The Red Hood let out a low groan inside of his helmet, leaning against the wall in one of Gotham's many back alleys. His vision was swimming and he briefly contemplated just falling asleep on the spot. Whichever drug those thugs had put into his system, it was good. Slow-acting, but good. Who knew, maybe the slow-acting part came from Jason's resistance against everything foreign in his body, courtesy of Bruce, Talia, the Pit and whatnot. He didn't really have the mind to figure that out right now. Or anything, really.

Shaking his head, Jason pushed himself away from the wall he'd been slumped against and slowly sliding to the ground. On second thoughts, he wasn't too keen on finding out what the wrong crowd would do if they found the Red Hood passed out behind a dumpster, lying in mouldy, Mexican take-out leftovers. Groggily, he tried to remember where the next safehouse was – as stubborn as he could be, to keep going in this condition was nothing short of suicide and dying (again) was fairly low on his bucket list.

Stumbling out of the alley, he kept moving, forcing his eyes to stay open. Another groan escaped his mouth when he remembered one of Nightwing's safehouses was only two blocks away. Avoiding his big brother be damned, this called for extreme measures. He'd rather wake up to Dick – either hovering like the mother hen he denied he was or waiting with a lecture, arms crossed in front of his chest, foot tapping impatiently – than not wake up at all.

Steadying himself with one hand on the wall, Red Hood slowly made his way to the unremarkable apartment complex, fell rather than walked through the front door when he finally arrived and scuffed into the elevator, hazily stabbing at the buttons until the one with the green blob that could be a 13 gave way to his clumsily poking fingers.

He didn't dare closing his eyes when the elevator took him upwards and instead read the panel with the emergency button and number over and over again, just to keep his mind occupied enough so he wouldn't fall asleep in here. A few moments later, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Red Hood stared at them, blearily. What was he doing again? Oh, right.

Jason pushed himself into the hallway, movements slow and sluggish, and he tripped more than once over nothing but thin air on his way to the door on the very left. At least entering the emergency entry code was something he could do in his sleep quite literally and soon enough, the door to his temporary haven swung open and he wasted no time entering, the prospect of finally finding a heavenly, much-desired bed raising his spirits enough to do just that. Seconds later, he stumbled into the moonlit bedroom of his brother's safehouse and he barely remembered to take his helmet off, letting it fall to the carpeted floor with a muted thump, before he faceplanted into the bed and was instantly in deep, drug-induced slumber.

Red Robin landed on the very edge of the rooftop, only half of his feet hitting solid ground. He just stood there for a moment, not moving a muscle, idly wondering whether gravity would be merciful or leave him scrambling for a grappling gun for a lucky shot as he was falling nine stories to his death. After a few very long seconds, his body slowly pitched forward, not backward, and he stumbled onto the rooftop with a relieved sigh.

Okay, maybe this hadn't been graceful and appropriate for Tim – or any meaningful vigilante, really – but he was tired enough that walking alone seemed like an insurmountable task to him, not to mention roof-hopping. He wearily rubbed his face as he just stood there. Not even the RR Special from a 24/7 coffee shop at the border to Crime Alley one of his snitches worked at was doing what it was supposed to, leaving him bone-tired and beyond exhausted instead of giving him the kick he needed to finish this night. And as much as he hated the idea of calling in early, his patrol wasn't supposed to end for another… he had no idea how long, but it certainly wasn't at 01:41, Tim knew that much. Wait, what had he been thinking about?

Swaying a little on his feet, Red Robin shook his head and slapped himself in the face, hard enough to leave a bright red mark on his cheek. At least that helped in getting enough of his brain functions back so he could remember his name. Resigned, he activated his comm.

"Red Robin to Nightwing." He winced. Oh God, he sounded even more tired than he actually felt.

"You sound awful. What's wrong?" Red Robin blearily stared ahead, the voice ringing in his ear not even registering. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure since when he'd been awake now. What day was it?

"Red Robin? Can you hear me?"

He tried to recollect the past few days. There had been that case about youth unemployment, and the two presentations for Wayne Enterprises about ninjas and… he didn't even know.

"RED ROBIN!" He flinched at the volume, almost falling over, suddenly remembering that he'd called Nightwing to… do what again?

"I'm here", he slurred back, "Whazzup?" He heard a sigh from the other side of the line.

"You called me, Red. But I can guess what's up. Go home, you sound like you haven't slept in days." For some reason, Red Robin couldn't stop a stupid grin from spreading on his face. Guilty as charged! his mind supplied as if he'd won the Fool of the Year Award™. He groaned and slapped his face again.

"What was that sound? Oh God, Red, where are you? Are you in trouble? I'm –"

"No, no, that was me", he interrupted Dick's panicked rambling tiredly. "Sorry. I'll just… head back to the Nest."

"Okay then", was the hesitant reply, followed by another sigh. "Go get some sleep, little brother."

"Damn straight I will. Red Robin out."

