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Dick would, first and foremost, like everyone to know that the events that transpired were a hundred percent, absolutely, truthfully, obviously, not his fault.
Dick Grayson is also a lying liar who lies, and no one believes a word of what he said. (It's going in the Hall of Fame, confirmed. The numerous videos, photos, and security camera footage just persuades him to stop trying.)
He didn't mean to...do what he had done. No matter what B said, he wouldn't intentionally sabotage something just to get out of a League meeting.
(...Dick was maybe a lying liar who lied.)
But everyone knew he had ADHD, and having just recovered a magical artefact (that had been checked and okayed by Zatanna when it so clearly wasn't - Zatanna would smack him on the head for this because he knows most of all to not play around with magical artefacts, checked by her or not - so obviously it wasn't his fault - Zatanna would spell him into a rabbit for this and the blackmail material increased tenfold).
B was droning on about the mission debrief, half the superheroes/vigilantes looked bored to death, and well. You don't just leave Dick Grayson, who never really grew out of his hyperactive teenager curious cat stage, with a magical object that had been enchanted. No one knew what the enchantment was - Zatanna had whisked the amateur magician away, probably to whatever magic group thingy that dealt out punishments for magic-users, and she hadn't had time to say anything.
There were several buttons on the object, shaped curiously l"ike an obelisk. The amateur magician also had an Egyptian theme going on. The sandals were inspired, but not good footwear for battles.
Dick found one at the very bottom, glowing red, a universal sign for 'no'.
In a very Dick Grayson fashion, to no one's surprise and everyone's exasperation, he pressed it.
The glow that followed wasn't red - bright, sharp, blue, here and gone in an instant.
So was Batman.
In an instant, the cowled vigilante was replaced by his very younger version, wrinkles disappeared into a youthful face, bright blue eyes uncovered from beneath the white lenses, at least a good one or two decades younger than his counterpart that was no longer in the room. His hair was askew, neat button up with a button ripped off, the bottom half of his pant legs ripped off, suit jacket unbuttoned, and overall not the suave businessman, socialite, or even vigilante that Dick knew. He had blood staining his cheeks, splattered across his shirt, and he had a deer-in-the-headlights look that Dick only saw when one of the kids called him 'Dad'.
(Jay had fun with that. Quite a lot of it.)
Everyone blinked for a second. Hal fell out of his chair, the sound loud in the sudden silence, without Batman's usual oppressive gloominess radiating into the Watchtower. They froze, faced with the image of a colleague twenty years younger than they were used to.
Bruce, rather predictably, broke it.
After all, Dick may not have been his biological child, but he was an impressionable nine-year-old and Bruce had absolutely no idea how to parent one of those. Most of everything that Dick, Nightwing, had, came from Bruce. Batman was a different manner, but Bruce - Dick Grayson knew Bruce Wayne impeccably well, from his inner thoughts to his actions, and when he drew his fist back, knuckles sparkling with the gold watch that was previously on his wrist, he knew exactly how stupid Bruce was about to be.
Clark absolutely was fast enough to dodge Bruce, but he was also stunned, and much as Dick would have loved to see the results of Bruce's stupidityidiocybrashness inability of judging a situation correctly, he didn't really feel like giving his father a broken hand plus quite a sore arm for the next few months. (Punching Superman hurts, more if you use force.)
Dick caught Bruce's fist in the air before it could hit Clark, pulling him back by his elbow, and Bruce spun to meet him. "Whoa, B, calm down - " He let go of his arm and held his own up, trying to signify that he wasn't a threat.
He saw the legs sweeping underneath his own (luckily he had pushed his chair back, or else he would have nasty bruises on his ankles) and jumped up.
Regrettably, he did not see the fist.
He saw the gold. Tasted the metal in his mouth as Bruce Wayne socked him square in the jaw with a hit hard enough to make spots dance in his vision but reckless enough to be considered sloppy.
God, now he knew why the watch was so goddam expensive. Ouch.
Firstly, as this has been established before - none of the following events are Dick's fault. He is absolutely not to blame for this occurrence. Got it? Good.
Secondly, Dick was already regretting everything he had done. The amount of blackmail that was coming his way - not only managing to switch Bruce with his younger self, but also somehow letting himself be punched by the younger, very less trained, very less skilled, version of his father, would no doubt be caught by Babs. He could already see Wally struggling not to laugh as he got over his shock.
