Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started with an explosion.

Not the good kind — the “ooh, fireworks!” kind. No. This was the “someone set the microwave to ‘nuclear’” kind of explosion.

A bright blue rift split the air in the Sanctum Sanctorum. Ancient tomes flew off shelves. Candles flickered and sputtered out. Tony Stark screamed, “MY EYEBROWS!” while trying to bat away magical sparks with an Iron Man gauntlet repurposed as a salad tong.

Doctor Stephen Strange stood in the middle, hands weaving frantic sigils. “THIS IS FINE,” he yelled, voice an octave too high to be believable.

Peter Parker, flailing in midair, shrieked, “I thought you said you had it under control!!”

“I DID!” Stephen snapped back, dodging a flying toaster.

But it was too late. The energy swirl contracted, expanded — and then BOOM.

The entire group vanished into the rift in a single, comedic “pop!” like a group of mismatched balloons.

They landed in a filthy alleyway.

Peter Parker — now sixteen again — sat up first, rubbing his head. “Ugh… my everything hurts.”

Natasha Romanoff, seventeen, looked around and scowled. “Great. Another universe. This better not be one of those where everyone is a cowboy.”

Sam Wilson (seventeen), halfway through unfurling tiny wings, gasped. “I swear these are even smaller than last time! Why am I de-aging every time we get teleported?!”

Matt Murdock, sixteen, tapped around and listened. “The city… it sounds… wrong. Darker. More crime. More sadness. More… pigeons.”

Clint Barton, seventeen, rolled over and groaned. “Ow. Did anyone get the number of that interdimensional bus that hit me?”

Loki (seventeen) laughed so hard he nearly choked. “I haven't had this much fun since I turned Thor into a frog!”

Thor (seventeen), sitting on a pile of trash bags, wiped goo from his hair. “I DO NOT WISH TO REPEAT THAT EXPERIENCE.”

Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner both looked eighteen-ish. Steve inspected his now-younger arms, frowning like he'd discovered a broken shield. Bruce pulled out his glasses and hyperventilated into his shirt.

Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, the only two still physically in their twenties besides from Bucky (because magic is cruel but also a little selective), looked around in horror.

Tony sighed. “If this is another dimension, I swear on Pepper’s herbal tea collection I’m leaving you all here.”

Stephen ignored him, running his hands across the ground. “This… this place is different. I can feel the ley lines. The energy… it’s corrupted, stitched together by grief and fear. We’re not just in another city. We’re in another universe.”

Everyone paused.

Peter’s voice cracked. “Like… different timeline… or different franchise-level different?”

Stephen looked up, grim. “Different franchise.”

The skyline around them was pure Gotham: gothic spires, gargoyles perched like nosy old women, neon signs flickering in alleys that reeked of crime. The moon hung huge and judging in the sky.

Peter turned to Tony. “What do we do? We don’t have IDs, we don’t have shelter, we don’t have… anything.”

Tony looked around, then sighed deeply. “Alright. Emergency Stark Plan #73: ‘We’re Totally Normal Exchange Students.’”

Peter sputtered. “That’s a plan?!”

Tony nodded solemnly. “We’ll create false IDs, find a house, claim you’re all my younger cousins. Except Bucky — he can be the weird older brother who lives in the shed.”

Bucky, lurking near the trash, gave a thumbs up without even looking.

Tony cracked open a hidden StarkPad (somehow, it survived the magic blast — probably because it’s been reinforced more than the Hulk’s pants).

Bruce hunched next to him, hacking municipal records like he was ordering pizza. “Okay, okay… forging school records… easy enough… Gotham Prep…”

Matt started hyperventilating. “Not high school again. Not again. I can hear the hormonal nightmares from here.”

Clint screamed from across the alley. “I FOUND A RAT! I NAMED HIM JERRY!”

Natasha threw a rock at him.

Peter, meanwhile, found a loose brick and began cleaning. “We need to disinfect everything before we do anything else. Gotham bacteria is probably extra unhinged.”

Thor poked an abandoned vending machine. “Does this realm have mead?”

Loki grinned. “If not, we shall make our own.”

By sheer hacking brilliance (and possibly mild extortion of a corrupt city official), Bruce and Tony secured an abandoned brownstone in a sketchy part of town.

The place looked haunted, smelled like wet socks and sadness, and had more leaks than an Avengers group chat.

Sam immediately flew up to fix roof tiles.

Natasha and Clint began booby-trapping windows “just in case.”

Thor declared the pantry his room again, bellowing “VICTORY!”

Peter swept, scrubbed, disinfected. His little teenage shoulders shook as he tried to wrestle a mop taller than him.

Loki claimed the attic, naturally. “I shall become the goblin of the upper realms.”

Steve solemnly folded sheets in a corner. “Clean quarters make for strong morals.”

Bruce muttered chemical equations while sterilizing every surface.

Tony collapsed on a broken chair. “I need five drinks and a therapist.”

By midnight, everyone had new fake IDs — courtesy of Stark genius and Bruce’s terrifying hacker brain.

They were all officially listed as Tony’s "many cousins" from “various European boarding schools.” Even Loki.

Peter: “How is Loki from Europe?”

Tony: “Everyone weird is from Europe.”

Loki: “Fair point.”

In the shadowy heights of Gotham, the Batfam moved like ghosts on rooftops.

Red Robin’s visor flickered as he scanned the city below. “Huh. Weird spike in tech signatures. I’ll check it out later.”

Nightwing flipped lazily, yawning. “Probably nothing. Another Joker gas leak, probably.”

Robin scowled from a gargoyle. “Tt. Pathetic. Whatever it is, I could take them all alone.”

Batman, in the dark behind them, said nothing — only watching.

They did not yet realize the chaotic multiverse frat house that had just landed in their city.

Chapter Text

At 6 a.m., Tony, now fully caffeinated and completely deranged, banged on a pot.

"UP! School time! You want to blend in? You go to high school!"

Clint fell out of his hammock in the living room.

Natasha threw a knife at Tony that embedded in the wall above his head.

Peter shrieked, wrapped in a blanket burrito.

Sam tried to jump out a window again, only to be yanked back by Bucky.

Matt groped for his sunglasses. “I hate everything.”

Loki was already dressed immaculately in his new Gotham Prep uniform, hair perfect, sipping tea from an antique mug. “Good morning, peasants.”

Gotham Prep was no stranger to weirdness. The Wayne kids, random billionaire donations, students showing up in mysterious bruises — it was all standard fare.

But even Gotham Prep wasn't ready for this.

It started at precisely 8:03 a.m.

A black luxury van screeched into the school parking lot, nearly mowing down the principal’s flower bed.

Out stepped Tony Stark — sunglasses on, designer suit impeccable, a reusable coffee mug in one hand, and a look of "I’ve already lived through four disasters today" on his face.

Right behind him floated Doctor Stephen Strange, hovering half an inch above the ground just to be dramatic. He clutched his Cloak of Levitation like it might run away if he didn't.

And then came the "kids."

Peter Parker (16) looked like he’d rather phase through the asphalt than be here.

Natasha (17) stalked forward like she was about to assassinate the principal.

Sam (17) tried to smile at everyone but tripped over the curb, immediately face-planting into a bush.

Clint (17) helped Sam out while making finger guns at some random seniors.

Matt (16) trailed calmly with his white cane, head tilting every few seconds to listen to Gotham’s chaotic heartbeat.

Loki (17) looked like he was about to stage a coup d’état against the entire school board.

Thor (17) carried a giant thermos of coffee as if it were mead, already yelling, "BROTHER! This Midgardian brew is strong!"

Steve and Bruce (both 18) followed as the "older siblings" slash exhausted babysitters. Steve tried to wave at every student. Bruce muttered about "high school petri dishes of germs."

Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, and Stephanie Brown stood at the second-floor window, jaws slack.

Steph gasped. "Holy plot twist."

Duke squinted. "Why does that one kid look like he could summon thunder? Wait. Why does that other one look like he wants to curse my entire bloodline?"

Tim tapped furiously at his phone. "I’m adding a new ‘Weirdos Watchlist’ tab. Move over, ‘Potential Joker Henchmen.’"

In the office, Tony charmed the secretary.

"Hi. Stark, Tony. These are my... children. And also cousins. And also, uh, exchange students. Don’t overthink it."

Judy, the hardened Gotham Prep secretary, barely looked up. "If they all die, who do I call?"

Tony considered. "Me. Or Dr. Strange. Actually, don’t call Stephen. He’ll just lecture you about the multiverse and chakras."

Strange rolled his eyes. "They’d be in better hands with me than you, Stark."

Tony pointed at him. "You're not even licensed to give out band-aids."

Meanwhile, Loki slowly slipped an enchanted charm onto the secretary’s stapler. She didn’t notice, but the stapler started humming ominously.

Schedules in hand, the kids entered the halls.

Peter nearly combusted from anxiety.

Clint immediately started a game of "who can steal more pens from random backpacks."

Natasha scouted exit routes while whispering threats in Russian to anyone who stared too long.

Matt navigated like a shark among guppies, eavesdropping on every whispered insult and snide giggle.

Loki introduced himself to a group of goth kids as "Your New God."

Sam ran face-first into a "Drama Club Auditions" sign and accidentally promised to try out.

Thor discovered vending machines, nearly ripped one open, and yelled, "ANOTHER!"

Steve tried to stop Thor from destroying a Fanta machine while Bruce considered just crawling into the air ducts and never emerging again.

Doctor Strange was cornered by the philosophy teacher, who began a passionate argument about free will. Stephen started levitating out of sheer social panic.

Tim, Duke, and Steph watched from the cafeteria doors.

Tim: "They’re definitely not normal."

Steph: "I want to invite them to a party. Like, immediately."

Duke: "Is it wrong I want to recruit them for the basketball team?"

Tim: "They’d probably start a mid-game magic duel or something."

Steph: "Aesthetically, though? Worth it."

They all somehow ended up in homeroom together.

Peter sat beside Tim, shaking like a chihuahua.

Clint immediately started paper-airplane warfare with Duke.

