It's High School All Over Again, Ch. 1
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake
Genre: Crack, humor, some mini-angst.
Warnings: Language.
A/N: Two former Robins get zapped back to high school due to inter-dimensional shenanigans. Back in their sixteen year old bodies, they face two challenges, a) getting along and b) survive high school or die trying.
It occurred to me that none of the Robins ever went through a normal high school experience, because they were either very busy, or dead, or Damian. So I came up with a scenario, and yes, there'll probably be several parts of this. But it's an experiment, so don't expect too much. XD
Written for 120_minuten.
School bells.
He could hear school bells in the distance.
Jason Todd stirred, moaning. "Nooo," he pleaded, like he'd used to when Alfred came into his room to wake him after a long night of somersaulting into people's faces. "'nother five minutes. Please…"
He felt around for a pillow to plop over his head; those bells weren't quitting. They didn't sound that distant anymore, really, either; more like … uncomfortably close.
There was no pillow.
Somehow, he smelled fresh grass.
It had to be one of those dreams. He'd had them ever since he'd been a miserable teen. In them, he'd get up and go to school, but he'd find his classroom covered in blood and his classmates in a pile, all murdered because he hadn't been there in time. They'd have no faces, because he always had a hard time remembering their faces … the only features they'd have were those cold, dead, accusing eyes staring at him. And then, he'd hear that maniacal laugh, and then … and then … that voice would say …
"Hey, dork. You're not 'sposed to do that. Get moving!"
Hey dork?
"Whu - "
Jason shot up, and the bright morning sun almost blinded him when he opened his eyes. A leaf was stuck to his cheek. He was spread out underneath a tree, which explained the smell of grass, on what seemed to be a school yard, which explained the bells. But how …
He looked around. Huh. How did he end up here…?
Oh well. It happened.
He yawned. For whatever reason, he felt extremely well-rested, like he'd slept for years. That was weird, but it wasn't as if he couldn't use it -
"Hey, are you deaf? I said move it. You're not allowed on the green!"
Jason looked up. He was being glared at by a tall, quarterback-looking type in a varsity jacket who looked about sixteen. That made him chuckle. Cute. The kid was feeling territorial about his school, so much so that was he was willing to take on a dude twice his size. How sweet. Jason himself had never known that school spirit, and this boy was exactly the kind of jock whose ass he'd always yearned to kick back then, only he couldn't because nobody could know that the orphaned little rich boy was actually the Boy Wonder. In hindsight, it all seemed ridiculous.
"Not allowed?" He echoed lazily, shielding his eyes from the sun. "That's too bad. This is a great spot."
The boy put his hands to his hips in a way he probably imagined was commanding respect. "Yeah. You heard me, son," he grunted. "I'm school grounds marshal, and you're going to listen to me!"
Son? Come on, now.
Smirking, Jason got to his feet. He had no intention to actually start something with this … child. The kid probably thought Jason was a hobo or a perv of some kind, which he couldn't be blamed for, and apart from that, he really was eager to get home and hit the shower.
He winked at him. "School grounds marshal? Is that like, a real thing these days, or is that something you made up and wrote in your scrapbook because you thought it sounded cool - "
The words died on his lips when he realized that he was standing, and the kid was still taller than him.
That couldn't … that wasn't right.
Jason looked down at himself, and felt slow, mounting terror creep into his heart. He forgot all about the scowling quarterback. His hands started shaking. His hands … were so much smaller than they were supposed to be. He stared at his skinny-ish legs in a pair of blue jeans, his narrow hips, his scrawny-ish arms in a red shirt and worn-out leather jacket.
It was devastating.
His fingers shot up to his head and he realized that he was wearing his black hair in a sleek, slicked-back 'do that he hadn't sported since he'd been Robin, and couldn't figure out if he'd rather wanted to emulate Bruce or Dick.
He was … he was that miserable teenager again.
And the bully was right. He looked like a total fucking 80's dork.
This had to be a nightmare. Had to be. Had to be.
The quarterback flinched in surprise as Jason stumbled towards him, wild-eyed and looking like a madman … madboy?
"Punch me," he hissed.
"Wait what?" The kid took a step back, looking full-on disturbed now. "What are you, some weirdo?"
