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emeraldcitynerdfighter · 9 months

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To celebrate one year of "A League of Their Own", here's the very first fic I wrote for this absolute dream of a show, a Classic™️ Gretson reunion.

I'll forever be grateful to these two for occupying entirely too much of my brain space (and my hard drive)...but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Moreover, I'm grateful for everyone who's read, shared, commented on any of my fics, yelled (affectionately) at me in my messages, sent me prompts...you get all the Good Place points.

(Now, for the one-year anniversary of posting my first fic...I may have something in the works...stay tuned!)

#a league of their own #aloto #gretson #carson x greta #one year of league #aloto fic #i wish i could love these two a normal amount

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goldengirlgalaxy · 4 months

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Reverse Clone AU

So, I've seen a couple stories where Danny is Damian's clone. How about we reverse it?

Danny was born Damian Al Ghul, being raised to be an assassin since he could walk. However, he had a good heart, and eventually his mother overstepped around him (maybe she killed one of his favorite caretakers? Maybe he saw her killing someone with a loving family?), causing him to decide to leave the League next time they let him outside.

He was discovered by the Fentons, got adopted, and had his name changed from Damian Al Ghul into Daniel 'Danny' Fenton. Over the years, his time in the League slowly faded from memory, only remembering that one moment that drove him from them.

Talia, meanwhile, tried to create another baby, but found she didn't have any more DNA from Bruce. However, she did have plenty of Damian/Danny's DNA, so she decided to simply clone her son, making sure that this one would never get it in his head to run away. She decided to let the memory of her first son go, completely overriding it with the new Damian, as if he had been the first son and not merely some clone, forcing everyone in the League to keep the fact a secret.

So, things continue on, Danny becomes Phantom, Damian becomes Robin, so on and so forth. Eventually, one of the Batclan stumble upon Danny and take an interest in him once they realize he looks like Damian.

They actually don't think that he's a clone, because he's older than Damian and records show him having a history older than Damian, so they believe that Talia had another child, which Damian is already a little salty about, because it means that his status as the heir of the League and potentially his title as the only blood son of batman are completely meaningless.

Unfortunately, their investigations lead to the League figuring out where Danny is, at which point Talia drops by and decides to reveal in front of everyone that Danny is the original Damian and Damian is a clone meant to take his place.

The only one who takes it well is Danny, who tells everyone to get off his porch before he activates the home defense systems because he does not care for this drama.

#dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #reverse clone au #clones #Talia revealed who Danny was in an attempt to make Damian react #A kill your template in order to truly take their place kinda situation #Despite the fact Danny hasn't been in the League in years and doesn't even remember being in the League #Danny's pretty cool with Damian since he already has dealt with Dani by this point #When Damian eventually has a mental breakdown over being a clone and not the 'real' Damian Wayne Danny is the one who helps comfort him #Danny doesn't really care for the Batclan outside Damian and he doesn't want to leave Amity Park so he's not taking up any Robin mantle

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bluerosefox · 1 year

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Same As The Day I Lost You

I...

This came to me as I'm making dinner so I'll be quick.

What if we mix deaged Danny and twin/older sibling (either one works) Damian, AND he gets tossed to his sibling in a last minute escape.

Like what if he was fighting Vlad who was doing his whole "denounce your father and join me as my son Daniel!" Thing while in the Zone and knocks Danny into something that's floating in the Zone with the ability to deage or was hit by a new Fenton or Plasmius invention while fighting in town that accidentally deages him.

Danny, who in this was adopted, gets put back to the age of six. The same age he had been found by Jazz in a 'haunted' forest Jack and Maddie were visiting/investigating while also using that time as a family vacation. (They were shocked to see a little boy with a stab wound bleeding out and rushed him to the nearby town, almost completely forgetting about the glowing green tiny puddle they found nearby and bagged most of it as evidence when they heard Jazz's scream of terror over finding the hurt little boy)

The sudden revert into that traumatized age, along with the child response to a fight or flight scenario, and add Danny's deepest need/wish to be protected his child fogged mind wishes to go to the one person who always made him feel safe.

His twin/older brother.

Just as quick as it was with Danny being turned into a child, his ghost powers ripped open a portal and sent Danny to the person he wants to be with...

Only he didn't know that right at that moment his seventeen year old twin/older brother is currently fighting the League with his family's help (his mother was trying to convince him to return to the League and be it's heir) in Nanda Parbat (the very place Damian lost the last/only person he knew loved him without any strings attached.)

So imagine everyone's face when a portal opened up, some muttering its a new pit being formed before them or something, and crawling out of it is a very scared and confused six year old Danny.

