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“Are you sure about this?”

Huffing, Stephanie sent Tim a withering glare. “Yes, derp wonder,” she grumbled for what must have been the millionth time. But Tim could hear the quaver in her voice, the way her bright smile cracked just a bit at the edges, the way she was gripping her batarangs too tightly like she neverevereverever wanted to let them go.

“Question is,” she said softly, and Tim lifted his hooded eyes to meet hers, “are you?”

Tim thought of his life and the friends he’d made (Titans, Bart, Kon) and the family he’d had (Dick and Bruce and Alfred and Cassandra and Steph and Barbara and god even Damian the little shit) and the people he’d rescued and all the crises he’d averted and oh, fuck, wow.

But then he thought of Jason Todd—the shit-eating grin plastered over his face that he’d had even before he’d been killed and resurrected, the grief and pain he’d caused everyone when he died and then again when he came back and was all wrong, the empty look in Bruce’s eyes whenever he saw The Case, the haunted and broken and twisted man that had tried to kill him so many times, and yet—

Tim let out a shuddery sigh, lowering his binoculars and clenching his fists. “Yeah,” he said quietly, fuckfuckfuck, “yeah.”

Steph smiled again, weary and sad and not Steph, trembling hand closing over his own and gripping it tightly. “The time-space continuity doesn’t have anything on us,” she said lightly, and it wasn’t even a great quip but Tim found himself laughing hysterically as he shot the grapple line towards the warehouse with a flash of eggplant by his side.

——

“Whoa, kid, watch out!”

Tim whirls around in time to get a faceful of red before he’s being barreled into a tree and shit that crack better had been his hand and not his camera because he’s had a shit week and he’s really testy and if this guy ruins his chances of getting these pictures then—oh. Well then. Hi.

Red Robin grins at him, domino mask crinkling as he smiles. “Hi yourself,” he teases, dancing away from Tim before he quickly checks him for injuries and, finding none, dashes away with a ruffle of Tim’s hair and and a yell of “stay outta the way, kiddo,” and yeah. The crack was the camera.

But Tim can’t seem to mind as he watches Spoiler and Red Robin and Nightwing and the rest of both Young Justice and the Titans take down whatever alien had been wrapped around the city hall that day and he eases away the feeling of deja vu and of something missing to what he’s always dreamed off, and instead uses his hands to make a picture frame around Jason Todd kicking the shit out of some poor alien.

Click.

Okay, yeah. Life was all right.

OHMYGODTHISISTHEBESTPROMPTEVERAMSNJUIDE

Roy was not having a good day.

Actually, his day was going pretty damn badly.

He’d been at the store buying fish sticks because he’d been feeling petty and spiteful when out of nowhere, some guy in a red dildo helmet jumped him. The creep somehow managed to grab the crossbow tied to Roy’s leg before Roy managed to, and with his own damn crossbow held up to his head, Roy had been pulled out of the store struggling and flailing.

A few hours (or days, orr weeks, what the hell ever) later, Roy found himself waking up whille gagged and bound to a chair. He blinked in the hazy darkness, trying to see his attacker.

“You have shitty hats in every universe,” came a rough voice that was somehow amused and apalled at the same time. Roy spun towards the source of the sound and somehow only managed to topple over his chair, and he fell to the floor with a yelp. A snort.

“And you’re still a loser.” Yeah, the voice was definitely amused now. A man walked into view, white streak in his black hair highlighted and sharp smirk brought into relief by the plane’s dim lighting.

“Waaarrroooaaarrgggh,” Roy garbled, eyes narrowed and glaring at the unfamiliar man and most definitely not taking in his unfairly attractive face and lean body. Seriously, why were all the hot ones evil?

The man’s laugh was startlingly cute. “Oh, I don’t want much,” he drawled, sauntering closer to Roy. With quick movements, he slashed both Roy’s gag and his bonds with a curved dagger that kind of looked really fucking scary and Roy found himself being staddled and oh, this wasn’t too bad at all.

And then his face was covered in—wait, what the hell was that shaving cream and—“stop moving, dumbass”—why was there a razor—what—how—

“Hmm. Think I’ll let you keep the hair. Easy to hold onto, if last night was any indication.” Wait. What.

“You’re welcome, Harper!” The guy suddenly strapped a parachute to Roy’s back before pushing him out of the jet.

He managed to land—not exactly elegantly, but whatever—with all his body parts intact. Roy felt his cleanly-shaven face with a furrowed brow.

“…when did my life become this weird.”

No, seriously.

When.

“Grayson. What capabilities do these creatures posess?”

Dick paused in his funny face contest with the fish to look over at his youngest brother and had to quash the urge to squeal over the image of nine fluffy kittens climbing over Damian’s entire body.

“Ummm…capabilities?” Dick quirked an eyebrow and half of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Yes. Of what use are they in battle? How many ways can they employ to kill a man? What weapons are they adept at handling?” Damian shot rapid-fire, his professional manner a little offset by the kitten determined to make its way onto his face.

Dick just stared incredulously for a few minutes, unsure if Damian was serious or not.

