I'm looking forward to the day When life can grow without decay

by ButterflyWritter

Summary:

Tim Drake has always had a strong disdain for magic, after all Gotham was a cursed city made of death and ruin. when John Constantine arrives chasing a mage with powerful and ancient artifacts? Its a normal day in this hell of a city. Though when dealing with magic? Things tend to change faster than the tides of the ocean.

Or;

Tim gets hit in the fight with a mage looking to leach magic from Gotham's catacombs and finds himself swapped with another version of himself, nothing in his life is a coincidence and within the chaos of trying to find a way home, dark secrets get pulled to light and shatter illusions that had been carefully constructed. Only time will tell if this is where they find themselves in ruin or closer than they ever could've imagined.

Chapter 1: Is it just me or is it too quiet?

Tim rose from his bed with a muted groan, his head ached, and his eyes burned with the feeling of being awake far too long. His posture was slumped as he shuffled around untangling himself from the blanket Dick had undoubtedly used to trap him, his feet hit the floor with a barely audible thump, he made his way to the door swaying slightly as his throat itched.

First order of business. Coffee.

It was a blur of movement as he ran on autopilot towards the kitchen where a pot of coffee would sit waiting, then he’d be able to make heads and tails of last nights events. Tim was vaguely aware of the silence that was eating at him, it wasn’t all that unusual… But he knew Dick had been here last night and typically there was always someone making noise when he was around. He paused at Bruce’s office and glanced at the grandfather clock that lead down to the Batcave, in his delirious state he couldn’t remember if anyone had gotten hurt while on patrol; it likely meant no one had been hurt.

He pushed forward as stood at the top of the grand stairs, he didn’t think he could feasibly walk down them in his current state, he muttered under his breath as he gripped onto the aged mahogany banister and lifted himself up and shifted to the sloped railing of the stairs. Gravity was always a prominent threat, especially now as he leaned back as he slid down the railing, his eyes stung with being hit in the face with air, but he had made a miscalculation as he hit the end of the slop.

He hit the ground less than gracefully and he laid there for a moment as his head spun, he scowled as he pictured Dick looking at him in sympathy and amused disappointment at his failure of a landing, could hear Jason laughing as he strode by, feel Cass’s sympathetic head pat, and Damian’s scornful insults at his inability to simply land on his feet.

He laid there a moment longer before pulling himself from the ground and stumbling towards the kitchen. The smell of meat wafted in the air as he stepped into the room, he could make out a soft greeting from Alfred and he muttered one back as he stopped at the bench and reached out for the steaming pot of coffee. Only his hand swiped through the air, he reached out again and found that there was nothing in front of him. His brows knotted as he squinted at where the coffee pot should’ve been and instead found it missing.

He made a confused noise as his eyes darted around, hoping that perhaps Jason was playing a cruel joke on him, the counter was clear of his coffee beans, the brand he had imported specifically for the caffeine it contained and the rich flavour it had, the sugar he’d bought was nowhere to be found, and most importantly the coffee cup that Dick had bought him while in Europe was not in its usual spot. He reached for the cabinet that typically hosted the range of cups they owned, and skimming though it, there was no sign of his cup, his chest tightened as his exhausted mind raced.

“Master Timothy.” Alfred spoke suddenly; Tim flinched at the use of his name. Alfred never used his full name, in the years he’d been in the manor he could count on one hand how many times they’d called him that, “You will find that this will be much more to your taste.”

Tim turned to face the older man and blinked, his eyes danced across his features, and he couldn’t quite place it, but there was something just… Off… About him. Alfred extended a glass filled with a peach-coloured liquid, he didn’t remember them buying anything remotely similar, he looked back up at Alfred and squinted.

“Is Jason fuc- messing with me?” He was quick to change his words, lest he be scolded by Alfred. He was as something flashed in the elderly man’s eyes and saw the subtle tilt of his head, “Where did he hide the coffee machine? My coffee cup? I swear if he’s run off with them, I’m telling Dick what he did last month!” Tim scowled as he glared at the spot his coffee machine should’ve been.

“I see, I’m afraid there has been quite a mix up Master Timothy.” Alfred spoke, his voice calm with no indication that anything was wrong, but Tim understood the subtle cues that the older man was unnerved. He turned back to the butler who was standing a little straight and his expression tighter in a way that he was contemplating his next words carefully. “There will need to clarification for both sides in this situation, but perhaps for now you will enjoy this and join the rest in the dining room.”

“Clarification…” Tim echoed as he reached for the glass and simply held it as he stared at Alfred, with no further explanation Alfred turned and returned to the task at hand, Tim looked tiredly at the liquid in the glass, he sighed as he moved towards the dining room.

Where everyone was supposedly waiting…

He paused in the doorway, he couldn’t hear anyone. Sure they were dreary and running on a few hours of sleep after a night of patrol, but there was always some form of noise, whether it was a stupid joke from Dick, Jason yelling at Bruce or whoever had pissed him off the night before, Damian’s snarky insults about everyone’s lack of skills, sure Cass was the only exception as she was always quite, and Duke was opening up more now that he’d settled in better, though his own sense of humour rivalled Dick’s. On the rare occasion that Stephanie was around it was always met with her chatting everyone’s ears off, and he knew she’d been with them last night. There should be something.

Unnerved by the eerie quiet he stepped into the dinning room. He was admittedly more alert than he had been when walking down from his room, his brain still felt fogged up by exhaustion, but he’d functioned in worse conditions and maybe that was why he froze when he locked eyes with a young boy with burning gold eyes. The boy stared at him expression blank as eerily still in a way no living person reasonably could, his skin was a deathly pale and had a strange hue of discolouration that could not at all be natural not with the black veins that webbed across his skin.

Horror dawned on him as the cold familiarity hit him, the rounded face, the slight crook in his nose and the small stature were all something Tim could recognise at the drop of a hat; the glass in his hands slipped and shattered as he stared at the tiny Dick Grayson who sat watching him. Tim startled again as his eyes dropped to the shattered glass and liquid that had spilt over himself and the floor.

“Yo Timmy’s here!” Jason’s voice echoed from the doorway as the boy sauntered in, Tim felt himself blue screen at the sight of him, he was smaller, leaner and less built, but he shared the same confidence that he was used to seeing from his older brother. Jason stalked towards him with the tilt of his head and a brow raised, his eyes were a lime green still affected by the pit, the patch of white in his hair ever present and yet his face had a softness to it that was so unlike him; “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.” Jason grinned at him devilishly, Tim opened his mount to say something, but he simply stood there unable to utter a word.

Tim’s eyes darted to where the smaller, inhuman looking Dick sat with his head tilted sharply to the side, it was as if he was a predator assessing his prey and it made Tim’s skin crawl; Jason followed his gaze and looked to the small child and frowned his eyes narrowing slightly before he shrugged and moved past Tim towards the kitchen. Alarmed Tim watched Jason leave. His feet stayed firmly in place as he tried to comprehend exactly what was going on.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled his attention back to the doorway as he watched Duke hurry in, his expression shone with worry as he frowned as him, “Timothy!” he seemed to let out a relieved sigh as he approached, taking careful steps around the glass; Tim flinched at the use of his full name, a name that no one used, he stared at Duke and the aged face that wasn’t the face of the younger teen he’d come accustomed to see around the manor, instead from the wrinkles on the man’s face he was at least around the age Jason should have been.

“What-“ Tim felt dizzy as Duke stood over him.

“You should go sit, you look half dead,” Duke smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he glanced towards the kitchen where Jason was, Duke didn’t give him a chance to respond as he stepped back and urged Tim towards the table. Still utterly bewildered Tim looked to the floor and stepped around the glass shards.

Duke had a chair pulled out and offered him a reassuring nod of his head, he slid into the chair with his brows furrowed as his mind ran through the events of last nights patrol; John Constantine had been chasing another magic user across the state of new Jersey, they had allegedly stolen a rather powerful artifact from one of Constantine’s acquaintances and they needed it back; Tim and Dick had stumbled upon Constantine after having been stabbed, from there Oracle had called in Jason as Dick took Constantine back to the cave. He and Jason followed the paper trail towards the centre of Gotham where Dick and Damian met them from there they descended to the sewers and found a crack in the foundations that led to a cave system that was far more monstrous than the Batcave itself.

They’d travelled through the cave, found the magician with the missing magic item, but more worryingly they had more magical objects surrounding a well of raw magic hidden deep withing the city’s underground; the battle was a blur, Dick had dove in with Jason on his heels, Damian not far behind and he had been calculating what the villain’s goal had been. The goal was lost to him, as the magician hadn’t taunted them with a monolog like most others have, instead they’d fired right back with magic attacks, it would’ve worked to their advantage if they hadn’t been so grossly overwhelmed by the Tim and his brothers. He remembered the take down, remembered walking with Damian to collect the artifacts that had been scattered in the fight while Dick was teasing Jason as they made sure the magician was detained. Said magician was pissed and in a last-ditch effort of escape threw a spell towards Damian.

Tim remembered the panic as Dick lunged, as Jason cursed and Damian defiantly pulling his sword up, in the moment Tim hadn’t thought of the consequences as he grabbed the Robin’s cape and pulled him back and putting himself in danger.

From there he found himself waking up in his bed.

But maybe it wasn’t his bed.

Not if looking at the tiny Dick staring at him with those terrifyingly golden eyes, not if Cass was a ghost beside him, not with Duke looking at him like he was about to bolt, with Jason giving him a cheeky grin as he set a new glass of peach liquid in front of him.

It only cemented things further that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be when he looked up at the approaching footsteps and came face to face with the reality of Damian Wayne looking so much like his mother as his venomous green eyes narrowed on him.

Tim was fucked, so absolutely fucked.

And he hadn’t even had coffee to be able to mentally and emotionally deal with this.

Notes:

This is the song that inspired the title, quite an ethereal song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHNPT_QPQ_U

Originals:
Dick - 28 - Nightwing
Babs - 29 - Oracle
Jason - 24/25 - Red Hood
Cass - 24 - Orphan
Tim - 22 - Red Robin
Stephanie - 23 - Spoiler
Duke - 17 - Signal
Damian - 11 - Robin

Reverse:
Damian - 29 - Flamebird
Duke - 28 - Grey Ghost
Stephanie - 25 - Marauder
Tim - 24 - Raptor
Cass - 20 - Black Bat
Jason - 17/18 - Red hood
Babs - 15 - Batgirl
Dick - 14 - Talon/Robin

Chapter 2: Rude Awakenings and Shocking Realities

“The replacement better wake the fuck up, ain’t no way in hell I’m letting him live this down,” the voice was familiar, only rougher. Timothy scowled as his head ached, his eyes still firmly shut as he tried to ignore his surroundings.

“Tt the fool should’ve known better, I am capable of caring for myself!” another voice joined, seeming agreeing with the older one.

Timothy exhaled through his nose and opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the onslaught of colours on the ceiling of what was predictably the med bay. Last remembered it was a clean sterile white ceiling in the Batcave, the splatters of colours implied there was no real rhyme or reason for it to be there.

“Aw blame the kid for caring, you snot nosed brat.”

Cautiously he pushed himself from the cot and studied the room, he eyed the sealed doors that separated the med bay from the rest of the cave where the voices stood just outside.

“I cannot fathom why, he may be intellectually sound, but he lacks the astute awareness necessary for battle!”

Timothy’s turned from the door and noted the appearance of coloured figures on the medical cabinets, many aged and discoloured, others remained bright and blinding.

“Your vocabulary is just sad Demon spawn.” A squawk of protest erupted from the younger voice, “Your like a Victorian had sex with Batman.” The older of the two sounded amused.

He noted the walls next, where medical charts lined them, the names on each were familiar, each of Bruce’s children and wards listed; the only major differences were the order and the fact that he could’ve sworn that Dick’s hadn’t been bedazzled in a vomit of colours, that Damian’s wasn’t so dramatically gothic with a sticker of a overly happy cat precariously placed by his name.

Behind him he could hear a multitude of curses and the sounds of a struggle.

That Jason’s had a rock band logo, rather tame compared to the last two; Cass’s was exactly as he remembered it, clean, readable. Then there was his... he didn’t know how to explain what he was seeing, only that it was utter chaos in the form of a file, from the codes written down to the scribbled nonsense in the notes, he was sure someone was playing a joke on him.

Likely Jason. It was always Jason.

He ran a hand through his hair as he stood, the ground beneath his feet was warm, another stark difference to the icy cave floors he was used to. It left him feeling uneasy, he turned back towards the door were the scuffle still went on the other side; running a hand through his hair and brushing it to the side he moved. His steps light, controlled and purposeful.

He reached for the scanner on the wall by the door, watched as it flashed green and slid open. The sight that greeted him was one he hadn’t expected to face; Jason’s head snapped up from where he had a much smaller and younger Damian pinned; said child’s face was red with anger as he clawed at the larger man’s arms like a rabid beast.

Jason’s tense posture relaxed as he rose a brow, “The fuck you doing outta bed? Last thing we need is Goldie to throw a fucking fit.” His tone deadpanned and expression clearly unimpressed.

“Tt, as if Drake is astutely aware of the consequences, he has put upon himself with his impulsiveness.” The tiny Damian scoffed as he gripped onto Jason tighter.

Timothy stared at the pair before him, clearly something had gone wrong in the field and he was now suffering due to his own misfortunes. He stepped out of the med bat and scanned his surroundings sceptically, the main computer was starkly different, briefly he was blinded by the brightly coloured uniforms in the display cases, only to further have his retinas assaulted by the bedazzled and rainbow batman suit; he was quick to avert his eyes to another part of the cave, a part where they’d set up a containment unit for Richard upon his return in an attempt to help reverse the adverse effects of electrum, instead in its place was acrobatic equipment.

One thing that made him tilt his head slightly in surprise was the relics of Bruce’s past battles, with the dinosaur, the giant coin, the giant joker coins and others that he could vividly remember having to survive against; One fact he knew without a doubt was that Bruce had disposed of each and every item since Damain had fallen into his care, he’d seen the video logs, the evidence of their destruction, there was no way they could be here now.

He turned back to Damian and Jason, Timothy narrowed his eyes; watched as Damian stared back with the cold harsh defiance but another emotion flashed in his eyes, it was smothered long before Timothy could accurately pinpoint it; watched as Jason’s own expression hardened, as he let go of the smaller boy and stood, he was taller and bulkier than Timothy had originally assumed.

Jason huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Don’t tell me that mage fucked with your head Replacement.” He scowled. Damian remained silent as he watched, his eyes taking in every detail that Timothy left exposed, a weakness that his brother still pointed out despite the many hardships they’d faced together.

He remained silent as he moved closer to Jason who stood at least a head above him, something twisted in his gut as he stared into Jason’s muddled blue eyes tainted with the venomous green of the Lazarous Pits. He reached out and hesitated a hairs breath away from Jason’s face before pulling his hand back; the man before him watched him with increasing agitation, Timothy swallowed the lump in his throat. They’d always known the pit had change Jason, having the sickness stripped from him, the malnourishment, the frailness only a kid from crime alley could have and replaced it with a well of never-ending strength and rage. But to see what the younger could grow to be, a monster of a man.

“Tt, seems communication is a lacking skill, Drake.” Damian sneered, and yet Timothy could hear no real heat behind it, no resentment, nothing but a hidden wave of wariness, of worry.

“Timbits always been terrible at that,” Jason huffed, his eyes sharp.

“Should we go get Grayson?” Damian spoke and Timothy froze as he snapped his gaze to the boy.

“We aren’t supposed to call him that.” Timothy chastised, his shoulder’s tightening as he scowled.

“Whatever are you on about?” Damian retorted, his face scrunched up as he scrutinised him, “He has always been referred to as Grayson.”

“You wanna tell the class what’s got you all fucked in the head?” Jason questioned, his brows raised as his eyes shifted from the muddled blue to a sharper green.

“Not little brother.” a new voice chimed in from above, startled Timothy looked up and found Cassandra sitting above, her head tilted to the side as she watched his with calculating eyes, not in the way she studied for weakness or a threat as he remembered, but in a way that it felt like she was looking at every part of him, as if she knew he was in the wrong place.

“The fuck you mean it’s not him?” Jason wasn’t looking at him anymore, his attention solely on Cassandra.

She shook her head and jump from the rails above, landing gracefully beside Timothy, she too was taller, closer to height with Duke, yet she held herself with a confidence and grace he could picture her maturing into, her eyes were soft as she frowned at him. Damian moved forward his katana slipping free from the sheath at his side, the tip of the blade aimed directly for Timothy’s torso, a move made clear that he’d be gutted.

“I demand to know what you have done with that disgrace!” Damian’s shrill voice growled as his eyes lit up with untamed and raw emotion, Timothy took a step back as he stared at the boy; the harsh insulting words were clearly not meant to insult, especially not from the shear protectiveness that waivered in his voice.

“Demon brat!” Jason lunged and gripped onto the back of the boy’s shirt and yanked the kid back, “Calm the ever-loving fuck down!” Cassandra turned towards the pair and watched her expression calm but there was a fondness in her gaze.

“Unhand me Todd! I demand you let me deal with this imposter!” Damian was just as wild as he’d been when Timothy first left the med bay, only this time there was a true sense of danger radiating from the boy. He remembered Damain when he was a teenager, young, wild, judgemental and so, so angry; the boy was the same, only there was a significant difference he was seething with a fear of loosing someone, whether they were family or had some mutual relationship.