#danny phantom dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc #crossover #dc x dp crossover #No one will be ready for child Danny #Does he have his older memories? idk maybe #maybe his six year old mind from the sudden deage is at front rn or something #Damian almost feral/angry screams at his mother for 'daring to try to replace Danyal with a cheap clone'#only to see the look on her face and knows this wasn't planned #his little brother who he secretly watched as his mother tried to go behind grandfather's back to heal only for the pit to greedily keep #was brought back by the pits not looking a day over the age he lost him #What happened was Danny disobeyed an order from Ra's and was punished for it #he almost died for it and Talia wanted very badly to keep him because he looked so much like her beloved and she couldn't bare losing that #Only the pits kept Danyal instead of bringing him back #or rather under the guide of a certain entity he was brought to the forest the Fenton's were visiting #Damian scoops Danyal up when he see's the look in his mother's eyes shift from shock to calculating greed/love #he refuses to leave his brother in the hands of the League or his mother #he loves her despite everything but knows Danyal would never truly survive their mother's version of 'love' especially in the League #Also Damian may have...refused/forgotten to tell the others about Danyal #so cue them being horrifically confused #The pure sick feeling and deep seeded panic Bruce feels when he see's the mini version of himself but with hints of Talia hits hard #blue rambles

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flaticeball · 6 months

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the fact that all it took for those spineless cowards to back down was one rando (sorry dermy love you dermy but face of a franchise he is not) saying “no, you move” is so perfectly emblematic of who the league is and what that stand for (nothing).

#gav gab #fucking incredible thank you travis #one. ONE guy and they folded like wet tissue paper #but just #man he didn’t know that huh #that was a huge risk for a guy in a contract year making like #what - league min?#and i for one am never going to forget it

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nelkcats · 1 year

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Cyrus & Boreas

Spirits of the elements

The earth has been in a very delicate balance for a couple of years now, despite constant reminders of extinction, only magic users know what is really going on with temperatures, sometimes too hot or too cold.

It had been years since Amity Park ceased to exist, years since the land where the old town was located was inhabited, now it was just a wasteland, the city practically moved into the Infinite Realms, it turns out that its inhabitants were so exposed to ectoplasm that when they died almost everyone became a ghost.

For years Vlad and Danny had come to an agreement, just watching the earth, seeing new heroes come and go, but they were both getting bored of it, missing their old rivalry, the thrill of chasing each other, they also missed visiting their dimension. It was, after all, half of their home.

Seeing the problem of global warming and how damaged the earth was, Clockwork presented them a solution. It turns out that when you were properly connected to your core you could take an animal form, and expand your element where you stepped, or around you. Frostbite and the yetis taught Danny more about it, Pandora and the greeks ended up teaching Vlad.

It was the beginning of their competition, apparently Acropolis of Athens and Far Frozen had an old rivalry too, so they were more than happy to teach them how to deal in a friendly way (still a dangerous fighting but apparently that was the most friendly possible without killing each other)

This power wasn't something ghosts would practice very often, because it would expend too much energy and ectoplasm, it wasn't like Dora's amulet or Amorpho special talent at all, ¿the good part? The halfas were characterized by having energy to spare.

With that resolved, Clockwork tasked them with taking care of the earth's temperatures, so a few times a year (mostly on winter and summer solstice days), Vlad and Danny would choose a specific animal and run across the earth, the places where Vlad stepped warmed up in an instant, the places Danny walked were filled with snowflakes and cold.

The animal forms they liked to take the most were extinct or mythological creatures, sometimes they changed to be opposite species, at other times they were the same.

The magic users named it "The Cyrus & Boreas Phenomenon", when Danny heard about it he was excited by his name being so similar to the Northern Lights, while Vlad sulked for having a Persian name while being trained by Greeks.

This continued without being a problem, until Danny found the Wachtower station in space, immediately he changed his path and ran towards it; Vlad, knowing this could become a problem, followed him from afar.

The Justice League and Justice League Dark were having a meeting when the temperature dropped, Constantine cursed as the rest of the league tensed "Bats, what day is it?"

"December 21" upon hearing his response, Constantine cursed again as he ranted about the winter solstice.

"Damn it, damn it ¿why did he deviate from his route? He doesn't go of his way, especially not in this time of the year, ¡this is a disaster!" Constantine paced back and forth "Look, I know you guys like to poke your nose into everything that happens, but this is strictly magical, so no matter what's about to come, keep quiet, do absolutely nothing ¿Do you understand?" The hellbazer's hands trembled as he speaked.

"You can't just say that, ¡we have a right to know! This is nonsense" Diana frowned, she didn't much like the wizard's attitude right now.

"Sorry Wonder Woman, but this is strictly tied to the Justice League Dark, trust us for now, it's for your safety" Fate spoke, he knew nothing bad would happen if the league just kept quiet.

As soon as the lord of order stopped speaking, the entire room began to freeze, pieces of ice hanging on the walls as a Giant wolf ran through the wall.

In the first instance, the wolf looked dangerous, the places where its paws were placed had frozen, pure pieces of ice, the wolf turned its attention to the League, approaching curiously.

"Boreas" Zatanna exhaled in amazement, the entire magical community knew how the animal's presence felt no matter how much it changed its shape, it was the closest thing to a myth that existed, leveling the planet's temperatures, staying a few days and disappearing, impossible to find, record or locate no matter how hard you tried.

"However, where is Cyrus?" Constantine murmured to his partner, if Boreas was near his counterpart shouldn't be far away.

Danny looked at the wizards, interested in the names they had given him, he was about to ask about it when a ball of fire hit him in the shoulder.

He growled in complete frustration as he turned to look at his assailant, behind him the League tensed at the sound as Fate signaled for them to keep quiet.

