wreckage of the plant and gave a very enthusiastic thumbs up.
“Worth it.”
Bruce just sighed, rubbed a hand down his face, and muttered, "Alfred is going to kill me."
Dick, still wheezing from laughter, attempted to help Tim out of the ficus but mostly just dropped him back into it twice. Jason was still horrified about being smeared with Tim’s blood, frantically rubbing his arm against Dick’s shirt to get it off. Damian, ever the picture of sympathy, just crossed his arms and said, "Weakling."
Tim groaned, dazed, and muttered, "I hope that plant was poisonous."
"Don't be dramatic," Bruce said, stepping in and effortlessly hauling Tim to his feet.
Tim swayed slightly. Dick immediately grabbed him to steady him. Jason grabbed his other side, looking at Tim's face with a mix of worry and disgust.
"Dude, how do you still have blood left?" Jason asked, wiping more off his hoodie.
"Wayne resilience," Dick said proudly.
"Stupidity," Damian corrected.
Tim sniffed, which was a terrible idea, because the blood had finally started slowing down but was now making an aggressive comeback.
"Oh, come on," he groaned, clapping both hands over his nose.
Jason made another panicked noise.
"STOP LEAKING!"
Bruce, deeply done, steered Tim toward the elevator. "We're going upstairs before I get charged with a crime."
Tim blinked sluggishly at him. "What crime?"
"Public indecency."
Tim frowned. "That's not what that means—"
"It should be," Bruce muttered.
The doors slid open, and Bruce physically shoved his chaotic children inside before anyone else could witness their disaster of a family outing. The moment the doors closed, Dick collapsed against the railing, still laughing.
"Oh my god," he gasped. "This is the best vacation ever."
Tim, who had literally suffered a public execution by seagull, nearly drowned, and been punted into a ficus, just slowly turned his head to stare at him.
Bruce sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples. "No one is allowed to leave the hotel for the rest of the trip."
Jason immediately turned to Tim. "So how do we sneak out?"
Bruce took a long, long breath.
Tim, with all the strength of a man who had lost everything today, muttered, "Jason, if you throw me again, I will take you with me."
Jason grinned, clapping Tim right on the back—making his nose bleed all over again.
Dick shrieked in laughter. Damian hissed like an offended cat.
Bruce actually muttered a prayer.
Wayne vacations were a nightmare.
----
By the time they made it back to their hotel room, Tim had bled on three more things, Jason had gotten banned from the lobby for “excessive public disturbances,” and Dick had laughed so hard he was on the verge of passing out.
Damian was deeply regretting being related to them.
Bruce was regretting everything.
Tim, who had truly suffered the most today, flopped dramatically onto the hotel bed. He let out a long, suffering sigh, like a man on his deathbed. "I just wanted to have a nice, relaxing day."
"Liar," Jason said. "You wanted to stay inside and avoid human contact like a hermit."
"Exactly."
"And yet," Jason continued, "you’re here. With us. Living your best life."
Tim slowly turned his head to glare. "Jason. My face is actively trying to kill me."
"Yeah, okay, fair."
Bruce, pinching the bridge of his nose for what had to be the seventieth time today, pointed at Jason. "No more throwing your brothers."
Jason shrugged. "Define throwing."
"I will throw you out the window," Bruce said.
"Oh, come on—"
Tim, nose stuffed with tissues, sat up just enough to point at Jason and say, "If I go, I’m taking you with me."
"Dibs on pushing both of you," Damian muttered.
"Not helping," Bruce snapped.
Dick, who was still recovering from laughing too hard, wiped a tear from his eye. "So. What’s the plan for tomorrow?"
Bruce, who had clearly given up, just sighed. "We’re staying in."
"Coward," Jason said.
"Survival instinct," Bruce corrected.
Tim, deeply exhausted, flopped back onto the bed. "Wake me up when my suffering is over."
Jason, ever the menace, leaned over him and whispered, "Never."
Tim groaned.
This vacation sucked.
----
The next morning, Bruce woke up to screaming.
Now, to be fair, waking up to screaming was not unusual in the Wayne household. But typically, it was crime-related. Or, at the very least, someone (Jason) yelling at someone else (Damian) at an ungodly hour.
This was different. This was pure, unfiltered chaos.
