Summary: Tim gets stranded on Marvel Earth. He meets Coulson, and Tony. This is important.

Note: Me and Yufei had an agreement, so this is based on this piece of majesty she drew.

Other Earth: Tony

Tim held the poultice to his head wincing slightly at the sting.

The man in front of him is speaking, he should pay attention to that, "Hello, my name is Agent Coulson, welcome to Earth, or if you are already a member of this planet, welcome to the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

Tim blinked slowly, a testament to his injury, carefully sifting through all major Defense Agencies within the United States. He puts together his possible geographic location and the lack of response time from the League. Fuck he hates magic.

"Do you have a team of well trained and, or powered individuals put together in some way for the defense of this planet? If so may I know the name of this group and or individual?" He asks in a calm steady tone. Panicking was for the weak, as was sleep and food, and sometimes breathing. The agent in front of him was good, but Tim, Tim's mother was Janet Drake and that woman could freeze a man's testicles with a stare.

Also superpowers were not the easiest thing to keep hidden, if such a team existed, access to that knowledge would most likely be public. He wasn't digging for sensitive information.

"Yes, they are known as the Avengers, now onto the previous questions Mr..?"

He hated it when he was right. Still Tim liked this man, he's known many who wouldn't have been nearly as polite to one who just fell out of the sky into a seemingly deserted field.

"Timothy Drake." He's betting someone in one of those black vans is running a search, "That won't be of any use to you however, I'm afraid I'm not from this dimension."

To the Agents defense he doesn't even blink. Tim wants to pat him on the head and give him a cookie. Good boy, he coos silently. Such a good boy.

"I take it you've never heard of the Avengers."

Tim nods, "Justice League." He offers. The raised eyebrow Coulson gives him in return is enough to get the message across. Mostly, the message says, "You called them what?" Without saying a word.

"Were you a member of this organization?" The Agent asks instead. He sounds very non-judgmental for a man who's clearly judging him. Well fuck you agent, Tim wasn't the one who picked the damn name.

Tim does not say that, he nods instead because he had been.

"Are you or are you not a threat to this version of Earth?" the older man asks. It's all very civilized. Tim can spot, three snipers in the trees. Of course it's civilized, as far as they know, they have nothing to fear.

"I am unaware of the societal norms of this dimension and it's policies, in general I do not wish to interfere or cause harm. My main concern would be returning home." The answer is diplomatic, a non answer because quite frankly if Tim has landed in a dimension that approves of things like killing the third born child but not the fourth he will not be pleased. That shit does not fly.

Coulson nods, "We are a free nation under a democracy wherein we elect a leader of the country known as a president. We do not approve of harm towards other living beings and have laws against such things. Harm includes murder, rape, theft and so on. There is no slavery and there are equal rights on paper for gender and race."

Tim tilts his head, in consideration. He say's nothing, there are too many little things left unanswered, like the possible mass murder of babies.

The older man carries on after noticing the lack of reply, "Do you have abilities that would classify as not strictly human."

Tim wonders if the man has some sort of mental checklist. He seems like the type who would. What questions to ask newcomers to this Earth before he can safely pretend to let them go on their way. That's what Tim calls his checklist, it's long but it works.

"No." He's been mistaken for a meta a time two but strictly speaking he is human.

"Are you aware of how you come to this dimension."

"Magic." Tim replies deadpan.

Coulson pauses, "Do you have any idea of how to return?"

Tim considers the question, "How advanced is your technology?"

"We have a helicarrier. A flying aircraft carrier. Is this a familiar term to you, or would you require images?"

It's rather thoughtful for the man to offer, so Tim quirks his lips up at the nice agent in his plain cheap suit. The one who looks like he'd be just another body in the field if it wasn't for the sharp intelligence dancing in his eyes. The danger.

"I am familiar with the terms." He replies.

"We have two specialists we can take you to, to deal with the situation."

Tim nods, he would have been surprised that they hadn't asked for a blood sample but the EMT's already have some. He's betting that one of them already determined that he is human and as such possibly a lesser threat than a meta. At the very least they've confirmed that he is in fact human. If they hadn't he'd have been shipped off to a containment center. Or, well, they would have tried.

"I would like to get started on that soon as possible."

Removing the poultice he lets his hair cover the bruise.

Tim putters around what seems to be, not a lab but a few holographic monitors while a man he had briskly been introduced to known as Tony Stark chattered in the background to Agent Coulson. A pretty redhead stood beside Mr. Stark, her hands crossed over her chest.

Humming Tim flips through the possibilities, and no, no that wouldn't work, he'd die halfway through if they tried it, lack of oxygen and choking was a horrible way to die.

He catches the Agent standing between him and Stark, he gets the feeling he doesn't want Mr. Stark to meet him.

"Hey, hey, kid" Mr. Stark calls out as the redhead he knew as Ms. Pepper Potts elbows him in the ribs, "How old are you?"

Tim chooses to answer the question, taking his time with it, allowing Coulson to berate the other man for his language, "I am eighteen years old, given that a year is still 365 days and 24 hours per day, each hour made of sixty minutes."

"It is." Coulson answers him, still trying to form a human blockade between Tim and .

Tim winces as he sees yet another mistake, this one would have killed him instantly. To be fair, overall the science was incredible, revolutionary and parts of Tim want to rub against the designs like a very happy cat.

"This plan, this technology is fantastic." Tim starts, "But this part could be improved." For a moment there is silence, then. Then. Tim shows them how. He writes it out in blue light and changes in the equation.

Tony looks at him likes he's Christmas and his birthday come early. He turns right to Pepper and he demands, "I want one."

Peppers hand hits her forehead, "No Tony." Her voice comes out strong but ultimately useless in the face of the other man's crazed glee.

"Give me one, give me a clone of one, I can pay him Pepper, I can pay him with money, lots of money." As opposed to what? Tim wants to ask? Kittens? Cheese, an army of flying monkeys?

The redhead groans and Coulsons eyes go wide with abject terror. They only widen a millimeter but still, Tim knows what fear looks on serious men and that is it.

"He's a human being." Pepper hisses, her voice hushed. Tim..can still hear them.

"But he's a wonderful one and his Earth lost him and we found him. Which means finders keepers. We found him, so we can keep him, and if they can't stop him from being dragged into other Earths they don't deserve his brain."

The arched red eyebrow forces the dark haired man to amend, "They don't deserve him."

And Tim can still hear them.

"Please?" Tony asks.

"No." Pepper snaps back, "He has a home."

"You don't know that." Tony counters, "None of us knows that, he could be miserable there, we could be helping him."

"Mr. Stark." Coulson interrupts, "We generally have a policy about people from other dimensions settling on Earth." Tim can hear the desperation under his tone. It sits in the way he keeps his thumb tucked under his other fingers, not quite a fist but close. It's not a natural position.

Tony snorts, "That is such bullshit. Thor."

"Thor is a guest, he can come and go as he pleases."

Tony refused to let that stop him, "He could be happy here. I could make him happy."

"Mr. Stark, while that is a rather..generous offer, I would like to hold off becoming a permanent resident of this Earth if I can return to mine." Tim interrupts. He almost wanted the argument to go on. It had been interesting.

Tony's eyes go wide, so Tim continues, "And if you sabotage the work that could get me home, I will break your neck." He won't. Probably. The point is they don't know that he won't.

