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Danny was just out for a grilled cheese. That was it. He didn’t even know why he wanted one so bad—just that it was imperative that he got one. Maybe some ghost sense bullshit. Maybe Clockwork put the craving in his brain for some dumb reason. Who knows?
Danny just wanted a grilled cheese.
Point is, he was not expecting to get jumped in a Gotham alleyway by a clown.
Danny does not like clowns. In fact, he hates clowns. He has trauma involving clowns.
And before he even knew what he was doing—before he could think—his fist was buried in the bastard’s face.
Crunch.
Danny, on pure instinct, punched the absolute life out of him.
Literally.
The man's head snapped back with an ugly crack, body dropping like a sack of rotten potatoes. Danny blinked, looked at his hand, looked at the corpse, and then looked back at his hands.
“...Shit.”
Danny panicked a little. Then panicked a lot.
Because that wasn’t just any dead clown.
That was the Joker.
Danny stared at the body.
“Oh, fuck.”
He crouched down. Shook the guy’s shoulder. Nothing. No breathing. No heartbeat. No annoying, awful laughter.
Danny stared harder.
“Oh, fuck.”
A wave of cold terror crashed over him.
Because holy shit he just killed a man. And not just any man—this was The Joker.
Of all the people to kill by accident, it just had to be BDSM Leather Furry’s personal nemesis!
Danny did not want to be on Batman’s radar. He had zero desire to deal with Gotham’s unhinged bat-themed trauma victims. He was already one bad day away from a breakdown himself, he did not need to get roped into whatever psychological horror show they had going on.
He took a slow, calming breath.
Okay. Okay, think. If he left right now, maybe Batman wouldn’t notice—
And as if the universe hated him (it did), another figure dropped from the shadows, boots hitting the concrete.
Red. Helmet. Guns. A fucking bat symbol.
Red Hood.
Danny felt his core scream. He was so, so fucked.
Jason stared.
Then he stared some more.
The Joker was on the ground. Not moving. Head at an unnatural angle. Blood pooling beneath his nose.
Jason turned his gaze to the guy standing over him.
A civilian. Some scrawny, tired-looking dude in pajama pants and a hoodie, gripping a half-melted grilled cheese in one hand like it was the most important thing in the world.
The guy was shaking. Staring at the body with wide blue eyes like he couldn’t believe it either.
Jason swallowed. His hands trembled. His chest felt tight.
Joker was dead.
Joker was dead.
And this absolute rando had done it. Just some guy. Some guy out for a grilled cheese at two in the morning had done what Batman never could. What he had never been allowed to do.
Jason felt something in his chest break.
He took a step forward.
The guy flinched.
Jason didn't care. He needed to confirm it. He knelt. Pressed two fingers to Joker’s neck. Nothing. He was gone. He was finally—
His vision blurred green.
He stood, turned to the stranger, and asked, "Can I kiss you?"
The guy blinked. "What?"
"Can I kiss you?"
The guy looked at him like Jason had just asked for his soul. And then, with the same energy as a man throwing himself off a cliff, he whispered, "...sure?"
Helmet off. Hands on his face. Lips crashing against his.
The guy made a noise of surprise but didn’t push him away. Didn’t resist. Just melted into it, letting Jason take.
Jason had never kissed someone so hard he felt like he could die.
When he finally pulled back, he let his forehead rest against the guy’s shoulder. He exhaled. A choked, shuddering thing.
Joker was dead.
Joker was finally dead.
Jason’s chest hurt. More than anything, it hurt. Because Joker was gone. The thing that had haunted his nightmares, that had made him a corpse, that had ruined him—was gone.
Jason took a slow, shaky breath. He felt… weird. Off-kilter. Like his entire world had just been flipped upside down and shaken like a snow globe.
Joker was dead. Joker was dead. And this tired, scrawny, pajama-wearing menace had done it. Had done what Jason had dreamed of for years. Had ended the nightmare with a single, casual, accidental punch.
Something deep in Jason’s chest cracked open.
And before he could stop himself, before he could even think, he latched onto Danny like a goddamn lifeline.
Danny made a startled noise as Jason all but collapsed against him, arms wrapping tight around his back, face burying itself in his hoodie. He was solid. Warm. Real.
Jason felt his breath hitch.
Danny went rigid. “Uh—dude? What—”
Jason just held on.
Because the Joker was gone. The thing that had stolen his life, that had ruined everything—was gone.
And Jason? Jason was still here.
He clenched his fists into Danny’s hoodie, breath shuddering out of him. He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Probably both. Definitely both.
Jason sucked in a breath. And another. And then, all at once—he broke.
Tears burned down his cheeks, soaking into the stranger’s hoodie. He choked on a sob, gripping fabric like a lifeline.
For his mom. For Bruce. For Tim.
For Robin.
He cried like a child.
