Chapter Text
He dialed in the device on the nearest dimension with a recently dead Bruce Wayne, there would be some differences but Batman couldn't afford to be picky. This would finally end it. If everything went to plan, and if the information Nightwing had died to gather was correct.
Batman shook off the memory and focused on the moment. There was screaming, gurgling then nothing, when he looked behind him he saw the enemy pull one of its long talon-like appendages from the blue beetle’s body. The figure turned to Batman, who it knew was far too injured to fight. It opened its mouth but Batman didn't give him any time to think. He activated the device.
Sparks cascaded through the air, landed on the rubble and lit fires. The creature was shrieking as the portal anchored in Batman's broken body. He had just enough time to squeeze his eyes shut and let the device drag him through the light. For a split second nothing hurt and then he was dropped unceremoniously onto cold tile.
The first thing he saw was a drain, and then, looking up he saw the rows and rows of mortuary refrigeration units. He collapsed into a heap of armor and watched a small amount of blood run down the drain. Batman was distantly aware he was wheezing with every breath. The room wasn't that big, just enough space for the cold storage and crematorium.
The device beeped, Batman glanced down- the small screen said initializing gene sequencing. Something inside jettisoned out, piercing through his glove and into his hand. Batman hissed and dropped it. He crushed it under his boot with vicious efficiency. The pieces were gathered up and tossed in the incinerator.
Once he’d caught his breath Batman pulled himself to standing and looked through the windows on the door.
In the next room was the mortuary proper. If Batman had to guess he would say it looked like a hospital morgue. Clean, cold, sterile. Batman ducked out of sight just as a man in scrubs wheeled in a gurney, a covered body on top. He moved the corpse to one of the examination tables. The man looked over the chart. Hummed, and set it down. He checked the time.
“Well, I’ll see you after lunch then Mr. Wayne. Pitty, you were so pretty too.” the man exited as he came.
Batman stayed stock still until he was certain that he heard the elevator leave. Once he was certain he was alone with himself, Batman approached the body and jerked the sheet off.
It was himself alright, just looked about thirty years younger. He was battered, glancing in a reflective surface Batman confirmed that this dead version of himself had similar enough injuries. The swelling sort of obscures the difference in age. It would be a hard sell, but not impossible. Batman had very little to lose. So he would try to take this Bruce Wayne's place. If it was unsuccessful then he’s lost nothing.
He moved the body first, setting up the crematorium as quickly as he could, mournfully removing the stained and ruined bat armor and placing it alongside this dimension version of himself and setting the kiln alight. Next, Batman used the sink to clean himself to the same level the body had been and slipped into the hospital gown. Batman layed down on the cold gurney and tried his best to sleep.
An hour must have passed quickly because Batman was surprised to find himself startled awake by the orderly dropping his clipboard and running. The next second he was surrounded by medical professionals all talking over each other.
Actual professional medical attention was not something the Batman often was forced to. It was just as overwhelming as it always was. the lights, the movements, the annoying gentle tones they took on when they addressed him. They asked him questions, which he got incorrect. Which prompted them to run every test in the book.
Eventually someone asked Bruce if there was anyone he wanted to call. He had no emergency contacts. There wasn’t anybody to call.
He was sedated for surgeries. He didn’t go fully under, he could feel them pull his bones back into place, stop internal bleeding, removed some metal shrapnel and stitched him back closed.
Bruce wondered what had happened to this universe's Bruce Wayne that nobody questioned the state he was in.
When he woke up there was nobody. Just the beeping of his heart monitor. He wasn't on a respirator which was good, something was running through his i.v bag, he could have read them, probably should. He didn't bother though. If he died in a hospital that wasn't the worst death he’d earned.
For a moment he let it really sink in. He had knowingly doomed an entire dimension. Earth was mostly dead by the end there but there were infinite worlds and people and now they were all trapped with that thing. And it was all his fault, all his plan, which had worked.
The hospital ran every test on him in the book. Covering their assess for having presumptively pronounced him dead. There was some therapy offered, which he steadfastly refused. His lawyers met with the hospital lawyers and they came to the agreement of no harm no foul and with the promise to hire himself a personal nurse they let Bruce Wayne go home.
The timeline was the most obvious difference in this world. It was twenty eight years behind Batman's old dimension. While in the hospital he had done his research on this version of himself.
Martha and Thomas Wayne had died the same way they always had. Bruce had been left in the custody of his uncle, who had since died. Leaving Bruce the sole heir of the Wayne fortune and the majority shareholder in Wayne enterprises. the everyday functioning of the company went to Lucius Fox. Same as the original universe.
Bruce Wayne was twenty, lived alone in one of his three properties in gotham. Alfred was not in the picture it seemed. No children either. The media had more of a critical eye on him than Bruce had ever remembered in his youth. The articles would often mention something called an omega, and how Bruce was not a proper one.
This Bruce Wayne seemed to be trying to take after his mother with his charitable works and the Martha Wayne foundation. The press was vicious and public opinion didn't seem to be positive. Though from what Bruce could remember of his own life during this time he didn't seem to be doing anything different. Some of the speeches were word for word. It was the perception of the audience that was entirely different.
Right, this was an alien dimension, possibly with more differences than similarities. Bruce would figure them out.
The Justice League was still operational, though considerably smaller and less coordinated. There was no mention of Batman. There was no mention of Batman anywhere. There were no rumors, or back page forums. No Batman.