"I love you." The older man breathes out. With feeling. It says something about him that beautiful underage in some states boys with pretty blue eyes and brains filled with science and danger attract him. He is however Tony Stark. Which means fuck you world, he gets what he wants and right now he wants Timothy Drake.

Other Earth: Loki

The first thing Tim notices as he wakes up is that there is a very strange person in his room. Tall and slender, built along the same lines as the younger boy, only so much bigger, decked out in black and green and gold wielding a staff glowing blue at the top.

Loki, he processes. Loki, God of Mischief former resident of Asgard. A threat to this Earth. So he hacked a few files? Sue him. He was curious and he refused to live in a world were information was kept from him. Knowledge was power and Tim liked to be well informed.

The god? The, Loki, he was magical in the way dragons are magical, he was darkness and frost and fields of men screaming for a mercy that would not come. Mad and violent, and hurting. Tim watched the clips, familiarized himself with the look of this worlds greatest threat.

All he saw was a man in pain. There was probably something wrong with Tim.

He had looked at Ra's once, saw him mourn a wife dead for a more than a century. He knows better than to assume the ability to feel pain means anything. The second son of a family filled with heroes. The magician raised in what appeared to be a warrior culture.

Slow as molasses and honey he pours himself from his bed. He's too much a bat to give in to intimidation tactics. He does not go for his weapons, he does not scream for help. He gets out of his bed, nods to his guest and begins the walk to the kitchen, silent footsteps behind him. He'll donate his left leg to charity if anyone catches the taller man on camera come morning.

Flicking on the lights he puts the kettle to boil, "Would you like some tea?" He offers. The taller one, and Tim's seen Thor, but Loki just, he goes on for ages, his body reaching for the sky like a plant starved for sunlight. He wonders what the man, the god looks like without his civility, without his human skin.

Right now he looks amused. "Do you not fear me mortal?"

Tim leans back, far enough to see Loki's face without having to tilt his head up. He knows an intimidation tactic when he sees it and this man is filled with them.

"No." He answers.

The god slips into the chair across from Tim, his muscles coiling like those of snake, sinew under black leather. Men like that, gods or not are not ones to trifle with. Men like that don't get mugged in dark alleys, some lizard brain telling the would be thieves to run far and fast, as far away and as fast as possible.

"I could end your existence you were you stand." He offers, and Tim does not care. He supposes that if, or when Loki tries to do so he'll care more, but for now they're just two people sitting across from each other at a kitchen table.

"You could." Tim reaffirms a wry hint to his tone.

The switch on the kettle flips, a small sound, so loud in this room, "Now… would you like some tea?" He offers again. He really doesn't want to set the water to boil twice not when there's no reason to.

"Yes." Loki replies, still amused as he watches the slighter one pull two matching cups from the cupboard.

"Sugar or honey?" Tim asks.

"Honey." Loki replies. His gaze witnessing the other pour boiling water into bone white china filled slightly with honey. The teabags come next and for this Tim does not ask preferences, he simply selects the peppermint and continues with his preparation.

Settling on cup in front of Loki he brings the other one to his lips.

"You did not offer me a selection." The god states.

Tim does not reply and Loki entertains the idea that it may be poisoned. He discards it as silly because nothing these mortals have could poison a god and few things on Asgard could do so either. Still he casts a discreet spell to confirm or deny the presence of poison. There is none.

Taking a sip the god pauses over the flavor, the drink is hot of course but the taste is cold. How strange.

His staff still rests in the hand not occupied with the teacup and Tim really wants to hold it. Pole arms had always been a favorite of his, and even though this one was shiny which more Dick than him still. It was beautiful, but more than that, it was functional. It made him long for his bo staff.

He refrains from asking to hold the doom stick, as he christens it in his mind. Just barely, but he does.

"You are such a strange little human." The god offers. Tim isn't sure that was a compliment, he's fairly sure Loki doesn't know if it was either.

He shrugs, "I'm not from around here." Like that would explain it. It really doesn't, because Tim wasn't good at being normal anywhere. But he figures he can say whatever he wants here and no one will be able to prove it isn't true, or doesn't count in his own dimension. Half of the time he fights the burning need to tell everyone horrible lies about what his world is like.

He wants to tell them they ride giant flying seahorses and only have intercourse on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He wants to tell them their majority religion is Pastafarianism, that they believe in a giant flying plate of spaghetti.

He wants to make them believe it. Because they can't prove otherwise.

"What is your world like mortal, that you ended up as you are?" Loki asks and he's the god of lies, so Tim mentally says goodbye to any stitch of common sense and replies -

"For one thing, our most used form of transportation is a breed of flying creatures that appear to look much like this worlds sea creatures. We call them Uruk Hai, and they are born from pits deep under the roots of old trees."

So he's borrowing a few things from other sources? At least he's telling some of the truth.

Loki smirks and gestures for Tim to go on. He spends the night making up an entirely different system of government, a currency, a people, half mashed together from pop culture, from books and movies and actual alien planets he's been on. It takes three more cups of tea and four hours and they've barely scratched the surface. Tim is sincere in action and speak, in the way he gestures with his hands. His words are lies.

Tim suspects they both know that the words coming out of his mouth are bullshit at this point. It's a shame neither of them care, because this? This is fun. It's stupid and ridiculous and he can't say these things to Captain America even though he really wants to.

He can however say them to Loki.

No one ever told him he couldn't lie to supervillians.

Loki appears a few nights later, the same way he did before, and Tim slides out of bed with a yawn and gestures to the door, "Tea?" He asks.

"I thought you'd never ask." The taller one drawls out. Tim snorts, following him into the tea making area, the area of great tea, no, no. What? The kitchen. Tim follows Loki to the kitchen.

This time the god isn't wearing the helmet, the gold one with two curved horns sprouting from the top. His hair is black and slicked back. Not so much Bruce Wayne as it is something else, something like a mix between a crow and gentleman. The staff is still there.

Going through the motions Tim asks, "What's Asgard like?" and surprisingly Loki tells him.

The night ends with -

"And then I gave birth to an eight legged horse, my father however, the massive cunt decided to use my son as his personal steed."

Tim really wants to call bullshit, because no. Just. No. But he can't because on the off chance that the things coming out of Loki's mouth were true he would be a massive dick to yell that the other man's child was not real. Those things were hurtful. Also, if they were true Odin sounded like an asshole. No really what kind of person rides their grandchild?

"What kind of person rides their grandchild?" Tim asks.

Loki shrugs his shoulders, "I'm adopted."


The nights pass and they trade stories about Tim's made up Earth and Loki's possibly made up Asgard because but Tim likes having the ability to think, no, none of that is true so he doesn't ask.

Tim's Gotham becomes a metaphor for his life, because Loki wasn't his villian to deal with and Loki's Asgard, if it was a metaphor was one that went way over Tim's head. It also taught Tim not to eat dead giant flesh lest one wanted to become pregnant. The things you learn.


"Can I touch it?" He asks because at this point he doesn't think Loki will kill him for asking.

Loki blinks and raises an eyebrow, "The staff." Tim elaborates.

Loki's eyebrow creeps further up his forehead, "I like pole arms." The younger one defends.

"Really now." The god replies. It sounds so dirty.


