Chapter Text
White blinding light, a smokescreen pulled over his eyes as head throbbed, nausea clawing its way up his throat, the pressure sitting at the back of his tongue as knees hit hard concrete. Or was this asphalt? He wasn’t sure, not with the ringing in his ears and the blackness overtaking his vision. Pulsating lights flashed and faded, the sounds of car horns blaring. Colours filtered back in, followed by the headache ebbing away. It was concrete beneath his knees and fingertips, the all too familiar stench of back alleys and smog filling his lungs. He could see the neon lights and flickering street lamps, car headlights washing over people scurrying place to place.
Pushing himself up off his knees, he held up an arm to check the gauntlet. Only to find that it wasn’t there. Of course, that was what was niggling at the back of Bruce’s mind. It wasn’t night time a few minutes ago. It was yet another cloudy day in Gotham and another boring day at the office. He was still dressed in the blue suit he wore to work this morning.
He remembers the building shaking, screaming coming from the labs below, and his footsteps pounding on tiles. The lab went white just as he threw open the door, smoke thick in the air and a whirring noise in his ears. Something had gone wrong.
He raised his head, examining the signs on the buildings. He was in the Bowery, there was no disputing that, but the flickering sign with faded letterings and broken plastic above boarded up doors instantly told him that it wasn’t the one he remembered. ‘Johnny Charisma, Live’ with police tape stretching across the front of the theatre. Turning around, he saw something similar across the way. A small diner, torn apart and secluded from the public.
He didn’t even know who Johnny Charisma was, much less why the entirety of the place looked in a similar state as the diner and theatre, as if it had been through a war zone. A war that was clearly still happening given the red checkpoints lit up in the night, with armed soldiers marching past and the rumble of military tanks in the distance. Something had gone very wrong.
‘Okay. Just take stock of what you know. You are in Gotham but it is not your Gotham. This happened after an explosion in a lab that was working on perfecting teleportation and travelling long distances instantly. It could be that it sent you to a different universe rather than a different location. Now you have to confirm that theory. Find hard evidence that this is not the same and catalogue any other discrepancies between where you are now and the Gotham you know.’ Bruce went through his situation methodically, breaking down every step of his plan to move forward as he walked down the street, keeping to himself.
That’s when he heard the gunshot followed by a shout and gurgling of someone choking. He broke into a sprint before he could stop himself, following the sound. He stuttered to a stop at an alleyway, blood seeping towards the entrance and flowing beneath his shoe.
He scowled and took a step forwards, clenching his fists before deciding otherwise and adopting a clueless expression on his face.
An expression which instantly fell away and into the hardened and blank look he wore as Batman. That was due to the stranger on the ground at the end of the alley, a hand wrapped around his torso with blood pooling beneath it.
This stranger wore red and grey camouflage styled shirt and trousers, with plated boots and gauntlets. The armour plating had sections of blue, mainly on the chest. The metal wrapped around his neck and shoulders, back facing towards Bruce. There were two triangular bat-like appendages attached to the blue helmet. Surely this wasn’t this universe's Batman?
Another gunshot. The stranger had a pistol pointed at the shadows of the alley. Bruce gritted his teeth, watching with narrowed eyes. Surely that wasn’t him in the suit. He couldn’t imagine himself ever using a gun in any universe.
“I’m warning you! You better not come any closer, goddamn freaks.” The man in the mask growled, voice electronically distorted. He was interrupted by heavy footsteps. Raising his head, he spotted a soldier nearby with the same symbol on his uniform as the one inscribed on the strangers shoulder guards. The stranger chuckled weakly, still holding his stomach. “Good to see you Anderson. What, you get held up by rioters again?”
“Well well, if it isn’t the Arkham Knight. Surprised to see you here, but yeah so we gassed em. They should be choking on their worst fears by now. What about you sir, what happened to you?” The soldier, Anderson, asked.
Arkham Knight let out another chuckle. “God damn fear junkies. There were about sixteen of them, one of them managed to get a blade through my armour. Dropped all but three. Should still be around here.”
Bruce melded into the shadows, waiting to see what this so-called Knight would do or what his current motivations and or goals were. From that conversation alone, it didn’t sound like he was on the side of the angels.