Behind the animal appeared a Tasmanian tiger the same size as the Giant wolf, Barry was about to question if they weren't supposed to be extinct when the wolf snarled and lunged at the tiger, who ran back to earth.

The entire league watched as the ice brought by the wolf was extinguished by the appearance of the tiger, returning to normal as both creatures moved away.

"Constantine, situation report" Batman was clearly the first to snap out of the trance he had been left in.

"Look Bats, I know how much you want your precious information but this is out of your league, ¿those guys? Cyrus & Boreas, they are as close to benign Gods as you can find, they keep the earth's temperature stable with their games" Constantine lit his cigarette, trying to ignore the surreal situation.

"¿Games?" Superman was next to speak, a concerned note in his voice.

"Games" Fate confirmed "We theorize they are opposing elements, maybe spirits, we think they pursue each other as some kind of challenge, and the balance on earth is just a lucky accident, we don't know where they live or where they come from, but they're not someone you want to play with." Fate commented, remembering the fact that most of the time the creatures try to hurt each other but never give the final hit, always waiting for the other to heal.

"Are you telling me that if these beings decide to stop coming here, will we simply ¿disappear? ¿Because they just decided to stop playing?"

"Something similar, but far more complicated than that" Zatanna entered the conversation "they keep the consequences of global warming stable, if they stop coming, well...the earth will definitely go extinct quickly, I'd give it a couple of years" is not like humanity was taking proper care of earth, these "gods" were basically a miracle for humans to correct their own errors.

"¿Why were we not informed?" Batman was at a crossroad, these beings were definitely dangerous, but if they faced them it could cause catastrophic consequences.

"The same reason you are struggling Bats" Constantine snorted "You want to solve all the problems, but you don't understand that magic is not meant to be solved or a problem, some things are better left as they are, without interfering, or it could happen something worse" and they are far older than all of us he didn't mention out loud.

"Then ¿what do you suggest? ¿We stand here doing nothing while two would-be Gods use our planet as a playground?" Oliver frowned, disgusted.

"Yes" for the first time Shazam spoke in the conversation "because if we don't let them we will become extinct" Billy knew much more than the magicians, books on the rock of eternity that detailed human spirits, about the infinite Realms and the deities that inhabited them. The delicate balance existing in life and death, but he was not allowed to divulge it.

-----------------------

Back on earth, in Paris, Vlad and Danny were enjoying a cup of coffee and hot chocolate respectively.

"So, ¿did you want to meet the heroes or see their cool station in space?" Vlad questioned in amusement as Danny choked on his chocolate "The station ¿huh?" Vlad spoke again while Danny looked at him with a frown "It's okay Daniel, I know you can't help it"

"Yeah, I know, it was a bit stupid to change the route, and reveal myself to sorcerers, but the heroes, the aliens, the space, I needed to see it" the boy grimaced, feeling guilty "thanks for getting me out of there, I was about to do something stupid"

"¿Something stupid like speak?" Vlad questioned knowingly, he was aware that humanity now considered them myths or even gods, they shouldn't be revealing themselves freely, their games were mostly harmless but they had a purpose.

"Yeah, sorry" Danny sighed "although I love the new name, Boreas commands a lot more respect than Danny, ¿right? I do miss when they called me Phantom though..."

Seeing that the boy was lost in his memories again, Vlad sighed, he also missed the old times, their battles, Phantom and Plasmius fighting to the death, but their grudges were resolved long ago, they had no reason to fight, Boreas & Cyrus was an escape from boredom and a reunion with the old days more than anything else.

"It's okay little badger, we can stop by their space station next year, I don't think the fledgling heroes will care" Vlad took a sip from his mug, considering, obviously they would care, but he really didn't care about their feelings, let them freak out a little more.

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phoenixgrl1412 · 8 months

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Jazz is Damian's bio sibling, not Danny

I see tons of Demon Twin AUs, and I love them, but I started to wonder about what the universe would look like if Jazz was Damian's sister.

Not sure what her birth name in this AU would be (Yasmin? Yasmina? Something else) so I'm going to just refer to her as Jazz.

I'm thinking that Jazz was attempt #1 at getting the perfect heir, and for whatever reason, she was deemed to be inferior. Is there something actually wrong with her? No, but Ra's is an asshole. If you'd like to go a more sexist route, Jazz could be unworthy because she's female (in this AU, Ra's keeps Talia around to make an heir, not to be the heir).

Despite not being the perfect child they wanted, Talia and Ra's train Jazz until they are able to try again. She's taught as if she was the heir, even though everyone knows she isn't, because there isn't a better choice at the moment.

When Jazz is three, Damian is born. Damian is her little brother and she loves him as best she can, but Damian is raised to treat her as inferior, and it shows. Everyone looks down on her, especially Ra's, and that attitude is the example Damian follows.

Jazz is still trained, because if nothing else she could still be an assassin, but no one holds out much hope for her. She isn't as talented as Damian, even though she's older. She's not as strong or as stealthy or as cutthroat. She is more clever, but she is older than him, so it's brushed off. Besides, good assassin soldiers don't need to be clever, they just need to obey.

But where Damian excels in the physical arts, Jazz excels at the mind arts. Solving puzzles, recognizing patterns, psychoanalyzing her opponents to predict their moves - that's what she's good at. It's clearly inherited from Batman (no one can explain her red hair, though).