Matt tapped his cane on Clint’s foot repeatedly, muttering, "You deserve this."

Steph tried to talk to Natasha, who simply stared at her with the dead-eyed patience of a cat watching a bug.

Loki, bored, created an illusion of a frog orchestra on the teacher’s desk.

Thor watched with glee. "Ah! Amphibious minstrels!"

Doctor Strange teleported into the classroom at some point just to scold Loki.

"Enough illusions in class, Loki."

Loki flipped his hair. "You’re not my father."

Tony strolled in carrying an iced latte. "He’s not your father, but you are grounded from conjuring frog orchestras in math class."

The teacher fainted.

At lunch, Clint and Sam had a pizza eating contest.

Peter tried to sit at a quiet corner table, but Tim sat across from him immediately.

"So. Where are you from?" Tim asked in that deceptively polite detective tone.

"Uh. Queens. And uh… space? And like… a lab? I mean—"

Tim leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Fascinating."

Steph swooped in beside them, elbowing Tim. "Don’t mind him. He collects secrets like other kids collect Pokémon cards."

Peter nearly dropped his tray.

Meanwhile, Loki convinced three cheerleaders to form a cult devoted to "the Trickster King."

Thor gave a rousing speech to the cafeteria about friendship and "the glory of chicken nuggets."

Matt quietly listened to every single lie told within a 30-foot radius.

Natasha almost started a fistfight with a kid who asked if she "wanted to join chess club."

Doctor Strange hovered above the cafeteria, sipping his tea, muttering, "I should have stayed in Kathmandu…"

After school, Tim, Duke, and Steph huddled on a rooftop.

Duke: "Okay, they are definitely not normal exchange students."

Tim: "Agreed. Loki literally glowed green in the library. Natasha threatened to disassemble a biology skeleton. Thor asked for mead in the science lab. Peter keeps sticking to the ceiling corners when he thinks no one’s looking."

Steph: "And Clint asked me to help him build a potato cannon for ‘science class.’ I love them so much already."

Duke: "But also… they’re dangerous. We should keep an eye out."

Tim: "Already on it."

Steph: "I’m gonna make them friendship bracelets."

Tim and Duke turned to her in horror.

That evening, Tony and Strange tried to organize their new "family" in an abandoned Gotham brownstone.

Tony: "Everyone gets one room. Please don’t blow them up, Loki."

Loki: "No promises."

Bruce: "We have to register them in some kind of database…"

Doctor Strange: "They’re already in every mystical database. Trust me, Wong is sending me death threats in Sanskrit."

Steve: "We’ll make it work. We always do."

Tony: "Sure, Cap. Because you’re basically a human golden retriever. Meanwhile, I’m on my fourth espresso and Loki is trying to curse the water pipes."

Loki: "They offended me."

Tony: "They’re pipes, Loki."

Thor cheered. "ANOTHER!" and crushed a mug.

Peter crawled on the ceiling to avoid all the fighting.

On another rooftop, Damian watched with binoculars, grumbling.

"Idiots. Complete and utter idiots," he hissed.

Nightwing landed next to him, finishing a protein bar. "They remind me of us, honestly."

Damian glared. "We are nothing like them."

Nightwing smiled wistfully. "Exactly. Which makes it hilarious."

Chapter Text

It started, as all great disasters do, with a meeting in the abandoned Gotham brownstone’s dusty living room.

Tony had set up a big screen showing a Gotham map. Stephen Strange hovered cross-legged above the coffee table, looking profoundly disappointed in every life choice that led him here.

Steve stood at the front, trying to look like an authority figure.

“Okay. We’ve got crime reports all over the city. Break-ins, muggings, gangs, Joker wannabes — Gotham’s basically a discount haunted house,” Steve said, tapping points on the map.

Peter raised his hand. “Shouldn’t we, uh… not go out? Because we’re… minors?”

Clint snorted so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “Kid, that’s adorable.”

Matt tilted his head, listening to the city below. “Someone’s being mugged two blocks away. Five assailants. Switchblades. They’re taking her purse.”

Loki perked up. “Shall we interfere, Midgardian style?”

Thor bellowed, “A RESCUE! VERILY!” and punched a hole through the wall on his way out.

Tony screamed after him, “THERE’S A DOOR, YOU DRAMATIC PIECE OF THUNDER TRASH!”

They regrouped on a rooftop. Bucky had joined them, suited in dark tactical gear. He looked like a discount vampire who’d gotten lost on the way to a Hot Topic.

“Nice of you to join us,” Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

Bucky shrugged, metal arm gleaming. “Someone has to keep you idiots alive.”

Clint tossed a grappling hook over the edge. “Last one down buys breakfast!”

Loki shape-shifted into a raven and swooped off, cackling.

Thor simply leaped, landing with a ground-shaking BOOM in the alley below.

Peter, muttering about concussions, stuck to the wall and skittered down.

Matt casually stepped off the roof, using his billy club line to swing after them.

Steve sighed and saluted the moon before jumping.

Bucky turned to Natasha. “Still time to ditch them and move to Metropolis.”

Natasha smirked. “Tempting.” Then they both jumped.

In the alley, five terrified muggers faced an absolutely insane lineup of half-superheroes, half-space Vikings, and one feral raccoon energy archer.

Thor pointed Mjolnir. “SURRENDER, EVILDOERS!”

The muggers screamed and tried to run — only to get webbed to a wall by Peter, who muttered, “Sorry, sorry, please don’t sue.”

Natasha disabled two more with elegant kicks.

Clint tripped over a trash can, then used the lid as a frisbee to knock a third mugger out.

Matt, hearing a hidden sixth assailant, turned mid-fight and calmly blocked a knife with his club. “You missed me.”

Loki stood in the shadows, practicing dramatic monologues to himself. “Fear not, Midgard! For I, Loki Odinson, savior of—”

Bucky knocked the last mugger out cold with a metal fist before Loki could finish.

Loki scowled. “You stole my moment.”

Bucky shrugged. “You’re too slow.”

Thor was hugging one of the muggers and crying. “Forgiveness is the greatest power of all!”

Tony, watching through a drone, screamed through their earpieces. “NO HUGGING THE CRIMINALS, THOR!”

Up above, Tim, Duke, and Steph watched, wide-eyed.

Steph gasped. “They’re doing our jobs!”

Tim furiously typed notes into his phone. “One of them has magic. Two have combat skills beyond human. One is basically a super-soldier. One is… a spider? What the—”

Duke was too busy filming on his phone to answer.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out from the next block.

Sam, soaring above with mechanical wings, yelled, “Another mugging! I’ll handle it!”

Clint chased after him, yelling, “Wait! I wanna do something cool too!”

Steve sprinted after them, all-American shield shining under the moonlight.

Loki, in raven form, muttered, “Idiots,” before flying after them.

Bucky checked on Peter, who was hanging upside down on a lamppost. “Kid, you good?”

Peter gave a thumbs-up. “This is fine. I love it here.”

Bucky almost smiled. Almost.

Damian, now joined by Jason on a nearby roof, watched with pure contempt.

Jason, chewing gum, snorted. “Are they filming a new reality show down there?”

Damian growled. “These incompetent buffoons are going to ruin Gotham’s ecosystem of terror.”

Jason shrugged. “I think they’re kinda fun. Better than clowns.”

Damian glared. “Nothing is better than clowns— Wait, no, everything is better than clowns.”

Hours later, they stumbled home covered in garbage, scratches, and questionable fluids.

Tony stood in the doorway, hands on hips. “Explain why one of you is trending on Twitter under #ThirstyWinterSoldier.”

Bucky stared blankly. “I don’t understand the internet.”

Loki strutted in with three new goth followers from Instagram.

Peter collapsed onto the floor, still in his suit. “I just… wanted… to do… homework…”

Steve held up his phone, showing a blurry selfie of Sam mid-air. “Look! He almost looks graceful here!”

Doctor Strange appeared behind Tony, sipping wine from a fancy goblet. “You left me behind on purpose.”

Tony: “You kept chanting about ley lines and portals. We needed to actually stop muggings.”

Strange: “I was preparing wards!”

Tony: “Sure. And I was preparing not to get stabbed in the spleen.”

Later that night, as everyone dozed off or argued about who left pizza on the ceiling (spoiler: it was Loki), Bucky sat on the roof with Peter.

Peter looked at the skyline. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He looked at his metal hand.

“Maybe not the right thing,” he said finally. “But it’s something. And sometimes that’s enough.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

Then they sat in companionable silence — until Clint screamed from inside, “WHO DRANK ALL THE ORANGE JUICE?!”

Chapter Text

The sun was already high over Gotham when Bucky kicked open the brownstone’s bedroom doors one by one.

“Wake up, brats. It’s noon,” he growled.

Clint, wrapped in four blankets, screamed like a dying goat. “AAAAHHHHHH—five more minutes!”

Natasha, already awake and calmly sharpening a knife, didn’t even flinch. “Good morning, Bucky.”

Peter dropped from the ceiling with a startled yelp, landing on top of Sam, who had been using a couch cushion as a blanket.

“OW—Peter—get your knee out of my ribs—”

Steve peeked out of the kitchen with an apron that said Kiss the Chef, stirring pancake batter. “Rise and shine! We’re having a family brunch.”

Loki, shape-shifted into a cat, hissed and darted under the table.

Tony strolled in, holding two giant coffees, tossing one to Stephen Strange, who had been trying to meditate in a corner and looked extremely done with everyone.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tony smirked.

Strange took a long, pained sip. “I hate all of you.”

They finally sat down around a makeshift table (which was really just two doors on milk crates — thank you, Bucky).

Steve was flipping pancakes taller than Thor, who was stacking them like Jenga blocks.

“Midgardian breakfast games! Who dares challenge me?” Thor declared, nearly flinging syrup across the room.

Loki (now human again), looked up from his tea and smirked. “I would rather choke on Mjolnir.”

Peter was carefully decorating his pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream, looking like an art student on a sugar high.

Clint tried to steal some, only to get his hand webbed to the syrup bottle.

“Peter!” Clint whined, flailing.

Peter: “Boundaries, Mr. Barton!”

