Chapter Text

Jason

A child dies, screaming.

Over, and over. Again and again. A child dies.

Jason Todd, 25, watches Jason Todd, 15, die again.

Again. Again. Again. A-

It's like a bad skip at your least favorite part of the record, but the fucking arm is locked into place and won't budge.

Again, again. Again, again.

Jason doesn't know how long he's been here. He's lost count of what he's tried. Time loops, it turns out, are a bitch.

It's not that he keeps watching his younger self die, even. He saves himself. He's been saving himself. Day after day. Loop after loop. How else is he supposed to get out of here?

Again. Again. Again.

He ran through every last version he could think of to kill the Joker, first. That probably killed a good three years of loop, if he cared to add it up. It doesn't matter.

Again. Again. Again.

Jason Todd the Younger is in the refugee camp. Jason Todd the Older appears amongst it all, in medias res if you will. Too late to stop things before they've begun. Too early to not have a billion or so ways to solve this damned loop.

He doesn't even know how this started. But fuck if he's not going to try every single last way.

Again.

Jason Todd the Younger walks into a trap. Meets his egg donor. Tells Batman the plot. Gets betrayed by said egg donor. Gets tied up, in a warehouse. The laughs. The screams. Forehand or Backhand?

Again.

Jason Todd the Older tries something different. Tries killing the damned clown. Tries killing Shelia. Tries talking to his younger self. Tries kidnapping his own younger self. Tries talking to goddamned Batman. Tries getting Batman the information, unseen, that leads to his younger self walking out of the warehouse, a single broken arm, alongside Batman.

And he succeeds. Jason Todd the Younger walks out, hale and whole, over and over.

Again.

It doesn't matter. The record skips. The loop begins again.

Jason doesn't know what to do.

Jason needs to solve this. Jason needs to save himself. Jason needs to fix all of this. Because everything would be okay, if he could just fix this. If he never had died.

Jason wants his life back.

Again. Again. Again.

Jason wants to find the book A Wrinkle in Time and destroy all the copies. He wants to take Groundhog Day and find every DVD and put them in a fire pit. He wants to take the entire body of H. G. Wells's works and put them in an oven at 451 degrees Fahrenheit.

… He doesn't even think the first one is about time travel, but fuck the title anyway.

Again. Again. Again.

Fuck this.

Fuck all of this.

He doesn't know what else to do, and rages anyway, like he's done before, until he can have another idea.

One loop he tries to forget. A child in Robin colors. A curl of hair. A gun, his own gun, in his hand.

Forehand or Backhand?

He doesn't know what else to do.

It didn't work, and he's glad that one didn't work.

Again. Again. Again.

How long has he been here? How many years? An eon?

Again.

"Hello, Red Hood."

"FUCK!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to surprise you," the man in a black hero suit said, green eyes wrinkling in their corners.

"Who the fuck are you?" Jason replied. "Who sent you?"

"Huh. I forgot we didn't meet yet. Sorry about that," the man seemed like he enjoyed that, as a joke. Jason, frazzled, couldn't help but be jealous.

"Fuck. Are you here to get me out of this or not?"

"Sort of. I can tell you the way out, at least. It's up to you to do it."

Jason groaned. "This is gonna fucking suck, isn't it? Who are you again?"

"I'm Phantom. And yeah, it's gonna suck. But, well. I owe you a favor, so here I am," the man shrugged exaggeratedly, like this was no big.

"Didn't meet yet. Fucking fine. Okay," Jason took a deep breath, and looked down at the warehouse floor. The bombs. The carton of cigarettes, on top of some crates. The crowbar, leaning against them. "What do I have to do?"

Phantom's mood deflated like a souffle when you looked at it wrong, and sympathy lined his edges. "Nothing," the man replied.

"Nothing." Jason said. What was the catch?

"I was told once that sometimes? The only way out is through. You have to let the loop happen. No changes. Like it happened the first time. And you have to watch."

Jason heard his breath hitch, ragged. "I have to watch myself die."

"Yes," Phantom closed his eyes as he answered. "I'm sorry."

"Fuck."

A child dies, screaming.

Jason Todd, 25, Danny Fenton, 24, watch Jason Todd, 15, die again. Watch Shelia bring him into the warehouse. Watch the Joker grab him and beat him. Watch the explosion. They're unharmed. Physically.

They can do nothing.

Jason Todd never wanted to die. He's always, on every level, wanted his life back.

Jason Todd, 25, also wants his life back.

Clockwork

There is a… wrinkle, one might say. A knot, perhaps. An irregularity, either way, in the weave of the fabric of Time.

A knitter versed in making a circular piece may recognize the mistake: when making such a work, if the circle has a single twist, the fabric will have a twist. This can still work for a wearable piece when making a scarf or such, though if your intention was a hat or a sock, well. You may have to rip out some stitches and begin again.

A mathematician may be even more intimately familiar with the properties of such. A surface you can't orient yourself upon. Where traversing to your start point takes twice the distance you'd expect. A Möbius strip.

Only take that and put it into time as well as space.

And this… this was too important a person to leave tangled in the weave.