Bruce barely managed to throw on a robe before yanking the door open—only to be met with an avalanche of foam peanuts spilling into the hallway.
Bruce froze.
Jason, already dying of laughter, emerged from the chaos like a gremlin. "Good morning, B!"
"What," Bruce said slowly, "did you do?"
"Nothing!" Jason said. "This was all Tim’s fault."
"Excuse me?" Tim’s outraged voice rang from somewhere under the mountain of foam peanuts. "How is this my fault?!"
"You're the one who ordered ‘one’ towel and accidentally bought an entire hotel supply closet," Jason cackled. "This is just karma."
Bruce ran a hand down his face, already regretting every life decision that led him to this moment. "Where did you even get all these peanuts?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Jason said smugly.
Before Bruce could launch into his dad voice, the fire alarm went off.
"Oh, for the love of—"
From the other end of the hallway, Dick burst through a door, covered in red foam. "It wasn’t me!"
"Then why do you look guilty?" Damian snapped, also emerging from the chaos—looking suspiciously like he had just been wrestling a chicken.
"Long story!" Dick said. "Short version: do not go into the kitchen!"
"What did you do?" Bruce demanded.
"What did we do," Damian corrected, scowling. "Grayson, this is your fault."
"We got bored!" Dick protested. "And the hotel kitchen looked interesting!"
"You set something on fire, didn’t you," Bruce deadpanned.
"...Define ‘fire’."
"Dick."
"Okay, okay, so maybe we accidentally set off a grease fire," Dick admitted. "But to be fair, Damian is the one who threw oil at me!"
"You dared me to!"
"I implied it!"
Jason, absolutely losing it, collapsed into the foam peanut pile. "Best. Vacation. Ever."
Tim, still stuck under the pile, groaned. "I hate this family."
The fire alarm continued wailing. Hotel guests were now opening their doors to stare in absolute horror at the Wayne family disaster unfolding before them.
Bruce massaged his temples. "That’s it. We’re checking out."
"Coward," Jason wheezed.
"Survival instinct," Bruce corrected.
Tim finally crawled out from under the peanuts, looking deeply done. "Just leave me here. Let the hotel claim me."
"No can do, buddy," Dick said cheerfully, throwing an arm around him. "Now, who wants to go parasailing?"
"ABSOLUTELY NOT," Bruce snapped.
Jason smirked. "So that’s a maybe?"
Bruce considered if it was too late to fake his own death.
But he did not in fact, fake his own death. But he did nearly have a heart attack when he turned around and saw Damian standing on the hotel balcony dangling a seagull over the edge like a Bond villain.
"Damian!" Bruce shouted. "What are you doing?!"
"Establishing dominance," Damian said.
The seagull screeched.
"Put that thing down!"
"It started it!"
"Damian."
"Fine!" Damian huffed and tossed the seagull into the air, where it promptly did an angry loop before dive-bombing Dick, who had just stepped out onto the balcony with a cup of coffee.
"WHAT THE—" Dick yelped, coffee flying as he flailed, narrowly dodging the vengeful seagull. "DAMI—AGH!"
"You should have ducked faster," Damian said, completely unbothered.
Tim, now sitting cross-legged on the floor, let out a long, exhausted sigh. "This is why I don’t leave the house."
"This is why Gotham doesn’t let us leave the house," Jason corrected.
Bruce inhaled deeply, pressed his fingers to his temples, and muttered, "I should’ve left all of you in the ocean."
"Rude," Dick said, still dodging the enraged seagull. "Oh my God, why won’t it stop—"
"You made eye contact," Tim said, completely deadpan. "You challenged its authority."
"I hate this vacation," Bruce muttered.
Jason, ever the menace, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Then you’re gonna love our next activity."
Bruce gave him a dangerous look. "What next activity?"
Jason grinned. "Jet skis."
"No," Bruce said immediately. "Absolutely not."
"Too late!" Jason cackled, tossing a set of keys in the air. "The rentals are non-refundable!"
"You’re non-refundable," Tim muttered.
Jason pointed at him. "That’s not an insult."
Dick, finally escaping the seagull, stumbled into the room, panting. "Okay—okay, fine. Jet skis sound great. Let’s go before the birds organize."