The soldier stepped closer, walking over to the Knight when a shadow passed overhead and a familiar black and blue suit dropped down from the rooftops above, a small smile lacing itself onto Bruce’s lips. Nightwing. Hopefully he wasn’t too different to the one he knew back home.
Anderson brandished his gun, aiming it right at Nightwing and shouting for him to back up. The knight started to say something, but was quickly cut off by a swift kick right to the stomach wound.
Knight groaned and pushed his hands against the ground, forcing himself up to his feet. “Didn’t I mention, the guy that tagged me was Nightwing?” He said with a mirthless laugh and dry chuckle, grunting as he shifted, the wound a deep red and the gun still trained upon Nightwing.
“Shit. Fuck. You didn’t mention that, no. Would have been nice to know.” Anderson cursed and kept his gun trained on Nightwing, the man standing right in front of the Knight.
Nightwing moved, faster than Bruce had ever seen him, and foot collided with the Knight’s body, coming up on his left side which he was shielding due to the wound. A crack echoed as Arkham Knight slammed into the brick wall. The gun clattered to the ground on impact.
The Knight ducked Nightwing’s next swing, bringing his fist up and nailing the man in the jaw. Nightwing didn’t even seem to notice. He snarled, pupil’s dilated, and charged the Knight again. This time he had a birdarang in his grip, and sliced right at the Knight’s throat.
The Knight ducked to the side, rounding on his feet and grabbing Nightwing’s hair, slamming his face into the wall. He went to do it again, when suddenly he collapsed, body convulsing. Nightwing whirled towards Anderson, the smile on his face wicked and cruel and unlike anything Bruce had ever seen on any of his children’s faces. An electric baton was in Nightwing’s hand, sparking bright blue.
Anderson cursed and fired at Nightwing. Nightwing charged, avoiding the arch of bullets. A discharge of electricity hit Anderson right in the face, dropping him instantly. Then Nightwing turned back to the Arkham Knight.
“They’re dead because of you, you sick son of a bitch. I’m going to enjoy watching you bleed out. Death is too good for you, but you’d probably enjoy anything else, wouldn’t you?” Nightwing hissed, cackling at the words. It honestly scared Bruce, to see him this way, so willing to kill or worse. Whatever drove him to this was not something he wanted to encounter but at the same time it might be the only way of helping Nightwing. And he would, no matter what universe, he would always help his sons.
Nightwing grabbed the Arkham Knight, slamming his head against the wall. Again, and again and again. He didn’t stop even when a loud crack echoed followed by the shattering of what sounded like glass. A wheeze came from the Arkham Knight, the distortion no longer there. Instead it was a broken and soft sound, much higher pitched than Bruce expected.
Nightwing threw him backwards, driving an elbow right into Knight’s ribcage as he leapt on him. He raised a fist and kept punching, kept going even as blue shards embedded themselves in his knuckles.
“Dick, stop! It’s me!” The Knight yelled, coughing heavily through wheezing breaths. Whoever this Knight was, he sounded young. Younger than Bruce expected. A lot younger. And the way he said Dick’s name, that wasn’t an insult, there was a strong sense of familiarity there.
Nightwing dropped him, laughing. “Don’t beg for mercy now Joker. You know what you did. Although I am surprised you even know how to beg.”
The Knight’s head flopped to the side, face angled slightly towards Bruce, broken faceplate sparking and shattered to reveal the man inside.
And Bruce couldn’t breathe. His heart stopped and veins turned to ice, all the air completely gone from his lungs as he saw the Arkham Knight's face. He looked much older, and had several scars, his face mostly turned away, but Bruce would recognise him by the back of his head a mile away. Jason. His Jason. His son, his boy, alive. Here. Now.
The number one rule of accidental multiverse travel was don’t interfere with anything. You don’t belong there, you could irreparably change things or alter the course of this world or yours.
But Bruce, he couldn’t let Jason bleed. Never again. Even the thought of not seeing him again made him sick. Of not seeing his face. He knew he wasn’t the same as the one he lost, that would be impossible. Even if they weren’t in an alternate universe, that theory now very much confirmed, that many scars would change someone irreparably. He might not know the story behind any of them, but even his actions tonight spoke volumes. This was not the same Jason.