How to solve this…?

Chapter Text

Danny

A child dies, screaming.

Over and over. Again, and again. A child dies.

Danny Fenton, 24, watches Danny Fenton, 14, die again.

Again. Again. Again. A-

It's like a bad skip of a CD that you listened to too many times, but the CD is stuck in the player and the player won't even turn off because of the way Dad welded it into the walls.

Again, again. Again, again.

Danny doesn't know how long he's been here. He's lost count of what he's tried. Time loops, it turns out, are more annoying than the Box Ghost.

It's not that he keeps watching his younger self die, even. He saves himself. He's been saving himself. Day after day. Loop after loop. How else is he supposed to get out of here?

Again. Again. Again.

He ran through every last version he could think of to keep the Portal from even turning on, first. That was a lot of time. Years, maybe, if he added it up. It doesn't matter.

Again. Again. Again.

Danny Fenton the Younger is having his friends over to hang out. Danny Fenton the older appears in the middle of everything. Too late to stop things before they've begun, really. Too early not to have too many things to try to solve this Clockwork-forsaken loop.

He doesn't even know how this started. But fuck if he's not going to try every single last way.

Again.

Danny Fenton the Younger laughs with Sam and Tucker. Agrees to show them the thing in the basement that his parent's have been working on. Let's Sam get out her camera. Show's Tucker the interface thing. Tells them how his parent's thought it would work. It would be cool though, wouldn't it? A portal? To somewhere else?

Again.

Danny Fenton the Older tries something different. Tries everything different. Tries staying invisible, yanking wires out of the wall and out of the portal. Tries talking to himself. To Tucker. To Sam. Tries turning off the power to the entire town. Meets a different Sam one loop and confuses them both before he remembers and taps out of that. Tries raging at Clockwork. Tries calling for Cujo. For Jazz. For his parents. For anyone, anyone who could stop this.

And he succeeds. Danny Fenton the Younger walks out, hale and whole, over and over.

Again.

It doesn't matter. The CD skips. The loop begins again.

Danny can't figure out what to do.

Danny needs to solve this. Danny needs to save himself. Danny needs to fix all of this. Because everything would be okay, if he could just fix this. If this had never happened.

Danny wants his life back.

Again. Again. Again.

Danny wants to find every last time travel movie and destroy all the copies. Goodbye, Groundhog Day. So long, The Land Before Time. Sayonara, Back to the Future. He will put all of you into a little box and give you to the Incinerator Ghost or something. At the very least the fight with The Box Ghost would scratch all of your Blu-Rays to pieces.

… The second one isn't even about time travel, come to think of it. Well, fuck the title anyway.

Again. Again. Again.

Fuck this.

Fuck all of this.

He doesn't know what else to do, and tries anyway, like he's done before, until he can have another idea.

One loop he tries to forget. A three children in a basement. A fire. His face in the mirror.

I am Inevitable.

He doesn't know what else to do.

It didn't work, and he's glad that one didn't work.

Again. Again. Again.

How long has he been here? How many years? An eon?

Again.

"Hello, Phantom."

"FUCK!"

"I didn't mean to startle you," the man in a red mask said with a smirk on his face. "Who the hell are you?" Danny replied. "Do you work for Clockwork?"

"Huh. I guess I didn't remember we hadn't met yet. Sorry about that," the man oozed confidence. Danny, frazzled, couldn't help but be jealous.

"Okay. Are you here to get me out of here?"

"Yes and no. I'm here to show you the way out, at least. It's up to you to take it."

Danny sighed. "This is going to suck, isn't it? What's your name again?"

"I go by the Red Hood. And yeah, it's gonna suck. But I owe you a favor, so here I am," the man shrugged.

"Not met yet. Right. Okay," Danny took a deep breath, and looked at the portal. The lab. The white-and-black jumpsuit, hanging in the closet. "What do I have to do?"

Hood somehow oozed sympathy behind his mask. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Someone once told me that sometimes? The only way out is through. You have to let the loop happen. Like it happened the first time. And watch."

Danny took in a ragged breath. "I have to watch myself die again."

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Well, hell."

A child dies, screaming.

Danny Fenton, 24, Jason Todd, 25, watch Danny Fenton, 14, die again. Watch Sam and Tucker scream in tandem with the death throws, gasp as a ghost - a boy - stumbles back out into the world. Looks into a mirror and sees himself, forever changed.

Danny Fenton never wanted to die. He's always, on some level, wanted his life back.

Danny Fenton, 24, also wants his life back.

Clockwork

There is a… wrinkle, one might say. A knot, another might. An irregularity, either way, in the weave of the fabric of Time.

A machinist, working with a drive band, would recognize the basics of such. A loop with a single twist wears out more evenly than a band without any twist, as the surface area wears more evenly. A useful piece of knowledge, if somewhat esoteric.

A mathematician may be even more intimately familiar with the properties of such. A surface where you cannot distinguish clockwise from counterclockwise. Where there is only one boundary line. A Möbius strip.

Only take that and put it into time as well as space.

And this… this was too important a person to leave tangled in the weave.

How to solve this…?