Snorting Loki swings his staff leaving the but within Tim's reach. Gingerly the younger man lifts the surprisingly heavy weapon.

Holding it upright he smiles.

"You are a very strange human." Loki tells him with a smirk.

"So I've been told." Tim replies, passing the staff back to it's owner.

Other Earth: Bruce

Meeting Bruce is… an experience.

He's small, he's bigger than Tim but side by side to Thor he's not the biggest one in the group until he is.

Bruce Banner. Tim can't not think of Wayne, of the other Bruce he knows, the one who filled up so much of his life. He almost wants to ask Dr. Banner if he can call the man Hulk instead. He doesn't think the man would appreciate it but he wants to. Bruce is loaded weapon, the name not the person.

Steve had introduced the scientist, with this, "This is Dr. Banner, Bruce Banner also known as the Hulk."

He wonders if Steve knows he's shielding Tim's body from the other man. And he gets it. He gets the safety precautions, the what ifs? The way they never touch the shortest male of their team, the way they move around him, their words reaching his ears but their actions -

When was the last time someone touched him? Shook his hand?

Tony throws an arm around Bruce's shoulders, "This is Tim, and he's awesome and we want him to work with us, we really really do."

Bruce smiles, "And why do we want that Tony?"

The billionaire grins, "Because he's smart like us. Awesome smart and I want to keep him a box and make him work for me, don't worry though honey, you'll always be favorite." The filthy leer that graces Tony's face makes Tim want to do two things. Take a bath and laugh.

Bruce smiles, "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Walking around Captain America, Tim stretches out his arm, "It's a pleasure to meet you Dr. Banner."

Bruce is wary, but compliant as he reaches out and shakes the limb, his grip strong but not overpowering. Tim was right. No one's shaken this man's hand in a very long time. Or if they have, they have been a very small group of people. By small group of people Tim means Tony. Everyone else just doesn't.

"Bruce." Tony croons out, "We need to go blow things up. With Tim. For science!"

The look in his eyes should have sacred away anyone sane enough to care. Bruce smirks, a little amused quirk of his lips. The smile of man to whom the whole damn world was a great big joke. The smile of a man who hadn't been offered kindness without cost.

"Well." He drawls out, his mellow tone soothing, "If it's for science."

Tim lets out his little sigh laugh and smiles. He thinks he likes these people. The two of them, even Tony. Listening to the older man babble as he tries to drag both of his fellow scientists into his lair he wonders how much property damage they're going to cause. From the way Tony keeps going on about laser cannons he thinks it's going to be a lot.

Steve splutters behind them, "You can't do that." He calls out. Tony cranes his neck towards their resident boy scout, "Science Steven. Science. You wouldn't understand."

Tim doesn't know how they let this man leave his house without an group of trained professionals to keep him happy and to mediate the inevitable fallout. He's not talking about Bruce.

"Is he always like this?" Tim knows he is, it's just nice to get second opinions.

Bruce shrugs his shoulders, "Sometimes he's worse."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"He poked me with a stick."

Tim is..not surprised, he thinks it's weirdly sweet, "How big was this stick? Was it sharp?"

"It sent a shock through my body. It was a prod and it was small."


Bruce blinks.

Tim takes a pencil from his back pocket and pokes Bruce in the side. Hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to draw blood.

The older man twitches and glares, Tim repeats, "And?"

Shaking his head Bruce mutters about crazy people who didn't know how to keep themselves alive and what was wrong with them. Seriously.

Tony stops his babbling to look at the pencil in Tim's hand and then at Bruce. His grin widens. "I was right." He exclaims, "Everyone should poke you. You're very pokeable. And huggable. Like a rabbit."

Turning to Tim he demands, "You should hug him. Hug Bruce, he needs hugs."

Tim nods gravely before wrapping his arms around the other man's middle. Tony was right. Bruce is very huggable. He's not fat, but his muscle is different, he's soft and he smells like tea leaves and soap.

Humming he snuggles deeper, "Why are you so cuddly?" He asks, because no one should be this cuddly and Tony is a horrible influence. The click of a camera goes of and Tim still doesn't care.

"This isn't a game." Bruce states. Anger simmering under the surface. I'm not a toy, I'm not the scary house on the block that children need to walk up to when they're dared by their peers to do so.

Tim snorts, because no, Looking up he glares, "Shut up, I'm busy hugging and I don't do this often." And Tim would never do this on his Earth. He just wouldn't. There he has a reputation but here, in this place it doesn't matter. It's not his Earth and if he wants to cling to a giant green rage monster, who wasn't at that moment giant or green no one could stop him. Also Tony was an enabler.

Iron Man takes another picture and Bruce's eyes widen.

"I know the strangest people." He murmurers.

Tony almost does a little victory dance, "Come on Jolly Green we've got things to blow, just carry our Third Musketeer if you need to but what I have to show you will blow your minds…and possible a quarter of the mansion but I have a plan for that!"

Tim lets go of Bruce primly and walks beside him, close enough to touch as they Tony take the centre stage.

Bruce watches Tim viciously attack the garden with a pair of shears.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

Tim looks up at the other and snaps, "Gardening." To be fair, no one really snapped at Bruce, not anymore, not once they knew what he was. It was…different.

"Is gardening always this..aggressive?" That probably wasn't the right word for what appeared to be a flora massacre.

Tim snorts and turns back to his roses, and he will cut of all their stems and scatter their petals to the wind, he thinks grimly as he brandishes the shears.

"Only when a junior agent calls you a baby, a useless lying little twerp who's not from another dimension and only doing this for the attention."

That was not okay. Bruce is well aware that Tim is probably not lying, that he's stuck here and the thought that someone wouldn't believe that stings. He's not sure what to say in response. He could probably put the man on a few terrorist watch lists if he knew his name so -

"What's his name?"

Tim laughs, "It's fine. I ruined his credit score..and had his car towed, and sent a few pictures to his mother that I though she might like to see."

Bruce chuckles.

Hulk. Hulk likes Tim.

They know this because big and green told them, when he was big and green. The battle had ended as always, the Avengers the victors, and Tim had walked out of the coffee shop he had waited in.

Hulk brought him someone's flower garden.

Small and concrete it held two tiers filled with dirt and various flowers. Tim thanks that Hulk must have some awareness of Bruce, has to, because some of those flowers were the ones Tim was gardening the week before. Well, the same species.

"Hulk like Tim." The big guy roars.

Tim touches the bottom corner of the box, rubbing the back of his neck, "Thanks Hulk. That's really sweet." It feels good to call Bruce Hulk, easier. Less weighted.

The rest of the team stares at the two of them like they've lost their minds and Tony laughs opening his faceplate, "JARVIS tell me you've got this on record."

"Already done sir." The AI replies.

"No flowers for me Hulk?" Tony asks, faking astonishment like a Southern belle, one hand on his forehead, his body contorting backwards.

Hulk frowns then breaks the two two tiers apart holding one tier out to Tim and the other to Tony.

The guffaw of laughter almost covers up Iron Man's speech, "That's, that's perfect Bruce. I can't think of anything better than this." The best part is, he means it, his tone sincere his eyes soft.

Other Earth: Thor

The first thing Tim thinks, and he blames Dick for this, so much, so much he has no words for the blame, when he sees a grown man carrying around a giant hammer like it's his security blanket he just -

That hammer is his penis.