When Jazz is eight and Damien is five, Jazz flees the League. Why and how is your choice. Maybe Damian is supposed to kill her in a show of superiority. Maybe Talia helps her fake her death and escape as a final act of motherly love. Maybe Jazz flees on her own, wanting to be something else even if she doesn't know what.

Jazz makes it to America, and then to a little podunk town in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, called Amity Park. She meets the Fenton parents and their almost six-year-old son, Danny. And somehow, they take her in. And for a while, it's the family she wished she had, with loving parents and a little brother who didn't want to stab her.

Danny isn't Damian. He isn't a replacement. She knows that they aren't the same. They are radically different, even if they both make her want to cuddle and love them (at least Danny doesn't try to stab her for doing it). She can miss Damian and what could have been while embracing what she has found.

And for a while, she's happy.

Sure, she didn't expect her little brother (Danny is her Little Brother, Damian is her Baby Brother, there has been and will always be a difference to her) to die and come back, but she's seen weirder stuff when she was in the League.

She also didn't expect Danny to use his newfound powers to become a hero, but it's his choice, and she's going to support him. At least she has her League training to fall back on, even if she's a bit rusty.

And yeah, she was hoping that her adoptive parents would take Danny's halfa status a lot better than they did, but she'd always known it wasn't going to end well. She's always been good at recognizing behavioral patterns, and theirs said nothing good. But she'd hoped, for Danny's sake, that she would be wrong.

She never thought she would flee for her life for a second time, but here she is, driving a stolen car with her unconscious and bleeding brother in the backseat, heading towards the one place she swore she would never set foot in: Gotham.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #jazz is damian's older sister #danny is a year older than damian #i have no idea where i was going with this but have it anyway #damian never mentioned his sister to the batfam #jazz doesn't know bruce wayne is batman #or that damian escaped the league and is with batman #batfam expecting jazz to be damian 2.0 and stab tim #in a twist of events danny is the stabby one once he wakes up #he does not like billionaires and is not pleased to wake up in one's house #one of the batkids gets close to danny while he's unconscious and danny sleep stabs in self-defense #jazz taught him that #batfam thinks danny is the secret sibling at first #they think jazz is too well adjusted to be from the league #jazz is the bio kid #danny is the adoption bait

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chaoswarfare · 1 year

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dp x dc prompt #41

When Danny allowed Nocturn to put him to sleep for a while to adjust to his new kingly power without damaging his surroundings or family, he was under the impression that it would take a ‘couple years’. He said goodbye to his friends and family with the promise that he would be back as soon as his powers were stabilized.

None of them stopped to wonder how an ancient’s idea of a ‘couple years’ could differ from their own.

Centuries after King Phantom entered his slumber, a mad Vlad Plasmius rampages across the US after his major scheme to bring back the ones he loved falls through. The JL are sent from place to place to talk with the powers that be that could stop Plasmius, and are eventually shuffled to Nocturn, who decides that it’s finally time to wake the Slumbering King.

For Danny, it only feels like he’s been asleep for two months.

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ragnarokhound · 1 month

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((you don’t have to do both if you don’t want to, you can consider this one a back up / alt))

“If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.” 💞

From this writing prompt list i reblogged in...november lmao fljdsjfa

anyway this grew legs and sprinted away the second I picked it up yesterday - clearly it just needed some time to proof lmao. Thank you for the ask, tauria!! From *checks watch* almost 5 months ago fjdslafjsa I will be cross-posting it to Ao3 in my new oneshot collection fic :)

Warnings for: Vague allusions that Ra's Al Ghul is a creep (what else is new), threats of gun violence, canon-typical violence

15. “If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here.”

When Tim arrived in Gotham this morning, he had no way of knowing that his day would end in Jason Todd’s bed.

Frankly, he wasn’t really sure what bed he’d end up in— because his own certainly wasn’t an option right now. But If he had to pick, Jason Todd’s was somewhere near the bottom of whatever list he’d make.

He didn’t exactly plan on this, okay?

But, uh. Let’s back up a little.

—

Tim knew his day was going to go to shit when he got back from the airport at 7 AM.

He had his driver drop him off two blocks away from his townhouse for the sake of caffeine at the hole in the wall place he likes. Wealthy CEO he may be, but a sixteen hour flight is still a sixteen hour flight and Tim is cursed with an inability to sleep in the air.

Don’t ask. He’s tried. It doesn’t work.

So he wants coffee, and he wants a shower, and he wants his own bed. In that order.

With the first thing on his list acquired and blessedly burning his tongue, he managed to tug his brain cells together enough to realize that the building they’d passed that had been shrouded in tents and canvas was his building.

"What's going on here?"

The worker outside his building looks up from her clipboard, her face wrinkling into apprehensive confusion.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?”

He hasn’t slept in roughly seventy two hours. He is not awake or patient enough for this.

“My name is Tim Drake. I own this building. What’s going on here?” He repeats.

The woman raises her eyebrows and looks down at her clipboard again. “Mr. Drake?” She questions, clearly expecting him to look like a grown-ass man and not a sleep-deprived college student coming home from spring break or whatever.