And yet Bruce didn’t care. No matter what his son was like or what he did, he was still his son. Even if there was absolutely nothing left of the Jason he knew and loved, he wouldn’t care. People changed all the time. They adapted, did what they had to, and he was okay with that. Granted he wasn’t thrilled knowing his son, his little boy, killed two people right in front of him and is planning to kill many more, but that doesn’t mean he’d shun or hate him. Jason must have a reason for breaking that one rule. Crossing that one line. And Bruce was desperate to figure it out.
Nightwing was still laughing, pounding down on Jason. Anderson had sat up, calling in backup on his radio and firing at Nightwing.
Bruce didn’t care. He’d follow Jason into Hell and back just to catch a glimpse of his face. Just to hear his voice again. It was so rough and deep compared to what he knew, yet still so young. Far too young for someone like him. He didn’t know the timeline here or how old Jason was, but back home, his Jason would have been nineteen.
God, nineteen years old. Jason probably would have given up Robin by now. Moved on to a different persona or better yet, given it up altogether. Maybe he would have been studying English at college, or training to be a Teacher. Jason would have made a fantastic teacher, he always had a way with kids. Even when he was one himself, he always made them feel safe. Always made them smile. He could just see it now, Jason in front of a class of kindergarteners, reading books to them.
Bruce moved, slamming into Nightwing. The man hit the wall and lunged at Bruce. Bruce snatched the second baton off of Nightwing’s back, and plunged it right into Dick’s stomach, saying a silent apology to him.
Anderson glared at him. “Elliot. What are you doing here?” He demanded. Bruce ignored him , kneeling down next to Jason. He reached forwards for him, going to examine the knife wound. Jason flinched and moved away.
“I would never hurt you.” Bruce said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Damn, he was typically so measured and controlled. He would never normally be this caught off guard or say something careless.
But the Arkham Knight just chuckled weakly and mirthlessly. “I don’t even know you.”
“But I know you. Jason.” Bruce whispered and turned around, letting the lone streetlight catch his face, shadows playing across his eyes and body, hand still outstretched towards the wound.
The Arkham Knight went completely still. Silent for several minutes. Until eventually he reached up and pulled off the broken helmet.
Bruce couldn’t see his face well in the shadows, but he could see the expression on it. The wide eyes and slack jaw, all of which quickly morphed into something hard, something clenched and set. Something resembling anger.
“I don’t think you do. What game are you playing, Elliot?” Jason spat, whipping out the pistol in his holster and jamming it against Bruce’s temple.
Bruce moved his head with the movement, sighing. “I’m not Thomas Elliot. I am not Hush. It’s really me. Bruce.” He said matter of factly.
That mirthless laugh returned and Jason threw his head back, cackling, before snapping it forwards and glaring at him. “You really expect me to believe that? As if I wasn’t the one to bury his body? Come on, who do you think I am?” Jason snapped.
Bruce was dead here. That was, well it was something. He would come back to that later. For now, he had to soothe Jason. He saw the way his face twisted when he told him who he was, he saw the flash of guilt and the clench of the jaw, he saw the minute flinch and the way he leant ever so slightly closer.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything. You always made up your own mind,” he chuckled softly at the mental image of Jason all scraped up and refusing to get off the mat until he perfected a move Bruce said was way above his level, “or at least, you did in my universe. I’m not from around here.”
Jason slowly lowered the gun, setting it down on the ground next to him. “Okay. Let’s say I believe your insane and ridiculous story. You’re not from around here. Where are you from and how’d you get here?” He asked, turning his head away and hiding his face, breathing heavily.
Bruce wanted nothing more than to see to his wounds and make sure he was okay, but with Jason it was always better to be cautious and answer questions first. He would likely disappear on him, even injured, if he didn’t like the situation.
“I’m from a different dimension. I believe my earth is earth 76. I do not know which earth this is.” Bruce explained in a flat tone. “I’m here because of an explosion at Wayne Tech. We were experimenting with teleportation technology when the machine started to backfire. I went to go help and woke up here instead,”
Jason sighed and rested his head against the ground, chin turned away from Bruce. “Okay great. You’re a different Bruce. Why’d you step in?”