The second thing he thinks is, I need to tell Loki and what he decides in general is that if ever gets home he's going to knee his elder brother in the groin. Hard. For reasons.

"Greetings small human." The god booms out, his mass, possibly three times larger than Tim's rumbles like a mountain in an avalanche. It's not reassuring.

Later, as he picks the hammer up he finds out that it's name is Mjolnir, and that lifting it is apparently a big deal. Or something. Mostly Tim can't stop thinking, I'm touching Thor's penis, oh god, I'm touching it. He tries not to throw the hammer as far away from his person as possible.

Yeah, so, he's going to kill Dick. Everything was the elders fault. Everything, and nothing anyone said could make Tim think otherwise because Timothy Jackson Drake does not think such things. Do you know who does? Dick Grayson. So, his death was clearly the only option. He'll would it quick, painless. A tribute to the first Robin.

The actual lifting of Mjolnir is more of an accident than anything, well as much of an accident as anything can be when one premeditates how distracted a Norse God of thunder would have to be to allow someone to touch his penis blanket. Hammer. He meant hammer.

Tim decided, maybe three seconds before doing so, that if could get away with touching Loki's spear, a beautiful piece of work if he ever saw one, he could get away with touching the hammer. It was a heavy looking thing certainly, but he thought he could lift it, if only for a while. Mostly he did these things to entertain himself while stranded in this version of Earth so when Thor placed his hammer on the floor to grab the pop tarts from the top shelf, well, Tim picked it up.

It was ridiculously light, which was really weird considering Tim knew the kind of damage it could do. Maybe it was hollow?

"Huh. It's not as heavy as it looks."

The poptart box falls to the floor spreading little packets of artificial goodness all over Tony's tiles. One slips under the stove. Thor looks like someone smacked on the face with a wet fish.

"What?" He calls out in surprise.

Like someone, a complete stranger no less pulled a large fish from a very small purse and hit him with it, it's beady dead eyes looking at the god with contempt, and maybe he was getting a little too specific. His specificity, however, didn't matter, no one was allowed to police his thoughts so if he wanted to go on long tangents about fish in the sanctity of his mind he could.

Smiling mutinously at Thor he strokes the top of the hammer and waits for the blonde to reply. He tries not to make dumb blonde jokes while he waits. Steph would kill him.

Thor walks towards him, waving his hands around the sides of the hammer like he though the thing was being supported by an invisible force and that Tim was only there for show. Tim tries not to hit Thor in the face. He strokes the hammer instead. The penis hammer. He stops stroking the hammer.

Thor crosses his arms over his chest and furrows his brow in confusion, "You are only a puny human child!How?"

Tim would take so much more offense to being called puny but he has it on good authority that the blonde thought of everyone on the planet as tiny. Tim wants to shove Superman in his face, maybe Superman with a fish. Sometimes he thinks that the move to a new dimension scrambled his brain. Just a little bit.

"It's not a big deal, it just a hammer." It's not just a hammer.

Thor puffs out his chest, "This is not only a hammer, it is the mighty Mjolnir, hammer of the gods and it has been lifted by two alone. Myself and Steven."

Yeah. That's probably a big deal.

"So." Tim shrugs, "Now you have a third person who has lifted your hammer." Penis hammer a voice that sounds like Dick whispers in his mind childishly. Get it? The voice continues. It's because his hammer is like his penis. Hahaha, the voice cackles. Get it?

He is going to skin Dick alive.

Thors mood seems to change as Tim contemplates fratricide a large grin spreading over his face. He pulls the smaller one, the much smaller one into a bear hug, "Young Timothy." He bellows, "You must be most worthy to do what you have done. Come we must celebrate with mead."

Tim would point out that he's not old enough to drink but he doesn't want to explain the American law to a man who may or may not come from a place that uses the barter system. Loki once told him he tried to trade Thor for a herd of goats. He kind of wants to believe that had happened. It was a good story.

Carrying Tim out of the kitchen Thor calls to the Captain, "Steven, look at what our guest has done. Is it not most pleasing?"

He's not going to drop the hammer on Thor's foot. Even if the viking insists on parading him around like a small show animal. Even if the Captain is two floor above, and Thor is still yelling.

Steve rushes down the stairs, to the sight of Thor, Prince of Asgard, holding Tim visitor from another Earth, his hands under the smaller ones armpits, Mjolnir in one of Tim's hands.

"He is most worthy!" Thor insists.

Steve stops his run, his eyes going wide, "Are you holding Mjolnir?" He asks, his voice purposefully calm, his mind racing in circles.

Tim huffs, "Yes, I'm holding the hammer and Thor is holding me. I would like to get down now."

Thor laughs, and ,no, if this is what Loki had to put up with Tim is really not surprised the man lost his shit. He drops the hammer on the blonde's foot, deeply enjoying the yelp of pain that exits the larger man's mouth.

Landing on his feet, Thor's hands busy grabbing for Mjolir, Tim straitens the bottom of his shirt, his head high as he sniffs haughtily and leaves the room.

"W-wait!" Tony stutters nearly snorting his smoothie as he tried to catch his breath, "Thor did what?"

Tim groans, "He lifted me up after I grabbed his penis." And what did Tim just say?

Tony freezes. As does Bruce.

"I didn't mean what I said." Tim hurries to correct, "It's just, Thor's hammer, I think of it as his penis and I lifted it. The hammer, not, not the other thing."

Tony snorts his smoothie. Bruce's head is buried in his hands but Tim can see him laughing the bastard.

Other Earth: Natasha

The "sparring" Natasha and Tim claim they've been doing in gym is a bit of a misnomer. By bit, Tony thinks they're both filthy liars. Sparring is two people doing non lethal fighting to improve their skills. What he walks in on is a bloody, savage, brutal match to what appears to be, the death.

Nat licks the blood off her lips and bares her teeth in a snarl every part the warrior she is. Tim smirks like a creature from the dark, smiles like a monster, restrained but only so much.

" I won't go easy on you." She snarls and Tony tries to make as little noise as possible because if this is easy he does not want to know what hard is, he really, really doesn't.

"I would be insulted if you did." Tim drawls back, his stance oriental if Tony had to throw a guess out, Natasha's is more familiar, more soldier, less freaky preying mantis ninja bear. He added on the bear because everything was scarier when large mammals with teeth joined the part. Or blood match.

He wonders at what point he's supposed to call them for dinner. He's never letting Pepper strong arm him into doing menial labour again. He has speakers in the gym, he could have told them to come up through the intercom but no, Pepper said he should go by himself. It'll only take a minute she said. They should know you care about them she said.

What happens next is something he both really wants on tape and never wants to see again. He doesn't know how long it lasts and he knows they know he's here because both of them kind of lean towards him as he tells JARVIS to lock the door and tell the others they won't be up any time soon. Tells the AI to make an excuse, any excuse.

Natasha is good, and he's known it, he's see her strangle a man with her legs. She moves like butter, smooth an concise, no break in the motion, one hit leading to another. Nothing is done without purpose and all attacks need to land a hit, need to take out one enemy if not more. She is practical. Russian, Tony think, no, not Russian, assassin a dark part of his mind whispers. Nothing is frivolous because she knows that what separates one soldier, one spy from another, what lets one of them walk away and leaves the other dumped in the cold waters of the Arctic ocean is that single piece of energy.