“Yes. Timothy Drake-Wayne. Why are you—” he tries to gesture with the hand still holding his suitcase handle, walking towards the tarps and tents erected around his townhouse with increasing trepidation, “—here?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go in there. Not for at least forty-eight hours.”

Tim stops in his tracks.

“Forty-eight—?”

“We've been scheduled to fumigate the property today.” She says it like she’s reading it out of a handbook. “It won't be safe to enter the building for at least forty-eight hours. You should have received prior notice. Uh. Sir.”

Tim's jet-lagged brain kicks into overdrive.

Bruce hasn't made any disappointed noises about Tim’s perfectly normal work ethic lately so it probably wasn't a misguided attempt at benching him. And besides, rendering Tim’s apartment inaccessible is counterproductive on that front.

Dick wouldn’t. They haven’t been exactly— great, lately but he wouldn’t. Besides, if he wanted to get Tim out of the house more, he’d show up to drag Tim out into the daylight himself. This is a little too roundabout for him.

It’s too much work to be Steph. She would think it’s funny, but there’s no way she’d follow through.

Damian might, but this doesn’t quite fit his preferred methods for making Tim’s life hell. It could be some cloak and dagger maneuver to leave him vulnerable, faking a complaint to the city so he’ll—

And then Tim thinks about the call.

The call he’d brushed off at fuck o’clock in the morning somewhere over Europe, too busy with another project. The call his secretary took for him instead. He thinks about the distracted confirmation he’d given to whatever it was she’d asked him about five minutes later.

He also thinks about the form he signed about two weeks ago, before this last minute trip to Hong Kong had consumed his entire attention. The one with “Two Weeks Notice” stamped across the top. His stomach sinks.

“Today,” he repeats.

She looks apologetic. “Today,” she confirms. “And we just started about an hour ago. I’m very sorry, Mr. Drake-Wayne but—”

"No it's—" he says through gritted teeth, "fine. I'll just. Make other arrangements."

—

He does not make other arrangements. Though not for lack of trying.

Tim has a handful of safehouses scattered throughout the city. He has options. He gets a taxi to the closest neighborhood, and nearly falls asleep in the backseat. The cabby has to knock on the glass divider to get his attention when they come to a stop. He grumbles and hauls his suitcase out of the backseat, and tips the man excessively.

Shower. Bed. Sleep. He’s so close he could cry.

Except when he finally rolls around the block, coffee half gone and trying to remember if this safehouse is the one with in-unit laundry or if he’ll have to haul his shit down to the laundry room, his building is a blackened husk with police tape all around it.

He stops on the sidewalk. He peers up at the window of his unit, squinting at the peeling black wood and shattered glass. He ponders whether two is enough data points to be considered a pattern. And whether he could get away with napping in the alley on this street or if that’ll end with him stabbed and robbed.

As he’s pondering, he catches sight of a passerby and stops him.

“‘Scuse me,” he says apologetically. “What the hell happened here?”

The guy looks up from his phone and takes in his rumpled clothes, his suitcase, and the scorched remains of his apartment.

“Oh, uh. Yeah, there was a big fire about a week back? Bad fire. Took out, like, half the block. Cops are saying it’s arson.”

“A week ago,” Tim repeats. The guy’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, bro, did you live here?”

“I’ve been out of town,” he explains numbly.

“Dude, that sucks. And right in the middle of con’ season. Good luck finding a hotel!”

“Yeah,” Tim sighs as the guy walks away. “Thanks.”

—

The next safehouse he tries isn’t in much better shape.

He remembers hearing about Freeze going on a rampage a few days into his trip, but he hadn’t realized another one of his places had been caught in the cross-fire. The cold burst the pipes, and now the whole place is undergoing renovation.

He hears all this from the crotchety old lady who lives in the next building over (her building needs renovation too, but will the city pay for it? Of course not, they weren’t ‘directly impacted by disaster’ so they won’t see a penny of relief funds even though their pipes are on the same line. Typical) and when he finally extricates himself from the conversation, it’s almost noon, his second cup of coffee is long-since empty and he’s at the end of his goddamn rope.

By the time he sees his next safehouse, he isn’t even surprised anymore.

“Does God hate me?” He asks the boarded up building. “Is this a punishment? What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

He is 99% sure at this point that someone is burning his bolt holes. There’s a short list of people with the resources and the intel to do it, and while he’s not above ruling out the likes of Damian just yet, he seriously doubts anyone wearing a bat is behind this.

Besides, Dick would have noticed by now if Damian were sinking this many resources into convoluted covert ops designed to make Tim suffer. Definitely. Probably.

Fuck it.

He goes around the back and hops on top of his suitcase to reach the clunky camera watching the back entrance. This building is on the shittier side, closer to Crime Alley than his other haunts; cameras break all the time around here. He’ll have it replaced after he’s a functional human again.

Reportedly, this building was tagged for ‘high toxicity levels’— which is pretty typical for any building where fear toxin or Joker gas are found in any amount. They must have found a lot to condemn the whole building, but Tim is confident he’ll be fine. The airborne shit dissipates to safe levels within hours depending on the ventilation. If it was in the air, it’s long gone. Anything else needs to be injected to be effective.