Thirdly, Bruce had to be about Jason's age, nineteen, twenty, which meant that he had just finished or was finishing up his crusade around the world. Which meant that though this Bruce was skilled and smart - there was no doubt about that, no world where Bruce Wayne was never the Greatest Detective in the World, or one where he at least knew some self-defense and had an uppercut able to knock out Bane - he had never seen any of the superheroes here or what they could do. Theoretically, any one of them could take him down in a second - with no time to plan, no contingencies, Batman was powerless against the Justice League, much less Bruce.
Fourthly, the most disappointing point ever that would haunt him 'till the day he reached his grave, this Bruce had taken Dick at the throat and held a knife against it.
Young Bruce. Held. Nightwing. At knifepoint.
Plenty of the other heroes were trying not to laugh at this point, and Nightwing resisted the urge to slam his palm against his forehead.
Of all the invulnerable aliens, regular aliens, half-Atlanteans -
Seriously. Out of everyone at the table, Bruce managed to get the one who had absolutely zilch powers, pure human, not even a glowing ring to protect him.
Of course, it could have been due to the fact that Dick was on his immediate right and therefore the easiest to reach (Diana was off with Zatanna), but seriously. Why.
"Okay." Clark held his hands out in a calming manner, but Dick could see him biting his cheek to prevent laughter from spilling out. Despite his (not so) best efforts, an undertone of amusement trickled into his voice. "How about we just talk?"
"Okay," young Bruce growled, his voice much younger than Dick was expecting. "Talk. Who the fuck are you people?"
And Batman swearing? Swearing? The last time Dick had heard the man swear was when he was ten, and the older man was unaware that Dick knew Russian. Dick had happily repeated after him. Bruce had stared, shocked, and the swear jar had been put into place the next day, though Dick became the main contributor after that. Bruce did his best not to swear.
(They don't talk about the dust the jar had collected, crumpled one-dollar bills left untouched, the days Dick didn't come back and the days he did, swore all his wanted and Bruce still didn't utter a word.)
"We mean you no harm," J'onn soothed, though he was smiling faintly too. Traitors. "Simply release Nightwing and we will explain the situation."
"That didn't answer my question," Bruce maintained. His eyes darted around, fixing everyone with glares - no one recoiled, the Batglares still had their effect but Bruce didn't have that part nailed down and these heroes were years old and experienced. "What are you? Cosplayers? This comic-con? Where did you bring me to?"
He heard the click of a shutter - no flash, luckily (flash, heh), as Wally took a picture, the grin beaming now. "Sorry, I had to. Calling backup, N."
Which. That was not good.
He stared at a camera. It nodded up and down at him, taunting.
Dick's life was over.
"Wa - Flash," Dick gasped dramatically. Oh well, he was dead anyways, might as well embrace it. "How dare you. I thought we were friends. This is the ultimate betrayal, I can never trust you again - "
Wally didn't even look sheepish, the bastard. This was what he got for having a speedster as his best friend. Their whole family, troublemakers, the lot.
"Enough," Bruce cut in, deep enough to almost be the voice. Almost. His twenty-year-old voice was still too high. "Where am I? Who are you?"
"My name is Kal," Superman soothed immediately, like Bruce was a bird with his feathers ruffled. "Kal-El of Krypton, otherwise known as Superman." Purposely avoiding his real name, at least he had the sense for that.
Bruce snorted in disbelief. "You don't expect me to believe that, do you? What, aliens are real? Next thing you're telling me people can teleport."
Dick and Clark shared an exasperated smile.
"Come see, then," Clark invited. "As for where you are, well...you're in space."
Bruce's grip slackened in surprise, right as several people burst into the room, followed by a bunch more click noises as shutters went off. Dick groaned. He knew he should've just wrestled his way out of Bruce's grip, possible concussion/injuries or no. Dammit.
Rather predictably, his grip tightened again, but Dick had already slithered out of his arms, flexibility coming into play as he lunged straight for Jason's phone, who was cackling, modulator making it staticky as he held it above his head out of Dick's reach - curse his height - nearly breathless as he laughed. Dick scowled, nailed him in the stomach with a well-placed kick to the solar plexus, and Jason doubled over - the phone sailed out of reach, a tiny flick of the wrist, to Damian's hands, and his little brother grinned wickedly as Dick gaped in disbelief.
"The betrayal," he clutched his heart dramatically, even as it soared with the fact that Damian was actually getting along with them now, after months and months of giving him space and time and trying to figure out how to show him to think for himself. Tim laughed, that eerie laugh from his Robin days. Damian didn't even try to stab him when Tim ruffled his hair, though he did try to bite. "Robin, why?"