Sam was busy arguing with Bucky about whose pancakes were fluffier.

“Mine have soul!” Sam shouted.

Bucky deadpanned, “You stole that from a BuzzFeed article.”

After brunch, they split into small “missions.”

• Sam & Bucky: Went to a run-down park to teach Peter how to dodge flying objects better. Bucky kept throwing metal trash can lids at Peter while Sam cheered him on.

• Clint & Natasha: Went on a “supply run” (read: Clint bought twelve boxes of Pop-Tarts while Natasha sighed deeply).

• Thor & Loki: Discovered a random rooftop carnival and proceeded to challenge all the games. Loki cheated at ring toss by using illusions; Thor kept screaming “ANOTHER!” whenever he lost.

• Steve & Tony: Tried to fix the leaky plumbing in the brownstone, which ended with Tony getting soaked and Steve laughing so hard he nearly dropped his wrench.

• Stephen: Left alone in the living room, Stephen meditated over a floating relic. But every few minutes, he opened one eye and glared at Loki’s carnival photos on Instagram.

  ---

In the park, Peter was breathless. “I thought this was a training session, not a dodgeball game with Captain Murderarm!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to get stabbed in Gotham, you better learn to move.”

Sam cheered, “That’s right! More agility! Be the squirrel, Pete!”

Peter faceplanted into the grass. “I’m dying. Tell Aunt May I love her.”

Bucky offered a metal hand to pull him up. “Not bad, kid. You’re improving.”

Peter brightened immediately. “Thanks, Dad— I mean—Mr. Barnes— I mean—”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Sam wheezed so hard he nearly fell off the bench.

Thor and Loki’s carnival mission quickly turned into a public relations nightmare.

Thor somehow won five massive teddy bears and gave them all to terrified children. Loki accidentally convinced a cotton candy vendor to worship him as a minor deity.

By the time Clint and Natasha caught up, Clint screamed, “WE SAID STAY LOW!”

Loki, petting a baby goat he’d won at the petting zoo raffle: “I am extremely low. Behold my humble goat.”

Natasha sighed. “We’re all going to be on Gotham news at this rate.”

Thor shouted, “LOOK! THIS CHILD CALLED ME ‘MR. BIG HAIRY SANTA’!” and held up a small girl who looked thrilled and equally confused.

By sunset, they reconvened at the brownstone. Everyone was sticky, bruised, and exhausted — but in that happy, found-family sort of way.

Tony and Steve grilled burgers on the roof.

Stephen watched stars appear, a rare peaceful moment.

Peter carefully helped Bucky bandage a scrape on his arm.

Clint taught Sam how to juggle the teddy bears Loki stole.

Thor snored loudly on a beach chair, his new goat curled up beside him.

Loki sat next to Natasha, poking her with his stolen carnival wand. “Admit it. You enjoy this chaos.”

Natasha, tired but smiling faintly, shook her head. “Maybe a little.”

Peter turned to Bucky as they all watched the Gotham skyline flicker.

“You know,” Peter said, voice quiet, “for the first time in a while… it feels kinda like we’re… home.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Then he placed a heavy hand on Peter’s hair, ruffling it gently.

“We’ll make it home,” Bucky said. “One way or another.”

From the other side of the roof, Tony shouted, “Aww! Sentimental moment! Quick, someone ruin it before I start crying!”

Loki immediately threw a water balloon at him.

Tony shrieked.

Steve dropped a burger.

Sam started cackling.

And just like that — in a messy, weird, too-loud way — they felt like a family.

Chapter Text

By 7:00 AM, the brownstone was a battlefield.

Steve was standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes at high speed, while also shouting at Clint to get his shoes on.
“Breakfast is the most important meal! CLINT! Shoes! NOW!”

Matt, already dressed in his crisp uniform, was methodically using his cane to navigate around Loki and Thor’s abandoned armor pieces.
“Can someone please move the giant hammer out of the doorway?!” he called, polite but on the verge of losing it.

Bruce, in reading glasses and a neatly pressed shirt, tried to help Tony organize the day's "cover stories" on a tablet.
“Tony, if you list us all as ‘foreign exchange kids from Norway’ again, the school’s going to call immigration,” Bruce muttered.

Tony scowled. “Norway sounds cool! And Thor is basically already Norwegian!”

Meanwhile, Peter was stuck trying to stop Clint and Sam from sword fighting with spatulas. Natasha perched on the counter, sipping coffee, ignoring all of them with a terrifying calmness.

Thor stomped into the kitchen with Loki trailing behind him, both fully uniformed. Thor carried what looked like a small goat in his backpack.
“Friends! I have decided to bring Tanngnjóstr for emotional support!” Thor declared.

Bruce looked like he might genuinely Hulk out.
“Thor. You can’t bring a goat to school.”

Loki smirked. “I suggested bringing a basilisk instead, but apparently that’s ‘illegal.’”

Bucky waited by the door with his arms crossed. He was the only one looking like a normal tired dad (minus, you know, the metal arm).
“Out. Everyone out. Now,” he barked.

Clint: “But—”
Bucky: “NOW.”

Clint yelped and bolted out first. Peter sprinted after him, muttering something about quizzes. Sam followed, still trying to fix his hair in a compact mirror.

Steve gave Bucky a brotherly pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, soldier.”

Bucky just sighed deeply. “No, Steve. I don’t.”

The group arrived at Gotham Prep looking slightly more put together than day one, but not by much.

Peter and Matt hung back a bit, glancing at the students already chatting at lockers. Loki glided inside like he owned the place, Thor trailed after him proudly.

Bruce tried to walk calmly, but he was already getting suspicious looks for muttering quantum equations to himself. Clint nearly tripped over a welcome mat.

Sam fixed Clint’s bag for the fifth time. Natasha pinched Loki’s sleeve to stop him from "hypnotizing" random freshmen.

Meanwhile, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, and Steph Brown watched from the second-floor railing.

Steph snickered. “I’m just impressed that one guy is carrying a goat.”

Tim scribbled notes in a tiny book. “Strange group... Might have to keep an eye on them.”

In literature, Matt quietly aced all reading quizzes despite "pretending" to read braille notes. Clint wrote "THIS SUCKS" in giant letters on his test paper.

Steve answered every history question with frightening detail, making the teacher wonder if he was a grad student undercover.

Bruce accidentally corrected the chemistry teacher on stoichiometry, making her cry in the teacher’s lounge later.

Thor insisted on reciting Hamlet soliloquies in a booming voice. Loki gave detailed critiques mid-monologue.

Natasha kept a careful eye on Clint, who spent half the period trying to flick paper balls at Peter. Peter, meanwhile, solved everything so quickly he had to purposely add wrong answers to blend in.

Sam doodled new flight gear designs, and Peter‘s laptop was confiscated twice for "unauthorized hacking attempts" — he claimed it was "just a pop quiz."

They gathered around an outside picnic table, away from prying eyes.

Steve laid out sandwiches and fruit like an actual picnic dad.
“Eat something real before you go sugar crazy,” he ordered, side-eyeing Clint’s seven candy bars.

Peter nibbled a sandwich while Matt listened to the chatter, smiling faintly.
“You all sound like feral pigeons fighting over bread,” Matt commented.

Loki smirked, “An accurate analogy.”

Thor, holding up his goat, declared, “My friend here deserves a taste of Midgardian snacks!”

Bruce hastily shoved a protein bar at the goat. “Please, just… anything to keep it calm.”

Natasha fed a stray pigeon nearby, probably plotting its recruitment as a spy.

Sam and Clint loudly argued over whether a hawk or a spider would win in a fight. Peter looked horrified the whole time.

Bucky checked in via comms from his "watch point" down the block.
“Remember, second day, so keep it calm.”

Clint (already on top of a roof in gym class): “Define calm.”

Bucky: “Not falling off a building. Not starting a goat cult. No illusions. No hacking. No lightning storms.”

Thor: “I make no promises!”

Loki snickered over comms, “You have as much authority as a wet sponge, Barnes.”

Bucky threatened to lock them all in the brownstone if they disobeyed. Thor muttered something about "puny mortal threats." Clint yelled, "Freedom of expression!!"

The brownstone buzzed like a swarm of hyper bees.

Peter was practically bouncing off the walls. “We should make a patrol map! We can optimize route coverage! And maybe—”

Stephen Strange, already wearing his Cloak of Levitation and clutching a mug of coffee that said #1 Sorcerer (Self-Proclaimed), cut in dryly.
“Peter. Please. You’re giving me astral migraines.”

Clint jammed more arrows into his quiver, smirking. “C’mon, Doc, admit it — you love the drama.”

Stephen shot him a withering look. “The only drama I enjoy is watching Tony try to fix his armor after a pigeon attacks it.”

Tony, fiddling with his gauntlet, scowled. “Hey! I paid good money for that paint job.”

Sam unfolded his wings, almost smacking Bruce in the face again. “If you guys break any more windows, I’m sending you the bill.”

Natasha slid her knives into hidden sheathes like a ghost. “Maybe I should just patrol alone. Fewer headaches.”

Thor, already in his full Asgardian armor, thundered, “TO THE ROOFTOPS! MIDGARDIAN NIGHT AWAITS!”

Loki, seated upside down on the armrest of a chair, rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Brother, you sound like a bad stage actor.”

Steve handed out extra earpieces, mumbling, “I’m too old for this,” under his breath.

Matt calmly tied his boots, listening to the group’s commotion with a patient little smirk.

Bucky leaned against the fridge, already exhausted by the chatter, and muttered to Stephen, “You sure you can’t portal us straight to retirement?”

Stephen sipped his coffee, grimaced, and answered, “If I could, I would’ve years ago.”

They finally spilled into the Gotham night, each landing (or crashing) onto a nearby rooftop.

Peter zipped from ledge to ledge, giddy. “I LOVE GOTHAM! This is SO COOL!”

Sam swooped overhead, doing barrel rolls until Tony shouted through comms, “Sam! We are not an airshow!”

Clint tried to flip gracefully, but nearly fell into a dumpster. He yelled, “THAT WAS INTENTIONAL!” every time.