And, to his utter disbelief, the guy—who had been stiff and panicked since this whole thing started—lifted a shaking hand and then—carefully, like he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do—he sighed and patted his head.
And oh so softly started combing through Jason’s hair. Careful. Gentle. Slow.
Jason sobbed harder.
And Danny—still very much panicking, still not sure what the fuck was going on—
He stared down at the guy in his arms, who was still crying. Like, ugly crying. Like the oh god he has so much trauma and he’s finally letting it out, someone help me kind of crying.
Danny was not equipped for this.
He was barely equipped to deal with his own trauma, let alone whatever this dude had going on. But. Well.
The least he could do was, like. Let him cry it out?
Yeah. Yeah, that sounded like the right thing to do.
So he kept combing through the guy’s hair, trying his best to make the whole thing less awkward. Because really, what the fuck was happening? He currently has a full-grown man sobbing into his hoodie.
The smell of blood mixed with the faint scent of leather and gunpowder, and Danny was suddenly very aware of how armed Red Hood was. But despite that, the guy was just…breaking apart in his arms.
And what the hell was Danny supposed to do with that?
Danny did not know what to do with that.
Should he say something? Try to move? Crack a joke? No. No, that was a terrible idea. This guy was armed.
Danny swallowed. His throat was dry. Carefully—carefully—he patted Red Hood’s back with his other hand.
“There, uh. There, there?” Danny’s voice came out weak.
Another broken noise.
Danny winced. Abort. Abort. Bad idea.
But Hood didn’t seem to care. Didn’t even react beyond just gripping him harder, pressing harder against Danny’s shoulder, and letting out moe quiet, gut-wrenching sobs.
Oh god. Oh no. That had been the wrong thing to say.
Danny’s panic doubled.
Danny looked down at his half-melted grilled cheese that has follen to the floor.
Danny swallowed hard. His grilled cheese. His beautiful, perfect, hard-earned grilled cheese. Gone. Fallen to the dirty Gotham alleyway like some tragic war casualty.
He wanted to cry.
Red Hood was still clinging to him like a man drowning. Still shaking, still letting out these awful, choked sounds that made Danny want to apologize despite not knowing what for.
So, with the deeply ingrained awkwardness of a guy who did not sign up for this, Danny just…kept petting his hair.
It was soft. Way softer than he expected. Like, criminally soft. The guy used good conditioner.
Danny’s brain, desperate for any sort of normalcy, decided that was the thought it was gonna latch onto.
Cool. Sure. That’s fine.
Danny’s life was a goddamn joke.
Because really, what else could he call this?
And—oh yeah—Batman was totally gonna hunt him down now.
Awesome. Fantastic. Love that for him.
Danny stared at the bloodstained ground, inhaled through his nose, and slowly exhaled through his mouth, like Jazz always told him to. Except, you know, breathing exercises were kinda hard when a vigilante-slash-mass-murderer was currently clinging to him like a very large, very traumatized koala.
Jason shuddered against him, breath hitching as he tried—and failed—to get himself under control. Danny felt the dampness seeping into his hoodie and had to resist the urge to panic all over again. What was the proper etiquette for this situation? Was there etiquette for this situation?
Fuck it. He’d improvise.
Danny patted Red Hood’s back again. “Uh. You good, dude?”
He made another unholy noise.
Yeah, that was a no.
Danny took another deep breath. Right. Okay. So his grilled cheese was gone, and he was gonna have to flee the city by sunrise if he didn’t want to be Batswarmed.
This was fine.
This was fine.
…No, it absolutely was not.
But for now, he had a more immediate problem.
The guy had stopped crying, which was great! Progress! Except now he was just…standing there, arms still loosely wrapped around Danny, face buried in his shoulder like he had no intention of moving ever again.
Danny squinted down at him. “Uh. Dude?”
Jason didn’t respond.
Oh no.
Carefully, cautiously, Danny poked his cheek. “Hey. Hey, you still with me?”
A slow inhale. A shaky exhale. Then, finally, Jason lifted his head. His eyes were probably red and puffy, but his mask was convering that, probably.
“…You okay?” Danny tried.
Jason blinked at him, then looked down at the Joker’s corpse, like he’d forgotten it was even there. His lips parted, then shut. He inhaled. Exhaled. And then—
He turned back to Danny and nodded.
Danny narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”
Jason huffed out a breath, stepping back, and ran a hand through his stupidly soft hair. “Yeah.” His voice was rough, cracked from crying, but a lot steadier than Danny expected. “Yeah. I think I am.”
Danny did not believe that for a second.
But also, not his problem.
Jason sniffed, cleared his throat, and then, to Danny’s horror, turned and kicked Joker’s corpse.
“Motherfucker,” Jason muttered. “Goddamn piece of shit.” He kicked him again. Harder. Then again, with more force, sending the body rolling a few inches across the alley.
Danny’s soul nearly left his body. “Dude—!”