Damian simply tilted his head and gave him a Look. Seemed like today wasn't a talking day - it seemed, after meeting Cass, Damian had the type of days that instead of talking, he just felt like his actions spoke more, Dick could relate - but it didn't stop the message from getting across. He passed the phone to Tim with a meaningful look - the older brother nodded absently.
Steph and Cass were still taking photos, though Cass seemed to have moved onto Bruce by then. Dick sighed, resigned to his fate.
Bruce had been lightly restrained by Clark, and was being let up - Dick winced at the bloody knuckles covered in gold; so much good trying to stop him from punching Clark had seemed to do - he stared at the view of Earth beneath them, swirling blues with whites and greens. His eyes were wide in the reflection - Dick couldn't help but stare. He was so young.
Dick was older than him.
...ew.
"You're telling the truth," Bruce said, dazed. "It's - we're in space. On a state of the art spaceship. I'm in the future."
"The Watchtower," was Tim's helpful input as he pricked Bruce with a needle. What should have been an instantaneous reaction was simply met with a brush away. Wow, this Bruce obviously had a lot to catch up on.
DNA, Tim signed as he slipped out of the door. At least one of them was doing something. (Cass was still taking pictures.) Luckily, the Watchtower, with computers enchanted by Constantine, had a way of discerning if it was time or dimension travel, so it probably wouldn't be too long before they could ensure that the integrity of the timeline was still intact.
Someone behind them cleared their throat. Dick instinctively turned, along with every other Batkid, including Bruce. Many of the League members looked startled by the synchronised head turn, but Clark simply smiled exasperatedly.
Alfred Pennyworth stood in an impeccably ironed suit, a delicate eyebrow raised, with a book tucked under his arm and the look that said, you should have a reason for this. He didn't look too shocked as Bruce turned, so obviously he knew the situation, but the softening of his gaze was impossible to miss as he set eyes on his ward son.
"Alfie," Bruce breathed, sounding another decade younger. "You're - you - "
Alfred clicked his tongue - suddenly it was very clear where Damian had gotten the habit from - and stepped forward briskly. "It will take a lot more than a few years to kill me, dear boy," he said kindly, holding Bruce's hand up. His gaze turned stern. "Now, tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to immediately attack and hold hostage someone?"
"I - " Bruce looked ashamed, a look that all of the League members seemed to revel in. "I panicked."
"Clear head, Master Bruce, you know this," Alfred reprimanded lightly. "I seem to remember that being one of your first lessons. It still took you entirely too long to learn, I suppose, considering." Bruce ducked his head. Alfred sighed, gently placing his hand to his side and placing his own on Bruce's shoulders instead. His smile was soft. "No matter. No lasting harm is done. I am only glad that Superman knows how to roll with your punches."
"That I do, A," Superman agreed amiably. "You gonna take him back?"
Bruce didn't question how Superman knew his butler dad. "I - yes. Please. I'd like to go back to the Manor."
Alfred's smile turned sad. "As much as I would like that, I fear that being there might give you entirely too many ideas about a possible future. The Watchtower is an unfamiliar place to you, and therefore as a lesser chance of making significant changes to this timeline, assuming you are from the past. There is no telling how long this might last, and where you might be dropped back into."
"Speaking of," Arthur spoke up, "how did this happen?"
Every eye zeroed in on Dick. He burned red, hastily hiding the obelisk behind his back.
"It wasn't my fault - "
***
They sat in the medbay as Bruce was fixed up. The rest of the League members had been dismissed after Superman finished up the debrief - Dick promised to have his writeup sent off by tonight, but the obelisk was confiscated for the 'good of everyone here, honestly Nightwing - ' and Tim had come back with conclusive results that yes, this was their Bruce, yes, he was from this timeline. Bruce told them that he had just turned twenty.
Bruce kept looking at Alfred, his white hair, his ageing lines, but wisely didn't say anything. His hand was wrapped in a makeshift cast for the broken fingers, ribs wrapped, bleeding cheek stitched up. Then he looked at the rest of the family, hanging around. Steph and Cass were curled up on a cot, Jason and Tim lounging over the edge of another as they played cards, Damian perched on their backs, sharpening a knife, and Dick sat next to Alfred.
"Who are you?" Bruce finally said, as Alfred cut the last thread.
