Chapter Text
Gotham was silent.
In hindsight, that should have been enough for Damian to know that something wasn't right. After eleven years of patrolling the dark and gritty streets of the city that simply refused to go to sleep, he should have known better than to ignore the silence that greeted him after finishing the second quarter of his patrol route.
If it were any other day of the week, he most likely wouldn't have ignored it. He would have tuned into his comms and asked Oracle of the situation, if any, and regrouped. He would have called Spoiler for back-up, if not Superboy, and acted accordingly. Maybe he would have even called for Batman despite his current mission off world if his situation called for it.
That was what he should have done— would have done if it were any other day. Unfortunately, it wasn't, and as if to add more to the perfect storm of Batman's absence and Damian's less-than-pleasant day, he was also tired. Or maybe exhausted was the more appropriate word to describe the fatigue he was feeling.
Whatever it was, it didn't excuse the sloppiness that landed him in this situation.
Damian pursed his lips and tilted his head back, narrowly avoiding the object thrown at his head. So much for having a movie night, he thought to himself. His eyes drifted briefly to examine the object thrown at him before his body shifted to the right as a man landed with a kick inches away him.
The man was tall, maybe two or three inches shorter than Father at most, and had an athletic build. An acrobat, perhaps? Damian wouldn't be surprised if he was given bulging muscles in his arms. He wielded two escrima sticks and fought in a way that reminded Damian of his martial arts master who hailed from Southeast Asia.
Interesting.
Damian leaped back, muscles burning as he danced around the bullets shot in his direction. His fingers twitched, itching to throw his favored needles at his attackers, but he held back. It would do him no good to reveal his weapons this early, not when he was just starting to get the full picture of his situation.
He was in an alternate universe; that much was obvious, given the bat symbols on the suits of his aggressors. Though what kind of alternate universe was still up for question.
“Who are you, and how did you find this place?” Father's alternate demanded. He had the same build as Father, the same height, and even wore the same suit Father donned as Batman. So he was Batman in this dimension too. That was good— a step in the right direction, but not enough to completely paint his character.
Damian leaned to his side and playfully slid away from the bo staff aimed at his knee. He hummed, doing his best to push down the sinking feeling in his gut as he assessed his situation. There were three bats aside from Father's alternative, trained and molded to fight Father's endless crusade. He was outnumbered by them and while he had faith in his training, he was also becoming well aware of the sluggishness he was starting to show.
This wasn't good. He needed to shake things up before they got the upper hand. Damian's eyes fell on the man who wore a similar suit to his and struck. He propelled himself above his would-be alternative with the use of the shortest one's bo staff and flicked his needle into his neck.
Damian watched with satisfaction and a pinch of disappointment as his alternate fell to his side, paralyzed but not dead, not that the others knew that. He was about to flick his needles at the other bats when he felt a pinch at the back of his neck.
He clicked his tongue, a tranquilizer dart, he realized as soon as he pulled it from his neck. Nothing he couldn't handle, but still annoying to deal with. He tilted his head and found its source. He gritted his teeth, another bat. A child, around the age of nine or ten if he guessed correctly, in Robin's suit.
Bitterness flooded him, there were four of them.
Damian sighed; his limbs were beginning to feel heavy. It appeared that the fatigue from his patrol and the marathon he had run on three hours of sleep was starting to get to him. That wasn't good. He could already see Alfred's look of disappointment when he returned home and it was safe to say that he was not looking forward to it.
The boy jumped down from the ledge he was hidden in, brandishing a familiar katana in his hands. “I'm not going to ask you again, who are you and how did you get in?”
That voice. Damian took a step back and eyed the boy standing between him and the other bats. A green domino mask, a black and yellow cloak, and a red tunic with the League cut. His stomach dropped, his eyes drifted to the blue Nightwing that Batman held in his arms, and his mouth went dry. It couldn't be–
Behind him, he heard another thud. Another bat if he were to guess from the softness of their landing, that brought the total to five. “I would suggest you surrender yourself, good sir, or else this will be unpleasant.” Damian heard Alfred's distinct English accent along with the familiar click of his shotgun.
Damn it all.
Damian felt conflicted, his mind jumping between the two pictures presented to him at that moment. A part of him felt horrified at the sheer number of bats Father's alternate had. While the other part of him, the part that the League molded, demanded him to get his head straight. There were seven of them or rather six, now that he'd brought one down. Six highly trained and heavily armed opponents, and he couldn't afford to let himself get distracted if he wanted to get home in one piece. Which was starting to become unlikely the longer he looked at the situation.