"The birds are already organized," Tim said ominously. "They’re just waiting for the right moment."
Damian nodded. "This is true."
Bruce, completely done, just exhaled and muttered, "I should’ve taken a solo vacation."
"And leave us unsupervised?" Jason gasped. "How dare you."
Bruce massaged his temples again. "I am going to need a year to recover from this trip."
"Nah," Dick grinned. "You’ll need at least two."
And with that, they were off.
To jet ski.
----
Tim had exactly three seconds of peace before he realized he was in hell.
The jet ski rental place should’ve known better. Should’ve taken one look at the five of them and said, No. Absolutely not. The insurance does not cover whatever it is you people are about to do.
But no.
They’d handed over the keys. Like fools.
Tim had been forced onto a jet ski with Jason because apparently, he wasn’t to be trusted alone. Which was ridiculous, because it wasn’t like he was going to deliberately crash—
Jason, on the other hand—
“Hang on, Replacement!” Jason cackled, revving the engine.
“No—”
And then they launched across the water.
Tim had about half a second to process oh no before they hit a wave at Mach speed, went airborne, and—
crashed back down so hard that Tim’s nose made direct, painful contact with Jason’s shoulder.
“AGH—”
Jason, of course, did not care.
“THIS IS AMAZING,” he shouted over the roar of the engine. “I AM A GOD!”
Tim, clutching his newly reinjured nose, rasped, “I hate you so much.”
Meanwhile, on another jet ski—
“Damian, slow down—”
“WEAKLING TALK,” Damian declared, flooring it and sending both himself and Dick hurtling toward open water.
Bruce, on his own jet ski, visibly aged ten years in real-time.
“DAMI—”
Too late.
Dick’s scream echoed as Damian hit a wave so hard that they both briefly went airborne—
—before the entire jet ski flipped.
Completely.
And then there was silence.
Bruce stared at the now empty patch of water.
“…Oh my God,” Tim whispered. “Are they dead?”
Then—
A head broke the surface.
It was Damian.
And he was grinning.
“VICTORY!” he announced, fist-pumping in the water.
Dick, who surfaced a moment later, was absolutely not victorious.
“DAMIAN, YOU MENACE—”
“Weakling talk,” Damian said again, and kicked a wave directly into Dick’s face.
Tim let out a deep, suffering sigh.
Jason, ever the agent of chaos, revved the engine again.
“No—” Tim started.
But it was too late.
Jason gunned it, whipped them into a turn—
And the next thing Tim knew, he was flying through the air.
Right before he face-planted directly into the water.
Again.
It was the seagulls all over again.
And when he surfaced, sputtering, nose bleeding, the water around him red, Jason just laughed.
So Tim did the only logical thing.
He smeared blood all over Jason’s face like war paint.
Jason stopped laughing.
“What the hell, Tim—”
“You’re one of them now,” Tim wheezed. “You’re marked.”
Jason’s eyes widened.
Then—
A seagull screeched in the distance.
Jason lunged for Tim.
Tim yeeted himself off the jet ski.
And Bruce?
Bruce just sat there, watching all of this unfold, and prayed for strength.
This vacation was never going to end.
----
Bruce, in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation, had made the worst mistake of his life.
He’d suggested the banana boat.
Tim had tried to protest. Had tried to remind them that they were Waynes, and therefore cursed, and that any attempt at a “fun, normal activity” would absolutely end in disaster.
But Bruce, ever the optimist (or perhaps just a broken man at this point), had waved off his concerns and booked them all a ride.
And so here they were.
Sitting in a single-file line on a bright yellow death trap, waiting for the speedboat in front of them to ruin their lives.
“This,” Tim muttered, “is a bad idea.”
Jason, sitting directly behind him, snorted. “You say that like it’s a new experience for us.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“I especially don’t trust it,” Dick added from the front, gripping the handles like they were his last lifeline. “But if we don’t go through with this, Damian will never let us live it down.”
Damian, at the very back, scoffed. “That is correct.”
Then the engine roared.
And Tim had exactly two seconds to regret everything before the banana boat lurched forward at speeds no banana should ever reach.
Immediately, chaos.
Bruce, seated second to last, was visibly regretting all his life choices.
Damian, maniac that he was, was cackling like they were charging into battle.
