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Rating: T for safety
YO! EVERYBODY! ALASTRINA A.K.A. ALI DOES NOT BELONG TO ME! SHE BELONGS TO THE AWESOMELY AMAZING TIRN33! (She also happens to be way funnier than I could ever hope to be…)
It was the middle of hell in Gotham.
Well, that's not really an accurate description, because the middle of hell is any normal day. Really, it was the middle of the zombie apocalypse and the only time Bruce sanctioned the use of guns. Which was either good or bad, depending upon how you took it, because if you only ever came into contact with, say, Red Robin or Red Hood, likelihood was you were running the other way as fast as possible, begging to be eaten.
Anyway, back to the zombie apocalypse bit.
Jason, Tim, and Ali were taking cover inside one of the many bunkers scattered across the city. They, along with the rest of the Bat-family, were nursing bruises and cuts and scrapes that were insanely annoying and slowed down their progress enough without having to be cleaned up. Bruce was busy giving Damian the "be-more-careful-in-the-field-or-else" lecture he'd heard a million times already; Alfred was wrapping gauze around Dick's bloody leg; Dick was blabbering away about something that made no sense, having been previously dosed with plenty of morphine; Tim routinely swatted at the mosquito that was Stephanie with her iodine-soaked cotton ball; and Jason looked at Ali with a horrified expression.
"What?" she asked.
"Today was our wedding day," he revealed.
Ali sighed and buried her face in her hands. "I can't believe this. We have the worst luck in the world, you know that?"
Tim, however, stared at them with a look on his face that was something like indignation. "Are you serious?" he demanded, his voice rising to near-shriek level. "Are you, like, actually frickin' serious? It's the middle of the damn zombie apocalypse, and you wanna get married?"
"Yes?"
Not more than ten minutes later, Tim had somehow been talked into satisfying his older brother's burning need for matrimony and stood at the front of the bunker with an AK-47 at his side. Jason stood beside him, looking proud. Ali was at the back, ready to walk the makeshift aisle. "Alright, let's get this over with," Tim said.
Dick, Bruce, Alfred, and Damian began to hum the bridal march as Ali took slow, deliberate steps to make her way to the front. About ten seconds in, Tim threw up his hands, cried, "Oh, for the love of mercy, pick up the pace!" and took over musical duties, kicking up the tempo considerably. Ali struggled to keep up with the song, stumbling on her half-jog to her soon-to-be-husband's side.
Tim clapped his hands together to gain everyone's attention despite already having it. "Okay, then. Dearly beloved, gather here, sight of God, blah, blah, blah, recite the vows, which have been abridged." He turned to Jason with a hand planted on his hip. "Do you want her for your wife, sickness, health, death do you part?" he asked flatly.
"I…do?" Jason said, bemused.
Tim's face fell into a scowl. "Is that a question?"
"No, no! I…I do."
Tim faced Ali next. "Do you want him for your husband, sickness, health, death do you part?"
She smiled winningly at Jason and confirmed, with a coy wink, "I do."
"Rings, rings, anybody got rings?" Tim called out, addressing the family as a whole, only to be answered with silence. "No? Aw, well, we'll fix that later." He put one hand on Jason's shoulder and the other on Ali's. "Now, after all this is over," he advised, "go find some rings and somebody to marry you for real so that you can actually recite your vows. Until then, though—man, wife, kiss the bride"—Tim hefted his AK-47 onto his shoulder—"and I've got zombies to kill."