How could he explain it, that painful longing ache just for Jason to show him his face, for him to catalogue how beautiful he would have been if he had the chance to grow up, why did he keep hiding his face? Bruce wanted nothing more than to grab it and look down at it with it held between his hands, even if they might be nearly the same height now.
“I couldn’t stand by and let you be hurt,” Jason scoffed at that, “ and I just wanted to see you. No, I needed to see you. I… I miss you. So much. Every single day and night. I miss you. And you’re not my Jason, I know that. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to just see your face.” Bruce confessed, words he would never normally say out loud, but words he needed to. Before he woke up back at Waynetech and this dream all slipped away.
Jason snorted, tilting his face towards Bruce and the streetlight, a cold and cruel smile on his face, cloudy teal eyes locked onto his.
“Is this what you wanted to see, Bruce?” He spat his name with such vitriol. The light caught his pale and gaunt appearance. A deep gash was along his nose, another by his chin, skin littered with soft white scars that were hardly noticeable until you saw the sheen of them when he moved, and the most obvious of them all. A burn mark. A brand. In the shape of a J.
There was scarring around it, as if someone had tried to scratch it off but failed.
And Bruce, all he could do was gasp. He took a step forwards, Jason flinching and stepping back. Bruce noticed and stopped, hands up in the air, waiting for Jason to come to him.
“God, look at you. You’re so beautiful.” Bruce said with a smile, a tiny one at the corner of his lips as he stared at Jason’s face.
Jason flinched again, raising his head to look directly at him. “Beautiful? Have you gone senile, old man? Fucking look at me! Do you not see these scars, do you not see this?” Jason roared, slipping a knife from his belt and tracing it along the brand.
Bruce slowly reached forwards, wrapping his hand around the knife and gently pulling it away. “Yes and I’m so sorry, you never deserved any of that. I don’t know what happened, but it’s something that never ever should have. It doesn’t make you ugly or worth less. It means you’re strong. You’re a survivor.” Bruce whispered.
Jason dropped the knife, it clattering against the ground, and slumped forwards, his head pressed into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder. He started to sob, large deep gulps as tears leaked through Bruce’s suit jacket. “I’m not. I’m not. I’m exactly what he made me. He made me a killer and he made me kill you.” Jason whispered between sobs, wrapping a hand tightly around the lapels of Bruce’s jacket. Bruce hugged him tightly to his chest, running a hand through his hair and along the scars on the back of his head.
“You’re still here. You’re still alive. So what if you’re a killer? You did what you had to. Yes it disappoints me, but not for the reason you think.” Bruce said, cupping Jason’s head in both his hands and lifting it so it was looking up at him. “It disappoints me that you had no choice in it. That you were made to be one by someone else. If it wasn’t for whatever it is you went through, could you honestly say you would have made the same choices?”
Jason shook his head, sniffling. God didn’t he look exactly like he did as a kid? Showing up outside the house crying and trying to hide it all, pretending like he was fine. He could see that now, this Jason trying to get it all under control. As if crying was weak. Weakness was never facing your emotions or problems at all, letting them overcome you so thoroughly that one day you just break. You break and never get back up because you don’t know how. This is a miracle. The fact that Jason feels and felt comfortable enough to cry around him is a genuine miracle and Bruce is so grateful for every second of it.
“Whatever happened, whatever you did, I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re here. Alive.” Bruce whispered, stroking Jason’s cheek.
Jason laughed wetly and rolled his eyes. “Since when did you become so sappy?” He said, aiming for snide but just coming off as sad and amused.
“Since I went to therapy.” Bruce said with a slight chuckle.
At that Jason drew back, mouth open. “You? In therapy?! That’s insane! You’re definitely not a Bruce Wayne or Batman then.”
Bruce chuckled yet again, shrugging his shoulders. “I know it seems unlikely but I couldn’t keep burying it any more. My life was spinning out of control so I found someone. When I find a way back, do you want to come meet them?”
“Wait. Do you mean go with you, to your universe?” Jason asked, tone incredulous.
Bruce nodded once. “Correct. I would like for you to come with me, unless you’re happy here?”