“If you gut him how are we fucking supposed to get Tim back?!” Jason fired back as he ripped the katana from Damian’s hands and threw it halfway across the cave, it hit the ground with a clang as the boy’s face turned a brighter shade of red.

Cassandra rolled her eyes as she let out a silent laugh, her steps were light and purposeful, her movements fluid like a dancers as she reached out to grab onto Damian and smiled softly, the boy tried to fight her, rip himself from her grip as she sat on the floor and pulled him onto her lap; his shoulders sagged as he admitted defeat with a huff of annoyance and glared at a spot of paint on the floor of the cave. Jason groaned as he buried his face into his hands before turning back to Timothy.

“Right, you.” Jason scowled “What do you remember from the last twenty-four hours?”  his posture shifted again, now the man who stood in front of him wasn’t just a version of Jason, he stood like Bruce did when someone had made a mistake, stood like Batman interrogating a suspect, like Red Hood who was moments away from putting a bullet through your skull and calling it a day.

“My brother’s and I were hunting down a rouge mage who planned on using Gotham as a medium to summon a cosmic horror from the deepest depths of space, a being much like Trigon,” Timothy spoke, he watched the man before him, studied the emotions he showed, what weapons he could possibly be concealing and where he could strike first, all things that his brother had taught him, “We’d been tracking them for weeks when Constantine come into the mix like the half drunk bastard he is, he gave us a lead before running off as he usually does, we stumbled across the site where the mage and intervened.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the information, “You got hit.” It wasn’t a question, as if he’d known already the outcome of the battle, as though he’d lived it. Timothy gave a curt nod.

“It was either me or Damian, then after I’d been hit, I found myself here in your med bay.” Timothy answered his voice level and clear, not betraying the feeling of unease settling deep in his gut.

“I came capable of defending myself.” Damian scowled, “I am no child to take pity on! Drake made a foolish choice.” He held his head high in a snobbish bratty way in defiance.

“Sure kid, and I’m Mary fucking Poppins.” Jason retorted as Cassandra ran her fingers through the child’s hair, humming softly as the conversation went on. Yet her eyes were fixated on Timothy reading him like an open book.

“I take it you had the same events take place?” Timothy worded his question carefully, watched as Jason cocked his head to the side and glanced at Cassander, a silent conversation passing between the two, a conversation Timothy had been unable to catch onto. The silence was thick and heavy as the boy in Cassandra’s lap scowled, then a subtle nod of her head and the tension in Jason’s body loosened, if only slightly.

“Not exactly,” Jason muttered as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, “Timbit and Golden Boy were out together last night when they found Constantine bleeding out in the narrows, Dickie bird brought ‘em to the cave and let Alfie deal with the wound. I got called in by Babs and met up with the Replacement, made our way to central, with Big bird and the hell spawn met us; went into the catacombs, fought the fuckward, as we were clean’in the bastard got free aimed at the kid, and the idiot replacement jumped in the way.” He shrugged casually as if this were normal, which in all honesty, it likely was. “Mage got away, injured Goldie, Oracle’s hunt’n ‘em down, and you replaced the caffeine addict, now we’re here.”

Timothy went through the information piece by piece, there was a stark difference between the events they had both lived through; whereas he had known of the mage’s plan, the Jason before him had not. It was an ugly picture being painted for him, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked around the cave once more, his gaze lingering on the oddities he’d taken stock of when he’d emerged.

“I see.” He said dryly as he sighed.

“Welp, Dick-for-brains is gonna be fucking pissed.” Jason huffed a sarcastic laugh.

“I’m gonna be pissed about what?” A new voice chirped from behind Jason, the man jerked away startled, and Timothy froze as he recognised the newcomer, only instead of sharp golden owl-like eyes, Dick’s eyes were a vibrant cerulean blue, a colour that the court of owls had stolen from the boy.

Timothy swallowed as the grief hit him deep in the aching wound in his chest.

And for once he wanted to take a page out of John Constantine’s book.

He needed a fucking drink.

Notes:

This is the song that inspired the title, quite an ethereal song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHNPT_QPQ_U

Originals:
Dick - 28 - Nightwing
Babs - 29 - Oracle
Jason - 24/25 - Red Hood
Cass - 24 - Orphan
Tim - 22 - Red Robin
Stephanie - 23 - Spoiler
Duke - 17 - Signal
Damian - 11 - Robin

Reverse:
Damian - 29 - Flamebird
Duke - 28 - Grey Ghost
Stephanie - 25 - Marauder
Tim - 24 - Raptor
Cass - 20 - Black Bat
Jason - 17/18 - Red hood
Babs - 15 - Batgirl
Dick - 14 - Talon/Robin

Chapter 3: Fuck Tuesdays

Damian sat at the head of the dinning table, his eyes scanning the room for any unperceived threat, his gaze lingering of the younger Timothy. None of the Justice League’s mages were available to come and fix the situation and Damian himself was still grasping at the fundamentals of Magic, only time would tell if he’d be able to do anything of great significance.

“I see you’ve made your own way down.” Damian kept his words brief, his tone even and his body language open. After all Timothy had de-aged a few years, a direct timeline was unknown.

Timothy stared at him, exhaustion clear in every movement, a glass of the energy drink he’d manufactured left untouched, it was clear that he hadn’t even begun to think of alternatives to the coffee he’d consumed for close to two decades.

“He dropped the first glass,” Jason caught his gaze, “Think Dick startled him.” He reported it simply, no hidden insults, no implications of a soured relations.

“Likely from before then,” Damian gave a singular sharp nod in response as he glanced to Richard, they young boys gaze watched every of Timothy’s moves, his expression blank and his body language impossible to read with the stillness in his bones.

“You should drink, it’ll wake you up, better than coffee,” Duke sat closer to Timothy, his eyes haunted but the smile on his face reassuring if not stained with tragedy.

Timothy to his credit looked at the glass still in his hands and studied it, then in one swift movement he threw his back and downed the entirety of the drink in a matter of moments. Damian narrowed his eyes, there was something unfamiliar by the movements, by the ease at trusting the drink wasn’t indeed poisoned.

The glass hit the table with a soft think as Timothy straightened and stared at the empty glass. He at least looked more awake than what he’d originally been.

“What is that flavour?” Timothy glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on Richard before settling onto Damian himself.

“Guava would be the flavour Master Timothy,” Alfred spoke calmly as he stepped into the room carrying platters of food and setting them on the table between them, “A popular choice and a favourite of your palette.”

Timothy looked at Alfred then at the glass, he shook his head as he looked to the older man and frowned. Jason turned to Damian with widened eyes, Duke kept his gaze on Timothy an expression of worry at the display, Cass tilted her head in silent question, Richard seemed unbothered and Damian had a sinking feeling things were far more compliant than a simple case of de-ageing.

“I take it you do not share the sentiment?” Alfred rose a brow in question, his face remain neutral, as if was already aware.

“There’s no coffee?” Timothy asked sounding reigned as his shoulders slumped.

“There hasn’t been for quite some time,” Alfred spoke, his tone was apologetic, “Is there a preference? I’ll make not to grab some during my errands today Master Timothy.”

Timothy perked up, and Damian had to keep himself from reacting to the absurdity of this situation.

“Mocha Java blend, I was introduced to it and haven’t been able to drink anything else.” Timothy nodded gratefully and Damian could only stare, he was familiar with the blend as it was an Arabian and Indonesian Arabic blend.

“I will see what I can do, for now enjoy breakfast Young Masters and Young Mistress.” Alfred bowed his head politely his gaze lingering on Damian, the older man narrowed his eyes slightly before turning away and disappearing back into the kitchen.

Jason blinked, opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it unable to utter a word. Damian watched as Cass tilted her head before moving with silent deadly precision as she filled Richard’s plate; Richard simply watched her, with a twitch of anticipation.

Damian turned to Duke and watched the man shift in his seat to get a better look at Timothy. The he turned to Timothy.

The man before him was watching them with a renewed vigour, more alert than he’d previously been; he was taking in every detail of the room, of the people that sat around him and Damian could always miss the discrepancies to the younger Timothy had been to the younger who sat before him.

“Timothy.” Damian spoke, upon his name being announced Timothy’s eyes locked with his; A brief silence passed between them. “What is it that you remember?” he watched Timothy’s eyes narrow as he contemplated his answer.

“Elaborate on the question, I could remember anything.” Timothy shrugged causally, as he reached for the eggs that had been set out.

Damian’s eyes sharpened as his shoulders tensed, “How old are you?” he asked instead.

Timothy tilted his head to the side, weighing his words, “Twenty two.”

“That’s only two years?” Jason’s brows furrowed, Damian felt a pit in his stomach, that had been when Jason had only just come back to Gotham, when Richard had still be missing, when Timothy had infiltrated the Court of Owls.

Timothy was watching them now, his eyes calculating as if they were playing a game of chess.

“What year is it?” Damian asked, keeping his voice even.

“Twenty twenty-eight, is it different here?” Timothy questioned.

“Twenty twenty-nine.” Duke confirmed his question. Timothy hummed as he picked at the sausage he’d put on his plate.

“You seemed to know what has happened,” Damian scowled, he was looking at the picture in front of him and he was hating it the longer he looking at it.

“I have a few running theories,” Timothy didn’t elaborate as he took a mouthful of spinach and egg.

“Theories?” Jason scrutinised as he spread jam over his toast.

“Dimensional travel, timeline alterations, an eternal sleep where I live my worst nightmares; an average Tuesday in all honestly.” His tone remained flat and disinterested.

“You don’t think you’ve been de-aged?” Jason squinted suspiciously.

“I doubt it,” Timothy contemplating, “Last I remember Dick wasn’t...” Damian followed his gaze towards Richard; his father’ ward hadn’t moved from his previous position, still watching each of Timothy’s movements, waiting for something to happen.

“That doesn’t prove you haven’t been de-aged,” Jason retorted with a glare sharp enough to kill someone, Timothy rolled his eyes and huffed with exasperation.

“I’m not providing anything definitive, alternative realities are limitless, you may as well turn out to be a cult of undead vampires looking for their next meal,” Timothy scoffed he snapped his gaze towards Jason as he pointed his fork accusingly towards him.

“Timothy.” Damian slammed a fist against table, multiple pairs of eyes snapped towards him.

Jason sunk in his chair, Duke shook his head disapprovingly, Cassandra watched him with caution and Richard looked ready to run.

But Timothy? His expression was blank as they locked eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line and his posture stiff. It was reminiscences of his brother, only the anger was missing.

“It’s just Tim.” Timothy muttered as he set his cutlery down, “No one calls me Timothy, the last time I was called that was on my father’s deathbed.”

“My apologies, Tim.” Damian strained his voice as he apologized; Tim blinked at him stunned his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Damian turned his attention to the selection of food Alfred had laid out, he set food onto his plate, not once breaking eye contact. “Lets go back to your theories; you mentioned alternative realities, yes?” he rose a brow in question as he took a bite of sausage.

Tim stared at him still reeling, but the trance seemed to have broken as he twitched nervously.

“I... Did...” Tim nodded as he glanced at each of them, “But I can’t confirm it until I look the timeline.”

“You seem quite set that the soundest options are alternative realities, why is that?” Damian prodded, he needed to understand his reasoning. Tim picked at his nails as he again turned towards Richard, then towards Jason, Cassandra, Duke and then his gaze settling back onto Damian himself.

“Because Dick and Jason are my older brothers.”

 

Chapter 4: Shimmers of Gilded Gold

“You fucking- Dick!” Jason seethed as he straightened himself; Dick snorted a laugh as he sent him a playful look, he watched as Jason scowled hunch his shoulders and sulk as he leaned against the outer wall of the med bay.

“Aww Jay, I was only playing.” Dick teased as he rocked back on his heels, his eyes surveying the surrounding cave, in the distance he could see Babs going through the computer systems remotely from the clock tower, she’d been searching the records for the mage they’d encountered hours earlier, seeming as Constantine had lacked giving them a name.

Jason huffed in annoyance, his eyes trailing over to Tim; who Dick noticed was now very much awake. He cocked his head to the side as he looked the man over carefully, he was taller, more muscle definition, still rather lean; nothing that seemed to be too out of place overall. Except there was a sense of unease crawling under his skin was he looked at his face; his expression was carefully blank, a hollowness in Tim’s soft cornflower blue eyes. Dick felt his jaw tighten as he caught shattered strokes of gold hiding beneath the soft blue.

Still Dick smiled, “How ya feeling baby bird?” he leaned closer as he tucked his hands behind his back, his smile never wavering. He could see the gears turning in the other’s head, as his jaw set tighter, the subtle twitches in his shoulders. Tim was weighing his words carefully, Dick knew that much.

“Disoriented.” Tim spoke stiffly, his response plain and simple. Calculated.

“I bet.” Dick hummed as he shifted to turn towards Cass and Damian, the pair were still close together with the youngest of them looking just as grumpy as ever and Cass looking content on staying where she is.

“Not little brother.” Cass says simply, her words smooth and steady as he tilts her head at Tim. Dick blinked as he looked back at the man standing before them and frowned.

“Not Tim?” He looked over the man again, he’d say he was surprised. He half expected it, with the crawling and clawing just beneath his skin when they’d pulled him from the caverns beneath the city.

“Different one, Replacement ain’t here.” Jason muttered as he watched carefully.

“Tt, this is ridiculous, just get that daft magician down here to fix this mess he dragged us into.” Damian sneered as he glared at Tim.

“Afraid we can’t.” Dick spoke, his jaw tight as he smiled, he watched as Jason’s eyes narrowed, Cass straightened, Damian’s scowl deepened, and Tim looked so exhausted with this situation. “I was just upstairs with him, he mentioned returning the amulet and promised to be back with a way to reverse whatever happened to Tim.”

“So. you mean he just fucked off and we got no fucking clue when he’ll be back?” Jason deadpanned, annoyance dripping from his tongue, his gaze hardening into a glare.

“I demand you bring that drunkard back here this instant! I will not tolerate this imposter’s presence!” Damian pulled himself up and out from Cass’s arms, his foot stomping on the ground in a show of how childish he truly was.

Dick winced internally; his gaze softened as he dropped down to his Robin’s height. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance; Cass hovered close by, her own nerves humming around her. Dick could feel Tim’s gaze watching him interact with Damian with a calculating glint and Jason was glaring harshly into the floor, flexing his hands, his chest rising and falling as he took in deep breaths.

“I can’t do that Dames.” Dick spoke lightly, a roiling guilt settling in his chest at the scowl on Damian’s face, “Constantine is impossible to contact on a good day. We’re all worried about Tim, and its sweet you care too.” He smiled as his chest warmed.

“Don’t patronise me. I could care less for that inferior model!” Damian sneered as his eyes flashed a brighter shade of green in his rage, but his face flushed a soft shade of red.

“Don’t you worry Baby Bat, Tim can handle himself, no matter the danger.” For that Dick was sure. Jason snorted a laugh as he smirked.

“Yeah, as long as he has coffee and spite the Replacement will be perfectly fine.” Jason snickered as he pushed off the wall and stalked towards their guest from another world, before he swung an arm around his shoulder, putting some of his weight on the lanky man.

Tim startled as he stiffened, nearly falling over and taking Jason with him to the floor, his expression turned pinched as he side eyed his brother; Dick smiled up at the pair as he turned back to look at Damian, their Baby bat, his sweet Robin.

“Besides, we have other magic users we can call.” Dick reassured, he watched as tension bled from the young tweens body and the sharpness in his eyes soften ever so slightly.

“Good.” Damain gave a sharp nod; Dick smiled a little wider as they stood there a moment longer, before Damian pulled away and stalked towards the bat-computer. “We shall deal with this at once then.”

Dick rolled his eyes as amusement sparkled in his eyes, “Sorry Dami, but I promised Bruce, I’d have you in bed by eight, its already nine.” He was not sorry at all, and by the sharp turn and offended look on Damain’s face made it all worth it.

“That is ridiculous! Father promised no such thing!” Damain crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

“Bruce doesn’t promise shit.” Jason agreed as he flexed with free wrist, Tim still looked incredibly affronted by him leaning against him.

“True, but Damian and Duke have school in the morning and while Bruce is across the galaxy Damian goes to bed early.” Dick’s tone was light and playful, but also very matter of fact.

“I will be more useful in helping search for Drake!” Damian protested with all his eleven-year-old glory.

“We got it handled; you can help tomorrow.” Jason waved the kid off, he was quick to dodge the knife that came hurdling his way with a bark of laughter.

“Read to Baby Brother?” Cass perked up with a gleam in her eyes as she offered a solution.

“What?” Damian looked aghast at the thought of being read to, but Dick knew. He knew the boy adored the tall tales of fairytales.

Dick beamed as he signed to Cass, she smiled brighter as she nodded; Damian for all intents and purposes stamped his foot again in defiance, but his shoulder’s had sunk in defeat accepting the reality of his fate. He allowed Cass to approach and put a hand gently on his shoulder as she led him up the stairs to the manor.

“I promise I’ll be up soon Damian,” Dick called after them as they disappeared through the doorway, he knew that Damian had heard, knew the boy would protest and fight to stay awake just a little bit later just so that Dick could be there to offer the words his mother had spoken to him on the nights he was restless.

The cave was silent now, with only Jason, himself and an older version of their brother. Dick let the reality of the situation roll through him, went over the details again as he looked over to Tim who looked as though he was being burned by Jason simply having an arm wrapped around him. Dick’s gaze hardened as worry bubbled just beneath the surface.

“Is he safe there?” the question hung thick between them.

