Well. Been a while since last I posted, hasn't it? So, while I'm on a quick break in my all-night study session for finals, I think I'm going to post a little thing I wrote during a lecture I really should have been listening to, but I recorded it for later so I've decided that I don't care. This is my first posted Young Justice fanfic, but I love the dynamics in this show so much (particularly with Roy and his mentor, so sue me) that this isn't the first I've written. (Seems like it's that way with all my fandoms-I write so many that languish in the depths of my hard drive before working up my courage to submit one, and it's all downhill from there.)

Anyway. Roy and Dick. It could be construed as slash, but I like to think of it as the affection of an older brother who's out of the house and thinks his little brother's a pain in the ass, but will always, always, always come pick him up at three in the morning if he's called upon to do so. (By the way, I'm going off of official ages according to the wiki-Roy is 18, Dick is 13. If that makes it more believable.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all.

Warnings: Roy's mouth, I guess.

Backup Plan

Robin didn't usually need a backup plan. He got things done right the first time, and had so many fail-safes built in-thank you, Batman-approved tactical training program-that any secondary fallback was mostly irrelevant and, frankly, a waste of valuable time.

But, every once in a while, a plan would fail so catastrophically that all prior planning, every fail-safe and all his extensive training would be rendered worthless in the face of epic defeat. And wonder of wonders, there was no Plan B waiting in the wings.

Looking back on things, he probably shouldn't have ditched the locator on his way out the door. It would have been really useful for a rescue party to actually know where he was in the first place-not that a rescue party would have the knowledge to come at all, with as stealthy as he'd been leaving the Batcave.

Ah, well. Hindsight's always 20/20, especially when tied to a chair.

He glared ineffectually at his captors, the blood crusted in his eyebrow and the mesh of his mask ruining the effort. His wrists pulled on the electrical cords tied around then, with little to show for it besides a lack of blood flow to his fingers. The drug runners who had somehow captured him from the rafters-greasy, deceptively strong, and barely deserving of a human designation-just chuckled at his struggles. One even patted him on the head like a stray puppy.

Think, Dick, he thought, before pausing-Wow. Things must be shitty if I'm calling myself by my real name on patrol. He shook the thought from his mind. He had to focus if he wanted to get out of here anytime soon!

Robin hated thinking on the fly when he had a head injury. His head hurt, he felt dizzy, ad he just wanted to play the damsel-in-distress for a minute and let someone else save him for once. But there would be no one to rescue him, not this time. This mission was by no means authorized-if he were to be strictly honest with himself, it was mostly for his own amusement more than anything. He'd gotten himself into this mess, and now he had to get himself out.

He squirmed, feeling his cell phone in his back pocket against the back of the chair. Valiantly, he fought the urge to laugh at his captor's stupidity-they hadn't taken his phone, or his utility belt! Morons, he thought gleefully.

Somehow he worked his numb fingers close to his phone. Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, he prayed. He hit a random speed dial button and held his breath.

"Hello," a disembodied voice asked into the warehouse, and Robing again fought the urge to laugh, instead forcing a panicked look onto his face as his captors turned. "Hey, kid, you there?"

His captors advanced on him slowly, one holding a length of pipe and another loading a gun. "Crap," he hissed, mostly for their benefit. They were playing straight into his hands. I love goons, he thought, swallowing a cackle as it bubbled up.

He shoved his cell phone back into his pocket and lashed out with his legs. One head hit to the groin of the gunman-he smirked despite his split lip. That was definitely going to hurt in the morning. Through his thrashing, he worked the electrical cord over the back of the chair. Score, he thought, kicking over his chair into a drug runner with a scar over his left eye.

The door was twenty feet away, he estimated. If he could get out and away into the alley, he could make his way home, back to that first aid kit he had hidden under the pipes in his- A bullet ricocheted off the pavement beside his feet. He gasped and pushed himself faster, the threat of imminent execution burning through his veins with the adrenaline.

An arrow whizzed by his head, nailing one of his attackers squarely in his chest. Robin ran toward the door still, now an empty square of night in the corrugated metal wall. He stumbled out as two more arrows went sailing past him.

He was nearly to the end of the alley, just beyond reach of the street lights, when two hands on his shoulders stopped him. Panic rose within him and he thrashed to get away.

"Hey, kid, easy," a gruff voice demanded, the hands never moving. "It's just me."

Robin stilled, but didn't relax, and squinted though the darkness, the blood staining his mask impairing his vision. "Speedy," he asked thoughtlessly.

The older boy-man now, he was nearly twenty-sighed, his face strangely devoid of irritation. "Red Arrow," he corrected mechanically, his palm moving to cup the side of Robin's face. "Jesus, kid, what mistook you for a chew toy?"

Robin shook his head, trying to clear the dizzy static left in the wake of his second adrenaline rush of the night. "Drug dealers," he explained shortly.

Red Arrow snorted. "Right." He turned Robin around and untied the electrical cord that Robin had forgotten was still tied around his wrists. "Anything broken?"

"My pride, my common sense, maybe," he muttered, distracted by the pain of his shoulders being released to hang freely at his sides.