Natasha darted from shadow to shadow, already rounding up small-time muggers before the others even finished landing.

Thor jumped rooftop to rooftop, denting them horribly. “I SHALL FIX THESE LATER, MIDGARD!”

Loki walked casually, creating illusions of extra vigilantes to confuse any cameras. One of them looked like a giant goat in a cape.

Steve perched high above, giving orders. “Tony, stay in formation! Clint, stop twerking at the security camera!”

Tony hovered above, dodging pigeons, screaming, “I hate this city’s birds!”

Matt moved precisely, quietly, feeling the city breathe beneath his fingers and feet.

Stephen floated nearby on his cloak, sipping coffee and muttering spellwork under his breath. At one point, he cast a small protective ward on Peter after seeing him nearly face-plant into a chimney.

Bucky stalked the shadows on the ground, grumbling, “We’re a walking neon sign,” while shaking his head.

They spotted a gang in an alley below.

Thor: “WE DESCEND UPON THEM WITH MIGHT!”
Loki: “And they’ll hear you from three blocks away, genius.”
Clint: “I say we prank ’em first!”
Peter: “Guys, please, strategy—!”
Sam: “We ARE the strategy.”
Natasha: already gone, taking down two guys in silence
Steve: “Remember: no casualties, minimal property damage!”
Tony: “Uhh, define ‘minimal’.”
Matt: “They’re flanking east. We’ll need to split.”
Stephen: “I could turn them into goats… but that would be ‘excessive,’ apparently.”
Bucky: “Please don’t.”

They dropped into the alley together — a chaotic mess of illusions, webs, arrows, wings, magic sparks, and thunder.

Thor accidentally sent a thug flying into a taco stand. Loki’s illusions scared two guys into punching each other. Natasha and Matt had already tied up four guys before the rest even hit the ground.

Tony landed and knocked out two more, only to get pelted by a taco shell. Clint got tangled in a string of fairy lights.

Peter, with Stephen’s ward glowing faintly on him, webbed three muggers to a dumpster while yelling, “Sorry! Sorry! You’ll thank me later!”

At the end, Gotham had a new rumor about "a haunted goat god" and eight criminals neatly gift-wrapped for GCPD.

Back at the brownstone, they collapsed in a heap.

Clint immediately raided the fridge, emerging with a comically large sandwich.

Steve distributed protein bars and water, scolding Clint for "that much mayo being a war crime."

Natasha perched on the windowsill, scanning local news and posting snarky emojis in the group chat whenever someone found a photo of them online.

Sam sprawled on the floor, watching TikToks, while Loki watched with an expression of horror and fascination.

Tony tinkered with a mini drone on the kitchen counter, flicking chips at Clint whenever he sang.

Peter curled up next to Matt, mumbling about “next time we could swing by Ace Chemicals,” and Matt just nodded, half-asleep.

Thor sat cross-legged on the couch, enthusiastically telling Bruce about the “glorious fight,” while Bruce listened, horrified, already drafting apology emails to city council.

Bucky leaned back in a kitchen chair, watching Peter and Matt with a small, soft smile. He occasionally flicked bits of lint off Peter’s hair.

Stephen slumped into an armchair, cloak hanging limp, muttering, “I need a vacation. Or an exorcism. Or both.”

At some point, Loki conjured a projector and started playing random Gotham TikTok compilations. Thor roared with laughter at a video of someone slipping on ice.

Clint started a popcorn fight. Sam joined in, Matt accidentally dodged everything perfectly without even realizing, and Peter shrieked every time he got hit.

Steve gave up trying to stop them and instead made hot cocoa for everyone.

Bruce sighed, taking a slow sip of tea in the corner. “How did this become my life?”

Stephen, halfway asleep, muttered, “You think you’re tired? I had to watch Thor try to stealth.”

Later, they all ended up passed out in various tangled piles:

• Loki and Clint somehow under the kitchen table, debating which Gotham celebrity is the most overrated.

• Natasha curled up with Sam on the couch, both snoring softly.

• Tony on the floor, half-wrapped in the cloak of levitation.

• Matt and Peter leaning against each other in a corner, completely knocked out.

• Bucky sitting cross-legged with Thor’s goat sleeping against his leg.

• Stephen snoring in his armchair, mug still in hand, cloak tucked around him like a blanket.

• Steve in a kitchen chair, head tipped back, muttering, “Bucky…stop putting forks in the toaster…” in his sleep.

In the quiet, Bruce took a photo on his phone. He looked at it, shook his head, and whispered, “I guess this… is family.”

Outside, Gotham’s night pulsed on. But in this chaotic brownstone, the Avengers — de-aged, misplaced, and all mismatched puzzle pieces — had carved out something warm, loud, and unbreakably human.

Chapter Text

The brownstone was a battlefield of cereal boxes, missing uniforms, and half-shouted curses.

Tony shouted from the living room, “Who re-routed the toaster power to the lab?!”
Bruce Banner carefully pushed toast out of the half-melted toaster with tongs. “I told you, Tony. Gamma experiments don’t mix with kitchen appliances.”

Thor paraded around proudly, carrying a stack of questionable “pancakes.” Clint peeked over, then dramatically fainted against the fridge.
Sam dumped coffee into two mugs at once, while Natasha snatched one straight out of his hand without breaking eye contact.

Loki floated in cross-legged, conjuring a tiny illusion of Thor face-planting in pancakes for entertainment.
Matt and Peter tried to maintain normalcy; Peter carefully packed lunch boxes, while Matt listened to everyone’s heartbeat changes with a resigned face.
Stephen Strange shuffled in, cloak acting like a bathrobe, yawning. “I feel like I just aged twenty years over night.”

Steve stood in the corner trying to motivate everyone, “Come on, team! Third day of school! Let’s show them what discipline looks like!”
Bucky, sprawled on the couch, just flipped him off.
Bruce (Banner) mumbled, “I might actually prefer the Hulk to this morning.”

At Gotham Prep, the tension was higher than ever.

Students parted like the Red Sea as Peter, Natasha, Clint, Loki, Sam, Matt, Bruce and Steve trudged in. Tony and Stephen stayed behind to handle tech and “damage control” paperwork.While Bucky was at his job (beating up criminals).

Rumors swirled even faster now:

• “They’re a cult.”

• “The black-haired guy with green eyes? Pretty sure he’s a vampire prince.”

• “I heard the redhead can kill you with her stare.”

• “Did the one with the skateboard fly yesterday??”

Tim Drake had already started an entire file labeled “New Suspicious Transfers.”
Stephanie poked Duke with her pencil. “They’re definitely covering something. I saw one of them literally vanish behind a corner yesterday.”
Duke: “The one with glasses didn’t even flinch when that teacher yelled. He looked like he was listening to a podcast instead.”
Tim: “Something’s wrong.”
Damian, from behind: “Idiots. They’re obviously trained agents or infiltrators. Possibly League.”
Steph: “...Or they’re just weird.”
Damian: “Weird is a cover.”

Tony, meanwhile, was pacing.
“This is a PR nightmare! How do we make them look like normal kids?!”
Stephen tapped a screen. “We need real IDs. School records. Maybe psychological cover evaluations.”
Tony: “We don’t need therapy. We need a Gotham proof-of-residency!”
Stephen: “Actually, we do need therapy.”
Tony: “Don’t start.”

Gotham Prep was an even bigger nightmare on Day Three. The morning air was thick and damp, clinging to uniforms and hair alike.

Peter, Bruce, Matt, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Loki, and Steve moved together like a misfit army. They ranged in age from sixteen (Peter) to seventeen (Steve, Bruce, Matt, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Loki).

Tony, Stephen, and Bucky stayed back at the warehouse, supposedly “coordinating” but really arguing over coffee strength and armor upgrades.

Bruce stuck close to Steve as they walked into school. He tugged awkwardly at his borrowed Gotham Prep blazer.

Peter whispered, “You okay?”

Bruce sighed. “I’ve fought alien armies and giant robots. But high school terrifies me.”

Steve clapped him on the back. “You’ll survive. Just don’t turn green in the middle of algebra.”

Bruce shot him a deadpan glare. “Funny.”

Loki smirked from behind them. “It would make biology class infinitely more interesting.”

Matt stopped just inside the doorway, head cocked slightly. “Security cameras are watching. Four, in this hall alone.”

Clint yawned. “We should start a pool on how long before Peter runs face-first into one of those hall monitors again.”

Peter huffed. “Once! That happened once!”

Natasha poked his cheek. “You turned it into a full somersault. Ten points for style.”

Sam leaned against the lockers. “You realize we’re supposed to blend in, right? Instead, we look like a touring production of Breakfast Club: Apocalyptic Edition.”

Loki swept by, dramatically flipping his hair. “I am the breakfast. I am the club.”

Steve and Bruce both facepalmed in perfect, synchronized big-brother despair.

Chemistry Class
Bruce and Peter were assigned as lab partners.

Peter tried to keep his hands steady as Bruce methodically measured chemicals.

“Please don’t Hulk out,” Peter whispered.

Bruce gave him a look so tired it might have wilted the beakers. “If I do, you can web me to the wall.”

Peter nodded. “Fair. Wait—do you know what you’re doing with that acid?”

Bruce smirked faintly. “I’m a scientist, remember?”

Peter looked around nervously. “Yeah, but these kids think vinegar is high-level science.”

Meanwhile, Loki managed to set his lab table on fire. Steve smacked him over the head with a textbook.

Matt corrected the teacher’s mispronunciation of an ancient Roman general’s name from across the room, which caused an awkward pause.

Clint pretended to sleep with his eyes open, earning confused stares.

Natasha wrote an essay that was so disturbingly thorough on medieval spy networks that the teacher’s hands trembled when returning it.

Sam drew wings and shield doodles in his margins, then leaned over to Loki. “I made your horns extra pointy.”

Loki gasped, scandalized. “Artistic betrayal!”

The eight of them squeezed onto a single table, food trays stacked like a fortress.

Bruce picked at his sandwich, scanning exits. Peter was half under the table, fiddling with a busted web shooter. Steve cut everyone’s apples, mother-hen style.