"Punch me!" Jason insisted, desperately. He had to snap out of this somehow, and a punch was as good a way as anything. "Are you deaf, Biff Tannen?! It's not that hard! I'm giving you a freebie. Here. Punch me, right fucking now -"
"There you are!"
Jason turned around, and felt his jaw dislocate from the rest of his face, that's how hard it dropped to the floor.
Granted, he was used to the sight of Tim Drake coming at him at top speed. But not usually with a terrifying rigor mortis smile on his face. And addressing him like he was a puppy that got away.
And he was …
Oh hell, no.
Whatever it was, it had gotten to him, too. Tim Drake was sixteen again. He was even tinier and scrawnier than Jason was, looking like a nerdy 90's kid with his spiky hair and sneakers and his Green Day T-Shirt. He even had a pack of books flung over his shoulder like the obnoxious cover-child on a "Learning Is Fun!" brochure. It was mind-boggling and all kinds of wrong.
And somehow, that frozen smile was still the freakiest part.
"Hi!" He greeted them through his teeth, and then proceeded to fling his arm around Jason's shoulders. Jason flinched. The touch was unwelcome, but it was the one thing that he'd needed to confirm that this was, indeed, not a dream.
Well fuck.
Next to him, the pretender started babbling. "Hi. Hello. I'm Tim. This is my brother, Jason. We're new."
Holy crap, his voice was so high. It would've been hilarious if all of this had been any less horrifying.
"Um. Whatever." That seemed to appease the school grounds marshal a little, even though Jason could tell that he was profoundly weirded out by the both of them. As he should be.
He didn't offer his name in return. Instead, he pointed his finger at Jason. "He used the F-word."
Jason rolled his eyes. Tattle tale.
"We don't use that 'round here," the boy droned.
"Yeah well," Jason shot back, "FYI, you're also not supposed to use 'deaf' as an insult, so."
The quarterback glared at him. "You did that, too!"
"Apologies for my brother," Tim said hastily. He was still grinning like a maniac. "We transferred from an inner-city school."
His arm around Jason's shoulder might have looked friendly from the outside, but it was slowly taking on a vice-like quality. Jason could've flung the entirety of Tim Drake across the yard without trouble of course, but it was probably advisable not to hold the bully's attention any longer.
He had to talk to Tim alone, soon. And then they had to find the person responsible, and then kill that person.
"Uh. Yeah," he mumbled. "It's pretty rough where we're from. I was just … "
He looked at the quarterback dude, and then at Tim Drake, who seemed all kinds of on edge underneath that smile, and he knew what he was expected to do.
"I…I'm sorry I said that," he grumbled. "And I'm sorry I sat under your dumb … under your tree."
"Good." The boy seemed content with that. And also eager to get away from them. "Don't let me see you doing that again. I got my eye on you, punk."
"Douche," Jason muttered under his breath as he walked away.
They turned on each other as soon as he was out of sight.
"Okay, what happe - " They both started simultaneously. And then, they both went pale.
"You don't know?"
"You don't know?"
"Fuck!"
"Dammit!"
Tim Drake ran his hand through his hair, then looked at it in disgust as if he hadn't expected all that gel. "Okay," he muttered, like someone talking themselves down from a panic attack. "Okay. I remember waking up on a pile of books in a study room. I went outside to see what was up, and I was … in this place, and then I caught a glimpse of myself in a glass door and I - "
He grabbed Jason's arm again, looking at him as if seeking comfort. In which case he was barking up the wrong tree, really. "Jason, I don't know what I did last night," he whispered. "That never happens to me. Never."
"Me neither," Jason admitted. Everything up to awakening underneath that tree was a fuzzy blur.
Tim looked him up and down. "And … how are we the same age? It makes no sense!"
"Oh, right, that makes no sense," Jason replied sarcastically. He brushed off Tim's arm and finally plucked that leaf from his cheek, frowning. "We weren't … together last night, were we? I mean, in the same spot?"
"No!" Tim protested, as if being in the same place as Jason would have been some sort of terrible misconduct on his part. "Why would we?"
"I don't know, Drake, geez. Calm down."