That backflip that you refrained from. That time you walked instead of ran.

If Natasha is butter, Tim is air. His moves are no less smooth, no less effortless. They are weightless, and deadly. He curves around his opponent, sways in drifting motions around strikes that would have drawn blood and broken bone and when he feels like it, when the current changes, when the stars align because fuck him if Tony can make sense of an attack pattern, he hits. A hurricane on a cloudless day, the sun out, the air warm.

It takes out a city.

Natasha's eyes flick over him, trying to find weakness and for a moment for one perfect moment Tim does everything right. Shiva once told him that moments like that, like this, are what every fighter lives for. The reason they keep fighting. It's the way everything comes together, the way nothing can stop you, the heady sensation of power. Tim likes these moments. He thinks Shiva would have liked Natasha and perhaps another day she would have won, perhaps she will.

But not today.

Reaching for her he brings her down, and he is a storm coming, a ship killer. He is the movement, the strain in his muscles the slick of his sweat. He is victorious.

It ends with Natasha Romanov pinned to the floor like a bug. Like an enemy vanquished.

Tony clutches the wall. From where he is, he can't hear them but he sees Tim lean towards her ear, his hair covering his face. He's thankful he can't hear them and when they get up Natasha shakes his hand with a smile, and throws her arms around the shoulders of the smaller fighter.

"So." Tony, interrupts, the room no longer tense "Dinner was ready a long time ago, but I need to tell you to come up for it because if I don't Pepper will scalp me. Or hide my coffee again."

Natasha laughs, "We're ready now."

Tim smiles, softer now than the monster smile, the one sharp enough to cut a man, a woman to pieces, "I could go for some food."

"I'm pretty sure it's cold now. Or eaten." Tony mentions.

Natasha snorts, it's very ladylike, "We can get more food."

Tony refrains from asking if they're going to steal that food from small children. He really does. "JARVIS." He calls out, "You can unlock the doors now, and maybe order some food, I could go for pizza. Do you two want pizza?"

"Pizza would be good." Tim agrees and Natasha stares at him with something that might be approval if he squinted his eyes and stood on his head.

"The doors are now open sir, and the food is on it's way." JARVIS answers his disembodied voice surrounding them.

"So." Tony announces at what is supposed to be a serious group meeting, "Does anyone else, who is not Natasha know that Tim's a ninja. I feel that we should discuss this. I want it to be public knowledge because it's awesome."

Tim snorts from his place by the door, tea in hand, "I resent that. Ninja are the peons of the underworld."

Tony wheels his chair around and demands, "How do you know that? Are they your minions? In your world, I mean, do you like, have a ninja army? Is that how you know this?" The genius looks at the younger one as though if he stared hard enough he could find the answer to that question.

Tim blinks, "I know that because I've fought against them. Good guy remember."

"That is a horrible, filthy lie." Tony counters.

The rest of the team ignore them. Natasha hides her smile behind a coffee cup.


Tim smirks at Tony over the chessboard. The very pretty chessboard with all it's pieces designed to look like mechanical Avengers. With it's pieces that move themselves.

"Knight to E4." The younger of the two orders, Tony's king, a tiny stylized version of Iron Man slowly gets hit over the head by a fat Captain America.

Looking up at man, he asks for the first time, "Why is Captain America morbidly obese?" Because seriously, no Tony, no. All the knights are circles with the iconic red and blue shield painted on their little Buddha bellies.

Tim knows the answer, feels it, in the way Tony sometimes looks at Steve when he thinks no one else can see him… like he wants to tear him apart. Like he wants to claw out his eyes and bury him in ice. Like he wished no one ever found the fallen soldier. Like he's looking at a ghost. The way he looks at him like all he wants in the whole damn world is to make him proud and rotund as the billionaire made Steve, he also made the man a knight.

Tony looks at him like he was just asked were candy coffee came from, or something equally offensive, "Why not?" The man sounds baffled as though he can not comprehend why anyone who made an Avengers chess set would pass up the opportunity to make said crime fighters look ridiculous.

Little Iron Man's weapon is a whiskey bottle. Tim isn't even going to go there. There are some things they don't talk about. This is one of them.

Tim sighs, "Fine."

Tony continues speaking, "Did you know that originally I was going to make you the Queen, I had the little pieces all done and everything, and I gave you a machete. It was awesome."

Tim blinks, "I'm not an Avenger." He feels like he should say it because he's fairly sure Tony likes to pretend he is. Or at least Tony has a series of convoluted plans to make Tim an Avenger.

Tony shrugs, "I figured you would mind if I snuck you into the chess board so much less if you were the pawn."

The older man..isn't incorrect about that. Tim likes the little versions of himself, lined up in two rows, one set red the other gold, because Tony. He thinks they're appropriate the way he thinks that Bruce made a wonderful rook, straight crushing lines. The ability to move but only one way, only ever one way. A bulldozer of a piece. A Hulk. The rooks themselves are Bruce, but the movement, that's the other side of Bruce. The movements are Hulk.

The red Bishops, Tim picks Natasha up in one hand and looks at her little features, delicately made from painted metal. Natasha and Clint. The Gold Bishops are Loki and Thor.

Tim wonders how anyone could have ever called this man insensitive. How they could see him and assume that he knew nothing at all but the things he made.

Placing Natasha back in her slot. He starts to speak, "Assume the position." And that has Tony written all over it. The chess set re-aligns itself.

"Play again?" Tim asks.

Tony smirks.

"So." Tony leers, "This part of the lab is yours."

Tim looks at the floor. The entire floor dedicated to him. He knows this because a tiny plaque at the front door has his name on it. He also knows because there are streamers all over the ceiling, covering it completely, an a massive banner that looks as though it belongs at a birthday part proclaiming, "Welcome Home Tim".

"This is a floor Tony. It's not part of lab, it is an entire lab."

Tony shrugs, "Semantics."

"This is a bribe isn't it." Tim deadpans. It's a very good bribe.

Tony gasps in false offense, one hand clutching the ark reactor, "Why I never. I do this out of the kindness of my heart, a welcome for a poor soul missing his home."

At this point Tony throws his arm over Tim's shoulders, "I try so hard to make this a good place for you and you dare, you have the audacity to accuse me of bribing you?"

Tim removes Tony's hand from his person.

Tony grins, his dramatics at their end, "It's more of an incentive really. Bribe is such an ugly word. Like blackmail, or extortion."

"How are you a superhero?" Tim asks in wonder.

Tony leers, "Legacy, brilliance, the ability to discreetly blow S.H.E.I.L.D agents under their desks? Pick one."

Tim replies dryly, "Anything but the last." They both know the last is a lie. Tony has an allergy to uniforms when their real. Fake ones however…

Tony sniffs in offense, "I will have you know, that I am an incredibly satisfying sexual partner. I am a sex beast, a sex connoisseur. Don't you read the tabloids?"

Tim continues to look at him.

"Plebeian." Tony responds, "You have no taste, besides what would you know about such things. Your young mind would break at my indecency."

Tim does not know if Tony actually means indecency or if he used the words as a metaphor for his genitals either way he's getting payback. He grew up with Bruce Wayne, man whore extraordinary and Dick Grayson, also known as "Hello officer." He knows indecency like nobodies business, he just chooses not to use it, to let it ooze from his every pore unlike some people.