“Nope. Definitely not happy here but also this is Gotham. The closest thing to happiness you get is cheap rent and cheaper whores.” Jason said with an eye roll.
Bruce sighed and kissed Jason’s forehead. “It’s okay, you can rest now. I’ll take care of your wounds.” He spoke softly, letting the kid fall asleep with his head on his chest.
“What the fuck?!” Anderson said, reminding Bruce that he was still there, and that backup was on the way.
Bruce turned his head to glare at the man, eyes cold and piercing, a question, no, a demand in them. He dared not open his mouth yet and disturb Jason. Not when he was clearly so injured that he could fall asleep in Bruce’s arms.
“It’s just, um,” Anderson swallowed and stared at Jason, “I didn’t know he was so young. Jesus Christ, my boss is a fucking child.” The soldier laughed slightly hysterically and ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head, the gun slung over his shoulder. “I’ve been taking orders from a kid. That’s insane. How old is he anyway?”
“Nineteen.” Bruce said, staring down at Jason and still stroking his hair. He wasn’t sure, not entirely, but his Jason would have been nineteen. This one looked around the same age. Maybe a little younger. He hoped it wasn’t younger. That he didn’t have to go through all that scaring at a young age.
“God, that’s, that’s just, wow.” Anderson muttered, shaking his head.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Bruce challenged, glaring at the man.
“Fuck yeah I do. A nineteen year old shouldn’t know how to lead an entire army and be one of the best snipers in the world. Hell, someone who’s over twenty five shouldn’t even have that role. And the fact that I watched a kid, a goddamn kid, kill several people including Bruce Fucking Wayne without hesitation? That just isn’t right.” Anderson said.
Bruce pursed his lips. That was something he definitely needed to find out more about. But for now, he had to get Jason safe and those wounds looked after.
“Do you have somewhere we can go? I imagine your boss really values his privacy so somewhere secluded without others but with medical equipment to treat his wounds.” Bruce inquired.
Anderson thought for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. There’s your old practice, Elliot. No one is in the hospital now. Not after Halloween and definitely not after Arkham City.”
Bruce didn’t have the time or energy to convince this man of his identity, so he just went along with it, sighing heavily. “Lead the way.”
Anderson nodded and picked up the broken helmet. “It’s just, no one has ever seen the boss without his helmet and I don’t think he would like it if we did.” He said, turning it in his hands.
Bruce nodded and kept Jason’s head pressed against his chest as he walked, the other hand holding tightly onto the stab wound. Jason was heavy. Really heavy actually, and most of it probably was the armour, but he was tall as well. His Jason was small and scrawny, the results of years of neglect and life on the streets.
He and Alfred always made sure to provide Jason with as much food as possible. He distantly wondered how well this Jason was eating. What was his diet like?
His mind returned to the man in front of him, watching every step with wary eyes as he led him down a side street and to a dented metal door.
“It’s locked.” Bruce stated, staring at the large padlock clamped down on the side entrance.
“And?” Anderson said, raising his gun and firing at the lock. The lock snapped and the bullet tinged, the scent of metal and fire strong in the air with ears still ringing from the gunshot. Anderson kicked the door open and walked inside, holding his gun in front of him.
Bruce tentatively followed behind, the ringing fading back into the comforting white noise of Jason’s breaths and the sensation of the hot air on his chest as he breathed in and out.
Their footsteps echoed on the tiles, white tiles covered in grime and a thin layer of mould or moss. The walls were crawling with spiderwebs and Bruce couldn’t help but observe. There was no way this place was sanitary enough to perform some emergency first-aid, but he didn’t exactly have many options.
He just had to trust this Anderson, which he was having an increasingly difficult time doing. Not that he trusted anyone to begin with but when it was Jason’s, and God didn’t that hurt to think about, safety on the line, trust was not a priority.
Water dripped down from the ceiling, plinking in the silence against the tiles. There was sparking of wires above them, and the quiet breaths coming from the three men. Jason’s skin was clammy and cold to the touch, the man not waking once as Bruce jostled him around.
Anderson led him to a room, stepping over a broken tile. The room itself was a standard doctors office with a cabinet stocked full of half empty medication and medical equipment.