Matt hummed softly, analyzing heartbeats all over the cafeteria.

Loki lectured a small crowd of freshmen about Asgardian poetry.

Natasha and Clint kept flicking peas at each other, pretending not to notice.

Sam gave a blow-by-blow commentary. “Clint’s at five direct hits. Natasha’s at seven — oh, there’s another!”

Peter popped up suddenly, pointing. “Are those Bat-shaped cookies? Gotham is so weird.”

Bruce’s head snapped up. “Wait. Bats?”

Peter squinted. “It’s just a bakery stand in the corner, big guy.”

Bruce sighed in relief. “Right. Not... actual bats.”

Steve patted his shoulder. “We get it. Everyone’s got trauma.”

As they left, Steve and Bruce quietly debriefed.

“They’ve been following us all day,” Bruce muttered.

Steve nodded. “I think they’re testing us. We stay calm. No Hulking out.”

Bruce gave a tired nod. “If you stop Loki from burning the lockers again, I’ll do my best.”

Tony immediately started ranting as they entered. “I saw the fire alarm on the news. Who was it? Loki? I bet it was Loki.”

Loki dramatically flung himself on the couch. “It was art.”

Stephen, from his corner, didn’t look up from a mystic diagram. “I thought you were learning restraint.”

Loki sniffed. “You thought wrong.”

Bucky peeked in from the kitchen, covered in flour. “I baked bread. No one asked, but here it is.”

Peter beamed and nearly tackled him. “You’re the best!”

Steve took the bread reverently, like it was a shield fragment. “Finally. A win.”

Bruce collapsed onto a beanbag, burying his face in his arms. “I miss gamma rays. At least they’re predictable.”

Tony flopped next to him. “How was algebra?”

Sam groaned loudly enough to shake the floor.

That night, the group gathered for another patrol.

Thor boomed, “THE MIDGARDIAN NIGHTS CALL TO US!”
Loki: “No, they don’t.”
Peter zipped by, excited. “I updated my web fluid formula. Want to see—?”
Matt: “We are not testing experimental fluids during surveillance.”
Natasha vanished into the shadows before they could argue.
Clint climbed the fire escape three floors up in seconds, bow slung across his back.
Steve adjusted his gloves with a focused frown.
Bucky cracked his neck and slipped a knife into his sleeve.

Bruce Banner stood awkwardly at the edge. “You sure you want me up here? Hulk isn’t exactly… subtle.”
Steve patted him. “We need you. We stay together.”
Tony, through earpiece from the brownstone: “Just don’t smash any historic gargoyles. The city’s historic commission is already emailing me.”

Chapter Text

The moon glimmered over Gotham’s skyline, the night broken by orange streetlights and the low hum of sirens in the distance.

Tim Drake (Red Robin) perched on the edge of a building, binoculars pressed to his face.

“They’re out again,” he muttered into the comm. “Same rooftop patterns as last night.”

Duke (Signal) scanned the alleys below. His eyes glowed faintly, picking up heat signatures.

“Still no clue who they are,” Duke replied. “Not metas. No League of Shadows style. Too coordinated for amateurs, though.”

Stephanie (Spoiler) swung her legs idly from a gargoyle. “I’m telling you, they’re a weird band of theater kids. I saw one of them practicing a Shakespeare monologue on the roof earlier.”

Tim sighed. “Loki.”

Bruce (Batman) crackled in over the comm. “Focus. We don’t engage until we know what they want.”

Damian (Robin) landed soundlessly beside them, scowling. “Cowards. We should strike now, end this nonsense before they bring more chaos.”

Jason (Red Hood), leaning against a chimney, snorted. “Look at them. They’re so coordinated they even match colors. It’s like an edgy boyband.”

Cass (Orphan) didn’t speak, but watched the group below intently, eyes narrowing on each move, her body language reading as equal parts cautious and curious.”

Dick (Nightwing), doing a handstand on a railing for fun, added, “Teen vigilantes, huh? Gotham’s gonna need more therapy vouchers.”

Peter perched at the edge, goggles glinting, scanning for movement.

“Definitely feels like we’re being watched tonight,” he whispered.

Matt tilted his head, listening intently. “Heartbeats… many of them. All controlled, calm. Whoever they are, they’re good.”

Loki floated upside down, smirking. “Oooh, mysterious observers. Should I invite them to tea? Or a duel? Or both?”

Bruce grumbled, trying to remain calm. “Focus. No transformations tonight. We don’t want to blow our cover.”

Steve glanced around. “Nat, Clint— perimeter check?”

Natasha gave a thumbs-up and slipped into the shadows. Clint drew an arrow and vanished behind a water tank.

Sam, wings folded, perched on a pipe. “They’re probably just local bats. We blend in, no trouble.”

Peter sighed. “Blending is not our strong suit.”

Tim gave the signal. “Move in.”

Like ghosts, the Batfam dropped from above. Damian landed first, sword pointed at Loki.

“Identify yourselves,” he ordered, voice sharp.

Loki tilted his head. “A child warrior! Adorable. Do you bite?”

Damian lunged. Loki vanished in a shimmer of green magic.

Cass engaged Natasha immediately, reading her movements. They traded blows — graceful, fluid, nearly silent.

Jason came at Clint from behind. Clint barely spun, raising his bow, but Jason knocked it aside.

“Cool toy,” Jason said, smirking. “Want a real gun?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “So edgy.”

Tim swung toward Peter, who flipped backward, webs shooting to the nearby billboard.

“Friendly neighborhood Spider— wait, you’re not friendly!” Peter yelped as Tim’s staff nearly clipped his mask.

Meanwhile, Steve squared off against Dick. Their fight was almost like a dance: Dick’s acrobatics met Steve’s shield blocks with loud, echoing clashes.

Bruce (Banner) stayed behind, trying to avoid the scuffle, hands trembling slightly.

Duke faced Sam in the air, their silhouettes flashing in the moonlight.

“You got wings,” Duke called. “Cool. Want to tell me where you got them?”

Sam snorted, flipping backward. “Trade secrets!”

Matt faced off with Cass, who pivoted between him and Natasha, reading both simultaneously. Matt was nearly smiling — it was rare to fight someone who moved like a whisper.

Bruce Banner knelt in the shadows, trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Rain pelted down around him, washing the grime from the rooftop in rivulets.

Above, the Batfamily and the Avengers clashed — blades, escrima sticks, arrows, and magic flashing through the dark.

A stray batarang whistled past Bruce's head, embedding itself in the concrete with a metallic shriek. His hands clenched into fists.

"Bruce!" Peter shouted, swinging by in a blur of red and blue. "Stay calm! We got this—"

An explosion thundered across the roof. Concrete shards scattered like shrapnel, and one slammed into Bruce’s ribs. He fell backward, groaning.

In that instant, the world blurred.

The edges of his vision turned green, heartbeat booming in his skull like a war drum. His breath roared in his ears. He felt the old familiar burn in his bones — the unstoppable flood of rage boiling up from the pit of his gut.

"Stop," Bruce choked out, clawing at the ground. "Not... here... please..."

But it was too late.

Muscles swelled, skin tearing and reforming, veins bulging like cables under his skin. His shirt shredded into ribbons. His scream deepened, twisting into a monstrous roar that echoed off the skyscrapers.

Within seconds, Bruce Banner was gone — replaced by the Hulk.

Hulk rose, towering over everyone, eyes glowing a fierce, luminous green.

"ENOUGH!!" Hulk bellowed, voice shaking glass in nearby windows.

He lunged forward, smashing a piece of the rooftop under his fists. A Batfam member tumbled aside as stone and dust exploded upward.

"Big guy!" Steve yelled, rushing forward, shield raised. "Stand down! We’re not—"

Hulk swung a massive arm, sending Steve flying backward into a water tower with a metallic clang.

Peter landed nearby, stumbling, staring up at Hulk with wide eyes. "Oh no. Oh no no no — Bruce, buddy, remember your breathing exercises!"

Hulk turned slowly, teeth bared, chest heaving.

"BANNER IS GONE!!" he roared, cracking the rooftop further as his fists pounded down.

In that moment, the entire battlefield froze — Batfam and Avengers alike — as they watched the emerald giant take control, primal rage radiating off him in waves.

Gotham’s dark skyline seemed to shrink under the weight of Hulk’s fury, and for a split second, everyone realized:

This was no ordinary night in Gotham.

As the rooftop battle scattered, they all began to see: no one was truly trying to kill the other.

Tim called out, panting. “Wait! They’re not League. They’re not killing blows!”

Steve lowered his shield, catching his breath. “We don’t want to fight you!”

Cass stepped back from Matt, tilting her head, reading his honest confusion.

Peter, still dangling from a web above, squeaked, “Can we talk now? Please?”

Dick raised his hands. “Hold it. Let’s not trash another roof tonight.”

Bruce (Batman) finally swung in, cape flaring. He landed between them, eyes narrowing beneath the cowl.

He scanned each new face quickly, taking in stances and breathing patterns. Then he turned sharply to his own team.

“They’re kids,” he growled softly.

Tony (who had come in via an Iron Man drone overhead to keep tabs) muttered into the comm, “You are so grounded after this.”

Everyone stood panting and bruised. Loki sat on the ledge cross-legged, already conjuring illusions of hot cocoa.

“Diplomatic negotiations, anyone?” Loki chirped.

Clint pointed at Jason. “Dude, you actually tried to shoot me in the knee.”

Jason shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”

Natasha and Cass gave each other nods of mutual respect before stepping back.

Peter slowly lowered himself down. “We can explain! Or… mostly explain.”

Bruce (Batman) turned, finally breaking his long stare.

The Batfam signaled each other and faded into the shadows, one by one.

Dick flipped up to the next building, calling back, “See you soon, birdbrains!”

Peter waved. “Bye— Wait, are we bird-themed?!”

Clint slapped his forehead. “We have a spider, a hawk, and a falcon. They might be right.”

They limped into the warehouse, tired but strangely exhilarated.

Bucky was already there, arms crossed. “You guys look like you lost a pillow fight with knives.”