Loosening his limbs Tim wraps his hands over Tony's neck, scratching his nails lightly along the soft tan skin his fingers find with ease, looking up through his eyelashes he cants his hips, "Darling, " He purrs, "It's not the size of the boat, it's the motion of the ocean." He feels a sick sense of pride at being able to say that with a straight face.

Untangling himself from a frozen Tony Stark he walks deeper into the lab as he allows the older one to let the words sink in.

He knows they have because he hears Tony shout out, "I'm putting that on a shirt."


He does. Put it on a shirt that is. He wears that shirt to breakfast.

Steve spits out his orange juice when he sees it.

Tony butters his bread with exaggerated calm.

"That is an inappropriate slogan." Steve chokes out and Tony raises an eyebrow. By nature he is a very inappropriate person.

"It." He starts with an air of superiority, "Is an ancient Chinese proverb. It is a metaphor for life and that how sometimes, regardless of how prepared you are, how large your ship is, sometimes you have to look at your surroundings before making a decision like wether you want to, say, for example, go sailing."

Tony takes a bite of his toast and Steve looks like he almost believes him. Almost. Not really. It's Tony.

Other Earth: Coulson

Coulson is still the first person Tim met. He's also some strange mix between babysitter and secret Agent that the younger one wants to clone. He's also the one who has to put up with Tony's instance that Tim must never leave and Thor's bellowing about the worthiness of their small guest. Sometimes Tim thinks Tony puts the large blonde up to it, bribing him with pop tarts as incentive.

He also has to deal with property damage. Coulson has deal with so much property damage and protocol and forms that Tim would feel sorry for him if he hadn't seen the man stare down a stack of paperwork like it a an ice cream sunday. In general Tim has a healthy amount of fear and respect for anyone who honestly likes paperwork. He has long since been convinced that it is the devil. Getting things signed in triplicate is such a…anyway.

His list includes Lucius Fox. Alfred and surprisingly or not Lex Luthor. Proof of his evil. Paperwork lovers. Tim shudders.

So, Coulson was still a person Tim liked. He wanted and army of Coulsons. The man's name even sounded like it could be the designation for a robot army. Really he was just asking for it and it's not like Tim didn't have the resources not with the newest lab Tony had so kindly given to Tim, *cough, bribe.

He's not even sure Fury, one eyed dictator that he was, would mind Tim's plan. He would probably finance it, actually he probably had some people working on that right now with a sample of DNA they took by claiming it to be for "medical" purposes. Right now Tim's best bet would be a blitz attack where he could pull out some hair, scratch some skin, gather some blood and walk away like nothing happened.

He could pass it off as a condition. He would call it Rabid Squirrelitis and they wouldn't be able to say he didn't have it because Tim wasn't from around here.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" The agent in question asks, backing up to the door, while appearing as though he was doing no such thing. As though everything he was doing was exactly what he wanted to do and not a well calculated survival skill. He had heard about the incident with Natasha. Well he hadn't heard about it but sometimes Natasha looked at Tim like she wanted to adopt him.

Natasha had the motherly instincts of a door and the personality of a mad bear. Coulson, did not want to know what part of her recognized the boy as part of her world.

"Looking at you like what?" Tim asks innocently as possible. If he uses the table as a stand he could get enough high ground to lunge on top of the man.

"Like you want to rip out my insides just to see how they work." His voice is monotone, and the smile on the man's face in genial. Tim can make out a weapon beneath the suit. Many weapons.

Tim sniffs, "I want to do no such thing." He really, really does and if Coulson moved just a little to the right it would be perfect, but no, he can't. That would start and inter-planetary feud, and he didn't want that to happen. He also didn't actuality want to hurt the Agent. Philip Coulson was a good man.

"That's quite re-assuring." the agent replies. He doesn't mean a word that comes out of his mouth, and he shows no fear. A good trait for a man working under Fury.

"Take a seat Agent. It would be rude of me to dissuade you from doing your job." Tim offers with a wave of his hand.

Phil moves closer, still not to the right though. It's not even that Tim will do something. It's that he likes knowing he can, and that he can do it perfectly.

"I'll have to decline, I'm only here for an item I left behind."

Tim's fingers tap against the marble of the counter, "If you move two steps to the right, I'll stop looking at you like I want to, how did you put it? Rip out your insides."

"And why exactly would you stop?" The older man asks blandly as always. He's such a smart cookie. If Tim attacks him, he won't be expressive and if the Agent dies he won't see Tim looking at him.

"I'm not going to attack, kill, maim and or hurt you, nor do I have a trap set up." The younger one answers.

Coulson moves two steps to the right.

Tim looks at him as though the man is a normal human being, not a science project.

"So," The younger one starts, "What did you leave behind?" the elder never seemed like a man to leave something behind.

"Ah, I didn't leave it exactly, so much as it was borrowed."

Oh. Tim raises an eyebrow. They took something. How curious. Well, he does want to be helpful, "If you tell me what it is, I can help find it for you." He offers, all for the sake of friendship really.

Couslon's little smile is still pasted on his face, "Oh, I wouldn't want to trouble you."

Tim smiles back at him. With teeth, "I insist."

The cards are spread out on the table, all of them depicting Steven Rogers, Captain America in various poses and regalia. They look old and Steve, looks like, well, Steve. Antiques. Seventy years old and Tim assumes by now they would be collectors items, would have been collectors items in Coulson's childhood as well.

He wonders when he started. The set looks…complete.

Picking up one of the cards, he can see a few stains marring the image. Blood. A story to be told later then, unless the Agent killed a man for these, which wouldn't surprise him he's known those who killed for less, but he doesn't think Coulson would let the cards get dirty, not with the amount of care he took to piece the set together.

Tim remembers a little boy taking pictures of bats and birds, up far past a curfew he never had. In comparison, the cards are so much more..innocent. Gotham darkens all things, even the dreams of young children. At the root though, at the core, they is a similarity.

Running the flesh of his thumb over the edge of one card Tim smiles, "I understand you so much better Agent Coulson. I have a box full of old photos. Newspaper Clippings. Batman and Robin."

"You do?" Coulson asks, a bemused look on his face. He's not sure, he can't be but he thinks that these people this "Batman" and "Robin" whoever they were, they must have been Tim's Captain America.

"You should ask him to sign them." Tim deflects.

"Who were they?" Coulson asks.

"Heroes." Tim replies. He doesn't talk about who he was. He doesn't tell the Agent that in another world. Timothy Jackson Drake was the third Robin. He's not sure what they'd think of the heroes Gotham made.

The hero Gotham made him.

Other Earth: Steve

Tony huffs in frustration, tipping his chair back to look at the mysterious stain on the ceiling. The one he had yet to get rid of, and…. son of a bitch it was moving. Scooting his chair back his eyes go wide because what the actual fuck. He really needed to get someone to clean that. Now. Someone who was not him.

"JARVIS." He calls out, "What's on my ceiling? Why is it moving, no wait, what's on my ceiling, that first, answer that first." He's not panicking. He's..reacting swiftly with great fervor.

"Sir." The AI replies, "That was your latest project."

"No it wasn't." He snaps back, because he would have remembered doing something like this, probably, besides he can hear JARVIS sighing. It's vaguely disturbing.

"Is it toxic?" He continues.

"No sir. It is not."