Once the camera’s busted, he kicks out the boards and heads inside.

He drags his suitcase in after him, and mourns the shower he probably won’t be getting. The hall lights are out, and chances are the water’s been shut off along with the electricity. But at this point, he simply does not give a shit. All he wants are four walls and a mattress.

Leaning on the door to his floor to make it open, he stumbles out into the hallway—

And catches sight of the glistening curved dagger stabbed into the wall next to his door, the hilt gleaming green in the sinking sun.

“Nope,” Tim says, spinning on his heel and going back down the stairwell double time. “Nope, nope, nope.”

He is now 100% certain that the League of Assassins has been burning his bolt holes. Ra’s al fucking Ghul can eat his whole ass.

—

Seven blocks away, Tim sits on the sidewalk in front of a bodega and contemplates a third cup of coffee. The shittiest one yet.

See, here’s the thing.

The thing is, he has options.

He could go to the Manor. Or the penthouse. Or to Steph’s place. He’d have to answer some unnecessary questions like ‘Master Timothy, you know you can’t sleep on aircraft, why didn’t you sleep before your flight’ or ‘Tim, why didn’t you come here first, you know you can still come to me if you’re in trouble, right’ or ‘why did you agree to fumigate your fucking house, you loser, lmao’. (Stephanie is not going to let him live this down).

He is absolutely certain that he would be welcomed in any of these places and after a completely undeserved amount of fussing, he could take a fucking nap and someone else would deal with the League bullshit for him.

And that’s the thing. There’s the rub.

No one should have to deal with the League bullshit for him. This is his problem. He’s not in a hurry to bring them down on anyone. Not even Damian.

With grim resignation, he reaches for his phone to try and find a hotel room (during a con’ weekend apparently, RIP) and maybe get a fucking handle on this whole stupid thing, when he hears:

“Hand over your wallet!”

He lifts his head slowly and finds himself looking down the barrel of a gun. A gun held by some guy wearing a ski mask in broad fucking daylight. There’s another guy next to him who’s watching the street. There’s a third guy somewhere behind him who he can’t see, but he can hear the scuff of his boots.

Sure. Why not. With the day he’s had, this might as well happen. He holds up his hands placatingly.

Tim contemplates his muggers. The guy with the gun is jittery, probably new to this, or hopped up on something. He keeps glancing between Tim and the bodega behind him, so they were probably planning a run on the till. Might have chickened out, or thought Tim was an easier target, an unexpected meal ticket plopped right in their path. Or they were already inside when Tim sat down, which wouldn’t bode well for his situational awareness seeing as he just came out of there himself.

The grinding gears of his tired brain keep getting caught on the fact that this is happening in the middle of the fucking day. Tim glances at the street corner and bites his cheek in frustration. Yeah, he’s smack dab in the middle of the Alley. Figures.

“Are you deaf or somethin’ man?” The guy with the gun is saying. “Hand over your fucking wallet!”

The other guy doesn’t seem as crazy-eyed. He’s nervous, though. He keeps looking around like he’s expecting Batman to materialize, to come whistling down the street like a beat cop.

“Dude, come on, it’s not fucking worth it,” he says, grabbing at the gunman’s shoulder. “We got the money, let’s fucking go.”

The third guy kicks over Tim’s suitcase. “Yeah, come on, Don, let’s just grab this shit and bounce.”

Tim can’t do anything. He’s not Red Robin right now. He’s Timothy Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, and he’s getting mugged in front of a bodega at two in the afternoon in a rumpled suit and tie and still toting his suitcase from his early morning flight.

His hands are trembling from unspent adrenaline, too much caffeine, and not enough sleep. His eyelids are the heaviest they’ve ever been in his godforsaken life. His ears are ringing. He could knock all three of them down in less time than it takes to tie his shoelaces. But he can’t.

“Shut up, Johnny, look at him shaking! What’s he gonna do? If he doesn’t wanna get shot, rich boy’s gonna hand over all his fucking shit!”

“Hey, let’s just—” Tim tries to say.

Stars explode across his vision as Tim takes a punch he genuinely wasn’t expecting. He stares up at the blue sky for about half a second, more confused than anything else, before the gunman grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him up to shout in his face.

“What’s it gonna be, pretty boy?!”

Caught on the exhausted edge between vigilante training and the preservation of his identity, Tim is frozen. He doesn’t know what to do. He kind of wants to cry.

“Gee, Donny, what is it gonna be?” A fourth voice says, full of false cheer.

Tim blinks. So do the muggers.

He knows that voice.

“Who the fuck—?” The gunman drops Tim, spinning around and into a fist. He tumbles down to the ground, out cold.

Everything happens pretty quickly after that.

Jason Todd is in civvies. He’s sporting a worn out looking hoodie and a pair of jeans that have seen better days. But his heavy boots are the same ones he wears for his uniform, and the kick he delivers to Johnny’s face is all Red Hood.

Almost in a daze, Tim watches him fight with the usual mix of seething envy and raw desire that rears its ugly head any time he gets to see Jason in action. He’s fast, decisive. Efficient. Beautiful. Tim wishes he had Jason’s skill. And he wishes—

Well. He wishes a lot of things about Jason Todd.