Jason, whooping like an idiot, purposefully rocked the boat.
“STOP THAT—” Tim shouted, gripping his handles for dear life.
Jason, the absolute menace, rocked it harder.
And then—
The boat veered sharply left.
The world tilted.
And then, disaster.
Tim felt himself go airborne.
In a split second, he locked eyes with Bruce—who had the exact same oh no expression.
Then every single one of them was launched into the ocean.
The impact was immediate and unforgiving. Tim face-planted directly into the water, because of course he did.
And when he surfaced, nose bleeding again, floating in a patch of his own blood, Jason was already cackling.
“Oh my God, Replacement,” Jason wheezed, barely able to stay afloat. “How does this keep happening to you?”
Tim, coughing up seawater, was done.
So he did the only reasonable thing.
He smeared his blood all over Jason’s face.
Again.
“STOP DOING THAT—”
“YOU’RE MARKED,” Tim rasped.
Jason, horrified, immediately started scrubbing at his face. “YOU’RE GONNA SUMMON THEM AGAIN—”
And as if the universe heard them, a seagull screeched overhead.
“NO.”
Jason lunged at Tim. Tim yeeted himself backward.
And Bruce?
Bruce was just floating there, staring up at the sky, wondering if it was too late to change his last name.
That was how Tim knew things were truly dire.
Because while he was currently floating in a blood-tainted section of the ocean, Jason was flailing and trying to wipe his face with seawater (not effective), and Dick was somewhere in the distance coughing up a lung, Bruce was just floating there.
Like a man who had accepted his fate.
Like a father of four disasters who had finally given up.
Damian, miraculously still in one piece (and entirely unbothered), swam over and grabbed Tim’s face.
“Tt. Are you broken?”
Tim blinked. “Physically or emotionally?”
“Physically. Obviously.”
Jason, who was still rubbing at his face aggressively, snorted. “Emotionally? He’s been broken for years.”
Tim, deadpan, flicked more nosebleed seawater at him.
Jason screeched.
Damian made a disgusted noise and shoved Tim’s face away. “You are contaminating the ocean.”
Dick finally paddled back over, still looking winded. “Okay. Okay. Real talk.” He turned to Tim, serious. “Do you just… have weak nasal blood vessels or something?”
Tim scowled. “It’s not my fault my face keeps slamming into things.”
Jason gestured aggressively at the floating crime scene around them. “Bro, this is not normal. This is, like, anime protagonist levels of dramatic nosebleeds.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Dick tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe you should get it checked out. Like. Medically.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, do you want me to just stroll into the doctor’s office and say, ‘Hi, I think my face is cursed, can you check if my nasal passages were hexed at birth?’”
Damian rolled his eyes. “Tt. No one is cursed.”
Jason, who was still furiously wiping at his face, grumbled, “Says the one person who didn’t get coated in blood.”
Then—
A shadow passed overhead.
All of them froze.
Jason immediately went stiff. “No. NO.”
Tim looked up.
And saw.
The Seagull.
The same one. It had returned.
Tim locked eyes with Jason.
Jason, pale, whispered, “You marked me.”
Then the seagull dived.
Jason let out a battle cry and yeeted himself toward the boat.
Tim, laughing hysterically despite the blood loss, followed immediately after.
Behind them, Dick was wheezing.
Damian was disgusted.
Bruce, still floating like a broken man, just said, “Alfred was right. I should have left you all at home.”
The boat, on the other hand, was, by some miracle, still floating in the water, but that didn’t stop the seagull from looking like it was on a mission.
Tim narrowed his eyes, still clutching his nose, which was, tragically, still bleeding.
Jason, in full panic mode, had already clambered halfway up the side of the boat, not even bothering to help anyone else. “Why does this keep happening to me?!” he screamed, his voice cracking in sheer disbelief.
Tim was still laughing, but his laughter was punctuated by an occasional cough and the constant dripping of blood down his chin. “Maybe it’s fate.”
“Fate?! Tim, you’re cursed! This is why I didn’t want to do a family vacation in the first place!” Jason retorted, practically shaking with frustration.
“Too bad. We’re a family, remember? You suffer with the rest of us.”
But Tim barely heard Jason’s words over the loud flapping of the seagull’s wings. It was circling above, eyeing them menacingly, clearly waiting for its opportunity to dive bomb.