Tony nods, "Have it cleaned."

"I shall do so immediately."

The other Avengers putter into the kitchen long after the stain dies an honorable death which was a good thing because Tony really didn't want to explain how it got on the ceiling in the first place, and why it was moving. Mostly why it was moving because he would then have to admit that he didn't know and he wasn't about to do that. Not about something he may or may not have created. He really hoped it didn't have the capability to multiply. Or kill people. That would be bad.

As his audience finally trickled in, he tips back his chair once more and sighs. Loudly. Then again.

They ignore him, the bastards.

His next sigh is less of a sigh and more a primal scream of rage that would put the Hulk to shame. For a moment, everyone goes silent. Natasha slams her butter knife into the table. Tim continues to butter his toast.

"What . Is. Wrong. Tony." She bites out, her eyes promising pain. Clint slowly descends from the fridge he climbed onto and Bruce removes himself from the bottom of the table, his hands which were previously covering his ears grabbing a cup of tea, thoughtfully made by their guest.

Tony sighs..again "Cap never looks surprised. I mean we've got Thor, ignoring all other awesome new things, we have an actual Norse God. It's wrong not to be surprised by big and blonde. He is the ultimate surprise, if he popped out of a birthday cake, people would faint."

Tim pauses, "Would he be naked?" He doesn't really want to know but…

"How else would you jump out of a birthday cake? Never mind, the point is, there should be something that makes his eyes go wide, his jaw drop, his testies shrivel. I want to find it. I want to shove it down his pants." Tony grumbles, reaching for his eggs as though they had teeth.

Natasha closes her eyes, "You want to surprise Captain America." She is trying to be calm. She's failing.

Tim bites his toast. Chews on it, then speaks, "If I make his jaw drop will you not scream at eight in the morning."

Tony blinks, "If I'm not dying, sure. Quiet as a mouse."

Natasha turns to the younger one and pokes him, "We do not give into terrorists."

Tim snorts, "Tony's so much worse than a terrorist."

Clint pouts, "I could surprise Cap just as well as you could. Better than."

Nat and Tim turn to him and in unison decide, "No Clint." Because. No. You will not take Steve to a strip club, you will not get naked you will not wear a diaper and claim to be Cupid, Clinton. None of us want to see that Clinton and if you do any of those things we will kill you.

"I wouldn't even get naked." The sniper mutters, backing away from the two very pretty, very dangerous people sitting at the breakfast table.


Tim zips himself into the suit and adjusts his hair, a perfect replica of Natasha's. If he had the time he would have taken the shippings of her haircuts and created himself a wig from those pieces, the devil was in the details really. Sadly he did not have the time. Squishing his "breasts" he pouts.

"Do I make you hot..big boy." He croons into the mirror. Natasha grins back. Oh yeah. This was going to be awesome.


Steve turns to see a shock of red hair coming towards him, "Hey Nat…"'He calls out before his legs fail him. He goes down hard and with no medical reason but he does go down. His chest feels tight and he's not quite sure if he should be aroused or horrified. He briefly wonders if this is what it's like to have a heart attack.

One long, leather gloved finger tilts his head upwards, "Hello Captain." Tim purrs, his voice sultry and the first thing America's greatest can think of is: Oh Lord, Tim's been turned into a dame.

His mouth opens, and he tries to make words come out, as his face contorts, "I-I, ung, na…hnnng." Whatever did this to Tim has clearly impacted his speech.

Natasha, real Natasha's eyes are wide.

Tim tosses his hair, his red, red hair, "I'm sorry I didn't ask. I was worried you'd say no."

She points at him, and tries much like Steve to make words, "You, I…why do your legs looks better in that than mine do?"

He strikes a pose, nudging the fallen Captain with his foot, "Oh darling." He purrs, "I trained with the best."

He sashes towards her, half slutty cat, half prostitute, all Selina Kyle baby. He did, after all, train with the best.

Dipping his finger in her milk he licks it off. "You… are good." She croaks. Tim smiles and slides into his seat, "I know." He accepts. Tilting his head he continues, "Pay up. You all owe me."

Tony doesn't reply too busy staring at the very attractive person in a leather body suit. He doesn't blink. He prays JARVIS is recording this.

"Marry me." He whimpers instead.

Other Earth: Fury

The first time Nicolas Eugene Fury meets Timothy Jackson Drake, visitor from an alternate Earth, he doesn't think much of him. Standing he looks down at the flimsy slip of a boy and glares, right down his nose at their "guest".

Tim does not tilt his head up, instead he simply stops and glares back. It somehow transforms his face from, oh how cute, to I will fuck you up. It feels like it should be impossible.

Fury glares harder. He will not be outdone by some punk. He's made battle trained agents wet themselves with the power of his one working eye, tiny little school boy would bow down before his fury, or else. Leaning forward he wills the child on fire with the power of his mind.

The other agents take a step back, one of them whimpers. They all leave.

Tim is not impressed, "Are you constipated?" He asks, because he works with Batman and nothing, absolutely nothing has the ability to put the fear of God in him, least of all a one eyed man, who looks close to spontaneous combustion. He almost wants to smack the top of his bald head, to see if candy comes out and if he doesn't get a reply he's going to.

It won't end well for the agents who try to stop him afterwards, but it will have been so, so worth it to wipe that look off his face.

In his defense, the man doesn't even twitch at Tim's question, "My bowel movements are none of your business." He barks.

Tim remains unimpressed, "They are when you shove your ugly face in front of mine, now back off before I hurt you." He picks a piece of lint of his shirt, his tone calm.

Fury snorts and, yeah, Tim is going to hit him, maybe with a chair.

"You? Kid you weigh about a buck fifteen soaking wet. A kitten could take you."

Tim smiles, it's worse than the glare, its the kind of smile that promises pain, the type of pain so few people had the patience for. The kind of pain that killed off every good thing in a man's life and left him alive just to watch him burn, Just to watch him break apart. "I would never presume to harm a kitten Director, what kind of person do you take me for?" He drawls.

Fury has been in the business too long to not know when someone was dangerous, and the kid, no matter what he looked like gave off danger, and violence like a mad bear. He knew better than poke a rattlesnake when it was cornered, and say what you want but he sure as hell wasn't stupid.

Straightening his back, he demands, " Are you a threat to this planet?"

The look Tim gives him, is not reassuring, "No." Neither of them believe a word that comes out of his mouth.

"Hello Nicholas." Tim greets as he enters the Avengers meeting room with no reason, sitting down like he owns the place.

Fury glares, "And what pray tell are you doing here?"

Tim cocks his head, all innocence and baby animals, "I'm observing."

"What exactly, are you observing?" The elder grits out, his hands resting on the table, his eyes trained on the intruder. Tim settle himself deeper into his chair.

"I'm trying to see if I can cut down the hypothetical takeover of S.H.E.I.L.D from six hours and twelve minutes to three hours."

Fury does not get paid enough for this shit, "Taking down a helicarrier would take you six hours?" He inguires. He is not impressed, he does not allow himself to be impressed.

Tim smiles, as though he is a dumb animal who has done something amusing, sometimes Nick thinks he must have been Hitler in his past life, "Oh no, your little floating ship goes down in fourteen minutes, I was talking about all of S.H.E.I.L.D."