Tim is pretty sure he and Jason are friends. Maybe. Probably. They’ve pretty much moved past the whole “replacement”, “zombie-dickhead” part of their relationship and have graduated to occasionally providing backup on ops that overlap in each other’s sectors, ganging up on Dick when they’re all in the same room, and maintaining a surprisingly steady stream of vigilante gossip to keep each other in the loop.

So, ok, yes, due to the aforementioned, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. And also because Jason wouldn’t have stuck his neck out for him otherwise. He would have just let him get mugged.

Watching Jason fight is one of Tim’s favorite pastimes. But right now, Tim’s usual appreciation is soured by the gut-roiling embarrassment of being caught in this position by Jason of all people. His eyes itch. His cheek throbs. He’s so fucking tired.

“Hey, little stalker,” Jason says suddenly, holding out an expectant hand in Tim’s face. The muggers are groaning on the ground around them. Tim isn’t sure when that happened. He might have zoned out. “Did you know that you had a stalker for a change?”

Tim flushes. “I resent that. I haven’t stalked anyone in years.” He takes the hand. It’s warm, and calloused, and big around his.

Jason laughs at him and yanks him to his feet. “Liar.”

Tim’s mouth twists into a scowl. He tries to glare at Jason, but he can feel himself swaying and Jason still hasn’t let go of him, and it’s ruining everything.

Also, lowkey, Jason is right. But in his defense, it is literally their job to stalk people, so.

“I haven’t stalked you in years then. Just other guys. Bad guys. Not non-bad guys. Fuck. You know what I mean. Whatever.” He pauses; recalibrates. “Had?” He asks.

Jason’s eyebrows inched higher and higher the longer Tim talked. Tim doesn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Had.”

So much for the League, Tim muses.

Jason gives him a once over before tugging decisively on Tim’s wrist, easily grabbing the handle of his suitcase and starting to walk with both in tow, to Tim’s rising horror.

“You’re coming with me, shortstack. What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk? You look like shit.”

Tim tries to yank his wrist out of Jason’s grip, but the asshole doesn’t budge. “I’m not drunk,” Tim snaps. “I’m fine. I’m just. I’m just… really tired.”

Jason stops abruptly, and Tim stumbles into his shoulder.

“I can see that,” he says, steadying Tim with an amused but ultimately sympathetic look. He loads Tim’s suitcase onto the back of a motorcycle that Tim literally just now noticed.

God, he’s fucked. And not even in a fun way.

“C’mon,” Jason says. “Don’t fall asleep on the way over— road rash sucks ass.”

—

They don’t talk on the way to— wherever Jason is taking them, but once they’re parked in a random garage and walking towards the elevators, the game of twenty questions begins.

“So why’ve you got League assassins after you, anyway? Piss in a lazarus pit? Push over the baby brat on the playground?”

“Ra’s al Ghul wants my body,” Tim says, dejected but resigned to this bizarre fact of his life. “Since I was seventeen, I’m pretty sure.”

Jason wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“I don’t think it’s a sex thing? But it could also be a sex thing.”

“Again. Fucking ew.”

“Yeah. Also I blew up a bunch of his shit and I think he’s still salty I got away with it.”

“Is that why you weren’t at the Manor?” Jason asks, herding Tim out of the elevator and down a long hallway. “Or anywhere but a random street in Crime Alley?”

Tim nods. “Yeah. They found all my safehouses, but— my mess. My problem.”

Jason thwacks him upside the head.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“You’re the dumbest person on the planet.”

“Am not. B is on-planet right now.”

“Then you’re pretty fucking close,” Jason snarks, fishing out some keys and opening one of the apartment doors.

Tim scoffs at him as he’s pushed inside. “Oh, please. Don’t try to tell me you would let Dick swoop in and solve all your problems for you.”

Jason rolls his eyes, stepping into the side kitchen and popping open the freezer door of the fridge.

“Dickiebird can’t even solve his own problems,” he says as he rummages. “But maybe when I’m fucked up enough to let three nobodies robbing a fucking bodega get the jump on me, that’s a sign that, maybe, it might be time to call in the cavalry. Dick isn’t the only person who’s got your back.” He presses an ice pack to Tim’s face until he takes it himself, and keeps steering him through the apartment. “Just saying.”

Tim would protest with all of his very good reasons why Jason is definitely wrong here, but he’s too busy processing the fact that Jason has led him into a bedroom. With a bed. There’s a bed, with a mattress and pillows and blankets. Right there. Tim stares at it with lustful eyes.

Jason catches him staring. He rolls his eyes, but he’s sporting a small smile that Tim has the presence of mind to memorize. He walks over to a dresser and pulls out a big shirt and a pair of shorts that he hands to Tim.

“Look. If you don’t know where to go, you can always come here. No guarantees I’ll be always around, but, yeah. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever.”

Tim eyes him up, clutching the bundle of Jason-smelling fabric in his hands. “And you’d do that for me because…why, exactly?”

Jason flicks his forehead, a stinging reprimand. Tim hisses.

“Because, dumbass, you need help and I feel like it. And you don’t actually suck to be around, so shut up and be grateful.”

“Oh, yes,” Tim deadpans, rubbing at his forehead. “So grateful to be allowed the privilege of squatting with you.”