“We need to get out of here.” Tim tried to make his escape, but Jason grabbed him by the arm.
“You’re not leaving me alone with that demon bird!”
“Let go of me!” Tim shouted, trying to pull free. His hands were slick with water—and blood—which just made everything pale difficult.
Jason didn’t let go. Instead, he dragged Tim back toward the boat, where Damian was now trying to negotiate with the seagull. Yes, negotiate.
“You cannot intimidate me, bird.” Damian’s voice was dripping with condescension, even as he held a hand up, staring the bird down like he was the king of the jungle. “I have defeated worse in my lifetime.”
Dick, who was clinging to the side of the boat and just barely staying afloat, chuckled. “Yeah, sure, Damian. But I think the bird is more afraid of Tim’s blood splatter than your threats.”
Tim could hardly protest, still busy trying to maintain a modicum of dignity while standing covered in blood and surrounded by complete lunatics. “Can we please just go home? I’ve had enough of this vacation. Seriously.”
Jason, in some sort of strange moment of clarity, turned back to Tim with a look of pure resolve on his face. “You’re right, kid. I don’t care what Bruce says, I’m done. I’m getting out of here. Seagulls, water parks, bananas, it’s all too much.”
Just as Tim was about to agree, something bizarre happened.
Damian, not one to be outdone, lunged at the bird, arms outstretched like he was going to grapple it.
The seagull, having none of that, dove toward him with murderous intent, its beak snapping dangerously close to Damian’s face.
For a moment, the entire family paused—watching as Damian scrambled back in terror, yelling.
“I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU WERE EVIL! YOU’RE WORKING FOR THE DEVIL!”
Jason, picking up the dramatic tone immediately, yelled, “WE’RE BEING ATTACKED! FALL BACK!”
And that was how, in one instant, the entire Wayne family abandoned ship, leaving Tim, Jason, and Damian scrambling for the side of the boat in complete chaos.
Bruce, in the distance, watched it all unfold from the safety of the sand, shaking his head. “I should have just stuck with a spa day.”
But then—
The seagull turned and flew away.
And for a moment, everything was silent.
Tim, still covered in blood from his tragic nosebleed, just stared up at the sky, wondering if he could ever just have a normal day.
Jason, still a little on edge, glanced around. “Okay, now that we’ve survived, who wants to go get ice cream?”
Damian, now completely exhausted from his traumatic run-in with the seagull, grumbled, “I want to leave immediately.”
Tim wiped at his nose with a groan. “Fine, let’s go. But I’m getting a large sundae. I deserve it after all this.”
Dick, incredibly sunburned from his reckless splash into the water earlier, piped up, “And I’ll take something with chocolate. Just to make sure the world doesn’t implode again.”
Tim, mumbling under his breath, added, “I’ll take my ice cream with a side of never going back to a water park.”
Jason smirked. “Deal.”
And so, after all that chaos, the Wayne family managed to head off for ice cream. Well, at least they were alive—and despite Tim’s nosebleeds and tragic encounters with seagulls, they might have just had the weirdest, most unpredictable vacation of their lives.
Tim could only hope for peace. Just a little peace, somewhere.
----
It's all fun and peace the moment Tim landed his head onto the pillow last night but the next morning?
The next morning, Tim woke up to a crime scene.
Or at least, that’s what it looked like.
His pillow was ruined—completely soaked in dried blood. His face? A disaster. And the worst part? He had to see Alfred’s disappointed face when he walked into the kitchen looking like he’d just lost a fight with a brick wall.
“Master Timothy.” Alfred set down the tea he was pouring, eyes narrowing. “Are you actively bleeding on my floors?”
Tim blinked blearily. “Uh. Maybe?”
Jason, sitting at the table with a massive bowl of cereal, gave Tim a once-over and immediately recoiled. “Dude. You look like you got sacrificed last night.”
“Did I?” Tim rubbed his temple, then looked at his bloodstained fingers. “...Huh.”
Dick, who was still mildly sunburned from the previous day’s water park catastrophe, snorted into his coffee. “You should really get that checked out.”
“Good news, Master Richard,” Alfred said as he took a not-at-all-suspiciously timed phone call. “You are all expected at Dr. Thompkins’ clinic in twenty minutes.”