Jason ignored him, hands on his hips as he stared at the body like it personally owed him money. “I should burn him,” he said, almost conversationally.
Danny blinked. “I—uh. What?”
Jason hummed, like he was actually considering it. “You're right, you’re right. Fire’s too good for him, but, y’know. Finality. I like finality.” He turned his gaze back to Danny, a little too intense, like he was trying to read him. “Unless you wanna do something with him?”
Danny recoiled. “Why the fuck would I want to do something with him?!”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “I dunno. You killed him.”
Danny choked on air. “It was an accident!”
Jason gave him a look.
Danny threw his hands in the air. “I was just out for a grilled cheese, man!”
Jason nodded, solemn. “And just like that, you’ve committed the most morally correct homicide in Gotham history.”
Danny groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh my God, please shut up.”
Jason smirked. “No, really. You’ve done a public service. You might even get the key to the city. Assuming Batman doesn’t kill you first.”
Danny gagged. “I don’t want the key to Gotham!"
Jason hummed.
Jason watched as this absolute menace of a man mourned his fallen grilled cheese like it was a lost loved one.
Something in his chest ached.
Because this guy—this random civilian—had just waltzed into Gotham, accidentally committed the single greatest act of justice the city had ever seen, and was now glaring at the ground like he was the real victim here.
And Jason? Jason was so gone.
It wasn’t just the fact that Danny had punched Joker’s soul straight out of his body with the casual effort of a man swatting a fly. It wasn’t even that he did it on accident.
It was the fact that after all of that—after making history, after making Jason’s entire goddamn life—he was standing there, utterly devastated, over a fucking grilled cheese.
Jason had never wanted to love someone so much in his life.
…Wait.
He blinked. Processed that thought.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
Jason swallowed, shifting on his feet. Danny was still glaring at the ground like it had personally wronged him. His hair caught the dim glow of a flickering streetlight, and Jason’s brain short-circuited all over again.
This guy was a walking disaster.
Jason was in so much trouble.
Danny, meanwhile, was just trying to figure out how the hell his night had gone so spectacularly off the rails.
One minute, he was on a holy mission for grilled cheese. The next, he was being trauma-bonded into what was probably a very concerning situation with Gotham’s most murder-happy Bat.
And now said Bat was looking at him. Like. Looking at him.
Not like before, when he’d been crying, or having a full existential crisis over the Joker’s very deserved death. No, now Red Hood was looking at him like Danny had personally hung the stars, and Danny did not know how to deal with that.
Danny squinted at him. “Uh. You good, dude?”
Jason blinked, very slowly, like his brain had lagged. Then—way too smoothly, way too coolly—he said, “You wanna get married?”
Danny made a noise that could only be described as a Windows shutdown sound.
Red Hood, apparently, was completely serious. He nodded to himself, like he was coming to terms with his own words. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right. You wanna get married?”
Danny flailed. “No???”
He hummed. “You sure? Because I’m really feeling some, like, soulmate-level shit right now.”
Danny’s brain had officially left the chat. “We literally just met.”
Jason shrugged. “Yeah, and? You punched the life out the Joker. I feel like that bonds us in a way no one else will ever understand.”
Danny groaned. “Dude.”
Jason smirked. “Darling.”
Danny groaned harder. This could not be his life. This was not his life. He refused to accept that this was happening.
Danny squinted at Red Hood, absolutely not trusting the look on his face. "Dude, you kissed me like two minutes ago, and now you're proposing? What the hell kind of speedrun is this?"
Jason, completely unbothered, just shrugged. "You let me kiss you."
Danny opened his mouth, then shut it. "...I was in shock."
Jason smirked. "Still counts."
Danny groaned into his hands. He was too tired for this. He was so, so tired. He did not have the energy to deal with whatever Gotham’s most feral Bat was doing right now.
Jason, though? Jason was having the best night of his life.
Joker? Dead. Finally, completely, permanently dead. His biggest nightmare, his most hated enemy, the reason for his second-fucking-chance at life—gone.
And the guy who did it? Some exhausted guy who looked like he had never had a single good day in his life.
And Jason had kissed him.
And he had let him.
And now Jason was feeling some really, really intense feelings about it.
Danny let out a slow, shuddering breath.
This was fine.
This was totally fine.
…No, it wasn’t.
Red Hood was still staring at him. With that look. Like he was two seconds away from buying Danny a ring.
“I just wanted a grilled cheese,” he whispered.
Jason nodded, solemn. "And you will have your grilled cheese, babe. I will make you a grilled cheese."
Danny froze. "You cook?"
Jason tilted his head. "I can cook. Not sure if I want to after you just insulted our engagement."
Danny let out a slow, suffering breath. "We are not engaged."
Jason smiled. "Not yet."
Danny groaned. "I am so leaving Gotham."
Jason clapped a hand on his shoulder, grip firm. "No, you’re not."
Danny glared at him. Jason just grinned.