He grunted as he set Jason down on the bed, eyes skipping over the equipment left behind. He was surprised it was still here given the state of the rest of the building.
Anderson caught the movement, chuckling. “Yeah people kept hearing this place was haunted and there was a whole incident with anyone coming in turning up dismembered. So people stayed far away but whoever or whatever had camped here is gone now.” He explained as he grabbed some iodine from the cabinet.
Bruce just nodded, taking it from Anderson and setting it next to him. “Help me undress him. I need to examine his wounds.” He ordered as he gently pushed Jason up, unclipping the armour plating from Jason’s chest.
It took him and Anderson nearly ten minutes to strip off the uniform. Bruce’s blood ran cold a second time as he saw the scars littering Jason’s skin like a Jackson Pollock. Each piece of flesh inked with a different brush stroke of pain, whether that be burns or the puckering of skin from an impact or even the Lichtenberg scars that ran along his ribs, the needle marks on the arms, hundreds of them all fighting for a place on his flesh.
Bruce had to purse his lips and adopt the stoic mask of Batman once again. This was just another victim. ‘Work it through, Bruce, start with disinfecting the wound. Stitch and cover it, then examine them for any other wounds. One task at a time.’ He had to coach himself through every movement, carefully stitching and bandaging the knife wound.
He thought he felt a broken rib, but he couldn’t tell without an x-ray. He took precautions and bound it anyway to keep the bone from shifting. He then very carefully cleaned the cuts on Jason’s face, trying not to stare at it. Anderson wasn’t even trying to be subtle about the fact that he was watching him like a hawk. The man would grunt or let out a sigh with every movement he felt was too rough or wrong in some way, the mercenaries arms crossed over his chest the entire time.
Bruce picked up a pair of tweezers, carefully removing shards of the broken helmet from Jason’s skin, apologising under his breath the entire time.
When he was finished with everything, he slumped back against the wall, staring at Jason’s still sleeping form.
Anderson sat down next to him, one arm resting on his knee as his messy brown hair laced with strands of grey around the temple stuck up on end. “What’s your deal? You clearly care about the kid but knowing your history and all, I didn’t think you’d be able to care about anyone.” He said to Bruce.
And Bruce, he was just so tired. Tired of everything, of fighting his sons, of fighting back the waves of grief and relief, of the anxiety and anticipation, knowing that his son was delirious when he spoke to him earlier, that fear of rejection creeping up on him. What if Jason hated him so much that when he finally came back to his rightful mind he pushed him away and he lost his only chance to save a version of his son all over again? But most of all he was exhausted of the fact that he had to hide who he really was, and lie to the world and everyone in it.
So, he decided to tell the truth. “I’m not Elliot. I am Bruce Wayne just from a different world and in my world, that boy on that bed,” Bruce nodded towards Jason, “was my son. I don’t care that this is someone else. I’m not leaving him. Look at him, so young and so damaged. This world isn’t good for him, clearly, and if I can make his life that little bit better, I will.”
Anderson nodded along. “Your story is fucking insane and I don’t know if I believe you or not. Had it been even a year ago I would just laugh but since then we’ve had militia cities, a woman that makes plants grow instantly, a monster clown, and everything in between. I might just accept the story cause you clearly care for him and it’s a sentiment I can get behind. Sure I don’t have any kids of my own, but like hell am I gonna sit back and watch one suffer. Specially not my own goddamn boss. Despite everything, he’s good to us. Feeds us well and pays us even better. Makes sure we’re looked after. Most other employers would never even consider that. Hell, when I worked in a factory that was more of a battle for survival than this is. And I’m fucking armed.”
“I noticed.” Bruce muttered, glancing at the gun slung over Anderson’s shoulder.
Anderson barked out a laugh. “You seem like a decent enough guy, Bruce, but like hell am I trusting a stranger with that boy’s life. And if you end up anything like the one we had, well, I’ll put you in the ground myself. Deal?” He had a sharp smile as he held out his hand.
Bruce debated his options, quickly discovering that he didn’t really have any. Especially not knowing how this universe's Bruce ended up. But whatever that was, must not have been very good given both Anderson and Jason’s glowing reviews.
Eventually he shook Anderson’s hand. “Deal.”