Jason narrowed his eyes and looked across the yard at the school building. It was a shoddy looking place; not terrible, not the kind of place you usually only got to see whenever Bruce Wayne was making rounds inspiring disadvantaged children or whatever. But humble, very humble and in need of some repairs, probably. It was eerily quiet, but that was most likely just because everyone had gone to class. He could see a math lecture being taught through one of the windows. There was a normal-looking teacher, talking to normal-looking kids. It all looked so very normal, and yet everything about this was wrong.
That was when he caught a glimpse of the sign over the main door.
"Limbo High?" He muttered. "What the hell kind of name is that? Aren't schools named after people? Who's Limbo?"
Tim waved his hand dismissively. "It's supposedly because it's the traditional school dance or something, and they're very good at it," he said distractedly, as if he was just resigning himself to the fact that all of this was crazy, "There's a display in the main hall and a trophy case and everything. I saw it."
"That's ridiculous. Competitive limbo dancing is not a thing."
Tim looked at him with mad, fevered eyes. "Really, Jason? That's the thing you decide to get hung up on?"
Jason gritted his teeth and said nothing. Limbo. As in underworld. As in, the place where restless souls went when they had nowhere else to go.
"It's not just a dance. It has another meaning, you know," he pointed out.
Tim rolled his eyes at him, but his voice was tense. "I know." But then he bit his lip, turned to Jason, and abruptly said: "I'm glad you're here."
It sounded harsh, almost rude somehow. Jason cringed. He could tell how awkward it was for Tim to say that; probably as awkward as it was for him to hear it.
Tim looked embarrassed. "When I woke up here, I thought I was the only one," he explained. "And it made me feel …"
Lost. Alone. Scared.
Jason knew. And he also knew what a bitch it was to admit that out loud. Especially if you were … them. He was also reminded that Tim Drake was younger than him, even though they were the same age now, somehow.
He cleared his throat. "'s always good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, right?" He said briskly, saving Tim - and himself - further awkwardness. He snickered. "And come to think of it, it's kinda funny."
The other boy frowned. "No it's not," he insisted.
"Is too," Jason said, as if they really were bickering siblings. "Look at you. Look at your hair."
"Look at your hair, Fonzie!" Tim shot back, but there was a miniature smile twitching around the fringes of his mouth.
"Let's agree that we both look fucking stupid."
"Fine. Your voice sounds odd like that," Tim told him dryly.
Jason, who hadn't paid attention to that till now, let out a groan. "Mine too, eh."
"Yes."
"Damn."
He'd forgotten how much it had sucked to be a teen.
He hadn't been called 'punk' in so long.
"Anyway," Tim said, "I was going to head over to the registration office, to see if we're on … some kind of list." He sounded collected, but you could tell that he was dreading the outcome one way or the other. "You want to come?" He sounded almost shy when he asked Jason that.
Jason huffed. "Like I have anything better to do," he muttered, unwilling to admit that it was a good idea.
Tim nodded. Then he took a deep breath, and asked: "Jason, do you think we're dead? Honest answer."
It was like taking a hot needle to a raw, twitching nerve. Jason's eyes narrowed. "And how d'you suppose I would know that," he growled dangerously.
"I don't. Seriously. Honestly." Tim didn't look the least bit intimidated. He shrugged. "But it's something I'm wondering. Like you said, you're the only one I can bounce this stuff off of right now."
That was disarmingly sincere. And practical. Damn him.
Jason debated whether to tell him, or whether to throw caution out the window like he would a child molester, and slap him around for even bringing it up, school ground marshals be damned.
But he decided against it. Tim was right. They did have more pressing problems.
"No, we're not," he told him. "Death is - " He hesitated. "There's no high school in death," he then went on, irritated. It felt nuts to even have to explain it. "Or green grass, or trees, or even obnoxious little twits you don't really wanna talk to. There's … nothing. That's what it is. A whole big slab of nothing."
He let out a sharp breath, and looked at Tim. Well. At least he'd gotten him to look uncomfortable now.
"Oh," was all that Tim had to say to that. "That's what I thought. One thing we can rule out, then. Good."
"Yeah. Ain't it great."
"I appreciate the honest input."
"Drop it." Jason avoided his gaze, and shot Limbo High a grimly determined look. "Now, d'you want to find out what's really going on?"
From the corner of his eye, he could see half a smile on Tim Drake's face. "I would like nothing more. Let's go."
Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake
Genre: Crack, humor, some mini-angst.
Warnings: Language.
A/N: Two former Robins get zapped back to high school due to inter-dimensional shenanigans. Back in their sixteen year old bodies, they face two challenges, a) getting along and b) survive high school or die trying.
It occurred to me that none of the Robins ever went through a normal high school experience, because they were either very busy, or dead, or Damian. So I came up with a scenario, and yes, there'll probably be several parts of this. But it's an experiment, so don't expect too much. XD
Written for 120_minuten.
School bells.
He could hear school bells in the distance.
Jason Todd stirred, moaning. "Nooo," he pleaded, like he'd used to when Alfred came into his room to wake him after a long night of somersaulting into people's faces. "'nother five minutes. Please…"
He felt around for a pillow to plop over his head; those bells weren't quitting. They didn't sound that distant anymore, really, either; more like … uncomfortably close.
There was no pillow.
Somehow, he smelled fresh grass.
It had to be one of those dreams. He'd had them ever since he'd been a miserable teen. In them, he'd get up and go to school, but he'd find his classroom covered in blood and his classmates in a pile, all murdered because he hadn't been there in time. They'd have no faces, because he always had a hard time remembering their faces … the only features they'd have were those cold, dead, accusing eyes staring at him. And then, he'd hear that maniacal laugh, and then … and then … that voice would say …
"Hey, dork. You're not 'sposed to do that. Get moving!"
Hey dork?
"Whu - "
Jason shot up, and the bright morning sun almost blinded him when he opened his eyes. A leaf was stuck to his cheek. He was spread out underneath a tree, which explained the smell of grass, on what seemed to be a school yard, which explained the bells. But how …
He looked around. Huh. How did he end up here…?
Oh well. It happened.
He yawned. For whatever reason, he felt extremely well-rested, like he'd slept for years. That was weird, but it wasn't as if he couldn't use it -
"Hey, are you deaf? I said move it. You're not allowed on the green!"
Jason looked up. He was being glared at by a tall, quarterback-looking type in a varsity jacket who looked about sixteen. That made him chuckle. Cute. The kid was feeling territorial about his school, so much so that was he was willing to take on a dude twice his size. How sweet. Jason himself had never known that school spirit, and this boy was exactly the kind of jock whose ass he'd always yearned to kick back then, only he couldn't because nobody could know that the orphaned little rich boy was actually the Boy Wonder. In hindsight, it all seemed ridiculous.
"Not allowed?" He echoed lazily, shielding his eyes from the sun. "That's too bad. This is a great spot."
The boy put his hands to his hips in a way he probably imagined was commanding respect. "Yeah. You heard me, son," he grunted. "I'm school grounds marshal, and you're going to listen to me!"
Son? Come on, now.
Smirking, Jason got to his feet. He had no intention to actually start something with this … child. The kid probably thought Jason was a hobo or a perv of some kind, which he couldn't be blamed for, and apart from that, he really was eager to get home and hit the shower.
He winked at him. "School grounds marshal? Is that like, a real thing these days, or is that something you made up and wrote in your scrapbook because you thought it sounded cool - "
The words died on his lips when he realized that he was standing, and the kid was still taller than him.
That couldn't … that wasn't right.
Jason looked down at himself, and felt slow, mounting terror creep into his heart. He forgot all about the scowling quarterback. His hands started shaking. His hands … were so much smaller than they were supposed to be. He stared at his skinny-ish legs in a pair of blue jeans, his narrow hips, his scrawny-ish arms in a red shirt and worn-out leather jacket.
It was devastating.
His fingers shot up to his head and he realized that he was wearing his black hair in a sleek, slicked-back 'do that he hadn't sported since he'd been Robin, and couldn't figure out if he'd rather wanted to emulate Bruce or Dick.
He was … he was that miserable teenager again.
And the bully was right. He looked like a total fucking 80's dork.
This had to be a nightmare. Had to be. Had to be.
The quarterback flinched in surprise as Jason stumbled towards him, wild-eyed and looking like a madman … madboy?
"Punch me," he hissed.
"Wait what?" The kid took a step back, looking full-on disturbed now. "What are you, some weirdo?"