“They could…probably kill someone with the powers of cute?” he tried, stifling a giggle as two of the kittens on Damian’s shoulder slid into his lap.

Damian stared at the mess of fluffballs crawling over him. “Acceptable terms,” he said shortly, standing up and upsetting a giant mound of fuzz. “I will be taking them all.”

“Um, Damian, you can’t—”

“Yes I can.”

“But that’s nine kittens—”

“One for every knife hidden on my body.”

“No one can possibly train cats to—”

“FUCK YOU I’M BATMAN’S SON,” Damian spat, stalking off with all nine furballs in tow.

Dick watched him leave, a small grin spreading across his face.

“Awwww,” he finally sighed, going back to the fish. “He’s growing up to be just like his old man.”

“My arrow’s longer than yours.”

“I have a harder shaft.”

“At least I fly straight.”

“Oh, like a little magic—sorry, cigam—wouldn’t change its path.”

Artemis muffled a snort in the couch cushion, her head in Roy’s lap and his calloused fingers idly tugging and combing through her hair.

“Is that an arrow in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” Artemis grinned, tilting her head to look up at Roy. He smirked back.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom and I’ll bet I can make you quiver.”

She couldn’t stop laughing until he kissed her.

Tim Drake felt distinctly uncomfortable.

Actually, no. Tim Drake was safely tucked away at the Wayne estate, doing his homework and whatever else little rich boys did. Tina Drake was backed up against an alley wall, glaring through heavy layers of mascara at a leering Jason Todd.

“Don’t look half bad as a chick, Baby Bird,” Jason grinned, one forearm coming to rest against the wall and effectively caging Tim in.

“Shut up, Jason,” Tim hissed, powdered cheeks flushing. “Don’t blow my cover!”

Jason smirked and leaned in. “You wanna blow something else?”

The bruise on Jason’s arm was so worth the blowjob.

“NO DICK PUT ME DOWN!” Jason shrieked, trying to wriggle away from his older brother and receiving mildly disturbed look sfrom passerbys.

“Nope!” Dick said cheerily, patting Jason’s back from where was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “We’re going to the circus, Little Wing!”

“MMMRRGRAAWWWRRRRRFFFFF,” Jason growled, finally falling limp when Tim silently fed him a piece of bread as he walked alongside the two of them.

“Honestly, Todd, you are pathetic,” Damian remarked snidely, sniffing in contempt and turning his nose up into the air as the four of them somehow made their way into the stands of the circus.

“Shut your face or I’ll shut it for you, you little shit,” Jason snapped, snatching the rest of the bread away from Tim and settling down in his seat for a nice sulk.

Tim sighed and idly wondered if it was too late to get Kon to save him from this.

As the show finally started, his hopes lifted a bit. Damian hadn’t attempted to stab too many people, Dick had only tried to pull him into his lap like a little kid once, Jason hadn’t started screaming and—wait.

“YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE!” Jason bellowed, taking the remainder of his bread and throwing it on the clown that had just arrived. Tim’s eyes idly followed the arc of the bread as it made its way towards its target, harmlessly bouncing off the clown’s head and onto the ground.

“Jason, wait—” Dick began, but he was cut off by Jason jumping onto his shoulders like a cat. “NO SCREW YOU I’M GONNA GO EAT CHILI DOGS,” Jason screeched, jumping back to the ground and making a mad dash for the exit.

The circus was silent for a moment.

“…should we retrieve the dimwitted fool?” Damian sighed.

“Forget it,” the two boys chorused.

A shadow that looked suspiciously familiar darted into the ring and grabbed the fallen loaf of bread before disappearing again.

“BRUCIE-BOY!”

One long-suffering Bruce Wayne groaned to himself as one obnoxiously chipper Tony Stark slung a chummy arm around his shoulders. “How ya doing, Brucie?” Tony grinned, all slick and sleaze and tinted sunglasses.

Bruce’s favorite “you-are-an-asshat-and-I-hate-you-but-the-cowl-is-off-now-so-I-can’t-punch-you” look flickered across his face before a simpering smile took its place. “Mister Stark,” he intoned, tipping his champagne flute towards Tony and surreptiously shrugging off his arm.

“Pfff, c’mon Brucie-Boy, lighten up a little!” Tony thumped Bruce’s back the instant Bruce tipped back his glass. “Sorry sweetcheeks, I’ll buy you a new dress,” he said flippantly at the lady Bruce had just spluttered champagne all over.

“Tony. Shut up,” Bruce muttered, voice unintentionally dropping down into his Batvoice.

“Oohhh, Mister Tall Dark and Scary coming out to play?” Tony grinned, tipping back his own flute with ease. “You use that voice when you’re in bed with that one reporter…Big Blue, isn’t he?”

Bruce didn’t need any encouragement to choke this time.

“Don’t worry, Brucie,” Tony quipped, patting his long-time friend on the shoulder. “Steve and I do our fair share of roleplaying.”

“…Stark. You are an infuriating man.”

“Funny way of pronouncing gorgeously fabulous, but sure.” Tonny flashed Bruce one last grin and with a final salute, departed to harrass some other poor soul.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.

He needed an aspirin.

Also, Clark in his bed.