When he learned this Bruce regretted burning the bat suit even more.
The Wayne manor was the most private of the three properties. The Penthouse was not a property Batman had in his own world so he would even know the address and the lake house had far too much glass. He wasn't sure if he could handle being looked at any longer.
The manor was dark when he arrived, no sign of life, it was cold when he walked in. The heating was off. This must not be Bruce Wayne's primary residence then. He limped his way to the nearest ground floor bedroom and promptly passed out for thirteen hours.
Bruce did end up hiring a nurse. She was quiet and efficient. During his time in the manor Bruce had learned this was the primary residence, there were only a select rooms heated, as he was the only one living here and only used those rooms. This Bruce had cleaning and yard staff visit the manor once a week, which he cut down immediately to once every other week.
There was an entrance to the bat cave in the manor. It was not hidden. It was under a trap door in the wine cellar, only an easily pickable padlock securing it shut. The cave itself was just that, a cave with some bats in it. Identical to the caves before any construction had been done. He followed the paths and found a couple of desks one covered in notes and the other in research supplies.
This Bruce Wayne was studying bats. Specifically the bats here. It looked like he had identified several family units and observed how they behaved to one another. He had named some of them. Batman’s heart ached with the thought.
A month into this strange new world and Batman learned why Batman didn't exist. It was the omega thing. There were secondary genders here, the dead Bruce Wayne was an omega and omegas are heavily stigmatized.
Omegas were only allowed a bachelor's degree, no education beyond that without an alpha relative submitting a plea to the school board. Some countries didn't even allow that. The right to own their own bank account had only been granted to omegas thirty years ago. Some countries didn't even allow that. In some places omegas were property.
The dead Bruce Wayne had been an omega.
Batman did as he always did and researched as much as he could on the subject. This foren ideal system actually seemed to fit with alot of what he understood of gender politics back home but dialed up to eleven. The difference being that either sex could ‘present’ as any of the three genders, usually around twelve to sixteen. It was bizarre.
Furthermore the genders were not visually distinct, they were pheremonal. Looking around all Bruce saw were men and women but others could smell what people’s secondary genders were. It also seemed to extend to emotional states to some extent.
One of the cleaners had asked him why he smelled sad the other day.
Bruce was used to being at a disadvantage. This was a non issue. He would just hire a public relation agent and an events coordinator. He could pivot on his public persona. By now, at nearly fifty, Bruce had confidence in his acting skills.
That was another thing that had changed. As the swelling had gone down in his face he had noticed that he looked younger. This sort of made sense. sort of. he hated it.
When that creature had invaded it looked exactly like the man he was pretending to be. They later learned this was a feature of the device. To make the creature look like the person he targeted with it. The device had been designed for subterfuge.
Slowly even Bruce’s scars started to fade, starting with the oldest ones, the one on his hip had always been gnarled, causing some discomfort when he moved a certain way, one morning it was flat and did not restrict movements, three weeks later and it was so faint that Bruce had to really look for it.
Three months since Batman doomed his original dimension and finally Bruce Wayne was in a position to start the Batman project all over again. When Bruce had started Batmanning he was twenty three. A four year head start, he thought optimistically, perhaps things would get better this time, or at least not worse. Getting everything running smoothly was much more difficult without Alfred around.
Out of morbid curiosity Bruce had looked him up. He was living in England with his daughter and six grandkids. He hadn’t worked for the Wayne family since Bruce was thirteen so he stayed after Thomas and Martha died and then something made him leave. He would be a completely different man. Not his Alfred.
He wasn't brave enough to look up to anyone else after that.
Creating the batsuit was much easier this time. No trial and error of materials or cuts. He already knew how he liked it done, he’d made hundreds at this point. This one was one simply for his comfort. No special abilities needed. He wouldn't be fighting aliens and monsters quite yet. He didn't need his armor to hold his insides inside when he was hit with all the power of a locomotive in one fist.
The only difference this time around was the phermonal one. There were false scents out there for various reasons though they were a highly controlled substance. Through normal routes they would require doctors notes, and therapists letters and waiting periods. Bruce Wayne just set up a proper lab in the slowly developing batcave and synthesized his own. He couldn't smell them to be sure he’d done it correctly but he’d made as many as he could, of as many different types as he could find.
The same cleaner, who was named Clara, had told him he didn't smell like an omega ‘anymore’, she’d sounded very concerned. The doctors mentioned it but said his ‘heats’ will come back with time, just suppressed with trauma. Therapy was offered again which was again harshly refused.
With the artificial pheromones Bruce Wayne could continue to be publicly an omega and Batman could be an alpha. Adding another layer of protection to his identity. The memories of what happened if he didn’t do that well enough were still so horrifyingly fresh in his mind.
The first patrol out was blessedly ordinary. Punching mobsters, defending civilians, getting home just as the sun was starting to rise. The illusion of normality shattered the second he exited the car to the half finished cave, empty except for the bats, who he continued to monitor as a sort of remembrance of the dead man who’s clothes he was wearing.
That morning Bruce finally cried.
Six months and three days after his arrival Batman was on a stake out when Superman floated down through the air. Bruce had to stop himself from gasping and reaching out for him. It had been so long and his heart ached. Batman stayed silent and motionless, waiting for the kryptonian to talk.