Red Arrow chuckled despite the situation. "Well. Lucky for you, we're roughly two blocks from a zeta transporter. Let's get you back to my place, get you cleaned up," he said, helping Robin climb onto his back.

Robin clambered up without protest, laying his head on his friend's shoulder. "How'd you find me," he murmured.

"You called me, remember?"

"That was you?"

"Yeah," Red Arrow said slowly. Just how bad was that head injury?

"Oh. I just hit a random speed dial," he admitted, his voice fading fast as Red Arrow walked.

Red Arrow shifted his young burden higher on his back. "Well. We're lucky you didn't speed dial Bruce," he muttered as Robin drifted out of awareness.


Roy sat on the edge of the bed, his feet pulled up on the mattress next to Dick's ribs. His phone hung limply from his loose grip, dangerously close to dropping to the mattress.

The phone buzzed, jolting him out of his half-doze like a fork in a toaster. He blinked stupidly and looked around before squinting at the screen-Queen, Oliver. He rolled his eyed. "It's three in the morning, jackass," he growled softly, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"But you're awake," Oliver said without preamble. "You just got back from Gotham an hour ago."

I don't need a fucking babysitter, Roy thought with tired annoyance. "Robin needed an hand, and I happened to still be out," he explained, shifting to a more upright sitting position on the foot of the bed. "In case you were wondering."

"Robin," Oliver asked, surprised. "I thought you didn't have anything to do with League affiliates."

"Oh, shut up," he snapped without too much venom. "Someone has to keep an eye on these kids-God knows the League sure as fuck does a half-assed job of it."

"Don't swear," Oliver reprimanded blithely. "Hey, speaking of Robin, you wouldn't know where he's gotten to, would you?"

Roy cracked a sardonic grin at the sleeping thirteen-year-old curled up under his blanket, wearing a borrowed t-shirt and too-big basketball shorts. "Well, I have no clue where Robin is, but if you could tell Bruce that Dick's spending a few days here in Steel with me so he won't go on an all out manhunt, I'd be most appreciative."

"You have him? What-"

"Bye, Oliver," Roy chuckled before hanging up.

Dick stirred sluggishly, the tape holding a gauze pad to his forehead wrinkling as he blinked awake. "Mmm...m'dad?"

"Not yours, mine," Roy said, leaning over his knees to brush the hair off of Dick's pale forehead. "I'm sure Bruce is having a fit by now in his own right, though."

"'m screwed," Dick moaned, rolling over so his abs were pressed lightly against Roy's left ankle. "Screwed, screwed, screwed."

"No, you're not," Roy assured him calmly. "I can totally take Batman."

Dick snorted. "No you can't."

Roy's eyes narrowed in mock anger. "You doubt my combat skills? After I just saved your skinny ass from certain death?"

"My ass is not skinny," Dick protested, attempting to sit up.

Roy laughed and pushed him back down. "Quiet, you. You're thirteen-of course it's skinny."

Dick pouted-pouted, how that was even possible with a split lip Roy didn't even know-and folded his arms. Roy snorted and leaned back against the baseboard of the bed. Dick relaxed into the obscenely fluffy stack of pillows Roy kept, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone. "I'm hungry," he said absently, more of an observation than a complaint.

Obediently, Roy swung his legs off the edge of the bed and leaned his elbows on his knees. "What sounds good?"

Dick paused and thought for a minute. "...Pancakes?"

Roy blinked, and then nodded slowly. "I can do pancakes." He stood and took a step toward the door. "Oh. If you want to call Alfred, my cell phone's right there," he said, pointing toward the device laying half-under a fold in the blankets.

Dick grinned tiredly at his suggested contact choice-Bruce wasn't even in the equation and both of them knew it. "Yeah, maybe later. Thanks, Roy."

"Anytime," Roy said dismissively, heading the rest of the way out the door. Dick chewed on his lower lip before sitting up, feeling his ribs stretch uncomfortably, and called out for his friend.

"Yeah," Roy asked, swinging back in the doorway.

Dick worried at the hem of the blanket, suddenly unsure of himself and very aware of the age gap. Heroes or not, Roy was still the older cousin who only hung out with him when he was around because he had nothing better to do. "I, um... Thanks," he murmured, head down. "For, y'know. Everything."

Roy rolled his eyes and smiled, coming over to sit on the bed again. Wordlessly, he gathered his friend in a hug, mindful of every bruise he'd seen when he changed him out of his uniform. "S'what I'm here for," he said, pulling back to run his fingers through Dick's hair. "Me and you, and sometimes Wally. United against the forces of parenthood."

Dick giggled, not moving his head from Roy's shoulder. "I'm sure Bruce will love that."

"You will be keeping this to yourself," Roy said firmly. "We can't give away our secret weapon, now can we?"

Dick shook his head and lifted it up shyly. "Sorry for the late night."

Roy snorted. "Like this is my first all-nighter." He laid the other boy down on the bed and stood. "So. Pancakes. Give me ten minutes?"

"Sounds good," Dick said, suddenly sleepy. "And then you can call Bruce."

"Fuck no," Roy said, suddenly serious. "I don't love anyone that much."

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