Tony threw up his hands. “We just met Gotham’s extended family of flying rodent children. It went fine.”

Stephen looked up from his spellbook, deadpan. “I sensed the disturbance from here. Would you all please not die before dinner?”

Peter curled up next to Loki and Sam, already snoring. Clint collapsed on the floor, and Natasha stole his blanket with no remorse.

Matt sat silently, smiling to himself, ears still humming with the echoes of the night.

Tony finally sighed, slumping into a chair. “We need better PR. And maybe better helmets.”

The Batfam landed back at the Belfry.

Dick peeled off his mask, laughing. “They’re so young! And a bunch of them actually fight like pros.”

Tim flipped through his data tablet. “Not metas. Not local vigilantes. They don’t match any known group. But they’re trained.”

Jason shrugged off his helmet. “That spider kid almost stuck me to the air duct. Pretty sure he’s a walking meme.”

Duke spoke up "And don’t forget the green monster."

Steph twirled her staff. “Weirdest meet-cute ever.”

Damian still scowled. “They’re threats until proven otherwise.”

Bruce removed his cowl, rubbing his temple. “We’ll find out who they are. And why they’re here.”

Cass signed, <They didn’t lie.>

Bruce paused, thoughtful. “We keep watching. We find answers.”

Chapter Text

The Batfam was not used to being surprised in their own city. But tonight? Tonight was one for the record books.

"Who the hell are these guys?" Jason hissed as he ducked behind a rooftop vent, peeking over to see the unfamiliar group leaping across Gotham’s skyline.

They moved like seasoned fighters, but none of them matched any known rogues, vigilantes, or gangs. Their movements were too polished to be random punks — and too chaotic to be League-trained assassins.

Dick landed beside him, breathing hard. "They don’t fight like anyone we’ve seen. And that green guy — he nearly took off my head with a car door."

Damian dropped down behind them, scowling. "They lack subtlety. Gotham is not a place for showy, reckless amateurs."

"Aw, are you jealous they got more attention than you tonight?" Steph teased, balancing on a chimney stack with her phone out, trying to snap blurry photos.

"Shut up, Brown."

Meanwhile, Tim was perched on the ledge, scanning rapidly through his wrist computer. "I can’t find anything. No matches in facial recognition. No known vigilante logs. No chatter on any Gotham underground networks."

"They’ve got good tech," Duke pointed out, eyes narrowing as he tracked a figure in red and blue darting between rooftops. "And that one… he’s fast. Almost too fast to track."

Jason huffed. "Spider-boy? Acrobat guy? I can’t even come up with good names yet."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" Damian snorted.

Jason grinned. "What, you want me to call him Night-Not or Discount-Arachnid?"

"Enough," Dick interrupted, though he was clearly trying not to laugh. "We don’t know if they’re allies, enemies, or something else. Until we know more, we observe."

Steph looked up from her phone. "Uh… they just vanished. Like, literally. Into thin air."

Everyone turned sharply.

"What do you mean vanished?" Tim demanded, eyes wide.

Steph turned the screen. "They ducked into that old warehouse on Kane Street. Then nothing. No heat signatures, no exit points. Nada."

Jason groaned and banged his head lightly against the vent. "Perfect. They’re either magicians or ghosts. Or magicians who are ghosts."

Dick tapped his comm. "Babs? You getting this?"

"I saw it. They’re off-grid. This isn’t typical cloak tech; it’s almost... alien or advanced Bat-level, but we don’t have proof," Barbara’s voice crackled back. "And no, Jason, they’re not actual ghosts. Probably."

Jason threw his hands in the air. "Probably, she says! We live in Gotham! There’s a fifty percent chance they’re ghost-ninja-demon-alien-clowns."

"That is not a real percentage," Duke muttered.

"Math was never his strong suit," Tim added helpfully.

Damian cut in sharply, "Regardless. They need to be dealt with. We can’t have unknown operators jeopardizing patrol routes and interfering in arrests."

Steph pointed at Damian, nodding. "Wow. Big words tonight. Did you read a dictionary before patrol?"

"Tt. You are insufferable."

Dick sighed, rubbing his forehead. "We’re going in circles. No more direct contact for tonight. We don’t even know if they’re here to stay or just passing through. Tomorrow, we start surveillance during the day. They must have somewhere to sleep. Eat. Hide. We’ll find them."

Tim frowned, squinting into the night. "Some of them looked... young. Almost our age."

Duke raised an eyebrow. "Young doesn’t mean harmless."

"True," Dick said. "But if they are young, that means we might be able to reason with them before this turns into a city-wide showdown."

"Or before Damian tries to decapitate them," Steph added.

Damian rolled his eyes so dramatically it was a wonder they stayed in his head.

Meanwhile, on another rooftop across the block, Peter Parker crouched in the shadows, mask fully on, heart still pounding from the skirmish. Steve was beside him, breathing heavily but focused, eyes flicking back and forth as if ready to jump at any moment.

"Are they following?" Steve asked.

Peter checked. "No. They’re regrouping."

Bruce (in his human form again ) stepped forward. "They’re coordinated. That means they’re smart. We should avoid direct conflict again until we figure them out."

Natasha, flipping her knives back into her belt, snorted. 

Bruce winced. "I lost control for a moment. It won’t happen again."

"Famous last words," Clint muttered, rubbing a bruise on his shoulder.

Sam (Falcon) dropped onto the ledge, wings folding in. "We should lay low. Get back to the warehouse. Plan. School tomorrow."

"Right. School," Loki groaned, looking disgusted. "How do you mortals live like this?"

Peter patted his shoulder sympathetically. "You’ll survive. Probably."

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet.

Too quiet.

Which, in Gotham, meant something terrible was probably looming.

But instead of a gang war or Joker toxin surprise, the weird thing this morning was… the new kids were early. Like earlyearly. Sitting-in-the-courtyard-eating-pastries early.

Peter was on a bench, sipping a giant thermos of coffee that probably could have reanimated a corpse. Loki was scowling beside him like someone had made eye contact. Matt was perched under a tree, headphones on and completely ignoring the world. Sam and Clint were arguing over which Gotham Prep vending machine was secretly rigged, while Natasha solved a Sudoku puzzle like it owed her money. Steve was seated properly, reading a Gotham history book and looking like he was actually enjoying it.Bruce was sitting next to him writing in a notebook.

"Do you see this?" Stephanie whispered dramatically, crouching behind a hedge. "They’re… cheerful. In Gotham."

"They are morning people," Tim whispered back in horror, peering through his binoculars. "In this economy?"

"They’re too coordinated to be normal," Duke muttered. "And did you see the guy in the trench coat? No teenager wears that unless they’re hiding twelve knives or a tragic backstory."

"Or both," Jason chimed in over comms. He wasn’t even at school. He’d just logged in from wherever he was patrolling to roast the newcomers.

Damian scowled. "I propose we conduct a test. Fake a cafeteria emergency. Observe their response."

"Absolutely not," Dick cut in from the Batcave, already sipping tea like a stressed dad watching chaos unfold from afar. "Do not do anything that causes fire alarms. Again."

Tim sighed. "Fine. But we’re sitting near them at lunch. Lowkey interrogation via casual conversation."

"Also known as being normal people," Steph snorted.

"Exactly," Tim said. "Weaponized normal."

"So…" Tim slid his tray down next to Peter’s, smiling as casually as possible. "You guys are… new."

"Wow. Investigative journalism at its peak," Clint muttered under his breath.

Peter gave a polite laugh. "Yeah, still figuring everything out. School. City. Identity papers. Y’know."

Steph plopped down across from them, grinning brightly. "Welcome to Gotham, where the sky is permanently sad and the pigeons are aggressive."

"The pigeons are hostile," Loki added flatly, glaring out the window as if offended by their existence.

Clint leaned toward Steph. "One stole his croissant this morning. It was personal."

"Should’ve blasted it with lightning," Natasha deadpanned.

"Can he do that?" Duke asked, mildly alarmed.

Peter waved his hands. "Definitely not. Just a joke! Loki's… uh… European."

"That explains nothing," Damian grumbled.

There was an awkward silence. Clint took the opportunity to open his sandwich upside down and let all the contents fall out. Sam took a picture.

"So," Steph tried again, "where exactly are you all from?"

"Uh…" Steve looked up. "Germany?"

"That’s funny," Tim said aloud. "You don’t sound like you’re from there."

"Well, I’ve… moved a lot," Steve said stiffly. "Military family. Totally normal. Definitely not super soldier serum."

"...Pardon?" Steph blinked.

"Nothing!" Peter said way too fast. "He said, uh, Cereal! He loves cereal."

Steve face-palmed into his tray.

"Smooth," Matt muttered, clearly enjoying himself.

"Really smooth," Duke added, nodding.

"You guys do patrols, don’t you?" Damian suddenly asked, eyes narrowing.

The table froze.

Loki looked insulted. "I don’t patrol. I simply exist in the darkness and deliver judgment."

Peter smacked his forehead. "He means we jog. At night. In hoodies."

Steph raised a brow. "In full body armor and tactical boots?"

"It’s an… intense jog."

The Batfam had regrouped after school with one goal: catch the newcomers in the act. Find out who they were, what they were doing in Gotham, and why Loki was allowed to have hair that shiny.

So far, no luck.

Until a blur zipped past one of Oracle’s surveillance drones.

"Got ‘em!" Babs said in the comms. "Warehouse off Robinson. Multiple signatures. Moving fast."

On the rooftop, Red Robin (Tim), Spoiler, Orphan, and Signal closed in from the west, while Red Hood and Nightwing took the north.

They landed silently, perched across from the other team — who had definitely noticed them but hadn’t moved.

Standoff.

Spider-Man crouched on a wall, head tilted. "Sooo… do we pretend we don’t see you or is this a classic rooftop standoff?"

"You’re interfering with Gotham operations," Damian snapped.

"You're a child with a sword," Clint called back. "Let’s not throw rocks, bud."

"I’m older than you think."

"Same," Loki muttered.

"Who are you people?" Nightwing finally asked, voice calm but firm.