The comm line died in his ear but Tim just stayed where he was. A yawn from the very depths and darkest abyss of his soul escaped his mouth, causing his jaw to crack painfully. He winced, rubbed at his stinging cheek and looked around. On second thoughts, heading back to the Nest was actually a bad idea, he'd most likely end up braining himself in one way or another on the way in his current condition. Racking his memory for any alternatives, he clumsily pawed at the computer installed in his gauntlet to check his current position and the next safehouse. As luck would have it, one of Nightwing's own apartments was located just across the street. Tim could manage that. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully?

Five minutes, some careful manoeuvring and an embarrassing instant of rolling onto the desired rooftop instead of landing on his feet later, he dropped down onto the fire escape and stood in front of the door leading to the small kitchen. Mashing his face against the doorframe, unable to keep himself upright at this point, he blindly entered his emergency code into the panel hidden behind the wall. Barely keeping himself from falling on his nose once the wooden door finally opened, he just slammed it shut behind him and made his way to the bedroom. Spotting the unmoving lump in the middle of the bed, he shoved at it roughly, mumbling "Move it, Dick" as he removed his wings and just flung them to the side. The lump grumbled something but obeyed, scooting over to one side of the bed. Red Robin sighed in relief and faceplanted into the mattress, already gone before his head hit the pillows.

Nightwing stretched, arms high above his head, and relished the feeling of his joints popping back into place. He tiredly rubbed at his neck as he checked the time, yawning – it was way past four and he really wanted to call it a night.

He probably wouldn't be so tired if the stakeout earlier hadn't gone massively awry, leading to an all-out brawl he'd just had to intervene, gathering intel be damned, and if Red Robin hadn't pulled how many all-nighters again, leaving the younger in a state even a zombie would feel sorry for. And being the good big brother that he was, he'd of course finished the patrol Tim had started, too. Dick just hoped that Red Robin really had gone back to his Nest to sleep, not any of the other crap he always claimed were too important to postpone. Or got caught up playing Tetris. Again.

Not that Nightwing didn't feel him, no, he had pulled his own fair share of all-nighters in his life, both as Nightwing and back when he'd been Robin, but Tim was raising the bar to absurd and, quite frankly, immensely unhealthy degrees. Almost as bad as Bats.

Thinking of which, he had to let the big bad Batman know that he was calling it a night. Cracking another yawn, Nightwing tapped his comm as he took out his grappling gun.

"B? I'm done for tonight. Literally. I'm heading back."

There was a brief moment of static before Dick received confirmation.

"Understood. Are you coming back to the Cave?"

"No, not tonight. I have a safehouse nearby, I'll crash there tonight. I'll brief you in on everything tomorrow. I just want to sleep right now", Dick replied as he swung to the next rooftop. The only answer he received was an affirmative grunt before the comm line died. Nightwing sighed, muttering "and a very good night to you, too, B" under his breath. That man.

A few minutes later, he reached his destination and fumbled his way through the security systems on the window to his living room. Once it was open, he tumbled through, landing in a sprawl on the couch he had so smartly placed directly underneath said window. He just laid there for a moment, taking in the feeling of his aching muscles and bones finally getting rest and –

"Fuck it", he muttered, deciding that his bed was just too far away and the sofa comfortable enough. Not even bothering to remove more than his mask and the escrima sticks attached to his back, he shifted a little before just going to sleep right then and there.

Some odd hours later, Nightwing awoke with a start when he heard a scream, a crash and some more screaming resounding through the apartment. He jumped to his feet, instantly awake – or, he would have, if his foot hadn't gotten caught on something, so instead of leaping into action, he just awkwardly ended up sprawled half on his couch and half on the floor, his right ankle stinging.

As he laid there a little dazed, he listened to the second crash and the voices that were coming from his… bedroom? They sounded familiar, quite a bit so, and –

Dick breathed a confused laugh as he propped himself up on his elbows, gaze shifting from the direction of the noise to the couch. Yep, he'd shoved one of his feet into the gap between the cushions in his sleep. He slumped back onto the ground and rubbed at his face. He was still tired, but at least he didn't feel like the king of the undead anymore. With another sigh, he wiggled his foot free of the trap he'd stuck it in himself and slowly heaved himself into an upright position, stretching and flexing so his joints cracked and his muscles tingled pleasantly.

Dick headed over to his bedroom. There was still shouting to be heard, but it didn't sound particularly animous but rather shocked or hysterical, so he carelessly threw the wooden door open and just stood there, taking in the scene presenting itself in front of him.

Tim was there, sitting on the ground, pressed against the wall as if he'd crawled there backwards, a blanket wrapped around one of his legs. He was still in uniform, even his domino was still attached to his face, crooked and askew and making Dick wonder how he even managed to see anything at all. He let his gaze wander to the other side of the room where he figured the reason for this tumultuous awakening was located.

And indeed, there was Jason. He'd have to ask why he was there in the first place later, but right now, Dick couldn't help a grin almost worthy of the Joker splitting his face into two. The infamous Red Hood wasn't just lying there on his back on the floor, legs in the air, flailing around and shouting obscenities, but he was trying to untangle himself from what seemed to be Red Robin's glider cape, the metallic yet flexible feathers keeping him in their throes like a well-constructed net.