The thing of it is, Tim is grateful. But Jason doesn’t need to know that.

Jason squawks, and before Tim can duck, he’s snatched Tim around the neck in a headlock. His arm is thick and doesn’t budge no matter how Tim shoves and kicks. The ice pack and the clothes go flying, and Tim just about dies. Jason is warm.

“Jason—!”

“Brat!” Jason crows, not giving an inch. “I paid for this place fair and square— you’re the only squatter here!”

“Blood money doesn’t count as square!”

“Tell that to half of Gotham, kid.”

“I’m trying to, thanks for noticing,” Tim says, finally wrenching himself free of Jason’s grip, stumbling into the bed and giving into its siren song. He sits down heavily on the edge, toppling over sideways and reaching pathetically for the fallen ice pack that’s just out of his reach.

“And don’t call me kid—” he complains, muffled by the pillow. It also smells like Jason. “You’re barely two years older than me.”

The cold ice pack is pressed into his fingers. He cracks an eye open to look, but Jason is just smirking at him, like he’s giving Tim the win. Ass.

“Coulda fooled me, shortstack.”

Tim rolls his eyes, and onto his back, toeing off his shoes and letting them clatter to the floor. He can’t tell if Jason’s bed is the best bed in the world, or if he’s just deliriously inventing things.

Frankly, Jason Todd’s bed is the last place he ever thought he’d end up, this morning or otherwise, so he’s never bothered to speculate. He does not have a contingency plan for this.

“Is there a reason you keep calling me short,” he complains, “Or will I just need to fill in the blanks myself?”

“Can’t help it. You’re just so small,” Jason coos. Tim props himself up on an elbow at that, raising a disgusted eyebrow.

“You don’t hear me constantly talking about how big you are.”

Jason grins like he just won the lottery; Tim shuts his eyes the second it’s out of his mouth.

“Baby, you don’t know how big I am.”

He does, actually. Not in a creepy stalker way, just— there was this one time. A big rogue breakout at Arkham, all-hands on deck type of situation; Tim, Cass, and Jason were covering Poison Ivy in the park. Acid-spitting pitcher plants were involved.

And look, Jason’s tactical gear is fine in the day to day, but it’s not like any of them had time to prep a neutralizing agent, so when Jason needed his pants off, stat…uh. Well. Tim was right there.

He knows, okay?

“Alright,” he rallies, trying desperately not to replay the memory of Jason adjusting himself through his boxers. All of himself. “I walked right into that one.”

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know if you’ve walked into it.”

Tim scoffs, but he can feel how red his face is.

And the thing is. He says it without really meaning to.

But he still means it.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, big guy?”

The change is immediate. Jason had been halfway out the door, but now he turns to Tim, giving him his full, undivided attention. He looks at Tim, laid out in Jason's bed, giving him a very slow once over. The scrutiny is at once nerve-wracking and thrilling.

“Thought you didn’t want my money,” Jason murmurs.

The temperature in the room spikes. If it weren’t for the slow throb of his bruised cheek, Tim would think that he’s already asleep and dreaming.

But he isn’t. He’s very much aware that he’s wide awake.

Tim swallows. “Well. It’s not your money I want.”

Jason’s grin is electric.

He stalks over to the bed, and Tim is frozen like a rabbit, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Jason settles a knee on the sheets between Tim’s legs, looming over Tim and boxing him in against the mattress. Tim’s free hand reaches up of its own accord to tangle in the collar of Jason’s hoodie, and the cotton is softer than he expected.

Jason’s eyes rove over his face, dark and heavy. He catches Tim’s face in his hand, swiping his thumb lightly across the bruising hot ache of his cheekbone. He leans in deliberate and slow and—

—and stops about an inch away from Tim’s mouth.

“Get some sleep, babybird,” Jason teases, his breath puffing gently over the skin of Tim’s lips. “You can proposition me again tomorrow.”

“It’s, like, 3:30 in the afternoon,” Tim argues, breathless.

“Yeah, and your body thinks it’s 3:30 in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, and go the fuck to sleep.”

Jason moves to rise. But Tim hooks a stubborn arm around his neck and pulls him down that last remaining inch.

The kiss is— bad. At first.

Tim basically smashed their mouths together to prove a point, and Jason muffles a surprised sound against Tim’s teeth. He lands heavily on top of Tim at an awkward angle, and he’s kind of crushing him. Tim refuses to let go, but— Jason doesn’t pull away.

Jason gentles the kiss instead, and Tim thrills. He levers himself up onto his elbow, wrapping an anchoring arm around Tim’s back. He finds a home between Tim’s legs, and he lets Tim kiss him until Tim's lips are tingling and his fingers go slack; until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Somewhere between fifteen minutes and a small eternity later, Jason presses one more kiss to the corner of his mouth. He curls around Tim on his side, and Tim turns his face into Jason’s neck with a soft wondering sigh.

“I’ll keep it. Promise. Wait n’ see,” Tim mumbles. Jason snorts, but doesn’t budge, and Tim can hear his smile in his voice, lilted and lulling.

“Sure, babybird. I’ll wait. I got nowhere else to be.”

Tim is already asleep.