"Freelancers," Sam said. "Temporary. We’re just… passing through."

"And your base of operations just happens to be an abandoned warehouse full of encrypted tech and enough weapons to stock a Marvel movie?" Tim asked flatly.

Tony, who had joined silently (hovering, of course), raised a hand. "Technically, I did stock several Marvel movies."

They stared at him.

"Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say that."

Just then, a sudden crack of movement — a mugger on the street below, cornering a woman in an alley.

Spider-Man was gone in a blink.

Matt followed, silent.

Clint notched an arrow. Natasha jumped to the adjacent fire escape.

"Wait—" Tim started.

And then Signal, Red Hood, and Spoiler all dropped down too.

Five minutes later, the mugger was webbed, disarmed, knocked out, and given a very passive-aggressive flyer about career alternatives.

"That was… surprisingly efficient," Duke admitted as they regrouped.

Spider-Man shrugged. "We’re kinda used to it."

No one said anything for a beat.

Then, Jason turned to Clint. "You really shoot arrows?"

Clint smirked. "You shoot people?"

Jason grinned. "I like you."

Back on the rooftops, as the groups awkwardly loitered post-patrol, Peter quietly offered a cookie to Damian.

Damian stared at it.

"...Homemade?"

Peter nodded.

Damian took it. Nibbled. And muttered, "...Acceptable."

Which, from Damian, was basically a declaration of undying loyalty.

Chapter Text

Peter was so close to being on time.

Then Thor accidentally sneezed lightning and short-circuited the main hallway lights. Again.

“I am sorry,” Thor said cheerfully, adjusting his blazer (which was a size too small for his ridiculous shoulders). “Midgardian allergies are most inconvenient!”

“That’s not how electricity works,” muttered Bruce Banner, who had his face buried in a physics textbook. “I have a pop quiz in ten minutes and I swear to god if someone yells ‘Hulk out’ one more time—”

“Don’t Hulk out,” Clint whispered from behind him.

“That’s it.”

Thor had to carry Bruce to homeroom like a sack of broccoli before he did something irreversible.

The Batkids, sitting three rows over, just watched the chaos like it was free Netflix.

“Are we sure these guys are high schoolers?” Duke asked, sipping his coffee.

“They better be,” Stephanie muttered. “Because one of them flirts like a thirty-year-old accountant and two of them just hotwired the chemistry room door because it was ‘locked wrong.’”

“Which one flirts?” Damian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“All of them,” Tim said grimly. “All of them.”

Biology Class was a disaster.

Bruce tried to keep things low-profile, but unfortunately, the fetal pig dissection awakened something in him.

“They’re cutting the organs wrong,” he muttered under his breath.

“Maybe don’t correct the teacher again,” Peter hissed. “He already cried once.”

“Actually,” Thor said loudly, holding up his scalpel like a tiny hammer, “on Asgard, dissection is considered a sacred rite of education. We honor our fallen beasts by knowing their insides!”

“…Do you want to not talk for five minutes?” Natasha said sweetly.

Meanwhile, Loki had reanimated a pig with illusion magic, and now it was dancing on the windowsill.

“Magic doesn’t count as extra credit,” Steph called from across the room.

“Neither do insults,” Loki shot back, grinning.

Matt, blind and completely unbothered, calmly took notes (in his indescribable handwriting) that he will never read while Clint tried to build a slingshot out of two pens and someone’s dissected lung.

Gotham Prep’s cafeteria was tense. On one side: the “exchange students”. On the other: Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown, and Damian Wayne doing their best impersonation of a spy team.

“I swear I saw Thor eat his lunch tray,” Duke whispered.

“He did,” Steph whispered back. “He said it was ‘a test of Midgardian metallurgy.’”

Across the room, Peter was nervously poking at mystery meat.

“I think it’s alive,” he muttered.

Loki poked it with his fork. “It looked back at me.”

Steve, bless him, was trying to be positive. “Maybe it’s just… exotic?”

Matt sniffed the air. “It’s definitely food adjacent.”

Bruce muttered, “Can I Hulk out just a little? Like, table flip level?”

Tony had sent them all with pre-packed sandwiches from the fridge. They were labeled “DO NOT EAT PETER’S. I SWEAR TO GOD. – Tony.”

Clint was already halfway through Peter’s.

That night, the vigilante patrols resumed. Peter, Matt, Natasha, and Sam were on rooftops, with Bruce (still slightly green around the eyes), Steve, and Thor a few blocks down.

Bucky, as usual, stayed in the shadows like a terrifying knife-wielding raccoon.

From another building, the Batfamily watched.

“They’re really not amateurs,” Tim said.

“Or meta kids,” Duke added. “They move like trained operatives. Or at least like people who’ve seen way too many action movies.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What’s the redhead doing?”

Clint had just zip-tied a purse thief to a lamppost… upside down… and was now trying to take a selfie with him.

“Okay, yeah. That one’s unhinged.”

“And the little one with the hoodie keeps disappearing,” Damian growled. “I tracked him across three rooftops. Every time I got close, he was gone.”

“Maybe we should finally bring them in?” Steph suggested.

Tim shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s wait. I want to see what the magician does.”

From across the skyline, a red portal burst open with dramatic sparkle noise.

Stephen Strange emerged, floating on his cape, holding takeout.

“Did you want the chicken dumplings or the spicy tofu?” he called across the alley.

Sam yelled back, “Spicy tofu, no peanuts!”

Batman, who had appeared silently behind them, just blinked.

“…What.”

Tony was upgrading the water heater.

“Why do you need a water heater for ten people?” Bruce asked him.

“Because everyone showers like they’re preparing for battle,” Tony snapped.

Thor proudly handed over a cracked bathroom pipe. “I tried to fix it with thunder. It… did not yield.”

Peter, wrapped in a towel, dripped across the floor. “The shampoo exploded again.”

“That was me,” Loki said. “I hexed it. I thought it was Matt’s.”

“I felt that,” Matt said, deadpan.

Bucky was eating cereal on the couch, knives stuck in a knife-holder shaped like a man. “This is nice. Real family vibes. Ten out of ten, no notes.”

Tony looked around the chaos.

Stephen floated past with a book, muttering, “You are all my burden now.”

Chapter Text

It began with an earthquake.

Not a big one—just enough to send birds scattering and windows shaking. Gotham wasn’t used to tremors. It was used to monsters, murder, and muggers. Not rips in the sky.

But that’s what happened next.

Above Wayne Tower, reality peeled open like a zipper.

A shimmering red spiral crackled open, and out poured something wrong. The creature that emerged was twenty feet tall, all black ichor and metal, with glowing glyphs and too many arms—an eldritch horror in a trench coat. It looked like something Stephen would definitely call a “Class 6 Dimensional Parasite.”

And then it spoke, voice like a broken choir.

“WHERE ARE THE AVENGERS?.”
“…Cool,” Clint whispered from the rooftop, aiming his bow. “Love that.”

Within seconds, every member of the Outsiders From Another Universe Who Are Totally Not The Avengers was suited up and moving. Stephen floated down with his cloak snapping dramatically, Loki twirled a knife between his fingers while grinning like he definitely wanted to make this worse, and Thor… well, Thor thundered.

“AT LAST, A WORTHY FOE!” Thor yelled, launching Mjolnir with a CRACK of lightning.

Across town, the Batfamily landed silently on the next rooftop, eyes narrowed.

“Alright,” Nightwing muttered, watching Thor fly. “Those aren’t exchange students.”

“No kidding,” Jason said, loading his gun.

Tim activated a recording drone. “That guy is literally floating.”

“Do we… help?” Steph asked.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered, drawing his sword. “We are not civilians.”

The eldritch creature roared, swatting Thor like a fly. Thor crashed into a parking garage—and immediately launched himself back out with a fistful of lightning.

Stephen created three glowing shields, directing magical runes in the air like a maestro. “Stay out of the rift!” he called. “It’s trying to destabilize the plane of existence!”

“WHICH plane?” Sam shouted.

“YES.”

Loki created duplicates of himself, some throwing magic, others just yelling insults. “This is so much more fun than algebra!”

Peter leapt off a building, thwipping web lines around the creature’s arm. “Guys, it’s like—really strong! I need backup!”

“On it!” Steve yelled, slamming his shield into the creature’s leg.

Matt flipped across a rooftop, landing next to Damian mid-fight. “Hey, swordsman. Don’t stab me.”

“You don’t look like backup.”

“I’m blind. Don’t take it personally.”

Meanwhile, Bucky tackled one of the glowing glyph limbs with a knife and sheer spite. Sam dove past him in a winged blur, kicking the creature in the face.

“You guys always throw hands with demonic spaghetti monsters on school nights?” Duke yelled, zapping a tendril with his powers.

“Yes!” Peter and Clint yelled in unison.

Bruce Banner had been hanging back, teeth clenched, breathing hard. “Don’t. Make. Me—”

A nearby explosion rocked the ground, and a flaming piece of debris sailed straight toward Loki.

Bruce’s eyes flashed green.

“HULK… SMASH!!”
The explosion that followed cracked three buildings and sent the monster flying backwards through the air.

“THERE we go,” Tony muttered from the coms, watching from the hidden base. “Took long enough.”

Steph blinked at the now-shirtless Hulk, who had picked up Thor and thrown him like a javelin.

“I think I’m in love,” she whispered.

Loki leapt from a rooftop, twin daggers flickering with green magic. “Let’s see what makes you tick, darling.”

He snapped his fingers, summoning six identical copies of the demon—except they weren’t attacking. They were being lectured.

By Stephen Strange.

Each illusion—blindingly smug, arms crossed, magic swirling—was mid-monologue.

“You see, the paradox of planar incursion isn’t the energy itself, but the frequency...”
“If you’d read even one chapter of the Vishanti Codex...”
“Stop blinking, I’m not finished.”
The demon reeled back, visibly confused as the Stephens circled.

“Don’t worry,” Loki purred, vanishing behind it. “It gets worse.”

The real Stephen floated down like a mildly annoyed librarian. With a flick of his wrist, red bands of eldritch energy erupted from his palms, slamming into the demon’s chest and wrapping around its limbs.