He just kept watching for a moment before clearing his throat loud enough that all attention in the room was instantly on him. Tim looked like his eyes were as big as saucers underneath his lopsided mask and breathing hard while Jason was only silenced for a few seconds before he narrowed his turquoise eyes at Dick and let out a growl that would've made Batman shiver despite the flush that was creeping up his neck.

"One word, Grayson –"

Dick shushed him by raising his hand and forcing the grin off his face even if he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from twitching.

"... As much as I'd like to know why the two of you were sleeping in my bed –" Tim let out a weird, strangled noise somewhat reminiscent of a startled kitten while Jason just growled again, still tearing and shoving at the feathers that were keeping him trapped. "– I don't think I can handle this right now. If you're finished, I'll be in the kitchen."

And with that, Dick randomly grabbed some of the clothes strewn across the place, made a quick trip to the bathroom to get out of his uniform that really wasn't meant to be slept in, oh God so itchy and soon found himself sitting at the small table in his kitchen with a bowl of cereal in front of him. Even though he really wanted to take a shower right now, he was almost certain that leaving the other two alone for any longer than absolutely necessary would just lead to a bloodbath and bloodstains were so hard to get rid of. Just a moment later, Tim emerged from the hallway, finally out of his suit as well and wearing a pair of jeans he'd stored here some months ago and a shirt that Dick was fairly sure was one of his own, the skin around his eyes red and blotchy with imprints from his mask. The dark bags underneath his eyes still looked like luggage terminals even though he must've had – Dick checked the clock on the wall, it was past 11 – around nine hours of sleep. He sighed and pointed with his spoon at one of the chairs.

"Coffee's done soon."

Tim merely nodded, all awkward and almost a little troubled, as if that big brain of his was still trying to make sense of what had just transpired.

"... I, uh, freed Jason. He's still searching for clothes that fit him. I, er, didn't know he had the code to enter one of your safehouses without tipping the alarm?"

Dick was almost marvelling at the fact that no one had gotten stabbed yet as he slurped the milk out of his bowl before shrugging.

"Everyone in the family has them. Didn't think he'd ever use it, though."

Tim merely nodded before taking a large mug out of one of the cabinets and pouring himself some coffee. Dick watched him as he briefly furrowed his brows as if he was thinking about something very important. He couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes or feeling a tinge of concern when his younger brother just grabbed the entire pot, taking it back to his seat at the table. He winced when Tim just downed the first mug as if it was tap water, sure that it had to be scalding hot and no one should be able to do that, for Christ's sake, Tim –

"Fucking leave some for the others, Replacement."

Dick's eyes snapped to the side and he spotted Jason strolling in, uniform bunched up in a ball clamped against his side, still oozing both anger and embarrassment. He'd changed into some of Dick's clothes, too; an old, worn-out shirt and a pair of jeans ripped in just the right places to make it at least somewhat look as if they weren't two sizes too small. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered how it was possible that Jason could barely stand to be in the same room as Dick, let alone talk to him civilly, yet seemed to have no trouble whatsoever digging through his closet and wearing his clothes as if he owned them. Not that Dick minded, but still.

"First come, first serve", Tim replied dismissively and downed another cup before pouring himself a third as if he had to prove a point. Apparently, the bone-deep shock he'd been in earlier was finally wearing off if he was being snippy again. Before they could start another fight, however – and Dick was sure that someone would end up getting stabbed this time – he cleared his throat.

"So, mind telling me now why the both of you were sleeping in my bed?"

Jason growled again and snatched the coffee pot from Tim when the younger was busy groaning and covering his eyes.

"Got drugged. Needed a place to crash. It was empty when I got here so you'll have to ask the pretender why the fuck he crawled into bed with me."

"I thought you were Dick!", Tim hissed back, a flush spreading on his cheeks but his eyes were glinting with repressed anger. Dick kind of regretted asking – seemed like that second fight was inevitable. Maybe he could at least keep the casualties at a minimum, preferably zero?

"Do you wake your precious Dickiebird by pushing him off the damn mattress as well?"

"Excuse me, I was a little startled when I woke up because you were screaming right into my face!"

"You're lucky I didn't break your scrawny neck –"

"Guys."

"You're lucky all I did was push you off the bed –"

"As if you could've done anything else –"

"Wanna test me? I'll –"

"GUYS!", Dick yelled, interrupting their bitchfest and pinching the bridge of his nose. He opened his mouth, not quite sure how to diffuse the situation, but Jason instantly brushed him off.

"Whatever, I'm outta here."

And before either Dick or Tim could even think of something to say, was Jason out of the kitchen, the front door soon slamming shut behind him and leaving the other two in an almost oppressing silence.

A/N: Please refer to my profile for additional information regarding this series. Thank you for reading. Shout-out to LadyoftheSea516 for proofreading this!