Jason jerked his head as he let go of Tim and let the man stumble to steady himself; he moved to stand beside him and Tim looked between them as he stiffened, trying to compose himself. It left Dick feeling uneasy at his eerie silence, his Baby bird has always been quiet yes, but his words were sharp, his humour dry and his energy chaotic; this version was still, calculating and it brought memories Dick had long since buried to the surface.

“He should be.” Tim spoke finally; voice dull yet sincere.

“And we can trust you how?” Jason remarked as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, his eyes sharp with judgement.

“They- My brothers wouldn’t let anything happen. Not again.” His voice was firmer, but there was doubt bleeding through.

“I don’t know who’s available now to help, but if anything happens to Tim, our Tim…” Dick let the unsaid words hang in the air, watched as something sharp. Understanding. Dangerous. Settled deep in his expression.

“Nothing will.” Tim’s fists tightened as the gold in his eyes flared.

Something churned in Dick’s stomach as he gave a sharp nod.

He’d believe it when he could hold his brother in his arms again.

Notes:

This is the song that inspired the title, quite an ethereal song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHNPT_QPQ_U

Originals:
Dick - 28 - Nightwing
Babs - 29 - Oracle
Jason - 24/25 - Red Hood
Cass - 24 - Orphan
Tim - 22 - Red Robin
Stephanie - 23 - Spoiler
Duke - 17 - Signal
Damian - 11 - Robin

Reverse:
Damian - 29 - Flamebird
Duke - 28 - Grey Ghost
Stephanie - 25 - Marauder
Tim - 24 - Raptor
Cass - 20 - Black Bat
Jason - 17/18 - Red hood
Babs - 15 - Batgirl
Dick - 14 - Talon/Robin

Chapter 5: Don't Be Suspicious, Don't Be Suspicious

The dining room hung in silence as Tim picked at the food on his plate; Jason was fumbling with his glass of juice as he choked; Damian straightened in his chair, his body tensing as his eyes honed in. Duke looked on in bewilderment as his fork tapped against the plate before him; Cass tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with confusion. And Dick? The most he reacted was a single slow blink, it was animalistic, uncanny.

Tim admittedly was rather unnerved by the people surrounding him now that he was more awake from the energy drink, at least that’s what he was assuming it was anyways. His eyes scanned over each of them, cataloguing the differences in build and appearance now that he was more aware.

Jason still looked to have been dunked in a Lazarus Pit by the tell-tale white patch of hair and the tinge of green muddling his once blue eyes; yet that seemed to be all it had affected. If Tim didn’t know any better, he and Jason were of a similar height and build; his shoulders were broad, but he lacked the bulk of muscle he had acquired in the league, his skin was a little more tanned meaning he could have come back to Gotham sooner. Then there were the scars on his skin, there were ones he didn’t recognize; one mark on his neck looked as though a clawed beats sliced through it, ragged and still looking raw.

It left Tim feeling unsettled, he’d seen glimpses of his Jason’s scar that marked his neck… It was a clean cut, something sharp had cut through it… but this younger Jason was met with a blunt blade that ripped his neck open… How both had survived… Tim wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

His eyes drifted over to Duke… And Tim’s lips twitched as he caught sight of the faint glow of sigils scorched into his skin, they ran down from his shoulder and wrapped around his wrist like a skeletal frame; his hair was pulled up into a loose bun, bits of frizz sticking out. Worry lines dug in  across his brow as he looked back at Tim in bewilderment. There were other markings on his body, scars like the one across Jason’s neck running from just under his right eye to his chin…

Tim knew something had attacked them at some point, something dangerous, brutal… but he had to admit long hair suited Duke, even if it was tied up. He filed away his temptation to ask about the markings on his arm, what they mean.

Cass was around the age she was when she’d first been brought to the manor, her hair was shorter, much like Selina’s, there were longer strands that had been braided with colourful hair ties. It was strange not seeing the bob that framed her face, but it did suit her. And he was sure if his Cass was here she’d insist on having her hair braided and it’d end in a fight to the death between Dick and Stephanie over who would be the one to braid her hair.

Speaking of Dick he had the most drastic of changes, his skin had been leached of the soft sun kissed tan, his veins a shade of black slivered across his exposed skin, trailing up his neck and leaving tendrils across his face; his eyes shimmered gold, the blue he was used to seeing gone without a trace. He sat eerily still in his chair, unlike how his oldest brother constantly shifted, leaning over people, tapping the table; his clothes were nothing of the chaos of colours and patterns being thrown together on a whim, in their place he was dressed in a neat and distinguished manner. His hair was pulled back and braided.

It was only then that Tim realized the room was dimly lit, and the grand window that sat behind Bruce’s chair was drawn shut hiding the rays of morning light and the well-manicured gardens of the manor. It was strange, he hadn’t known a time the curtains had been shut, not as the dinning room sat in the back of the manor, the large acres of land and the dense tree line that shielded them from the highway that cut through; there wasn’t a logical reason to have them drawn.

He filed the inconsistency away for the time being as he locked eyes with Damian’s vividly green gaze.

He was dressed in one of what Tim could only assume was Bruce’s turtleneck, or maybe he’d gotten his own, it was likely. His had tattoo’s peaking out from the collar, intricate lines weaving together into a pattern he couldn’t see, his hands were adorned with golden rings and the very same scars like Jason’s and Duke’s ripped across the back of his hands and disappearing under the sleeves. Damian’s face was more defined and clear of the lingering baby fat from when he was a child; his hair was pulled back into a low ponytail revealing the undercut underneath.

Jason was the one to break the heavy silence, “What do you mean I’m the one take’n care’o you?!” his chair skidded as he stood, his hands on the table as he leaned forward, his expression twisted into abject horror.

“You don’t.” Tim shot back; his tone sarcastically playful as he cut into the egg on his plate.

“I-“ Jason reeled back as his brows shot up, “You- how much older?!” he stammered as he demanded an answer.

“Jason.” Damian’s tone was sharp and commanding, so much like Bruce’s own. Jason flinched at the tone shooting a glare at him.

“You can’t not be curious! I can’t believe I would be stuck taking care of you bozos!” Jason’s voice was loud as he dropped back onto his chair, his tongue stuck out childishly with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Jay isn’t around much,” Tim admitted, “He died before I came into the family, came back later, he’s still at B’s throat; only reason Jason’s home now is because Bruce is in another galaxy with Superman and Dr. Fate.” He nonchalantly added, his eyes gleaming as he watched the gears turning in this Jason’s head.

“Is that so.” Damian’s eyes narrowed, his chin resting on his fist; he sent a look to Jason who frowned, a look of guilt flashed across his face.

Tim tilted his head, his mouth full as he chewed methodically. He could see plainly that this Damian cared to some extent for his younger brother’s and sister, but the limits to that was lost to Tim; especially with integral information still missing. To be truthful he didn’t know if he could trust them, he didn’t know the history of this universe, not their morals, goals allies or enemies.

He couldn’t ask for that information, not with how they may very well react; the need to solve this was becoming startling apparent, he wanted to know how their universe had veered off from his own, how many of the same events had occurred, what different ones had happened.

For that he needed access to the cave. To the Batcomputer, any source material he could get his hands on. But to be able to get down there, he needed avoid suspicion… That would be the most difficult part, particularly since he was likely in a manor filled with highly trained individuals, who very well be his enemies.

He needed to keep whatever information of himself and his own universe generic and vague, the last thing he’d want is if they turn out to be against him is for them to use such valuable information against him.

“Timot- Tim.” Duke was quick to correct himself, there was a look in his eyes that was sounding his internal alarms, “Is- Will Timothy be safe in your universe?” His voice was strained, his jaw set tight and body tense. Tim blinked, blinked again; he opened his mouth to respond, and he hesitated.

Dick’s once emotionless expression sharpened as he locked onto him, his small pale hand twitching as he held his fork in a crude position, as if ready to strike. Cass noticed his hesitation too, her posture straightening as she looked between him and Duke. Tim could feel Damian’s sharpening gaze lingering on him as Jason leaned forward, his fists curled up tightly in anticipation for his answer.

Tim weighed his words carefully, not wanting to reveal any indication that could be used against him or his family; if he mentioned that Dick wouldn’t let anything happen to their Tim, it would feel wrong knowing that Dick could potentially turn against the other if they had ulterior motives… After all he’d seen what Dick had done to the Joker, had seen the blood, seen the anger that Dick so desperately tried to bury…

Then Jason… there was no way to know how he was handling things. On a good day Jason still tormented him with harsh words and light-hearted punches, on a bad day… His stomach flipped as he though back to what Jason had done to him in the Titans tower, the lack of remorse, that endless well of mindless anger and destruction…

If Cass hadn’t already seen their Tim and seen in his body language there was little she would do to hole back any of their brothers from what they could very well do, especially if she perceived him as a threat…

Damian was an entirely different story, the kid still actively lunged at him already planning on spilling blood. Sure they were on far better terms now than they had been when he first arrived, they could last an entire patrol without killing each other, could sit together in a room alone without blood being brawn; hell Tim could playfully insult the kid and only deal with a scornful insult right back…

Lastly there was Alfred… he was the most unpredictable of them all on how he may react. Tim would admit he got lucky with this Alfred, his Alfred may have already loaded the shotgun and started shooting with that indifferent attitude and as blood soaked into the ancient carpets simply say that tea was waiting for everyone.

Tim worried his lip as he looked at each person that surrounded him.

“Tim… Please tell me Timothy is safe over there.” Duke’s voice trembled as his eyes sparked with emotion.

“They won’t hurt him unless they have a reason to.” Tim looked away from Duke and down at the scraps left on his plate, he couldn’t look at the man who reminded him of that devastated boy who lost his parents and alienated by a meta gene he had no control over; couldn’t stop the guilt from bubbling like acid in his stomach from being reminded that he wasn’t enough to prevent it from ever happening.

“Timothy is good.” Damian spoke, his tone heavy as his piercing gaze burrowed into Tim’s chest, “There won’t be a reason for anything to happen.” He spat.

Tim didn’t speak as the silence grew heavy and thick with tension.

Alfred silently moved into the room, effortlessly reaching for the leftover food that lay scattered in the middle of the table; Jason silently standing to assist in gathering everyone’s plates. Tim set his cutlery down softly. Plates were scraped and stacked neatly to be carried back to the kitchen, yet Dick’s plate remained behind, the small amount of food left untouched, his golden eyes piercing through Tim.

“Young Damian.” Alfred paused as he held the platter of fruit, lips pressed together as he remained dignified and elegant, “I hope you have not forgotten your responsibilities for today.” he rose a single brow as Damian bristled.

“Of course not.” Damian scowled as he stood from his chair and adjusted the collard of his shirt.

“Good, I will be taking Young Cassandra and Young Jason to see Dr. Tompkins as we scheduled, I’ll run my errands and return.” Alfred nodded as re whipped the table, not once struggling as Jason ran dishes to the kitchen, “That will leave Young Duke home with Young Richard and our guest.”

“Yeah that sounds good Alfred.” Duke smiled; his eyes still haunted by Tim’s words.

Damian's lips pressed into a grim line, his eyes sharpening as a crackle of energy buzzed around the room, a chill running down Tim’s spine, refused to let the unsettling feeling show in his body language.

Tim would have to take this as his only chance to get to the Batcomputer.

He’d have to make this count.

The consequences be damned.

Notes:

If Reverse Jason was a youtuber I feel like he'd have the same energy as Smallishbeans and/or Grian

Chapter 6: Surrogate

Timothy followed behind Dick and Jason through the manor, the halls were quite, yes. But not in the way he was used too, it wasn’t suffocating like the ancient halls that were haunted by ghosts, didn’t hover around him deafening him as shadows reached out with chilling hands. Instead, there was a soft warmth, welcoming him in the early hours of the rising dawn, dimmed lights shinning in the hall, casting away the shadows that nipped at the edges.

The quiet hadn’t lasted long, not as soft music drifted from the floor below, not with the soft methodical noises of Alfred getting his duties started for the day, not with the scuffs of Jason’s combat boots against the halls soft carpets, not when Dick swayed with each step as he hummed beneath his breath.

This wasn’t a silence that was chilling or distant.

This was noise of purpose and comfort.

Something twisted in his chest, kept his expression blank as he scanned the windows that looked over the estate, scanned the paintings on the walls, catching sight of younger faces of the men walking not too far ahead of him, of those bright smiles, of that innocence that was seen by the artist. But Timothy knew better than to trust the work of an artist.

“You good there Two Point O?” Jason huffed as he threw a look back, his eyes a sharper green than they’d been in the cave, yet his body remain lax as if this were something normal rather than unnerving.

“Fine.” Came his clipped response, there wasn’t any reason for him to go on about the difference in atmosphere this manor had compared to his own.

Jason didn’t look at all happy with his answer, not with how he rolled his eyes with a grunt as he turned back to look ahead; it had been Dick who decided not to leave him in the cave, Jason had disagreed, but ultimately here they were, walking in the halls towards the south wing if their rooms were housed there much like his own manor’s.

This time Dick glanced back, his head tilted as his eyes scanned over him, again. Timothy’s eyes narrowed as the jarring way his body moved, the way it could be seen as just a quirk of his; he’d seen the way Dick had moved before the court, the clumsy grace of a child, trained to go with movement rather that control it. The man before him did not hole the same grace of that boy, not in the way that was natural.

“Your taller than me,” Dick’s voice was similar to how he remembered it, a whisper of an accent covered by the years of living in a place like Gotham, “I don’t think you’ll fit any of my clothes.” He mused, as he leaned towards Jason.

Jason snorted a laugh, “As if he’d wear your disaster of a closet.” He turned to his brother, a grin spread across his face as his eyes gleamed. Dick gasped dramatically as he placed a hand across his chest in mock offence.

“Excuse you!” Dick retorted, the edges of his mouth flicking up as he pointed an accusing finger towards the taller of the two, “Its better than having fifty of the same outfit!”

“I do not!” Jason shot back, arms crossing over his chest as he stopped mid stride and glowered at the other, but no real heat in his gaze, “I have normal clothes! You have hideous booty shorts and crop tops that are a crime to even own!”

Dick laugh as he looked away from Jason, “Your just jealous.” His tone was light and teasing as he shoved Jason aside with no real effort to knock him over.

Timothy… He just stood there unable to fully comprehend the full extent of what he was hearing.

“What’s there to be jealous of?” Jason huffed, amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked back towards him. “We could put him in that jumpsuit you have.”

“We are not putting him in that!” Dick immediately shot the idea down, as he stepped forward to keep on moving.

“You don’t wear it, plus it’d be hilarious!” Jason argued as he fell into step beside the other, Timothy remained silent as he moved to follow.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be,” Dick’s voice was light, no denial in his tone, “But our Tim would just fit it and he’s barely taller than me, at least in one of your shirts you’ll look like twins!”

“What?! I’m not given him my clothes!” Jason was aghast by the very suggestion.

“We are not leaving him in the clothes he’s currently wearing.” Dick deadpanned.

Timothy glanced down at his clothes, he was still wearing the undergarments from his suit, simple tactical layers to help protect his body. He could understand exactly why Dick was insistent on him changing.

“Give him someone else’s then!” Jason argued, his steps heavier as his eyes flashed a deeper green.

“Alfred’s going to be pissed if he sees Tim, you know his rules when it comes to wearing the suits in the manor,” his tone was lightly scolding and Dick’s eyes bored into Jason’s own.

It reminded Timothy of how Damian scolded the younger ones, how despite their protests he had that patience that only came with being an older brother to so many.

The fight in Jason deflated at the mention of the butler, his arms still tightly crossed over his chest as he scowled.

“Only because Alfred.” Jason’s muttered as he stormed ahead with overdramatic steps. Dick laughed as he looked back.

“Guessing you’d like a shower?” There was that slight tilt to his head again, the one that Timothy had seen so often from his brother.

“It’d be appreciated.” Timothy nodded curtly, keeping his voice even. Dick nodded in understanding, his eyes spoke volumes of distrust.

“Great!” Dick grinned, playful and practiced. “Fresh clothes, a shower and post patrol dinning! A great start to the morning!”

They walked further down the hall, just the two of them, Jason having disappeared ahead to retrieve clothes.

He wasn’t surprised when the walked through a grand doorway into the south wing of the manor. What he was surprised to see was the cat lounging on a side table, its sharp yellow eyes watching him.

Dick hummed as he approached the cat, its head perked up with interest as the man held a hand out, the soft purrs joined the warmth of the quiet as its head brushed against the back of Dick’s hand.

“Morning to you too Alfred,” Dick greeted the cat earnestly as he scratched the cat, Alfred, behind  the ear.

Timothy stared at the small furry creature, he wasn’t sure what breed the cat was, only that its white fur was sleek and well groomed. Yet they didn’t have pets. Not back in his universe anyways.

This cat, Alfred sat there as if he’d always been here, allowed Dick to scratch under his chin, leaned into the touch. The sound of a door opening drew his attention to the end of the south wing and there stood Jason, clothes in hand looking at him disgruntled, yet wordlessly threw the clothes towards him.

“Just so you know, I’m burning those clothes when your done.” Jason scowled, Timothy stared at him, at the way he remembered a smaller Jason scowling at the idea of letting their father’s newest ward borrow his clothes until they could get him his own.

“You have a cat.” Timothy looked back at the creature Dick was smothering with affection.

“Nope, Alfred’s the brat’s.” Jason huffed as he sent the cat a scornful look, “Only lets the Baby Bat and Dickhead touch him, the basted attacks everyone else.”

“This is why Alfred doesn’t like you; you insult him!” Dick chirped teasingly while Alfred’s paw pushed his hand away, having had enough with the attention.