It screeched and flailed, trying to break free.

“Dormammu was worse,” Stephen muttered, tightening the chains. “At least Dormammu had style.”

He yawned. “You, however, look like a melted bug-zapper.”

A boom of thunder split the air as Thor launched himself skyward, spinning Mjolnir fast enough to tear the clouds open.

“ELDRITCH ABOMINATION,” he bellowed, diving straight down. “PREPARE TO BE SMOTEN—SMITED—SMASHED!”

Mjolnir connected with the creature’s jaw in a blast of lightning. The thing staggered backward, yowling.

“AND STAY DOWN, YOU FILTHY SON OF A GOAT TROLL!” Thor shouted, already winding up again.

Down on the ground, Bruce had already transformed. The Hulk stood amidst a crater, flexing his hands.

The demon swung at him—Hulk caught its glowing, pulsating, definitely-magic heart-core mid-air.

And ripped it out.

“...Hulk eat shiny egg?”

“Wait, what—” Peter started.

Too late.

Hulk popped the core into his mouth like a glowing Tic Tac and crunched it with a grimace.

Everyone paused.

“…Huh,” Loki said. “Bold move.”

“Respect,” said Jason from a rooftop.

“YEEEHAW!” Peter screamed as he swung into view on a webline, stuck a landing on Hulk’s shoulder, and thwipped reinforced titanium webs around the creature’s flailing arm.

He rode Hulk like a feral rodeo cowboy, eyes wide with adrenaline and teenage panic.

“This is the best-slash-worst night of my life!”

“You’re welcome!” Hulk shouted, smashing the demon’s leg.

Matt dodged energy blasts like he heard them before they fired—which, to be fair, he kind of did.

The moment the creature’s shoulder joint hummed with charging energy, he pivoted and rolled, using the echo from its movement to guide a baton throw straight into its power node.

It sparked and stuttered.

“Big, ugly, and loud,” he muttered. “Just my type.”

Steve caught a chunk of flying concrete with his shield, threw it back at the demon’s eye, and barked into the comms:

“Everyone focus fire! Peter, keep the arms restrained! Sam, go aerial! Loki—keep doing... whatever you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, summoning another Stephen illusion mid-smirk.

While the monster stumbled, Bucky knelt beneath it, calmly planting a small glowing explosive on its heel.

He looked up once.

“Boom.”

He walked away without turning back as the foot detonated, causing the creature to stumble and scream.

Peter screamed too, from Hulk’s shoulder. “DUDE! WARNING NEXT TIME!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bucky deadpanned.

“Alright, Clint,” Sam shouted as he rocketed upward, wings flaring wide.

“You got the shot?”

“Just say the words!” Clint shouted back from six rooftops away.

Sam climbed into the clouds—then dove at full speed.

“WINGMAN STRIKE!”

He hit the creature’s back like a meteor as Clint loosed his arrow.

The grapple line zipped through the air and embedded in the monster’s core, where Sam’s blow had cracked it open.

The creature staggered.

“NOW!” Tim yelled.

He slammed a hacked device onto the rooftop generator he'd plugged into earlier. Red sparks leapt from it as the demon’s teleportation glyphs blinked out.

“No more jumping between planes, you spiky glitch,” he muttered.

Duke leapt from a nearby fire escape, hands glowing. “Overload in three... two... zap.”

The demon’s energy shield exploded in a crackle of blue.

Damian launched off his grappling line and stabbed the demon in the eye, because of course he did.

“Die, filth,” he hissed.

Steph, grinning, used the stunned demon’s head as a launching pad and drop-kicked it off a water tower.

Jason popped up behind her, guns blazing. “Eat THIS, tentacle trash!”

The creature reeled.

From a lamppost, Nightwing sighed deeply.

“I swear to God, I was just going to patrol for muggers tonight.”

He vaulted into the air, triple-flipped off a light pole, and slammed both escrima sticks into the demon’s remaining eye socket.

The creature fell.

With a bone-rattling shriek, it collapsed in on itself—sucked back into the red portal, which closed with a snap of silence.

The heroes stood amidst the wreckage.

Covered in grime.

Panting.

Victorious.

The monster finally exploded into light, leaving behind only cracked streets, glowing dust, and about fifteen very tired people.

Peter flopped onto the rooftop. “Okay. That was... a lot.”

“You guys okay?” Steve asked the Batkids.

There was a long silence.

Finally, Tim said, “No.”

Jason pointed at Loki. “You’re not students.”

“No,” Stephen agreed, floating back down. “We are very much not.”

“But why are you here?” Nightwing asked.

Stephen and Tony exchanged a glance.

Tony’s voice crackled over the comms. “Short answer: multiverse. Long answer: also multiverse. Even longer answer involves pizza, quantum rifts, and Loki being an idiot.”

“I regret nothing,” Loki said.

Peter slid off Hulk’s shoulder and flopped onto the rooftop next to Duke.

“I vote we get pizza.”

“Seconded,” said Bucky.

“Do any of you even have money?” Steph asked.

“Does anyone ever?” Loki replied innocently.

Tim just groaned. “This is going to be such a weird report.”

Chapter Text

It turned out that Bruce Wayne had safehouses stashed like Gotham’s pigeons—everywhere, and always slightly unsettling. Tonight’s choice had a fireplace, fifteen mismatched mugs, and approximately four beds for twenty people.

So naturally:

Cuddle Pile Protocol was initiated.

Hulk had reverted back into Bruce Banner and was now snoring on a beanbag chair like a very large science cat. Someone (Tim) had tossed a hoodie over him like a blanket. Peter, Matt, Sam, Clint, and Duke were arguing over how to build a “nest” in the corner with blankets, couch cushions, and exactly one inflatable pool toy they’d found in a closet.

“I’m not sleeping next to Clint,” Sam declared.

“I don’t want to sleep next to Clint,” Matt muttered.

“I bite in my sleep,” Clint added.

Peter raised a brow. “Okay, but I sleepwalk. So we’re evenly cursed.”

“Absolutely not,” said Duke. “We’re building a line of separation like mature, traumatized children.”

Meanwhile, Loki was curled on the windowsill, acting like he didn’t want to be involved.

He definitely was.

An illusion of him was stretched elegantly in a separate chair, but real-Loki had his head tucked into Thor’s shoulder, fast asleep.

Thor, somehow fully refreshed after the lightning punch-a-thon, was braiding Natasha’s hair while she half-dozed.

Across the room, Jason, Damian, and Steph were arguing about whether the microwave could survive another attempt at heating pizza rolls. Bucky watched from the shadows like a cryptid, occasionally offering advice like:
“Add water. Microwaves respect hydration.”

“Thanks, grandpa,” Jason grunted.

“Watch your mouth,” Bucky replied, gently tucking a baby bat plushie behind Peter’s head as a pillow.

The microwave exploded.

It didn’t even go out with a bang—just a sad wheeze, a fizzle, and then flames.

“Okay, who tried to nuke pepperoni with a metal fork still in the tray?!” Dick yelled from the hallway, already pulling the fire extinguisher off the wall like this was routine.

“Tony!” everyone chorused.

Tony made finger guns and grinned. “What can I say, I’m an innovator.”

“You’re banned from food,” said Steph. “Forever.”

In the Batcave, Bruce Wayne sat in front of a console, files open, surveillance footage rolling… and a very confused Alfred beside him.

“So to recap,” Bruce said slowly, “we have at least nine... enhanced minors. Possibly multiversal. Currently squatting in one of my properties. One turns green. One throws lightning. One is definitely a spider.”

“Yes, sir,” Alfred replied serenely. “Also, one of them ate a magical core like it was trail mix.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “And the one with knives for hands?”

“Still baking cookies with Cassandra in the east kitchen. They appear to be bonding.”

Bruce blinked. “I didn’t even know we had an east kitchen.”

“You don’t use it much.”

Meanwhile, Tim Drake had turned the safehouse whiteboard into a murder board of red string, receipts, and questionable drawings.

“So,” he said, tapping the center of it, “we’ve narrowed it down to four possible dimensions, one time loop, and a magical interplanar device—”

“—that I will be handling,” Stephen Strange said from the couch, where he was sipping tea and refusing to explain anything like a true wizard.

“...Do you ever tell people anything?” Tim asked.

“I do. When it’s funny.”

Clint created a new chat thread.

“BAT AVENGERS (™) 🦇✨”

• Clint renamed the chat.

• Loki changed the icon to a duck wearing sunglasses.

• Damian threatened everyone.

• Peter posted a meme of Hulk riding a unicorn.

Bruce Wayne, opening his phone for the first time in weeks, stared at the invite blinking on screen.

"...What in God's name is ‘Wingman Strike Squad’?”

Eventually, bodies piled onto sofas, chairs, floor mattresses, and whatever emotional support beanbags were still alive. Cloaks were used as blankets. Capes were used as mattresses. At some point, someone definitely drooled on Mjolnir.

Peter snored face-down in a pizza box. Loki muttered something about goats. Bruce Banner was hugged by a half-asleep Sam, who whispered, “You're warm. You're like a science space heater.”

Tony and Stephen remained by the fireplace, watching the chaos unfold.

“Admit it,” Tony said, voice low. “You like them.”

Stephen sipped his tea. “They’ll die in a week.”

Tony raised a brow. “But you like them.”

Stephen hesitated.

“…They’re… tolerable.”

Which was magic-sorcerer-code for I would literally destroy a dimension for them.

The next morning, after ten people fought over who got the last Pop-Tart, Bruce walked in.

They all froze.

He scanned the room, took in the chaos, and finally said:

“…We’ll get you new identities. Clean records. And a schedule.”

Everyone blinked.

“Wait, what?” Peter asked.

Bruce looked at them, tired but oddly… resigned.

“You’re not going back anytime soon. I’ll talk to Zatanna. In the meantime…”

He sighed deeply.

“…Welcome to Gotham.”

Everyone cheered. Hulk cheered the loudest.

Tim quietly screamed into a pillow.

[ THE END...?? ]