It wasn't like he hadn't fought against six people before. On the contrary, he’s been trained to go against many more people at once during his time in the League. So, in theory, he could fight against them and maybe win, but certainly not without any major injuries.
Which was not favorable considering the date. He thought of the alternative which was to throw caution into the wind and surrender, and found himself weighing his options. None of which were ideal but one was much riskier than the other.
Damian clicked his tongue, it would be foolish to surrender himself. If he was in the wrong reality, they would have no trouble cutting him down and making him pay for injuring one of their own. But with it being so close to Jason's birthday, he didn't want to take the chance of receiving any major injuries. The last thing he wanted was to spoil his little brother's birthday by not being able to attend because of another miscalculation.
Reluctantly, Damian lifted both of his hands and surrendered. So much for having a movie night.
The one behind him moved quickly, and before Damian knew it, he was being slammed to the ground with his hands bound together by a zip tie. He groaned, feeling the pain of his jaw making contact with the cave's hard and unforgiving floor. Hopefully, that wouldn't leave a mark.
Another pair of hands yanked him up and dragged him to a chair, where he was quickly searched before his feet were bound and his utility belt taken. He hummed, testing the strength of his restraints. They were satisfactory but easy enough to break free from. It was almost disappointing, considering who was restraining him, but he wasn't about to complain. They were quick to surround him, no doubt wanting answers to the same questions Damian had in mind.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw the man he paralyzed being placed on a cot by Father's Alternate while Alfred's began to tend to him. He almost felt pity for his Alternate self, it was never pleasant dealing with paralysis after all but really he should have known better. Maybe the League went easy on him, or maybe he'd forgotten their lessons.
Father's Alternate saw him looking and immediately went to block his view. He was protective of him, Damian mused jealousy swirling in his gut, it seemed like this version of his father was rather closer to him. How lucky.
“I will ask you one last time, who are you, and how did you get in here?” Father's Alternate demanded in the familiar tone his own used to intimidate criminals. It appeared that some things really didn’t change across realities. Around him, the other four stood with their weapons drawn. They were trying to intimidate him, which didn't work. Though he had no doubt that it would have been more effective if it weren't for the ugly helmets they wore that threatened to make a snort escape him.
Damian weighed his options in his head and decided to go through with his plan. He needed to know them, and what better way was there than to ask his own questions? So in the haughty he knew Father hated, he asked, “Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that? What are you doing in my father's cave and wearing his suit?”
Father's Alternate took a step back, obviously not expecting his question. Good. Damian continued, “I understand the temptation to cosplay him, as weird as it is, but don’t you think it's a bit too much breaking into his home? Not to mention bringing minors wearing that monstrosity.”
The other bats shared a look before the one wearing a red suit and an ugly black cowl loudly asked, “What do you mean that ‘monstrosity’?”
And before Father's Alternate could shut him down, Damian answered, “I meant that thing on your head. You look bald with it, and not the good kind of bald. May I suggest changing your mask into something more pleasant to look at, or is that hideous thing part of your gimmick?”
As expected, his comment was able to draw out his desired results. Damian watched as they broke character with two out of three letting out loud snorts and choosing to look away while the one in the red helmet broke into a fit of laughter and the unfortunate target of his question spluttered with indignation. Even Father's Alternate wasn't immune to it if Damian read the clench of his jaw correctly.
Then, to get back at the man with the red helmet for shooting at him, he added, “I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, Red Skull wannabe. I mean, your mask is a step up from Hawk Moth over there, but still, it could use some work.”
Two things happened at once that moment; first the humor was sucked out of the man with the red helmet’s demeanor and replaced with anger, and second, Father's Alternate stopped him before he was able to do anything more than rage. Which was a shame, Damian thought to himself, he would have liked to see what the man would have done.
No matter. He'd seen enough to get an idea of the bats’ dynamics. The only thing he needed to do was to pinpoint their identities. He already knew who the man behind the cowl was; it was Bruce Wayne no doubt, while the paralyzed man in the blue Nightwing suit was an older version of him. The rest were easy enough to guess.
The girl's identity was easiest. She was either Stephanie or Cassandra. Though the longer he examined her, the more convinced he was that she was the latter and not the former. Which made sense given her quiet steps, though it pained him to imagine her in a suit similar to his and Father's.