"Punch me!" Jason insisted, desperately. He had to snap out of this somehow, and a punch was as good a way as anything. "Are you deaf, Biff Tannen?! It's not that hard! I'm giving you a freebie. Here. Punch me, right fucking now -"
"There you are!"
Jason turned around, and felt his jaw dislocate from the rest of his face, that's how hard it dropped to the floor.
Granted, he was used to the sight of Tim Drake coming at him at top speed. But not usually with a terrifying rigor mortis smile on his face. And addressing him like he was a puppy that got away.
And he was …
Oh hell, no.
Whatever it was, it had gotten to him, too. Tim Drake was sixteen again. He was even tinier and scrawnier than Jason was, looking like a nerdy 90's kid with his spiky hair and sneakers and his Green Day T-Shirt. He even had a pack of books flung over his shoulder like the obnoxious cover-child on a "Learning Is Fun!" brochure. It was mind-boggling and all kinds of wrong.
And somehow, that frozen smile was still the freakiest part.
"Hi!" He greeted them through his teeth, and then proceeded to fling his arm around Jason's shoulders. Jason flinched. The touch was unwelcome, but it was the one thing that he'd needed to confirm that this was, indeed, not a dream.
Well fuck.
Next to him, the pretender started babbling. "Hi. Hello. I'm Tim. This is my brother, Jason. We're new."
Holy crap, his voice was so high. It would've been hilarious if all of this had been any less horrifying.
"Um. Whatever." That seemed to appease the school grounds marshal a little, even though Jason could tell that he was profoundly weirded out by the both of them. As he should be.
He didn't offer his name in return. Instead, he pointed his finger at Jason. "He used the F-word."
Jason rolled his eyes. Tattle tale.
"We don't use that 'round here," the boy droned.
"Yeah well," Jason shot back, "FYI, you're also not supposed to use 'deaf' as an insult, so."
The quarterback glared at him. "You did that, too!"
"Apologies for my brother," Tim said hastily. He was still grinning like a maniac. "We transferred from an inner-city school."
His arm around Jason's shoulder might have looked friendly from the outside, but it was slowly taking on a vice-like quality. Jason could've flung the entirety of Tim Drake across the yard without trouble of course, but it was probably advisable not to hold the bully's attention any longer.
He had to talk to Tim alone, soon. And then they had to find the person responsible, and then kill that person.
"Uh. Yeah," he mumbled. "It's pretty rough where we're from. I was just … "
He looked at the quarterback dude, and then at Tim Drake, who seemed all kinds of on edge underneath that smile, and he knew what he was expected to do.
"I…I'm sorry I said that," he grumbled. "And I'm sorry I sat under your dumb … under your tree."
"Good." The boy seemed content with that. And also eager to get away from them. "Don't let me see you doing that again. I got my eye on you, punk."
"Douche," Jason muttered under his breath as he walked away.
They turned on each other as soon as he was out of sight.
"Okay, what happe - " They both started simultaneously. And then, they both went pale.
"You don't know?"
"You don't know?"
"Fuck!"
"Dammit!"
Tim Drake ran his hand through his hair, then looked at it in disgust as if he hadn't expected all that gel. "Okay," he muttered, like someone talking themselves down from a panic attack. "Okay. I remember waking up on a pile of books in a study room. I went outside to see what was up, and I was … in this place, and then I caught a glimpse of myself in a glass door and I - "
He grabbed Jason's arm again, looking at him as if seeking comfort. In which case he was barking up the wrong tree, really. "Jason, I don't know what I did last night," he whispered. "That never happens to me. Never."
"Me neither," Jason admitted. Everything up to awakening underneath that tree was a fuzzy blur.
Tim looked him up and down. "And … how are we the same age? It makes no sense!"
"Oh, right, that makes no sense," Jason replied sarcastically. He brushed off Tim's arm and finally plucked that leaf from his cheek, frowning. "We weren't … together last night, were we? I mean, in the same spot?"
"No!" Tim protested, as if being in the same place as Jason would have been some sort of terrible misconduct on his part. "Why would we?"
"I don't know, Drake, geez. Calm down."