“He knows what he did!” Jason sneered, glowering at the cat who looked almost smug.

“What did he do?” Dick asked, his head tilting in that subtle animalistic way.

“That- That fucking asshole of a cat torments me whenever I’m here!” Jason sneered at the cat, his shoulders tense and feet set apart ready to lunge.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he’s a cute cat, he even sits with Tim at the Batcomputer!” Dick simply shook his head with a laugh as he leaned towards the door that sat beside the hall table.

“That little fucker has you all wrapped around his filthy little paws!” Timothy could only watch as Jason went into a rant over the times the cat had screwed him over, from sitting on his books, stealing his chair in the library, staring judgingly into his soul, to ripping up his clothes out of spite. He looked back at the frost white cat who lounged without a care in the world, and locked eyes with the vibrant yellow eyes that bored into his soul; he could understand why Jason had a grudge against a creature as unassuming as a cat. Dick simply nodded along with mirth dancing in his eyes, as Jason went on and on.

“Alfred gets along well with Ace, Titus and Haley, and cats are a dog’s natural rival! You sure your not part fish?” Jason’s indignant sputtering left Timothy reeling, he looked from the furred creature and towards Dick, who looked positively gleeful as Jason’s reaction.

And it struck Timothy in the moment by the memory of a younger Dick running away squealing from a younger Jason yelling after the boy. At the time Tim had been knocked over by the younger boy, one of his tablets breaking and the Damian had scolded the pair for so carelessly running in the halls; neither had taken the scolding seriously, not with the glint in their eyes as they ran off to continue their game. Later Dick had come to his room and offered a drawing as an apology for having broken the tablet.

Timothy had dismissed the art with a simple thanks and set it aside, it had been lost in the mess of his room at some point, he couldn’t remember what the drawing was of, not the colours Dick had used, only that after Jason’s death and Dick’s disappearance, did he realize he’d never truly appreciated it. Not after tearing his room apart, never having found it in the archives he’d kept in a meticulous order.

It had simply been gone.

Just like the boys who left gaping wounds in their place.

“Tim?” A hand on his shoulder left him jerking back as if he’d been burnt, his eyes snapped to focus onto Dick. His hand hovering in the place he’d previously been in, the playfulness in his eyes replaced with worry, his brows furrowed in concern, lips turned down. “You alright? You’re not hurt are you?” his voice was softer, quieter as he studied him.

“I’m fine,” Timothy spoke, swallowing down the tremor in his voice.

“That’s a load of shit.” Jason was watching him now too, he was closer than he was before, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Goldie called your name out like ten times.” Ah right, they were calling him Tim.

“I respond quicker to Timothy.” He spoke carefully, let them believe that it was simply an issue with the name, not the regret that burned in his chest.

“Timothy…” Jason echoed the word, testing it, his face scrunched up in that same way his younger brother’s face would twist with discomfort, “Nah that ain’t work’n.” Timothy honestly should’ve expected that, Jason was never one to stick with names.

Dick’s brows were furrowed as he mouths the name to himself, his eyes were dancing across Timothy looking as though he was putting a puzzle together, one had hadn’t the faintest clue how to even start. He could mention that he was often called Timmy, usually by Jason, Barbara and Stephanie, but he’d rather swallow acid than admit he liked being called Timmy.

That last thing any Jason needed was an ego boost.

“You really, really don’t suit the name Timothy.” Dick nodded solemnly, agreeing with Jason.

It seemed even here in this universe they were always on each other’s side.

“I say we call ‘em Surrogate.” Jason’s expression was fixed in that serious, determined way.

A laugh startled from Dick as he rushed to cover his mouth muffling the noise. “Jason, no.” came his muffled wheeze.

“Jason, yes.” The wicked grin that spread across Jason’s face was never a good thing. Timothy sighed quietly as he looked at the bundle of clothes in his hands; it was shocking at how inefficient they were as doing a simple task such as getting him clothes and push him towards the bathroom to clean up.

In stead they’d gotten here, pet a cat named Alfred, bicker with each other and now picking a nickname for him because they refused to call him his name. Already he was missing the strict schedule they followed back in his dimension, everything organized and no distractions.

“can you not think of a name while I go and shower?” he spoke up, his tone flat and disinterested. two sets of eyes looked towards him in that instant, Dick blinked as his expression shifted to a sheepish smile, Jason rolled his eyes as he smirked.

“Sure thing Surrogate, you can go and shower and let the grown ups name you.” Timothy knew this was going to be a long night when he’d first woken up in the med bay…

He really, really needed a fucking drink after this.

Notes:

Alfred the Cat: *sitting in Jason's favorite reading spot*
Jason: This fucker-
Alfred the Cat: *Looks into Jason's very soul judgingly*
Jason: Where the actual fuck did that hell spawn find you-

Surrogate is another word for replacement, Jason is genuinely having a great time being a little shit and has beef with a cute kitty

Chapter 7: So Many Probabilities, So Many Unknowns

It was strange. Watching Damian adjust the tie around his neck, his face was clear of emotion, his eyes focused and hands steady; Jason was trying to get Dick to stay in the foyer rather than follow him out to the driveway, his words hushed, reassuring. But his body was stiff as he kept glancing back towards him, Tim was an unknown variable in their home, he’d be distrusting too if any one of his brothers had been swapped with someone else of unknown origin.

Duke was trying to help Jason, hovering behind Dick, making his movements clear and his presence known, as if the slightest mistake could lead to something catastrophic. One thing was consistent throughout the morning rush. Dick was still, silent and watchful, his golden eyes just as bright, just as predatory as he looked at Jason.

Cass was standing with Alfred, watching on as she waited patiently to leave, Tim could feel her eyes lingering on him as he sat on the stairs unsure of how he could possibly sneak away to the Batcave and go through whatever files he could scrounge up before someone came looking. He needed a timeline, skill assessments, possible contacts so he could figure out how to get home; he wasn’t sure how concerned they were about fixing this mess.

“I have set out some clean clothes for you,” Alfred spoke up, his face as composed as always, his hair peppered with grey in a way that made him look younger than his own Alfred, “When I return, I expect you to have showered Young Timothy.” He nodded curtly, tone expectant, one of the few familiarities.

“He likes Tim better.” Jason spoke up, his head arched as he sent a narrowed look towards Tim, “Like Dick.” His eyes darted back to the boy in question, there was no reaction to the name used, Jason’s lips turned down further, disappointment and guilt dancing across his eyes.

“I see.” Alfred spoke, his gaze drifting back towards Tim, “Young Tim it shall be.”

“Thanks Alfred,” Tim shot him a tired smile, he could already feel that energy hit he’d gotten from the drink he’d been handed earlier fading, but he’d managed in worse conditions; Alfred straightened slightly as he rose an amused brow, for what? Tim wasn’t sure.

His gaze turned back towards Duke, Jason and Dick. Duke was still hovering not too far from Dick and Jason was crouched in front of the youngest of them; Tim pursed his lips as he looked at them, Duke was quite clearly in his late twenties, a strange experience honestly since his Duke was barely even eighteen; Jason was a whole other mess, it was clear he’d been affected by the pit, but the effects were so vastly different from the reaction he’d seen with his Jason. This Jason was still affected by the abused he’d body gone through in his childhood, still he remained scrawny, his body haunted by the ghosts of malnourishment, his growth forever stunted by the neglect. He looked to be no older than fifteen.

Then Dick… Tim knew that Dick had always been small, as a child even as an adult he was just under average in height, for Americans’ at least. He had seen his robin costume, known that even with Jason’s own small stature from being malnourished that he’d been too large, too broad shouldered to fit in the original costume. Has seen Dick in person before he’d left the Robin mantel behind. But seeing him like this, despite all his unnatural features, he was tiny and there was no way Tim could estimate an age for him.

“Don’t worry, I got him.” Duke smiled, soft and reassuring, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Tim watched as Jason hesitated before giving Duke a sharp nod, watched as Jason leaned in closer to Dick as whispered something to him, something he couldn’t hear, but he could see that same glint of mischief flashing in his sharp green smothered eyes; Duke smiled, a little brighter as he chuckled softly.

“I’ll be back later Dickie bird.” Jason spoke, his voice clear and loud, his movements slow as he stood from his crouched position, glanced towards the door, Tim could see the hesitation lingering as he moved towards Alfred, Dick never once looked away.

Alfred nodded curtly as he moved, Cass moving seamlessly after him, yet Jason hesitated as he glanced back; Tim watched him carefully, it was strange, sure. But even in his own universe/timeline Jason always so clearly preferred his favourite sibling to turn to, whether he knew it or not Tim couldn’t say.

“Call me if you require assistance.” Damain spoke, his sharp gaze lingering on Duke as he lingered in the doorway, his hands meticulously adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“You know I will.” Duke replied a glint of fondness flashing in his eyes. Damian simply nodded as he looked to Dick, locked eyes with the boy and his own guarded expression softened, it hardened quickly as he turned his gaze to Tim, they sharpened with distrust.

Tim didn’t fault him.

Knew that Damain saw Tim’s own suspicion. With one final nod of silence Damain stepped out into the courtyard, the morning light cascading in through the opening; the ancient doors of the manor creaked as the light was suffocated from the foyer. The silence hung heavy around him, the awkward tension and sense of unease prickling at his skin.

“I’m going to go shower.” Tim spoke up as he stood with ease from the steps he’d been watching from.

“You know the way?” Duke’s tone was sceptical. Tim could feel two sets eyes staring at him, yet he climbed the stairs with ease, he paused part way up the grand staircase and looked back at Duke and Dick.

“South wing yeah?” He hoped the strange shuffle of ages was the only major thing that had changed.

Duke gave him nod of confirmation. With no other words between them, Tim slipped upstairs.

He made his way past Bruce’s office, his eyes darting to the grandfather clock, tempted to go straight to the cave and start digging through everything. He moved past, knowing that if Duke were to come looking for him, the last thing he needed was to be caught snooping with no way of knowing friend from foe.

For now, he’d play along by taking a shower and changing.

 

---

 

He swiped his damp hair from his face as he stared into the steam fogged mirror. He frowned while eyeing the meticulously ordered cosmetics that sat neatly on the basin; more products hidden in the draws and cabinets. It was strange honestly.

Usually Dick’s skin care, hair products and make up was scattered around in a chaotic sense of order; Alfred had long since given up on organizing it, he knew which battles to pick.

Jason didn’t have much, most of it being hidden around the city in his safe houses.

Damian… Tim would admit he was neat and organized when he’d first arrive, been judgmental and prissy over the smallest of details. But even he had started taking after Dick, leaving his own things scattered around in odd places, namely all the pet toys that he’d dubbed as ‘Tactical Enrichment Equipment’.

Tim snorted at the first time he’d heard Damian explain why he’d hidden Titus’ bone under the lounge in the communal area of the south wing, he could still hear the stuck-up matter of fact tone he had said it in, the way he held his head up high as Titus sat beside him perked and ready to strike.

And then Jason had called out without missing a beat claiming that ‘TEE’ was an abbreviation of Damian’s claim in the most serious way he could, could still hear Dick saying ‘that’ll ‘tee-ch’ Titus a lesson he’ll never forget.” Damian had lost it, thrown a temper tantrum and demanded that they ‘take back their parlance at once or suffer the consequences.’

It had simply ended in even more laughter and knives being thrown.

Tim chuckled as he pulled the simple black shirt over his head and moved towards the bathroom door; he had the intention of finding his Red Robin suit first, he was sure that he hadn’t magically been stripped and thrown into different clothes when he’d hopped universes. He didn’t want to think of what that could mean if he had.

The door opened softly, he was greeted with a cold kind of silence from the communal area, doors kept shut, curtains drawn as the sun shone through the cracks. Even the space between their rooms was different, more like a study than a place they could simply crash if they didn’t want to go down to the family room.

Scanning for any sign of the menageries of furred companions they cared for, there were no brightly coloured toys scattered around, no bowls of water set out, no sign that there was anything small of furred living here. Tim frowned, feeling more uneased by the lack of life inside the walls of the manor.

He picked at the skin around his nails as he moved towards the door, he’d left wide open earlier that morning; Tim doubted he’d find his suit inside, after all Alfred had strict rules when it came to their nightly activities coming upstairs and he had no doubt this Alfred was the very same.

“Oh, good you’re done.” Tim didn’t scream, not when Duke appeared from nowhere, not from the small goldened eyed child that followed him at the heels. He looked up at Duke with wide eyes as he put his arms around him defensively. Duke smiled sheepishly at him. “Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Tim blinked at him, lowered his arms to his sides as he reorientated himself with his surroundings. He glanced to Dick who looked at him with those piercing eyes, almost judgingly. He looked back up at Duke.

“It can’t be worse than Jason jumping out and throwing Damian at me.” Tim shrugged nonchalant; Duke straightened as concern flashed in his eyes.

“I’m sorry- Jason does what?” Tim rose a brow at Duke’s baffled expression.

“At home- my home, Jason throws people at me.” Tim’s elaboration did nothing to help Duke comprehend, so instead he simply moved on, “I was planning on looking for my suit.”

Bewildered Duke nodded along, still staring at him stunned, “Oh yeah… The red one, right?” he murmured as he shook his head.

“Yep.” Tim confirmed as he popped the ‘P’, he was looking Duke over again, his mind still catching up with the fact Duke was an adult and not the awkward arsonist of a teenager. “You know where it is? I wanted to see if my devices still work, might be able to jerry rig communications between this universe and mine.”

Tim saw the way Duke tensed at the question of where his suit was, it was a relief to know he’d come in his suit and that it was still mostly intact.

“You’d need more than just technology and science…” Duke laughed, it was dull and humorless.

“Only one way to find out,” Tim felt his mouth twitch upwards. Yet he noticed the lack of answer to his question, on the way Duke was avoiding mention of the cave.

“I should show you to the room your staying in.” Of course, now that they knew he wasn’t their Tim, they’d want to keep him out of their brother’s room. Tim nodded along as Duke shifted and walked deeper into the south wing, Dick waited in place, looking at Tim expectantly.

Tim’s brows furrowed as he looked at the boy in front of him, the boy who clearly expected him to do something; Duke paused as he looked back, a sadness in his eyes as he tried to keep his smile reassuring.

“He’s just waiting for you to follow.” Duke’s voice was soft, somber as he waited.

“Is this normal?” Tim found himself asking as he hesitantly moved towards the older man, Dick moved to follow him, it was hard to tell what the boy was feeling with his blank expression.

“Its… Difficult to explain…” His guilty tone told Tim that this wasn’t always the case. And from the looks Jason had been giving Dick all morning told him that it was something big, possibly the reason for his ashen complexion and owl-like eyes.

Tim didn’t ask further questions as he was led to a room in the back corner of the South Wing, the heir suit sat at the very end of the hall, likely Damian’s room, seeming as he is the biological son and the eldest if his running theory of their ages being entirely reversed, how far it went he wasn’t sure.

Was Bart older than Wally? Was Roy younger than Dick? Was Kon even made yet? Had Starfire even come to earth yet? So many probabilities, so many unknowns. Answers that were in the cave that sat buried beneath the very manor he stood in.

“Well, this is it.” Duke turned back to him, eyes sharp and smile tight, a shift from his previously somber composure. Tim peered into the room and blinked.

In his universe this was Dick’s room, the smallest and most compact. He’d asked Alfred why Dick had the smallest room, had thought it was his room because he had moved out, or that it was some sick joke that Bruce had played; the answer had been simple, and admittedly made sense. Dick had thrown a fit to put it simply. Stubbornly ripped apart the room Alfred had first given him and found the smallest place he could sleep, to feel safe.

He frowned as he looked at the bare bones of the room that belonged to his eldest brother, the walls clear of the Flying Grayson’s posters, the bright blinding colours of Dick’s bedding, the missing photos of his friends.

“This isn’t Dick’s room?” Tim turned to Duke, his stomach twisting at the absence of what had once been familiar.

“Dick is sharing with Jason…” Duke spoke, his eyes were searching his face, “They started sharing a few months after he moved in with is.”  Tim looked back at the room, he felt nauseous staring at the empty walls.

“Oh.” It made sense to Tim in a way. Dick having been loved by his parents, by the people in the circus, it made sense that he’d want to be in the same room as someone else, how he’d need that extra presence… it made him think back to his brother, the one who grew up in the empty halls of the manor, Bruce wasn’t good with affection now, he doubted he was any better when it was just Alfred and Dick. “Is there somewhere else I can sleep?” he forced himself to look away from the room, looked at the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains.

Duke was silent, in a way that left his skin crawling.

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” Duke’s voice had gone soft again, but Tim could still feel the sharpness of his eyes lingering.

“Thank you,” Tim glanced back at the taller man, his dark skin catching the light in the curtains, the markings on his arms shimmering and reflecting the light.

“You can take the couch, looks like you could sleep.” Duke offered; he was looking down at him knowingly.

“I feel fine,” Tim waved him off, but did move towards the small sitting area, he needed Duke to leave, needed Dick to follow him out. Then he could sneak down into the cave.

Duke simply nodded as he lingered a moment longer, his hazel eyes watching him as he sat on the soft cushions, watched as he reaches for a book that sat on the small table before him. Tim held the book in his hands; it was one of Jason’s. He knew that by the broken spine, by the well-worn cover and the yellow ages pages, the words on the cover faded and leaving the book an utter mystery.

He opened the book and stared at the words, not fully reading them as he listened for Duke’s soft steps, for the smaller ones that followed behind.