The older boys were much more difficult. Damian couldn't really figure out which one was Jason and which was Tim. On one hand, it made sense that Tim would be one with the red helmet, he was the older of the pair. But on the other hand, Damian knew that Jason would not willingly wear a cowl as ugly as that. Which wasn't to say that Tim would either but between his two brothers, it was Tim who tended to take more questionable liberties.
Honestly, Damian couldn't decide which possibility he preferred: his younger brother growing taller than him or him becoming a bat and wearing that hideous thing.
Then, finally, there was Robin, the youngest of the bats and the person who confused Damian the most. Though it wasn't Robin's identity that confused Damian. It was clear to him that Dickie was most likely the one behind the mask. It would be logical. Afterall, Dickie was the youngest of his brothers.
Still he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right about his assessment. The longer he thought about it, the more the evidence didn't seen to line up. Something just can't make sense about Robin. Something about the way he moved bothered Damian.
He was missing something.
Robin fought like an assassin from the League. A very good assassin, Damian had to admit, despite the bitter taste it left in his mouth. But why? He wasn't League, and unless it was one of this universe's quirks, neither was Father, so why? Why did he know how to fight that way?
It just didn't make any sense.
Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately depending on how he thought of it, Father's Alternate didn't give him time to dwell on Robin's identity. Honestly, it was surprising how this version of his Father allowed the conversation to shift so much.
“What do you mean your father's home and suit?”
There it was. Finally. Damian was beginning to wonder when he would speak up. At long last, they were getting somewhere. Almost giddily, he allowed a grin to form on his lips. He tilted his head in the same manner as that he knew reminded Father of Mother, and with a light and airy tone, as if he were teasing a friend, he said, “My father, Bruce Thomas Wayne, or is that not your name in this universe?”
They stilled, even Alfred’s Alternate, who was running tests on his own Alternate paused to look at them. Then, Robin, the man in the red helmet, and Father's Alternate visibly stiffened as if they were hit with some outside force. So they disliked Mother, Damian held back a snort and maintained a teasing expression, it was nice to see some things didn't change.
Then, without missing a beat, Robin flicked his wrist and held his blade at Damian's throat. It was his blade. How curious. “Who are you?” Robin demanded, and Damian needed to consciously stop himself from noticing their similarities to maintain his grin.
“I doubt you'd believe me, so why not find out yourself?” Damian leaned into the blade, feeling it dig into the skin of his throat enough to disturb them but not enough to make himself bleed. “Come on, take my DNA and run it through the batcomputer. You know you're just as curious as I am.”
They shared a look, or rather the younger bats looked at Father's Alternate for permission before they began extraction. When he reluctantly gave it, the Hawk Moth wannabe instantly sprang into action. He took a swab and unceremoniously shoved it into Damian's mouth, making him gag.
Once he retreated with the sample, Damian coughed loudly. Allowing a grimace on his face, he eyed the boy with distaste but otherwise didn't say more. Which was preferable considering Robin had yet to withdraw his katana from his neck.
It took a couple of moments before the batcomputer showed its results. “Identity match: Damian Wayne.” The bat computer let out, and for the second time, there was silence. “Run it again.”
Robin's katana fell to his side as he took a step away from Damian. Damian inwardly snorted, was it that hard to believe his identity? Then again, maybe he should have expected that given that his alternate seemed to be out of practice. Perhaps Father's Alternate had succeeded in training the League out of him, Damian tried not to let his bitterness show at that thought.
“Identity match: Damian Wayne.”
By the second ping, Damian's patience was wearing thin. He would later blame his following actions on the fatigue hitting him, but for now, he would be given the final push they needed to stop their incessant prodding. He dislocated his thumbs and slipped his wrists free from the zip tie. Then he rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck as the bats loudly cursed and pointed their weapons at him.
Damian sighed, a pout coming to his lips as he dropped his shoulders in a mock hurt with a hand on his chest. “Is it that hard to believe that I'm who the computer says I am?”
When they didn't reply, Damian sighed for a second time and went to remove his mask. He summoned a small and well-practiced smile to his lips before he met Alternate Batman's eyes. “My name is Damian Al Ghul-Wayne. Nightwing, if that's what you prefer to call me. Nice to meet you, Bruce Wayne.”