Dick grinned, brightly, trying to inject cheer into it. "I'm Nightwing. Vigilante."
Bruce's eyes didn't leave him as he cradled his hand close to him. "Who are you to me?" he asked - demanded. It was almost adorable. "You called me B earlier like it was familiar. And you're here, when all the others left. So who are you? How do I know you?" His eyes drifted across the room. "How do I know all of you?"
Alfred placed an old, weathered hand on Dick's, encouraging. Dick started, looked up, then at Bruce.
"It seems, Master Bruce," Alfred said delicately, "you decided to compensate for the loneliness of your childhood in your adulthood. It is endlessly exasperating, with how many you decide to bring back to the Manor."
Bruce's eyes almost bulged out of his head. "I - what - "
"I'm the first." He grinned, nervously, fingers tapping on his thigh. "I better not tell you my real name, but rest assured, you'll get a partner."
"I..." now Bruce looked lost.
"Your second," Jason drawled, not looking up from his gaze. "Have fun with that."
"Third," Cass piped up, looking delighted at how confused Bruce was.
Damian poked Tim with the hilt of his knife, and he startled, looking up. "What? Oh. Fourth."
"I just lounge around for your food, man." Steph shrugs from her place.
"And I am your fifth," Damian added - Cass looked incredibly proud as he spoke, and so was Dick. Damian looked away quickly. "Your sixth is on Earth."
"Six children," Bruce said, dazed, though it didn't seem like it. "What - "
"Oh, we're not your bio kids!" Dick saw the panic fade slightly at that and released a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry, forgot to clarify. Most of us are adopted."
"Adopted," Bruce echoed.
"Yeah." Dick nodded, bobbing his head up and down and munched on a mouthful of cereal - he heard Jason's muttered, "Where did he even get that from" and elected to ignore it. "You kind of overcompensated, B."
"I see that," Bruce responded, faint. "What was I thinking?"
"Sad little orphan. Need help. Steal." Jason ticked off the fingers. "That's your train of thought about ninety percent of the day."
...Dick couldn't contradict this.
"I think that's more than enough. We should probably get you back before we wreck the timeline." Dick smiled - Tim held up the magic device, which was unfair, why did he get it.
Bruce nodded, still cloudy-eyed, but hesitated before he went to stand before Tim. "Did I...was I..."
A lump formed in Dick's throat. "Yeah," he said quietly. "You did good with us, B. You make some mistakes, but you learn from them. You weren't ready for a kid, but hey, I turned out fine, didn't I?"
Bruce looked at him, and this must have been a Bruce from a different dimension because there was no one his Bruce would ever turn to him and say, quietly enough that only he could here, with all the sincerity that he could afford, "I think that watching you and your siblings grow up will be the best part of my life."
Dick caught his arm before he could turn.
"We might act like we hate you sometimes," Dick said quietly. "And we might. But we still love you, no matter what. Don't - don't close yourself off, okay? Don't push us out."
Bruce searched his gaze for a moment, then nodded, solemnly. As he stepped closer to Tim, Dick swore he could hear a muttered, "Getting parenting advice from my own child in the future - " and probably another scathing remark before the blue light encapsulated the room and Batman was back in a towering rendition of his younger self.
"How was the trip, B?" Tim asked, grinning. Bruce grunted, then turned to Dick. Dick laughed nervously.
"Uh, y'know, I think I hear Wally calling me..."
***
Monitor duty for three weeks.
Three weeks.
Three. Weeks.
Dick groaned, flopping on his bed. Worse than anything else he could imagine. Actually, no, the worst thing was the blackmail that had been collected. An impressive shot of gold knuckled meeting his cheek, another of him at knifepoint, and one of Bruce punching Clark with eyes widened in surprise when Clark rolled with it, but not fast enough - the spray of blood on skin was still visible.
(Bruce wouldn't give them a straight answer if he remembered it. It was infuriating.)
They were watching a movie, siblings dozing around them, Damian's head in Bruce's lap and Tim leaning against Damian, when Bruce said, "I was right."
Dick looked over and made a questioning noise. Bruce smiled. "Watching you kids grow up is the best part of my life."
Warmth spread from Dick's chest, to every part of his body, as Bruce stroked Damian's hair then Dick's, running his fingers through the strands. "Go to sleep, Dick."
"G'night, Dad," Dick muttered drowsily, and got to witness Bruce's deer-in-the-headlights expression again before he fell asleep.