Tim groaned. Jason let out a dramatic wail of despair.
Dick just raised an eyebrow. “Wait. All of us?”
Alfred nodded, the corners of his mouth just barely twitching. “Master Bruce insisted.”
Jason slammed his hands on the table. “NO. I REFUSE. That woman is going to find something wrong with me, and then it’s gonna be tests and advice and oh my God, I should’ve jumped ship yesterday!”
“You did jump ship,” Tim reminded him, still trying to wipe at his face with a paper towel. “Right into Dick.”
Jason shuddered at the memory. “I almost drowned in his hair gel.”
Dick flicked a piece of toast at Jason’s head. “My hair is not that bad.”
Tim, ignoring the impending breakfast war, sighed. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Maybe she’ll just tell me to stop existing and my nosebleeds will go away.”
Alfred, ever the professional, cleared his throat. “That is an option I will present to her.”
----
By the time they arrived at Leslie’s clinic, Jason had cycled through all five stages of grief, and Tim was actively considering a career change to hermit just to avoid this conversation.
Leslie, of course, was unimpressed.
The moment they entered, she stared at Tim like he was a particularly stubborn infection. “Let me guess,” she said, crossing her arms. “Still not sleeping, still drinking six cups of coffee a day, and still acting surprised when your body malfunctions?”
Tim scowled. “That’s a gross oversimplification.”
Leslie just held out her hand. “Give me the coffee cup, Tim.”
Tim, who hadn’t even thought about the travel mug in his hand, gasped. “How dare you.”
Jason snorted, but then Leslie turned to him. “And you, Jason, you’ve been concussed—what, twice this month?”
Jason, to his credit, actually had to think about it. “Uh. Three times?”
Leslie looked up at the ceiling for patience.
“I hate this,” Tim muttered as she ushered him onto the examination table. “I should’ve just let the seagull take me.”
Jason, sitting smugly in the corner, leaned back in his chair. “Would’ve saved us the trip.”
Leslie prodded Tim’s nose, and Tim winced. “Ow, okay, yes, it hurts, no, I don’t know why this keeps happening, and no, I don’t want surgery.”
Leslie didn’t even blink. “I wasn’t offering surgery.”
Dick, sitting in the chair beside Jason, elbowed him. “She totally was.”
Leslie sighed. “Tim, you need to sleep regularly. Your body is fragile. Like a wet tissue.”
Tim groaned. “Why does everyone keep calling me fragile?”
“Because you’re held together by spite and stale Red Bull.”
Jason cackled. “She gets it.”
Leslie sighed. “Just—just listen to me. I’m giving you iron supplements, and you need to stop staying up for forty-eight hours straight. I mean it.”
Tim muttered something under his breath, and Leslie immediately turned to Jason. “You. You’re in charge of making sure he takes his meds.”
Jason looked offended. “What?! Me?! Why me?!”
“Because if I give it to Dick, Tim will manipulate him into forgetting, and if I give it to Damian, it’ll turn into a battle of wills.”
Dick gasped. “I would not forget.”
Tim muttered, “He would definitely forget.”
Jason, grinning, leaned toward Tim. “Guess what, little brother? You’re doomed.”
Tim slumped forward in defeat. “I hate this family.”
Leslie just handed Jason the prescription and patted his shoulder. “Congratulations. You’re now his medical warden.”
Jason, smirking, stuffed the paper in his jacket pocket. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with this.”
Tim groaned. Dick chuckled. Damian, who had been ominously quiet, finally spoke.
“I say we put him on leash.”
Leslie rubbed her temples. “Get out of my clinic.”
As they piled into the car, Jason was still delighted by his new responsibility.
“So, Timbo,” Jason started, grinning ear to ear, “how do you feel about taking your pills every day on schedule?”
Tim stared out the window, dead inside. “I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Jason slung an arm around his shoulders. “That’s cute. Now take your meds.”
Dick, driving, chuckled. “I think this was the best doctor visit we’ve ever had.”
Damian huffed. “Only because I was not examined.”
Tim, forehead against the window, just sighed.
This was his life now. Nosebleeds, seagulls, and Jason Todd, medication tyrant.
Maybe he was cursed.