Waited until they were at the end of the hall.

Waited until he couldn’t hear them any longer.

Waited an hour before he set the book down, placed in the same place he’d picked it up from.

Then, when he was sure Duke wouldn’t be anywhere near, he moved silently down the halls.

It was now or never.

Chapter 8: Uncanny Familiarity

Timothy cringed at the state of the bathroom; the counter was a disaster with products scattered all over. The rest of the bathroom was in far better condition, and he wondered if the mess was new or if their Alfred had finally cracked and just let the basin drown in cluttered chaos.

The shirt Jason had given him smelled of gunpowder, roses and acid. A rather crude combination of scents, but there was little point in complaining. He set the towel on the brackets attached to the wall and reached for the comb that sat in the sink. He wasn’t sure who’s it was, but he wasn’t leaving his hair in a tangled damp mess.

He took some of the gel from the half empty container, slicking his hair back into a more desirable style, he wondered how long it would take for Damian or Duke to notice that the boy who he’d swapped places with was with them, the younger brother of this Universes’ Jason and Dick.

“This is a mess.” He muttered under his breath as he caught his own soured expression in the clearing mirror, he narrowed on his own expression as he looked back on what he’d seen from this universe’s version of his youngest brothers.

Jason was larger, in an absurd way. As if he’d never lived a day in poverty, and maybe he hadn’t, there was no indication that he did. He though back to the details of his aged face, of the green that swirled in his eyes suffocation his once blue irises, of the streak in his short loosely curled hair, it could very well have been a fashion choice, a trend. But Timothy had seen the burgundy red shinning through his roots, all but in the patch of his scalp that remained white as snow.

And Dick, the boy who he hadn’t seen smile in years, yet here he smiled with ease, unburdened by the torture of endless labyrinths. The man that stood in front of him looking weightless, so full of life and burning emotions; it felt wrong. Wrong in the way that he didn’t understand. Dick had looked at him, really looked at him and seen something that made his soft blue eyes sharpen like a knifes edge, as if he’d seen through him.

It was unnerving.

He exhaled as he set the comb neatly on the marble stone. Looked at the door that separated him from the unknown variables, he wasn’t sure if he could trust them, wasn’t sure if they trusted him. But there was only so much he could do to find a way from inside a shared bathroom.

He moved to the door slid his hand across the cool brass handle, he paused, ears straining to catch any sound from the other side. The muffled hum of voices drifted through, indistinct but steady. They were talking—about what, he wasn’t certain.

Timothy glanced at the mirror one last time. The reflection stared back at him, hair slicked neatly, expression composed, he sucked in a breath as the door creaked open. Stepping through the doorway he was greeted with a sight he wasn’t quite expecting.

The lounging area between the bedrooms of the South Wing was littered with bean bags, Jason lazily sitting in one by the window, the lids of his eyes slowly closing as his eyes gliding across his favourite copy of Jane Austen’s pride and Prejudice. Timothy’s gaze lingered on Jason for a moment longer, his mind cataloguing every detail: the subtle way Jason’s lips tugged upward as he read, the carefree posture, and the faint hum that broke through the silence, almost as if he were enjoying himself. It was a familiar sight, yet entirely uncanny as he pictured a smaller boy in his place.

He directed his attention to where Dick was casually leaning against the wall by the windows, with the curtains drawn open to display the rising sun on the horizon. Duke stood beside him, blinking away sleep while holding a cup of steaming liquid. Dick regarded the younger boy with a gentle fondness as he spoke softly, while Duke smiled and chuckled quietly, suppressing a yawn.

Timothy simply stood there for a moment longer, observing the scene before him, it was soft. Intimate.

Duke abruptly turned his gaze towards him as if feeling his prying eyes and blinked, with his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Timothy stared back at the boy, so used to seeing his face marked with deep scars that he was taken aback by the softness of his young face, of the short buzz cut and that gleam of curiosity in his eyes.

“Oh wow you look like a damiansed Tim.” Duke offered him a smile, Timothy stared at him.

“Oh my god-“ Jason wheezed as he let the book in his hands fall against his chest as a hand rubbed his face. Dick snorted a laugh as he leaned further onto the wall.

Timothy’s lips twitched, the corners lifting slightly before settling into a neutral line. He stepped further into the room, letting the door close softly behind him. The faint scent of coffee and old books mingled in the air, giving the space an oddly comforting atmosphere.

“Damianised Tim?” Timothy echoed, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Duke, who grinned wider, the edges of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

Jason, still recovering from his fit of laughter, sat upright on the beanbag and gestured lazily in Timothy’s direction. “It’s the hair,” he said, his voice tinged with mirth. “And the whole stoic look you’ve got going. If Damian were a little older and maybe—just maybe—a bit less homicidal, you’d be him.”

Timothy kept his expression blank as he approached, “He seemed rather tamed compared to my brother.” Dick tilted his head in that unnatural way again, perking up at the new information.

“Dick mentioned you’re from a different universe,” Duke was watching him, his eyes gleaming as he sipped the unknown liquid from the mug in his hands, “What am I like? Wait do you know me?”

“Your my older brother.” Timothy spoke, his voice quieter now as he glanced over to Jason who sat with his elbows sitting atop his knees, his book held loosely in his left hand, his expression unreadable.

“So, older brother, huh? What’s that like?” Duke asked, leaning forward slightly, his tone light but edged with genuine interest.

Timothy hesitated, the weight of countless memories flickering behind his eyes. His gaze shifted to the mug in Duke’s hands, as if searching for an anchor in the swirling chaos of his thoughts. “It’s... complicated,” he admitted finally, his voice steady yet tinged with an unspoken ache. “You were always the one holding things together, even when everything was falling apart.”

Duke raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and scepticism. “That’s... not what I expected,” he said, almost to himself, Dick’s lips twitched downwards for a brief moment before he nudged Duke affectionately, startling a laugh from the boy.

Dick chuckled softly from his perch against the wall, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. “Responsible? That’s debatable. But I can see it. You’ve got that ‘big brother’ energy sometimes.”

Jason snorted, looking towards the pair by the window with a smirk. “Yeah, when he’s not plotting some elaborate prank.”

Timothy watched, it was strange to see Duke so unburdened by the past or haunted by the future. He remembered when he’d first arrived at the manor, it was messy and violent. Duke had been cautious of him, Damian had been entirely disinterested; he’d seen the way Duke had looked at him, seeing him but not the present him, his brows pinched, and eyes clouded by the whispers of ruins. Sometimes Duke still looked at him like that.

Still expecting him to burn the world to ashes.

Duke tilted his head, his grin widening as he studied Timothy. “Alright, so now I’m dying to know—what’s Jason like in your world? Does he still have that charming personality?”

Jason glanced over; his muddled eyes filled with amusement as he rose a brow. “Charming, huh? Careful, Duke. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Timothy’s gaze met Jason’s, steady and unreadable. “He’s... a force to be reckoned with,” Timothy said simply, Jason had always pushed limits, found ways around the rules, even in his death and rebirth he’d caused headaches for everyone involved. He still remembered the way Jason had looked at him when he’d returned, the hate, the anguish, the guilt.

“Not much different from our Jason then.” Dick chuckled softly, his eyes were looking over at Jason now, filled with that same soft fondness they had for Duke.

“I should be a force to be reckoned with.” Jason shot back his voice filled with mirth, “Maybe then we’d stop getting into situations like this!” the book in his hand waved vaguely in Tim’s direction.

“Then things would be ten times more boring!” Dick huffed, pushing himself from the wall he stalked over to Jason and snatched his book free from his hand.

“Hey-“ Jason’s scandalised cry was enough to leave Duke snickering.

“It’s bedtime Little Wing!~” Dick chirped, his posture loose as he set the worn red covered book down and pulled Jason from the floor with ease.

Timothy froze as he stared at Dick, Jason’s protests a garble of noise. He straightened as he glanced to Duke; this Dick, despite being older was barely taller than Duke, his body leaner than Jason’s. yet he’d pulled Jason up without any sign of a struggle, Jason who was significantly taller and clearly heavier. His eyes narrowed as the same sense of wrongness returned. Duke didn’t bat an eye at the display, sipping from the mug in his hands, more awake than he’d previously been, Jason still fighting with Dick in an attempt to leave but being unable to.

“Your not my parent you ass!” Jason grit out as he was pushed towards a closed door.

“Not hearing it!” Dick retorted solemnly, “You’ve been up too long, your eyebags have eye bags!”

“You and your perfect golden boy skin!-“ Jason cursed as Dick used his bare foot to open the door and shoved Jason unceremoniously inside, before slamming the door shut. “I’m gonna beat your fucking ass!” Jason’s muffled voice carried through the door, his indignation undeterred, while Dick simply leaned against the doorframe with a satisfied smirk.

“Go ahead, Little Wing!’ Dick quipped, his tone light despite the mischievous glint in his eye. Turning back to the room, he caught Tim’s scrutinizing gaze, one brow arched in silent inquiry. “What?” Dick asked, casually brushing imaginary dust off his shirt as if unaware of the scene he’d just caused.

Timothy found it difficult to speak, difficult to comprehend what the scene before him could very well be implying. Instead, he kept his expression blank, stepped further into the space between the vast array of rooms, turned his gaze to the windows, the ones that in his own universe remained closed, to shield his youngest brother’s eyes from the blinding lights of beyond the glass panes. He swallowed as he cocked his head and glanced to the side.

“It’s… Different.” He settled on, sleek, honest. Dick tilted his head, watching him as Jason’s grumbled complaints faded into the mornings glory.

“I bet.” Dick nodded his expression sympathetic as he glided across the ancient floors back towards Duke’s side, “You were sleeping for a good few hours, so I’m not stressed about you going to rest,” the shift of conversation was too clean, but Timothy let it go on, “Alfred’s making breakfast for Duke before he goes on patrol.” He explained, jerking his head back as he smiled, “I’m sure Alfie has extra for you.”

“Patrol?” Timothy looked to Duke who nodded enthusiastically, grinning widely.

“Morning patrol,” Duke elaborated, “I go out at dawn for a few hours, then I come back for school, I have a free period in the middle of the day where I do my rounds again, then before sunset I go out again.” He was beaming despite the clear fact he was going out alone, curiously he added, “Do I not go out during that day in your universe?”

“No… You typically don’t,” Timothy answered slowly, measuring his words as he glanced at Duke. His gaze flicked momentarily toward Dick, who was now perched on the armrest of a worn chair, his posture deceptively relaxed.

Duke hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. “Well, mornings are kind of my thing here.” He shrugged, the motion casual, but Timothy caught the flicker of curiosity in his eyes before Duke turned his attention back to his mug.

Timothy’s gaze lingered on Duke. Morning Patrol. He couldn’t fathom it, not with his Duke always lingering in the flickering lights of Gotham’s streets, always close enough to any one of them to reach out and pull them back. Duke being out in the day?

Dick spoke up suddenly, his voice closer and still deceptively relaxed, “Duke’s resourceful and he’s not going out with no one backing him up.” Timothy flinched when a hand settled on his shoulder, his eyes darting to face the man at his side. Dick’s hand jerked back as a his expression shifted ever so slightly.

“Hey I can do it unsupported!” Duke pouted as he looked at Dick.

“Last time you were unsupervised you started a riot!” Dick laughed in response as he shifted towards the hall.

“That was one time!”

“That was the fifth time Sunbird.” Dick sent Duke a pointed look, Timothy could only watch as Duke innocently smiled back.

“Noooo....”

Dick rose a single brow, a motion much similar to how Alfred would silently judge, Timothy watched as Duke shifted in place, looking away guiltily.

“Come on, foods smelling amazing!” Dick chuckled, stepping further into the sun lit halls.

“Breakfast sounds amazing!” Duke immediately set after the older man, eager for the change in subject.

Timothy lingered behind a moment longer, it was jarring to watch as a younger Duke followed at an older Dick’s heels instead of the other way around.

“You coming?” Dick called back, his blue eyes catching the sunlight as he smiled.

Yet beneath the blue, he saw it. The shimmer of something unnatural sparkling in his eyes.

He clenched his jaw. Gave a single sharp nod as he moved forward silently.

He knew they were looking for the mage of their universe, knew they wanted their brother back.

But he saw the ways Dick acted, even in their brief interactions. He spent longer watching his own brother to notice the pattern.

He’d need to confirm his theory, need to watch and look through their files for answers.

So for now he’d observe.

 

 

Chapter 9: Toasties and Distractions

“Hey you hungry?” Duke asked as he stood in the doorway of Bruce’s office, Dick stood not far behind him curiously peeking into the room. He watched as Tim froze in the middle of reaching up to adjust the hands of the old grandfather clock.

Tim turned around slowly his eyes widened in surprise, his mouth opening and closing yet no sound coming out as his hands shot to his sides; stepped away from the clock as if he’d been burned. Duke smiled at him knowingly, he knew that Tim would be trying to get down into the cave, knew that eventually he would.

“I know we only had breakfast not long ago, but making a snack for Dick and thought to ask if you’d like one.” He mused, leaned on the doorframe as he felt Dick’s gaze turn to him. He looked back at the child behind him and offered him a smile; it had always been a struggle with getting the boy to eat, even before what had been done to him.

“I erm-“ Tim stammered as his hands twitched, his eyes darting between him and Dick, “I could eat.” He settled on hesitantly before stepping forward, Duke saw him glance back at the clock eyes sharp and calculating.

"Good, I make a mean cheese toastie. You’ll love it," he said, turning to lead the way. Dick trailed closely behind, curiosity flashing in his golden eyes as he studied Tim.

 

---

 

Duke spread butter across one side of each slice of bread, the pan beside him sizzling with the toastie he’d already made. Tim sat on the other side of the countertop, Duke could see plainly how exhausted he was, saw the young man picking at his nails as he watched him flip the toastie in the pan and let the other side get a golden crust.

He looked over to Dick, a bowl of red and green grapes sat untouched before him; Duke frowned at his disinterest in the fruit. It had always been difficult getting Dick to eat, when he’d first come to the Manor, he had refused to eat anything Alfred had made, had Bruce stressing over his lack of an appetite; but they had all simply assumed it was the grief of his parents.

A grief that many of them had felt over their own losses. It had gone on for close to a month when Leslie had been called in, even she had tried various ways to get the kid to eat, had been to force Dick onto a liquid diet with meal replacers. That in itself had been a shit show, with Damian and Bruce having to corner the kid.

It hadn’t been until Tim had found the main cause of Dick’s rejection of the food they offered. Mary Grayson was of traditional Romani decent, therefore so was Dick; had revealed that those of Romani decent only accepted prepared food from those of Romani blood.

Duke remembered Damian turning to Dick with sharp eyes, the way Dick had refused to look him in the eyes after Damian has asked him if that was the reason he had been refusing to eat. It had taken time to get an answer they could understand, having struggled with Dick’s unique language skills; the circus had been a group made up of people from, all over Europe and the Middle East, traditions intermingling and expanding. They had been family.

It made sense in a way; many traditions were family oriented. Dick hadn’t seen them as family at the time, only as the people who had taken him in after the tragedy of his parents’ deaths. None of them had taken it to heart; but it had at least led them towards a solution.

Dick joined Alfred and Jason in the kitchen, helped make meals for himself and everyone. For snacks they had plenty of unprocessed and unprepared fruits, items he could readily grab and eat without a need for anyone to assist him; a favourite had always been the fresh mix of grapes like the ones he had sitting before him now. Duke pulled the last toastie from the pan and cut them in half, set them on two plates and offered one to Tim.

“Thank you,” Tim reached out for the plate his eyes watching Dick.

“Your welcome Tim,” Duke smiled, yet he knew it hadn’t reached his eyes as he set the hot pan aside and began cleaning up the last of his mess, heaven forbid he leave it as it is and have the wrath of Alfred and Jason.

The silence that lingered was thick with silence, something that had always haunted the manor. He wiped the bench methodically as he turned towards the window above the sink, its curtains drawn shut, but rays of sunlight shone through

Duke’s gaze lingered on the sunlight for a moment, a fleeting thought of how rare it was to feel its warmth fully in a home so steeped in shadow. He wondered, briefly, whether the manor's ghosts—both literal and metaphorical—ever felt the same.

Behind him, Tim had taken a tentative bite of the toastie, his expression shifting almost imperceptibly as the taste seemed to cut through whatever fog of exhaustion clouded him. Duke leaned his weight against the counter, arms folding as he watched Tim and Dick.

The quiet stretched on, interrupted only by the soft sound of Tim chewing and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Dick still hadn’t touched the grapes.

Tim cleared his throat, his voice breaking the heavy stillness as he set his plate down. “Is Dick usually so… Still?” he said, his tone careful, as though he were afraid of shattering something fragile. His soft blue eyes glancing between Duke and Dick.

The quiet that dragged on from the question was oppressive, a sort of unspoken weight pressing down on the room, on each of them in their own way. Duke wondered how long it had been since Dick had spoken more than a few words strung together. He barely reacted to Tim’s glance or the muted scrape of Duke’s plate against the counter as he tidied up.

Duke thought back to the days when Dick’s energy had been an unstoppable force—a whirlwind of movement, laughter, and quick-witted comebacks that had, at times, bordered on exhausting for everyone else.

Duke set the damp, cold dishcloth aside and quietly told Dick, "He used to be different…" briefly meeting his gaze. "That was a long time ago. We're doing everything we can to help him."

Tim looked down, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his plate. “What happened?” he ventured cautiously, the question hanging in the air like an unwelcome guest. His voice was gentle, almost hesitant, as though he feared the answer.