Jason narrowed his eyes and looked across the yard at the school building. It was a shoddy looking place; not terrible, not the kind of place you usually only got to see whenever Bruce Wayne was making rounds inspiring disadvantaged children or whatever. But humble, very humble and in need of some repairs, probably. It was eerily quiet, but that was most likely just because everyone had gone to class. He could see a math lecture being taught through one of the windows. There was a normal-looking teacher, talking to normal-looking kids. It all looked so very normal, and yet everything about this was wrong.
That was when he caught a glimpse of the sign over the main door.
"Limbo High?" He muttered. "What the hell kind of name is that? Aren't schools named after people? Who's Limbo?"
Tim waved his hand dismissively. "It's supposedly because it's the traditional school dance or something, and they're very good at it," he said distractedly, as if he was just resigning himself to the fact that all of this was crazy, "There's a display in the main hall and a trophy case and everything. I saw it."
"That's ridiculous. Competitive limbo dancing is not a thing."
Tim looked at him with mad, fevered eyes. "Really, Jason? That's the thing you decide to get hung up on?"
Jason gritted his teeth and said nothing. Limbo. As in underworld. As in, the place where restless souls went when they had nowhere else to go.
"It's not just a dance. It has another meaning, you know," he pointed out.
Tim rolled his eyes at him, but his voice was tense. "I know." But then he bit his lip, turned to Jason, and abruptly said: "I'm glad you're here."
It sounded harsh, almost rude somehow. Jason cringed. He could tell how awkward it was for Tim to say that; probably as awkward as it was for him to hear it.
Tim looked embarrassed. "When I woke up here, I thought I was the only one," he explained. "And it made me feel …"
Lost. Alone. Scared.
Jason knew. And he also knew what a bitch it was to admit that out loud. Especially if you were … them. He was also reminded that Tim Drake was younger than him, even though they were the same age now, somehow.
He cleared his throat. "'s always good to have someone to bounce ideas off of, right?" He said briskly, saving Tim - and himself - further awkwardness. He snickered. "And come to think of it, it's kinda funny."
The other boy frowned. "No it's not," he insisted.
"Is too," Jason said, as if they really were bickering siblings. "Look at you. Look at your hair."
"Look at your hair, Fonzie!" Tim shot back, but there was a miniature smile twitching around the fringes of his mouth.
"Let's agree that we both look fucking stupid."
"Fine. Your voice sounds odd like that," Tim told him dryly.
Jason, who hadn't paid attention to that till now, let out a groan. "Mine too, eh."
"Yes."
"Damn."
He'd forgotten how much it had sucked to be a teen.
He hadn't been called 'punk' in so long.
"Anyway," Tim said, "I was going to head over to the registration office, to see if we're on … some kind of list." He sounded collected, but you could tell that he was dreading the outcome one way or the other. "You want to come?" He sounded almost shy when he asked Jason that.
Jason huffed. "Like I have anything better to do," he muttered, unwilling to admit that it was a good idea.
Tim nodded. Then he took a deep breath, and asked: "Jason, do you think we're dead? Honest answer."
It was like taking a hot needle to a raw, twitching nerve. Jason's eyes narrowed. "And how d'you suppose I would know that," he growled dangerously.
"I don't. Seriously. Honestly." Tim didn't look the least bit intimidated. He shrugged. "But it's something I'm wondering. Like you said, you're the only one I can bounce this stuff off of right now."
That was disarmingly sincere. And practical. Damn him.
Jason debated whether to tell him, or whether to throw caution out the window like he would a child molester, and slap him around for even bringing it up, school ground marshals be damned.
But he decided against it. Tim was right. They did have more pressing problems.
"No, we're not," he told him. "Death is - " He hesitated. "There's no high school in death," he then went on, irritated. It felt nuts to even have to explain it. "Or green grass, or trees, or even obnoxious little twits you don't really wanna talk to. There's … nothing. That's what it is. A whole big slab of nothing."
He let out a sharp breath, and looked at Tim. Well. At least he'd gotten him to look uncomfortable now.
"Oh," was all that Tim had to say to that. "That's what I thought. One thing we can rule out, then. Good."
"Yeah. Ain't it great."
"I appreciate the honest input."
"Drop it." Jason avoided his gaze, and shot Limbo High a grimly determined look. "Now, d'you want to find out what's really going on?"
From the corner of his eye, he could see half a smile on Tim Drake's face. "I would like nothing more. Let's go."