Tony tries to make sense of ways this would be possible, "How?" He asks. The rest of them look at him, "What?" He squawks, "He said hypothetical."

Tim answers him anyways, "With absolutely no concern for human life or mercy."

Tim giggles as the walks over the fallen bodies, silly Doom, drugging Tim did nothing but make him angry and you never made Robin angry. Bad things happened, or was that Hulk? Both ways castles still fell to ruin, well a castle was torn down but still, it was the thought that counted…or something.

Making his way to a helicopter he fiddles with wiring to make it fly, humming softly he straps himself in and takes to the air, the smoking mass of stone all that was left behind him, melted Doom bots sparkling in the sunlight. It was all very pretty.

He lands on invisible helicarrier, drugged and happy, the Avengers meet him there.

Fury scolws at him and Tim hits the top of his head, "Why didn't candy come out?" He demands. He wants candy, and Fury was refusing to be a good Pez dispenser. Maybe he was a pinata. Very well then. Growling Tim lunges.

Tony, though years of recreational drug use is the first to understand what is going on, "You agent whatsyourface, get candy, a lot of it. Stat. Tim, Tim FURY IS NOT A PINATA!" He screams, "I swear you will get no candy if you keep hitting him, all that going to come out is blood… and intestines."

Tim's head snaps up ands his eyes narrow, "If you're lying Tony…"'The threat goes unsaid.

"No, no." Tony raises his arms in surrender, "A nice man will come soon, to give you your candy. Why do you have a Doomcopter?"'

Tim blinks, "He kidnapped me. I tore down his castle to return the favor, now were's my sugary goodness. I want it. Now."

Thor laughs, "I did not know you had such a penchant for sweets little being."

Tim turns to look at Thor, his eyes glazed, "Hello blonde mountain. I'm going to climb you now." He then proceeds to do just that, using Mjolnir as foot hold, sitting one of the gods shoulders as he surveys the surrounding area from his perch.

Clints mind breaks, "What the fuck." he breathes.

Agent whatshisface comes back with candy.

Other Earth: Hawkeye

This Earth isn't bad. Tim can admit that. It's fun and special, and the people are no less ridiculous than those of his planet, they're just not…his. And yes, if he had to, he could settle here. If he had to he could make this place his home, he could put down his roots and accept the loss. He doesn't want to, but he could.

But it doesn't matter either way. His wants to do not account for possibilities.


Hawkeye, is, beyond everything else, so much fun to bother. Twirling in his chair, Tim grins, "You know Clint, when you think about it, we're very similar people." He makes sure his voice comes out sincere. Hawkeye reminds him of Roy, back when he was happy, back when Lian was there.

"No." Clint insists. He does not want to be dragged into this. Too bad.

"We both have bird aliases, we can both use bows, we both like heights." Tim continues.

"Wait, you can use a bow?" Clint interrupts, "No, actually, never mind. No, my answer is no."

Tim's eyes widen, "I haven't asked you anything Clinton. I've only made statements."

The archer pushed his chair away, the wheels squeaking on the linoleum floor, "Yeah, well, you didn't have to. I do not want your crazy so whatever you're selling, keep it away from me."

"My dear archer, if I wanted something from you I'd take it." So Tim's being a bit, mean, a bit like Ra's. It's not like they know he's not usually like this. It's not like he can't get away with it. It feels bittersweet.

Clint scoots further away, gazing at the other with great suspicion. Tim thinks Lian would have liked him.

Tony, Tony is..maybe like Dick but not really. He's Dick and Babs and Superboy. He's also Tim, but Tim doesn't like to think about that. He doesn't like to compare and contrast the scars, the breaks where people have, or could have hurt them, could hurt Tony. Did hurt Tony. He doesn't like to tally up nights spent drunk against nights spent working himself to the bone. He already knows the answer. He knows that he doesn't want to know.

"Tim, Timmy, you have got to come down to the lab. We have liquid nitrogen." Tony insists, the glee of a small child, shining brightly in his eyes.

Kon loved ice cream.

"We always have liquid nitrogen." Tim comments wisely.

The younger Super would always fly out to the store to buy some, even in winter, even when it was freezing which didn't matter to the meta. He used to be so happy over such a small thing, he said that you couldn't get good ice cream in Hawaii which is why he always had to come to Gotham to buy some but Tim knew better. The stores in his city couldn't be trusted.

Kon came for Tim.

Tony pouts. A fully grown man should not look so much like a puppy dog. Tim sighs, "Fine, lets go dip random things into the highly dangerous substance." It sounds so safe when he puts it like that.

"We have equipment."Tony counters and to be fair, they do. Too bad both of them know they're not going to actually use it.


Captain America, Steve is Clark. He's all yes ma'am and golly and sometimes Tim hates him for it. Steve is breakable, human, and Superman wasn't.

Clark was so much more dangerous, so much harder to kill, bullets sliding off him, his hands keeping entire ships afloat, entire buildings but the good old boy attitude sinks into whatever they do. They mean the best, always, but Steve is a soldier and Clark…isn't.

Clark is the boy next door who can lift a tractor with one hand. He's never known what it's like to be the little guy, to be smaller or weaker than anyone else and for all his cowering at the Daily plant he's a good man. They both are.

Tim doesn't trust good men.

"Good morning." Steve nods to him. Tim nods back.

Bad men are easier.

Loki is Jason. He is Jason's anger and rage. He is the knife that cut a scar into Tim's neck so deep he almost died. He is Damian's pride. He is not the first son.

Tim wants to know what would have happened had there have been more Odinsons, more children in that family. Would things have been any different?

In Loki he sees Damian's tantrums, his crying, his pleading for someone, anyone to just love him, and Jason's desperate search for a purpose and if Tim could he would give it them, find for them want they wanted.

If only they'd take it.

He knows they won't. He knows they hated him, and he misses them still.

"Did you have siblings?" Loki asks one night and Tim nods, "Three. All of us adopted."

The god of lies, cocks his head, "Did you love them?"

"Yes." Dick, and Jason and Damian. All three of them. Yes. This is the truth.

"Did they love you?"Tim licks his lips.

"One of them thought he did." What reason is there to lie to the god of lies? No one would believe him anyway.

Bruce wasn't anyone in particular, but he was Bruce and the name was a punch to the gut every time he heard it, every time someone said the name and they weren't in his line of sight he wanted to turn around and look, to check if his Bruce was there instead of Banner but no Wayne's ever popped up and Tim never turned his head.

Bruce wasn't a terribly common name. Tim consoled himself with that knowledge.

Natasha was Diana, and Babs and Shiva but not exactly, She was red and her hands, her insides matched. He liked her, but he never trusted her, never could. He knew people like her, people who killed and hid and lied. He knew how easily she could attack them all regardless of personal attachment.

He knows that she could try.

In her he sees the woman who taught him to do the same. Snakes know better than to trust others of their kind not to bite. It was their nature and no spiders nor birds could hide scales like theirs.

Thor was Robin, Robin the first. He was Dick, sweet forgiving Dick who was so mindlessly cruel. It would almost be funny if it wasn't horrible.

If it didn't leave a mess in Tim's mind, in his life.

If he didn't have to pick up the pieces after such well meant cruelty.

Thor was Robin. Sweet, lovable Robin. So brave. So strong.

So needlessly sadistic.

Sometimes Tim wanted to go home.