Duke hesitated, his gaze flitting momentarily to the sunlight before returning to Tim. “Life happens,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken stories and shared grief. “It’s not something we talk about lightly, Tim.”

Tim nodded slowly, his curiosity tempered by an understanding that some wounds were too raw to probe. The room seemed to inhale, absorbing the quiet exchange, as though the walls themselves held the stories Duke couldn’t bring himself to say.

Dick finally moved—not much, just a slight tilt of his head as his eyes flicked to the grapes he hadn’t touched. His fingers stretched out cautiously, hovering above the plate before retreating again. It was enough to draw Duke’s attention, the faintest flicker of hope kindling in the back of his mind.

They’d been making progress, Timothy had done most of the work, but they’d all been doing what they can for the boy. But Duke knew there were things that would never be the same, Dick would always be changed, just like Jason.

“Hey Dick?” Duke spoke, keeping his voice soft as he addressed the boy, Dick’s eyes flickered up to meet his own, his head tilting curiously, “I found were Ian hid that game you like so much, wanna go and give that a go?” he said, making sure to word everything as a question, never a command.

There was a subtle shift in Dick’s still posture, and Duke knew he’d intrigued the boy.

“Want to join us, Tim?” Duke glanced to the young man, his toastie half-finished sitting before him.

“Maybe next time.” Tim spoke, his gaze turning away from Dick and to the toastie set before him.

“If you need me, I’ll be in the manor.” Duke smiled at him knowingly, Tim looked up at him, expression sharp. “Alright Dick, you wanna pick where we play it?” he turned back to his brother, watched as he slid from the stool and wondered towards the entryway; Duke followed behind, reaching for the grapes on his way past.

He followed as Dick led him to the family room, followed as the boy curled up in his favourite spot by the fireplace and held Dick’s curious gaze. He hoped they could at least get one game in before they were interrupted.

 

---

 

“Looking for something?” Duke questioned; he kept his eyes trained on Dick who was focused on the Rubik’s cube in his hands. They had cleaned up the game some time ago and shifted to one of the cozier places in the manors halls.

Briefly Dick looked up, eyes darting towards him then looking to where Tim undoubtedly was; his attention quickly turned back to the brightly coloured squares, his hands twitching with hesitation or apprehension, Duke wasn’t quite sure.

When the only response was silence Duke turned to face him. Tim stood in deeper in the halls, his face lit dimly by the soft lights that scattered along the walls; on in particular was crooked from where Tim had clearly been trying to sneak through one of the many passageways that weaved through the manor’s ancient foundations. His eyes were sharp, flickering with distrust and determination. Duke noted how the young man picked at his nails as he shifted in place, his gaze flickering to the sealed passageway.

Duke tilted his head, observing Tim’s guarded stance. “You know, Tim, you don’t have to sneak around here,” he commented casually, his tone light yet probing, as though testing the waters. Tim’s gaze shifted slightly, wary but unyielding, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his face.

“Some things are just better handled alone,” Tim replied cryptically, his voice low but determined. Duke didn’t press further, he didn’t know this version of Tim, didn’t know what place he had come from, not the kind of person he was. All he’d seen was the sharp calculating looks, the nervous ticks and a deep rooted paranoia.

There was no telling what he could be capable of.

Dick’s hands paused on the Rubik’s cube, his attention flickering between the colourful puzzle and the tension subtly brewing between his brother and the universal traveler. Without missing a beat, Duke turned his attention back to the boy sitting before him; leaned forward as he reached into his pocket.

“How about a challenge?” Duke suggested, pulling a second Rubik’s cube seemingly out of nowhere. “Let’s see who can solve theirs faster,” he added with a playful grin, hoping to dispel the unease lingering in the air.

Dick quirked his head to the side, the movement still so jarring and uncanny on his human body. His golden eyes flickering with interest at the prospect of a challenge; warmth began to bloom in Duke’s chest as he flicked the cube in his hands slowly, letting Dick watch his movements.

He could still feel Tim’s gaze lingering, watching them carefully before his quite steps echoed in the chilling silence of the halls. Duke knew that Tim would make another attempt soon enough, just needed a little more time until Stephanie could make it into the cave, to monitor when Tim inevitably dug his claws into the files.

But for now, he was content on entertaining Dick.

 

---

 

Duke rubbed a hand over his face, his head aching dully. The vision of Tim’s latest attempt at getting into the cave still fresh; he felt bewildered at the realisation that Tim was attempting to get in through a vent. It was practically impossible for someone of his stature, sure he wasn’t bulked up like Timothy, rather he was smaller and slimmer, even then with his size it was practically impossible.

The only ones who could likely fit through the vents were Dick and Barbara.

Duke looked down at the young teen curled up beside him, eyes shut and expression peaceful soaking up all the warmth he could with the heated blanket wrapped up around him. He wasn’t truly sleeping, he hadn’t been able too for quite some time, Duke shifted out from beneath Dick’s small frame.

Offered hushed assurances that he’d be back in a moment when golden irises locked onto him, offered a soft reassuring smile as he ran a gentle hand through Dick’s hair. Waited for Dick to curl back up leaning against a cushion before he made his way through the twisting labyrinth that was Wayne Manor.

He glanced at a clock that hung on the wall as he made his way closer to the only room that had a vent leading to the cave, it was early afternoon. Alfred would be returning with Cassandra and Jason soon; Damian would be returning a few hours later after a busy day with business meetings.

He just needed to hold on a little longer.

Duke stepped into the room silently, his eyes spotted Tim immediately. He was hunched over setting the grate to the vent to the side softly, his movements precise and practiced; Duke would admit it was rather impressive. Watched as the younger man set his tools aside and rolled his shoulders, preparing to start his journey through the undoubtedly dusty ventilation system.

“Alright Tim,” Tim muttered to himself, “You’ve done this a hundred times, you can get in and out before Duke can notice.”

Duke tilted his head at the rambling; he was sure Tim was trying to give himself a pep talk. Yet he caught onto the fact he’d done this multiple times, seemingly with this very same vent. Duke stepped further into the room, kept each step quiet as he approached Tim.

He only spoke up as Tim latched onto the walls of the dusty vents. “I don’t think Alfred would appreciate you putting dust everywhere.” He mused as Tim let out a garbled scream.

Tim jerked up, hitting his head on the top of the vents metal shoot, fell back to the floor with a thud, landing on his back. Duke sent him an apologetic smile as Tim looked up at him in horror, dust and lint sticking to his hair.

“How do you keep doing this?” Tim’s expression soured with frustration, the dark bags under his eyes looking darker against his pale skin.

“You look like you could use a nap.” Duke held a handout to the other.

“I’m fine.” Tim dismissed as he pushed himself up, his scowl turning towards the vent, as if it were the inanimate object’s fault.

“You might be able to succeed if you weren’t running on fumes.” Duke shrugged as he made a mental note to lock the door to this room until the vent could properly get put back into place. Tim’s eyes turned back to him, his exhaustion evident in the slight sagging of his shoulders.

"Not running on fumes," Tim muttered under his breath, though his half-hearted protest lacked conviction. He shot Duke a glare meant to be intimidating, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the dust clinging to his face like a mask of defeat.

Duke crossed his arms, leaning casually against the nearest wall, his gaze unwavering. "You could've fooled me. You’re one step away from passing out mid-mission."

Tim ignored him, brushing off the lint and dust from his arms in sharp, agitated motions. "Doesn't matter. No time for naps."

“Even so, why don’t you join Dick and I?” Duke offered as he pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, “He’d got a nice cozy spot I’m sure you’d appreciate.” At least that way he could keep a closer eye of Tim for awhile longer, hopefully long enough for someone to get back.

“I think I’m going to go shower again.” Tim brushed him off, already moving towards the door, seeming as his plan to get in through the vents had fallen through.

“I’ll find you some more clothes then.” Duke hummed as he trailed behind.

Dick would be fine for a little while longer, then they could continue their little ‘nap’.

 

---

 

Duke needed desperately to distract Tim, already he had stopped three more attempts of his to get to the cave and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d realistically be able to keep up with him. Currently he was seated with Dick in his and Jason’s room, Zitka sat in place on Dick’s bed, Jason’s desk was filled with books, loose papers, his opened laptop and Dick’s tablet that sat on the charger.

Duke looked at the device and contemplated the pros and cons of handing it over to Tim. It was a secure device, Timothy had made sure of that, had put in his own parental locks to prevent anyone from hacking the device, to stop Dick from finding anything he shouldn’t get into.

He doubted that Tim would find anything remotely close to whatever he was searching for in the cave, but it could work as a distraction long enough for Duke to actually relax for half an hour. After a moment’s thought, Duke reached out and grabbed Dick’s tablet, turning it over in his hands as though weighing its importance. Tim needed something to occupy his mind—something to distract him. Maybe this could do the trick.

He turned towards Dick, he had his eyes glued to Jason’s unkempt bed, Duke noted the twitches in his hands and the subtle shifting on nerves; Duke frowned as he moved closer, making sure that Dick could see and hear him coming.

“Hey…” Duke kept his voice soft as he crouched down to meet Dick’s golden gaze, “Jason’s gonna be home pretty soon.” His gaze softened as Dick arched his head at a sharp angle, “If you’d like we can go wait for him at the door.” He offered; he watched as Dick perked up at the suggestion.

Duke chuckled softly as he watched Dick move to his own bed and grabbed the soft plush elephant, watched as he moved towards the door, movements fast and impatient. Duke straightened as he stood, tablet still in hand as he moved to follow his youngest brother.

The scene was reminiscent of the past. Dick had always favoured Jason, just as Jason favoured Dick; Duke had never been sure of when they had gotten so close, but they had practically been inseparable. After they’d gotten both Jason and Dick back it had been a struggle, but things were getting better, things were starting to feel like they were moving forward instead of being stuck in a cycle.

He knew things weren’t ever going to be what they were, but they were getting better. And that’s all Duke could hope for as he followed behind Dick as he moved through the shadowed halls of the manor, moving towards the foyer were Jason would come barreling in, undoubtedly with a treat just for his favourite brother.

And blissfully, Duke could almost forget, forget about the stress of the last twenty four hours, forget that they had a version of his brother from a parallel universe, that his own brother could be in unspeakable danger.

Chapter 10: Digging Deeper

Barbara ran a calloused hand down her face; exhaustion was creeping up on her, eyes stinging from looking at the monitors for far too long. Briefly she let her eyes close, the night shift was long over by the signs of the rising sun the sone through the clocktowers stained glass face. The night before last night had been a slow one, then Tim had been hit with magic and over the last several hours Dick had been keeping her updated since.

She blinked sleep away as she reached for the canister of coffee that Jason had kindly dropped off for her before he’d turned in for the night, dragging Damian with him. Dick had stayed behind to tend to Constantine and kept an eye out for when Tim would wake up.

Only she’d received the news that it wasn’t Tim. At least not their Tim.

She reclined in her wheelchair, extending her arms overhead, arching her back, and emitting a deep, sorrowful sigh. She knew any minute Duke would be signing on and sure they had Shug-R helping Duke out during the day, but with everything happening Barbara knew she couldn’t rely on the younger girl to do all that and still attend school.

The canister in her lap was still warm from the steaming liquid inside, she breath in deeply as she opened the cap, let the smell of deep rich coffee spready through her lungs, let it fester and sink its claws in deeper.

“Whoever said diamonds were a girl’s best friend?” She murmured to no one but herself as she left the liquid gold dance along her tastebuds, let the warmth spread through her aching bones, let the caffeine spread throughout her bloodstream.

Feeling more alive than before she set the now empty canister to the side for one of the others to retrieve later; returned her attention to the monitors. With renewed vigor she launched back into sifting through camera footage, looking for any sign of their mystery mage. Searched for any information on the amulet Dick had handed over to Constantine, searched for the other artifacts that had been retrieved.

The keys under her fingertips clacked as her eyes darted across the screen, soaking up everything she could find; sorted everything into files she could send to the Batcomputer so that the boys could go through it and find something she may have missed the first time around.

The faint hum of the clocktower provided a backdrop to her focused movements. The world outside was waking up, but inside this sanctuary of vigilance, time felt suspended, tethered only to the rhythm of her fingers on the keyboard. Barbara's mind raced ahead, piecing together fragments of data like the edges of a puzzle she couldn't see in its entirety yet.

Suddenly, one of the monitors flickered—a new file was flagged on the server. It was an encrypted set of coordinates, buried deep in a collection of seemingly mundane traffic reports. Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer, the glow of the screen reflecting in her tired but determined eyes.

She opened the file cautiously. The coordinates pointed to an industrial area near the docks, a notorious zone for clandestine meetings and unsavoury deals. Her gut told her this could be connected—mages didn’t just show up without leaving traces, and if the amulet had travelled, someone had surely seen it.

Barbara tapped into the city’s surveillance network, pulling up every camera feed she could find from the vicinity. The footage was grainy, but her trained eye caught movement: two figures cloaked in shadows, one handing over a small, glowing object. Her heart skipped. She identified it as the amulet.

She quickly saved and forwarded the footage to the Batcomputer, tagging it for Dick. She forwarded a message to Constantine, updating him on the mess that was unfolding before them, knew that he may not even see it till weeks from now. Barbara considered contacting Bruce and informing him of the situation, considered that Dr. Fate and Zatanna were both with him, assisting him off world with Wonder Woman and Superman; that would be a last resort, for now they could turn towards the other magic users that were in the Justice Leagues ranks.

Beside her, her phone buzzed to life as Dick’s caller ID flashed across the screen. With a roll of her eyes she reached out and answered.

“Boy Blunder.” She greeted him, her focus turning back to the files she was sorting through.

“You sound positively awful.” Dick sounded sympathetic but amused, nonetheless.

“Yeah, well being away for the past forty-nine hours does that to a girl.” She drawled in response as he clicked through an older website of supposed magical artifacts.

“Your as bad as Baby bird,” Dick scolded her, his tone light but she could hear the underlying edge to it, “Get some sleep Babs, you need it.”

“I could say the same to you Boy Hostage.” Barbara laughed lightly as she scrolled through the page, eyes narrowing the deeper she went, photos of worn pages and ancient text appearing before her very eyes, “When was the last time you slept?”

“I’m on bird sitting duty.” She rolled her eyes at Dick’s avoidance, typical of him.

Barbara leaned back in her chair, eyes glancing to the phone that sat on loudspeaker beside her, “I hope you haven’t traumatized our universal traveler already Dick,” she chuckled softly at the scandalized noise that erupted from Dick’s throat.

A ping from the monitor caught her attention, she shifted the cursor towards it; a website linked to old Gotham legends and myths. What better place to search for ancient catacombs under the city’s central square?

“No! Of course not!” Dick huffed, the sound of water running in the background ringing through the speaker.

“Sure, bird brain,” Barbara shook her head as she looked through the forms on the website. “How’s he adjusting? How are you taking this?” he eyes landed on the old history of Gotham, where theorists dug into scraps of information and came to their own conclusions.

She caught whispers of ancient magic corrupting the earth and dooming Gotham’s people to a life of darkness and death; caught old nursery rhymes of a court sending talons for one’s head; Solomon Grundy, a man that Bruce had faced once before. Things that she’d heard of; stories that were simply that. Stories.

Silence on the other end of the phone made her pause, Dick was thinking, or at the very least trying to find the words.

“He’s down with Duke and Alfred in the kitchen right now…” Dick’s voice was soft, yet she could hear the sharpness that lingered, “I don’t know Babs… I…” His voice caught in his throat, and it sent alarms thumbing through her very being.

“Dick…” her throat felt dry, Dick never sounded like this, never this on edge. He’d faced countless dangers and every time he hadn’t waivered.

“I can’t explain it Babs… Its hard to explain. Cass might’ve noticed, she’s been hanging around in the shadows since we came up from the cave.” Dick sucked in a breath as he explained, “She doesn’t trust him, but knows he’s safe… And I trust Cass, but there’s something wrong with this Tim, something I’ve seen before, something that I can’t trust.”

Barbara let the words sink in, her hands trembling as she looked at the phone that sat in her lap. Dick was someone who trusted his gut, who trusted those around him even if their intentions were dark and twisted. It left her stomach twisting, only for a few hours had Dick been interacting with the Tim of another Universe, a few hours and already Dick was squirming in his own unease.

“I’m going to keep an eye on him.” Dick spoke after a long pause of silence, his voice tight with resolve; Babs could see his face, the way his brows furrow, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes shining with defiance, “But I’m worried about Baby Bird, anything could be going on over there.

“Tim’s resilient,” Babs spoke finally, if only to reassure her friend. And herself. “He survived the Joker and the league; He can survive whatever the universe throws at him as long as he has coffee and the spite of a feral dog.” She smiled as Dick burst into a fit of laughter.

“Nah he’s more of a feral plover; those birds are crazy spiteful.” She could hear the lightness in his voice.

“I can see it.” She chuckled, “We’ll get him back Dick. “I’m going to go, gotta make sure Duke’s good for patrol, I’ll check in later, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan Boy Blunder.” Barbara looked to the screens again, the tremor in her hands was still there, “Let Jason know I appreciate the coffee too.”

“Will do,” Dick replied smoothly as if he hadn’t revealed a heavy sense of unease, “Get some rest Babs.

“I’ll try.” It was all she could say, all there was to say as Dick hung up.

She sat there a moment in the silence, the ticking of the gears above her drowning out the noise of the city beyond her fortress awoke to the clouded skies of morning. She had faith. Had trust. But the unease crawled under her skin.

