"Timmy, put that thing away!" Dick yelled, putting the TV louder.

"My name is TIM. And no way, man. I almost got it." There was the sound of plastic hitting the floor, and Tim's subsequent groan.

"You're going to hit me with that thing."

"Lemme alone." Tim wound the string, over and over.

Dick sat forward on the sofa and tried to concentrate on the hockey game. "That was so blatantly worthy of a penalty. This is how I know those refs have something against the Knights. Look at that! He did it again! Fifty six, ref!" Dick threw his hands in the air. What was wrong with these people?

Tim wasn't paying attention. He let the small cylinder roll out his hand and then back into it. He paused, considering his options, then let it roll off again, this time tossing it in front of him, instead of down. The yoyo shot away from him and then snapped back. It overshot his hand and flew behind him, smacking Dick in the side of the head.

Without thinking, Dick grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. "FINALLY, A FREEKING PENATLY! It only took him. like three times." He looked at his brother. "Tim, you are the deadest little person in the entire world."

"I didn't mean to hit you?" Tim's round eyes pleaded with Dick, but he knew he was in trouble. Dick had told him about thirty-seven times to put the toy away. "Have mercy!" he cried as Dick pushed him to the floor, his knee in Tim's back.

"What'd I say? Put it away before you hit me. And did you listen?? NOOO. NOOOOOO. Timmy didn't--" Dick looked up at the television. "NO! That's FIVE minutes. Not a two minute penalty!" He picked Tim up off the hard wood floor and then dropped him again. "No one listens to me!"

"I-I listen to you, Dick! I'll listen to you from now on!"

Dick took the yoyo and bound Tim's hands behind his back.

"Oww. Dick. you're hurting me."

"Good."

"Dick. come on. The string's cutting into my wrists. And you're hurting my back. Get off of my butt."

"Now, this is the same boy who was dragged half a mile last week?" Dick dug his knee a little deeper into Tim's backside.

"Yeah! My butt's still sore! So get off! I said I was sorry."

Dick took his knee off of Tim, but left the boy tied up. "I'm going to sit down and watch the rest of the game. You're going to stay right there and not try to get free."

"Aw, man. Dick, you really don't mean." But Tim craned his head around and looked Dick in the eye, and he was frightened by the seriousness he saw there. "I'll be good."

Dick smashed his hand down on Tim's head and rubbed his hair vigorously. "That's a good boy." Sitting back down on the couch, Dick tried to engross himself again in the game. It was the third period, the score was tied, penalties were flying all over the place, gloves were flying, and it was a damned good hockey game. He rubbed the side of his head where Tim had whacked him.

It was quiet the last five minutes of the third period. Tim was laying on the floor with his cheek pressed to the dirty wood, Dick had the bucket of cheese curls, and he was as happy as a clam. When they broke for commercials at the start of the intermission before overtime, Dick looked over to his little brother. "So. Where'd you get that stupid thing from anyways?"

"BRUCE. And he's gonna be super-pissed that you put knots in it by tying me up with it."

"Liar. Bruce doesn't give toys."

"He said I needed to work on a few of my skills."

"Like what?"

The yoyo came hurling at Dick and hit him in the side of the head. Again. "Getting out of your knots."

THE END.