Dick didn’t trust the Tim that had replaced theirs… He was afraid. She’d heard it in his voice.

Even if she had planned to rest as Dick had told her to…

There wasn’t a world where she could after the heavy truth of Dick’s own fear ripped at her insides.

There wasn’t a world she could, not after that.

So instead, she dug herself deeper into her search.

It was all she could do.

Notes:

If i were to add any romantic couples, who would you be most interested in seeing between both the reverse robins and the originals?

cause let me tell you, i've been diving head first into the rabbit hole of Dick Grayson and Grant Wilson dating and there so little fics- but then theres Roy and Wally- i just can't decide lmao

Chapter 11: Feeling Hysterical

He laid sprawled across the floor, his hair a tangled damp mess as he stared at the ceiling of a study that he’d used in his own universe; here it was bare bones with no evidence of it having been used. Tim felt hysterical at having not realized that this Duke was likely Meta human like his own Duke, felt like pulling his hair out for having let himself get caught on his last attempts at getting down to the Batcave.

Shelves lined one wall of the room, knew there was a passageway embedded into the ancient mahogany. But he couldn’t risk Duke finding him again and stopping him. Briefly he wondered if Duke already knew he was here, tempting fate with an entrance to the Batcave mere feet away from him.

That’s to say if it’s still there.

And that was the problem Tim was trying to solve. How similar were their universes? What differences hid beneath the surface? Tim sucked in a sharp breath as he held the notebook he’d borrowed from the desk that sat in the corner, the pen lay discarded beside him as he read over the list he’d made again.

*Ages reversed – Possibly only the bats?

*Damian and Duke late twenties possibly??

*Cass early twenties

*Jason teenager?? Could be early twenties.

*Dick looks young, appearance affecting age? Possibly between ten to twelve in age.

*Will confirm once gaining access to Batcomputer.

He’d made other smaller notes, layouts of rooms, the lack of pets around, passageways that had been there in his own universe and missing in this one; It was overwhelming.

A knock at the door startled him, he shot up into a seated position, the book in his hand flying towards the window and hitting the curtain before tumbling to the floor; Duke stood in the doorway, his expression sharp yet hesitant.

“Oh, it’s you.” Tim said, voice nonchalant as he let the tension bleed from his shoulders, he didn’t need to give away the fact that he was on the verge of losing it completely. Logically he knew it couldn’t have been anyone else to walk in on him, it was only Duke and Dick here in the manor with him.

“Your… On the floor…” Duke spoke, looking uncertain and confused.

“Helps me think,” Tim shrugged casually, keeping his body loose. Duke didn’t seem to believe him, Tim let him be confused.

“Uh, sure.” Duke stepped into the room, as expected Dick hung behind, Tim caught a glimpse of soft grey and bright colours in the young boys arms.

“Is the Zitka?” a soft hitch in his voice as he asked, brows raised as he looked closer at the plush elephant in Dicks arms, it was less aged and cleaner than when he’d last caught a glimpse of his brother’s most prized possession. An item his brother could never get back…

Zitka’s colours were brighter, the embroidered silk cloth that adorned the plush were no longer fraying, no longer lost to time; the small beads that hung from the elephant were still mostly intact; he could see the identical seems that had ripped and been repaired, both from before and after the circus.

Dick’s head tilted in that familiar yet uncanny way, the plush in his arms being held tighter; Tim saw the flash of fear in his golden eyes, afraid that the elephant in his hands would be ripped away. Duke straightened, his expression unreadable.

“She mostly stays up in his and Jason’s room.” Duke’s voice was tight, in the similar way that his Damian’s tightened when he reluctantly gave away any information.

Tim swallowed as he forced his eyes from the soft creature in the younger boys’ arms, found himself speaking before he could stop himself “My brother lost her… His apartment in Blud burned down, everything he had left was gone…”

He had seen the devastation in Dick’s face when he’d stumbled into the manor after Alfred had driven him from Bludhaven back to Gotham. The circus had burned to the ground not long before; the people Dick had loved and cared for gone and all that remained from before his parents’ deaths was an aged poster that remained in the room he had claimed for himself in the manor.

Duke looked at him, face pale despite the melianone that coloured his skin, he seemed to be at a loss for words as his gaze drifted to the boy who hid behind him, clutching an item that had meant everything to Tim’s own brother.

And selfishly… Tim wanted to take it from the boy, if only to ease the pain of the loss from his own brother.

Duke sucked in a sharp breath before exhaling, “He took it hard, didn’t he?” his voice was quiet and his eyes soft.

Tim nodded, “It was a year or so before Jason came back, things were already pretty bad at the time.” Bruce was on the verge of crossing a line he couldn’t come back from… Dick had been struggling, but he had never reached out.

“…” Duke was looking at him again, looking at him in the same way Damian would pick you apart. It made Tim’s skin crawl as he closed his eyes cursing himself for letting so much information slip. When he opened them, he looked back at Dick, his grip on the elephant tight, yet there was confusion flashing in his eyes.

Then he caught sight of the device in Duke’s hand. “Don’t tell me your turning Dick into one of those iPad kids.” He deadpanned, face scrunched up as he sent a judgemental look to the older man.

Duke blinked, his expression shifting from that calculating and assessing gaze to one of bafflement and muted horror as he looked down at the item in his hands. Tim couldn’t be more pleased at learning how to shift a conversation in the direction he wanted; he made a mental note to thank Dick for being such a good role model.

“No- God No.” Duke let out a tired sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Tim felt even more hysterical as he pictured Bruce standing before him with that same tired sigh slipping past his lips, the same tells of a tired man with too many kids. “Dick rarely uses it; I brought it down for you to use.”

Tim felt it was unfair that he felt baffled, he stared at Duke. “Are you- You want to give it to me?” his eyes narrowed on the device, it felt suspicious that Duke was handing a tech genius a device; one that could spare him a trip down to the cave if it was connected to the same systems as the Batcomputer.

“It might distract you.” Duke offered awkwardly, a glint of desperation in his eyes. Tim gave him an incredulous look; this was a last-ditch effort to prevent him from going down to the cave.

“You’re just- you’re just going to fork it over? Just like that?” needing to do something with his hands, he picked at his nails, something wasn’t adding up, not with this. Duke surely should have seen him being able to hack into the Batcomputer remotely from the sleek device; maybe he saw Tim being unable to.

“It’d be better than letting you sit there with nothing.” Duke held the device out towards him, no doubt in his eyes, confidence in his gesture. In other words, he thought it was better to give Tim a distraction.

He reached out and took the device, he turned it over in his hands, looking over each surface. It was advanced, sturdy, yet it was different from a tablet from his own universe, it was subtle. He looked back up at Duke.

“Thanks…” He spoke, voice thick with scepticism, Duke opened his mouth to respond only to be interrupted when the front door of the manor squeaked open in the silent halls.

“Dick!” Jason’s voice echoed, voice thick and heavy with his signature crime alley accent; his steps clicking loudly on the tiles of the ground floor.

Dick’s head turned away from Tim, his grip on Zitka loosening as he craned his head into the hall, golden eyes wide before he turned back up to Duke as he twitched; Duke looked down at him, expression softening as Dick looked up at him with big pleading eyes.

“You don’t need to ask,” Duke spoke, a gentle reminder as he smiled reassuringly. Tim watched Dick hesitate as the sound of footsteps grew closer; he looked over at Tim, back at Duke, then looked out into the long winding halls of the Manor.

Duke made no move to encourage him to leave, no intentions on forcing Dick to stay either. Tim’s brows furrowed as he frowned, he didn’t understand; then not a second later Dick was moving, Tim blinked and the boy was gone, his feet silent against the cold tiled floors, the space he’d been empty.

It was as if he were a ghost. It sent goosebumps clawing at his skin; Duke was looking down the hall with an intense focus, likely watching Dick heading towards Jason.

“See! I promised I’d be back!” Tim heard Jason stop walking, heard the subtle guilt that clung to his voice.

Dick didn’t voice a response.

“I got Alfred to stop by that pastry shop we used to go to all the time,” Duke was still looking down the hall, eyes softening as he watched Jason and Dick; Tim remained silent as he overheard everything. “The one run by that sweet old Romanisael couple.” The word was unfamiliar, with Jason’s accent it didn’t sound quite right, “They had cozonaci, made fresh, it’s the extra sweet one you used to get.”

Tim tilted his head as he set the tablet into his lap and frowned; he could’ve sworn he’d heard Dick say that once or twice when he’d briefly visit the manor from when Tim was Robin, vaguely remembered the odd pastry Dick had put into his hand when they’d both crash into a safehouse on the edge of Gotham one night. He’d tasted it, hadn’t quite known what significance it had been when Dick looked at him, waiting for a reaction; he’d compared it to one of the fruit breads that Alfred had once made- only this one was sweeter.

Dick had been quiet, expression unreadable; Tim remembered feeling his stomach knot as he anxiously waited for Dick to react. Dick had only smiled, had used his hand to tussle Tim’s hair and laughed, had even agreed. But Tim hadn’t eaten more, Dick hadn’t seemed to care as he finished the rest of the loaf that night.

 “They had a few extra loafs made for a wedding, gave it to us just for you Dickie.” Jason’s words were soft, kind; his stomach twisted, it was Robin who was speaking… His Robin comforting a victim, coaxing them to accept his help, offering his protection.

Tim looked away from the tablet in his hands, its darkened screen reflecting his own face back at him. He looked up and found Duke leaning on the doorway, his eyes still transfixed of the pair who Tim couldn’t see. Didn’t know if he wanted to see this Jason’s soft expression, the gentle yet confident smirk, the way he’d make himself as big or as small as he needed to be to shelter those who needed him.

Tim hated the way his mouth filled with hot saliva, the burning that stung his throat. He staggered to his feet, knowing he’d be unable to keep the bile down; Duke looked over at him, his eyes sharpening like a blades edge, Tim simply kept a steady stride as he stepped out into the hall.

He didn’t look at Jason or Dick.

Instead, he clutched the tablet tightly in his hands, keeping his body loose and expression neutral to hide the disaster that was sure to come if he didn’t find a bathroom to empty the last bit of food that sat undigested in his stomach.

 

---

 

He gagged as he dropped to the floor beside the now soiled toilet, the smell of stomach acid hung in the air as his throat burned. He sucked in a sharp breath of air as his body trembled. His notebook long since forgotten in the study; Duke hadn’t followed him, something Tim was thankful for as he lay against the icy tiled floor.

Tim stared at the ceiling, the bathroom was dark, much like the rest of the manor. A chuckled escaped his trembling lips, it grew into hysterical, if he hadn’t had a reason to feel hysterical before, he felt utterly deranged as he covered his mouth to muffle the sound.

He hadn’t had an attack like this in months.

Tim had a multitude of ways to see an episode like this coming. Had contingency plans for every scenario, had encrypted messages and emergency beacons for each of his siblings; But he didn’t have any of it on hand, the small devices built into his clothes, his Red Robin suit. His family wasn’t here.

He didn’t have Dick’s cool embrace encompassing him, his soft words comforting him.

There was no Jason to sit beside him and read aloud from the pages of his most recent book.

Cass wasn’t here to run her fingers through his hair.

Not even Damain was here, none of his scathing glares as he simply sat there with Alfred the cat sat on Tim’s lap.

Tim could feel the tears burning down his face as he desperately tried to muffle his laughter. He’d locked the door as a last-ditch effort to contain himself, encase he couldn’t calm himself down before he could regress further into the brainwashing; the last thing he needed was to give anyone in the manor a reason to see him as a threat.

He needed something to do with his hands, needed to get himself under control.

His eyes darted around the room frantically; tried to do the breathing techniques Bruce had taught him through the laughter.

A razor sat discarded on the soap shelf in the shower. He didn’t trust himself to not hurt himself with it.

A washcloth hung over the edge of the bath. Knew how to fold it into different thing, didn’t trust himself not to pull it apart by the threads and do something dangerous.

The Toilet still a vomit covered mess. He didn’t know where any cleaning supplies were, didn’t know if he could stomach looking at the contents of the bowl.

The tablet Duke had handed him.

The tablet Duke had handed him.

Still laying on the floor his hands darted out to reach for the carelessly discarded tablet that lay on the floor mat. The device cold in his hands, with a trembling hold he turned the tablet on. The brightness set to its lowest setting and no passcode was keeping him locked out.

His vision blurred as he pressed an app.

He didn’t know what it was.

All he knew was that one moment his deranged laughter was echoing through the bathroom.

And the next Jason’s voice was drowning in his ears.

Notes:

Totally forgot to Tag Joker Junior lmao

Chapter 12: As fragile As Trust

“Jason!” He felt a sharp jab in his side, his arm slung over his face, he ignored the voice that demanded his attention. “Jaybird I swear to god- get up!” He screwed his eyes shut tighter as rolled onto his side, in an attempt to get a few more blissful moments of sleep.

Jason tried to contain the gleeful smirk that threatened to dance on his face at the frustrated noise; It sounded like Dick. Another jab of pain surged through him as an elbow was dug into his ribs, the sound that escaped his mouth was sharp and offended.

He threw his arm aside and turned to glare at his attacker, only to be met with the curtains in his room being spread wide open, Duke standing outside on the ledge with a shit eating grin as he redirected the light to shine directly in his eyes.

Jason cursed as he blinked rapidly as he shielded his eyes with his hands, Duke laughed like the fucking maniac he was, “Man! What the fuck?!” Jason yelled as he squinted accusingly at the monster that was Bruce’s ward and by proxy his brother.

“It’s called karma for ignoring me.” Dick spoke, his voice delightful yet that joy was betrayed by the murderous look in his eyes.

“Says you! You attacked me! For shame!” Jason placed a hand over his chest and sent Dick a look of betrayal.

“I’ve been trying to wake you up for an hour.” Dick was not at all impressed, it was increasingly obvious by his deadpanned tone.

“Shoulda taken the hint then.” Jason scoffed as he looked back over to Duke, who was now climbing through the window, dressed in his uniform and ready to go to school. “This is war.” He narrowed his eyes.

In response Duke flashed a Cheshire smile, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Look.” Dick sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes softening as Jason caught his stare, “I need you to take care of things here, Alfie’s dropping Dami and Sunbird off to school then is running errands, Cass has dance practice in an hour.”

“The fuck? Why me? What are you doing that’s so damn important?” Jason shot his brother a scathing look, how dare he expect Jason to sit here and play babysitter?!

“It’ll only be a few hours. But I gotta take over Tim’s meetings today, then I got more meetings with the Titans and Tim’s team, then I have to take over in the League.” Jason almost felt sympathetic for his brother. Key word being almost.

“Get some other fucker to do it.” Jason rolled his eyes as he slid out of bed, “I got shit to do too dumbass.”

“No one can do it Jay.” Realistically Jason knew this. Out of all of them Jason had the most flexible schedule and could do things remotely with his guys. It was already a mess with Tim being out of the picture.

Jason groaned as his shoulder’s slumped, his expression scrunched up; looking up at Dick he was tempted to punch that pleading look off his face.  “You fucking owe me.” He snapped as he reached for his jacket that sat discarded on the floor.

He nearly toppled over at the full force of Dick Fucking Grayson latching onto him grinning ear to ear, “You the best Little Wing! Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favourite.”

Jason turned to Dick with a flat unappreciative stare, he knew it wasn’t him, if it were... Their relationship would’ve been different.

“I- Wow. The audacity.” Dick’s eyes widened as he looked over to Duke in horror, Jason rolled his eyes and shook his head shoving his older brother away. Duke was looking like a kicked puppy and even Jason almost fell for it.

“Wait Duke!-“ Dick pulled away and reached out for the younger.

“I see how it is.” Duke put a hand over his heart as looked at Dick with teary eyes, Jason wished his phone wasn’t dead right now, he’d have loved to get Dick’s expression framed on his wall.

“Duke!” Duke was already fleeing as Goldie chased after him, and honestly? Jason found it utterly hilarious.

 

---

 

Stepping into the foyer was complete and utter chaos; Jason had forgotten why exactly he avoided staying at the manor on a weekday. Cass greeted him with a blinding smile dressed in her leotard and her gym bag sitting by her as she laced up her sneakers, he tipped his head towards her as he looked towards where Duke was looking away innocently; Jason knew of the truth.

“My time is better used here than wasting it on trivial matters such as school!” Damian sneered, flailing as he tried to pull himself from Dick’s grip.

“School it important Dami!” Goldie chided, his tone sharp.

“Tt! You are Hypocritical! You dropped out of collage! Todd died!-“ Jason felt annoyance and indignation bubbling up as he shot a glare towards the brat, “Drake never even finished high school before running Father’s company!”

“Your not dropping out of school!” Dick’s shoulders sagged as his expression bordered on defeat, still he clutched Damian in one hand and held his bag in the other.

“Wow Demon brat.” Jason stalked over, could feel the grin growing as he cocked his head to the side, Damian glared at him with burning green hellfire in his eyes, ”Really gonna drop out and prove Timbo is better than you?” he saw Damian’s nostrils flare.

“Do not make claims that are untrue!” Jason moved aside as the child before him lunged with a knife he’d pulled out of nowhere, likely from a hidden compartment in his own uniform, only he was held back as Dick still held him by the collar of his shirt.

“Just be’n honest with ya.” Jason chuckled, he caught Dick’s sharp glare and smirked gleefully, “Replacement will never let ya live it down if you drop out now.”

“Jason stop riling him up!” Dick abolished, the gleam in his eyes sparking with panic as Damian let out a war cry. He simply laughed and moved away.

Lazily he scanned the foyer for Alfred while Damian started cursing him out in Arabic, in response, Jason sent him the middle finger. He side-eyed Dick and smirked at his petty revenge for putting him on babysitter duty. His older brother was fuming, and he couldn’t have felt more proud.

His eyes landed on Tim. Well, more accurately Timothy.

Jason’s eyes sharpened as he looked the man up and down; Timothy was standing in the doorway, his skin pale almost as white as snow in the morning sun the slivered in through the windows, still dressed in the band shirt Jason had handed over last night post patrol. The Surrogate’s (as Jason had nicknamed him) posture was tightly wound with apprehension, his expression set into an emotionless mask that made him hard to read.

Following the Surrogate’s gaze, he locked onto Dick, who was still struggling with getting Damian out the door. He looked back at the man and watched his eyes sharpen and the thin line in his lips tilt downwards. Yeah, that was fucking weird.

He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, he took a step forward, kept his feet light and casual. Kept his gaze locked on the pale man in front of him, the pit roiling in his gut with each damning step. Timothy’s gaze drifted over and caught his, his body language expectant and predatory.

“Master Jason.” Alfred’s appearance behind Timothy was unexpected, “I have set aside a meal for you, and trust that there will be no disasters in the kitchen upon my departure?” Alfred rose a brow, his expression remaining neutral as he spoke.

“Yeah yeah, I ain’t Goldie over there,” He threw a playful grin at Alfred as he threw his hand back in Dick’s general direction. Alfred’s eyes sharpened and Jason suddenly wasn’t feeling so confident. “Promise that I won’t Alfie.” He held out his pinkie towards his pseudo grandfather.

He watched as Alfred’s sharp expression softened, “I’ll uphold you to your promise Master Jason,” Jason’s pinkie linked with Alfred’s own, “Now I shall be off, do treat our guest with respect Master Jason.” Alfred nodded his head politely in Farewell.

“See ya Alfie.” Jason nodded back.

“Little Wing, remember what I said earlier!” Dick called back, dragging a sulking Damian towards the courtyard where Cass and Duke were both waiving their own goodbyes.

“Stop mother Henning me Dickhead.” He scoffed as he waved back if only to humor Cass and Duke.

Then just like that the manor was silent, it was only him and the Replacement’s replacement. With an annoyed sigh he turned a scornful look to the man, Timothy looked back at him, expression neutral and bland.

“I’m going to eat, don’t fucking touch anything.” He muttered as he shoved past the Surrogate and stormed towards the kitchen. Maybe he could get some fucking work done. But knowing his life? It’d be a fucking miracle to get anything done.

 

---

 

It was mid-day when Jason found himself sitting with the Replacement’s well, replacement. His phone half charged as he lazily scrolled through his contacts, feet kicked up on the antique coffee table. Timothy as he insisted, he be called sat poised like a ceramic doll, his eyes sharp as he feigned interest in the book he held in his hands.

A predator. A member of high society and a true blooded elite of Gotham.

Cass may trust him, but Jason could feel the Surrogate’s eyes watching his every move and it made his fucking skin crawl. Harshly shoving his phone into his jacket pocket, he glared at the man sitting calmly in front of him.

“The fuck you looking at.” Green was bleeding into the edges of his vison, how Dick had thought leaving him to babysit was a good idea? He had no fucking clue.

Surrogate didn’t so much as flinch as he set the book aside, casual yet intentional. His blue eyes cold and calculating as his lips pressed into a thin line. Jason could feel the pit roaring in his ears as his blood burned in his veins.

“You died.” Timothy’s voice was sharp, his words a statement rather than a question, “Yet you came back changed.”

“Yeah, so fucking what?” he accused, crossing his arms over his chest, shoulders stiff.

“My brother, Jason, too died.” His voice was quiet, even yet even Jason could hear the sorrow embedded deep in his eyes, “He came back too, different… But not like you.” Each word was intentional, no wasted breaths.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, brows furrowing as he sneered, “Disappointed?” he spat as the pit churned in his stomach.

“No.” Jason reeled at the certainty in the man’s voice. “He could never have disappointed any of us.”

“That so? Did he not kill? Did he follow you like a good little soldier?” Jason let out a humorless laugh, tilted his head to the side as he smiled sarcastically.

There Jason saw the cold predatory precision falter as Timothy’s face fell. Only for a moment did Jason glimpse the overwhelming guilt, the regret that haunted him before it was buried beneath that porcelain mask again.

“He was 16 when he came back,” Jason scoffed as he reached for his phone that he had buried in his pocket.

“I didn’t ask to listen to a soap opera reunion.” He snarked, he didn’t take his eyes off of the man before him, a man who should be his Replacement. The man he refused to admit was his brother.

The Surrogate continued anyways, “He was angry, not at us for failing him, for letting Barbara get involved, for failing Dick.” Jason froze, the pit quite as the air around him grew colder. “Jason carried that hatred, that rage, that guilt. He isn’t perfect, he never will be. But he’s enough.” His throat bobbed as Timothy glanced over to the shelves the lined the walls.

He dropped his feet from the table, his stomach twisting into knots, the green was at the edges of his sight, consuming it as voices in his ears screamed; he dropped his feet from the table, felt his nails digging into his palms. Jason looked at Timothy, really looked at him.

His eyes were sharp and assessing, his pale skin like fragile porcelain with raw emotions cracked through to the surface. His posture tightly wound, his legs crossed over, the book now discarded to the side; if Jason hadn’t known better it’d have been like looking at a portrait of a man of royalty, and maybe he was.

He wanted a reaction.

Wanted to test the waters between them.

That only made the pit roar louder. Jason wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He breathed in deeply through his nose, let the air settling in his lungs before exhaling. As casually as he could, he tilted his head to the side, let the edges of his mouth tick upward.

“I didn’t ask for a sob story.” He drawled, let the heaviness of his accent drip into the air between them, watched as the Surrogate’s head tilted curiously to the side, “It ain’t my business, my only concern is getting the Replacement back before he ends up dead.”

Silence hung between them as Jason stood, rolled his shoulders and strolled towards the doorway, there was nothing else for him to say, wasn’t interested in hearing more tales of another world. But the voice of the pit whispered around him, digging its claws deep beneath his skin as it spoke of possibilities where his own family having accepted him as easily as the Surrogate’s had.

He ignored it of course.

Couldn’t waste time on useless thoughts.

He had shit to do.

 

---

 

“You shouldn’t be down here.” Jason glared from his workbench towards the man who moved like he was part of the shadows, Timothy was quiet again, eyes dancing cautiously around the cave and picking it apart.

“I came for my suit.” He made it sound as if that was his only intention, as if he wasn’t scouting for information.

“Yeah no.” Jason waved him off as he looked back down at the dismantled engine that sat in front of him, grease coating his hands.

 “I wasn’t asking.” Jason scoffed at the tone, demanding and expectant, just like the snot nosed demon brat who held himself at a higher status than the rest of them.

“Well, you can fuck off back upstairs.”  He snarked, his skin crawled as chills traced over his skin. For a moment the cave was still, the bats above being muffled out by the surrounding tensions.

“I need my phone from my utility belt.”

Jason’s face twisted in frustration as he let his screwdriver clatter onto the workbench, still seated he spun around to glare at the man. “I doubt that’s all you want.” He scoffed, arms crossing over his chest.

“You searched through it.” The Surrogate’s eyes narrowed.

“You seriously expected us not to?” He chuckled dryly, he smiled slyly, “Future Tim or not; it’d be against protocol not to go snooping.” He looked at the man in front of him, carefully reached over to the draw and tugged it open.

He watched as Timothy’s expression cracked, saw the slivers of gold sparkling in his icy blue eyes. Jason watched as he held the vial loosely in his hand, glanced towards the metallic liquid the glimmered in the caves florescent lighting. He hadn’t any clue what it was, hadn’t run any tests and having only secured it into his possession a few hours ago.

“Put it down.” Timothy all but snarled, his hands twitching as his eyes watched his every move.

It was a metal; Jason was sure of it. Yet it was unlike any metal he’d seen, it was frigid in his hand, sucking in the warmth like a leech, it thrummed as if it were living. And the Lazarus Pit that coursed through his veins recoiled from it.

“Wanna tell me what it is?” They locked eyes, the air around them thick and heavy with a threat danger that made his heartbeat against his chest.

A glint of silver was his only warning as he reached for the gun holstered on his belt.

Notes:

I struggled a bit with this chapter, but I'm quite pleased with how it turned out!

I wonder what Jason found? Could be some damning evidence against good Ol' Timothy!

Next up we get to see the events of last chapter continue!

Chapter 13: Afternoon Delights

“He’s been in there since Alfred, Cass and Jason got home.” Duke spoke, voice sharp and level, but Damian could hear the concern buried beneath it all.

“You’ve tried coxing him out?” he looked at the door, it was silent for the most part, only Jason’s muffled voice was echoing through the gaps of the door. His hand twitched at his side as he contemplated how to approach the current situation.

“He hasn’t responded.” Duke’s reply was simple, “I can’t see anything, I’ve tried but it comes up the same.” He exhaled, exhaustion clawing at him.

“I’ll deal with it.” Damian muttered as he moved forward, he reached for the brass handle, the metal cool to the touch yet it remained stiff and unmovable. He glanced over to Duke, once a gangly teen struggling with a power too large for him to handle alone, now a man with a face aged by hardships and misfortune, “Go supervise, I have no doubt Jason has taken advantage of both our absences.”

The Jagged scar that ran down Duke’s face warped as mirth danced in his eyes, “Don’t act like you don’t miss their antics.” His voice lighter and tone teasing.

“I’d rather not have Jason encouraging Richard to act on impulses.” Damian deadpanned, it was horrible the first time Richard had climbed the chandelier and a nightmare when Jason would sneak him out to cause mischief on the streets of Gotham. “I’ll be down once I’ve delt with this.” His dismissed the other.

Duke simply shook his head with a knowing smile, it was infuriating how well he could read him; although it should be expected, considering he’d taught Duke everything he’d known, that privilege extended towards Stephanie, then Timothy and all the way down to Barbara.

He had started teaching Richard once. But he had never had the chance to finish. And Now things were too complicated, a fine line in the sand that with only a push could unravel all the progress they had made in the last year and a half with Richard’s return.

He shut his eyes and breath, felt the cool air of the manor linger in his chest as he exhaled. His eyes opened as he knocked on the door, Jason’s voice on the other side being the only noise. He waited a moment longer.

He knocked again, sharper, more demanding this time, “I ask that you open the door.” His voice polite yet firm as he waited for a response. None came.

With a scowl he ignored the unease the curdled in his stomach. Ignored the gnawing worry. He looked towards the hinges, despite being on the other side. He could get it to work in his favor. The cool metal kissed his calloused palm as he dug the knife from his coat pocket, with a flick of his wrist he shivved the blade through the small gap of the door.

This has not been the first time he had used this method to open a door in the manor, nor did he believe it would be the last. He shifted the blade carefully upwards towards the hinges; the first pin that held the door in place clattered against the tiled floor, he could hear the soft bounce and how it rolled against the ceramic.

Still, that got no reaction from the man who had locked himself inside.

Alfred had been appalled the first time he’d unlocked a door like this, yet nothing had been done to remedy it. Throughout his years here in the manor it had never changed, the same wallpaper, the carpets replaced with replicas, the curtains the same hideous red they had been in his childhood. Therefore, the doors had remained the same, the same hardware holding them together too by default.

The second pin dropped, clattering a little louder and more sporadic than the first. With one final flick on the knifes time, the final pin dropped to the floor; the door was not far behind as he leaned in towards the bathroom, his hand clutched the brass handle and yanked it towards him and set it to the side.

He was unprepared for the smell of bile, the acidic scent burning his nose as he covered his face. His eyes darted around the room; eyes catching the disaster it was, the fine porcelain toilet was covered in what could only be the contents of Tim’s stomach. The towel rack ripped from the wall, one of the mirrors shattered and shards scattered, and in the middle of it all was Tim.

Damian stepped into the room, the heels of his shoes clicking against the tiles.

He looked over the man before him, assessing him for injuries. Tim’s body was hunched, looser than it had been that morning, exhaustion as clear as day. His chest rising and falling with ragged strained breaths, his eyes bloodshot as his hands trembled. His hair was messier, his clothes disheveled and in places torn.

Yet he remained fixated on the tablet in his hand, Jason’s voice bouncing around the room. He moved closer, keeping his eyes on Tim, he stopped in front of him, only then did the man look up, eyes sharp yet drowsy.

“I locked the door.” His voice was raw and ragged. Vomit still staining the collar of his shirt and lingering on his face.

“I’m aware you did.” Damian kept his voice level as he went over the possibilities that led to this situation. “I was informed you had been here for quite some time.”

Blearily Tim blinked at him, his brows furrowed as he glanced to the tablet in his hands, likely looking at the time. “Oh.” He murmured, He glanced back up, eyes sharper now.

“You are unwell.” Damian glanced to the soiled toilet and grimace; Alfred would not be particularly pleased.

“This is normal.” His voice sharp and defensive.

“Normal?” Damian narrowed his eyes, looking down at the man still on the floor.

“Joker brainwashing, has lingering effects.” Damian’s hand twitched, now paying much more attention to the erratic twitching of Tim’s body, the tightly wound tension set in his shoulders and his too pale face “My missing spleen doesn’t help either.” He went rigid at the mention of ‘missing spleen’. Tim looked back down at the screen, tone implying this was more inconvenience to him rather than a need for concern.

Damian took in a deep breath as he turned over the new information, the spleen is an essential organ, one that helps to protect the immune system, it made the notion of Tim throwing up the contents of his stomach much more alarming. Yet another cause for alarm was the involvement of the Joker, brainwashing was always a threat, only just by looking at the man, he’d likely been exposed to a toxin.

He went to speak, Tim beat him to it, “You can run tests, you’ll find nothing,” his gaze never left the screen, “Bruce formulated medications, there in my utility belt.” Damian pursed his lips.

“You said nothing about medication earlier.” He mused, if he’d known, he’d have personally seem to it that Tim had it on hand; of course, after testing to ensure it was indeed what he claimed it to be.

“I planned on getting it myself earlier, to ensure my suit wasn’t damaged and possibly set up communications between our universes.” He watched as the man’s pale face scrunched up with frustration. “As you can tell I was unsuccessful, Duke has better control and skills in handling his meta-abilities; he’s older here of course, but My Duke’s only had it for just under two years and is still entirely unpredictable. Instead, the little shit is lying to our faces and giving us false scenarios- We don’t know if he’s ever actually telling the truth-“

Damian stared, brows furrowed, and jaw set tight as Tim rambled erratically, his hand flailing around in exaggerated gestures; Not once had he ever heard Timothy this wasn’t his brother, no matter how similar they looked ramble on like this, only those akin to the speed-force spoke with such speed.

“But I should’ve noticed sooner.” Tim’s sky blue eyes sharpened as he glowered at the tiled floor. “Another reason for Bruce to lecture me.”

He didn’t like how Tim’s voice was filled with disdain, disliked that this was not the first time. His father was harsh, but he was fair. It seemed unlike him to lecture on a mistake such as this in a scenario like the one they now lived.

“You are unwell, it is no fault of yours that you missed a detail that may not have applied to this universe.” Damian interrupted the mam before he could continue rambling. Tim’s eyes darted up, eyes shinning with confusion, something twisted in Damian’s stomach at the look he received.

He kept his face clear of his emotions as he plucked the tablet from Tim’s hands. He glanced at the screen and tried not to snort as he saw Jason panicking as Richard climbed one of the taller trees on the estate; Richard’s a bright cerulean and his skin kissed by the sun, Jason’s face younger and a fire behind his eyes, fueled with determination rather than rage and grief.

His gaze lingered a moment longer, letting himself soak in the details of their faces, of the light that had been stripped away and replaced with the darkness the carved itself deep into their bones. Briefly he closed his eyes as he turned the device off, he opened them again and was unsurprised to see Tim analyzing every detail.

“I hope you don’t intend on staying on the floor.” Damian rose a brow at the man; he extended a hand to him.

 

---

 

The blood tests were clean of any contaminants, as were the tests on Tim’s supposed medication. Damian studied the results with meticulous precision, a slight frown on his face as he looked over to Tim. He’d gained some colour back to his features; the erratic twitching had subsided too. His disheveled hair still a mess yet it had been smoothed over. The assaultingly vibrant red suit was now discarded to the side, seemingly having passed whatever test Tim had put it through.

As of now he was going through the remaining compartments of his utility belt, a mug of coffee haphazardly sitting on the edge of the workbench and one bump away from shattering and spilling over the frigid floors.

He watched in silence as small devices were sorted into piles, he was unaware of the reason behind each pile; tools were tossed aside, yet Damian’s brows furrowed as he noted what exactly they were, bat- no bird shaped shurikens, a retractable Bo staff, multiple grappling lines and hooks, he could have sworn he saw a bag of glitter among the miscellaneous items.

He couldn’t fathom the sheer absurdity that was cheep plastic eggs, faces were drawn on them and from were he stood he could only vaguely make out the initials that were written on them. He narrowed his eyes on the back of Tim’s head, he was inclined to believe this was one of the side affects from the brainwashing he claimed to have  gone through.

“Oh Ian!~” Stephanie’s voice filled the silence of the cave, her tone deceptively sweet. He watched Tim’s head snap up and his gaze turning in her direction; with a sigh he himself turned to face the woman.

“Ian?” He heard Tim whisper to himself in confusions.

“Hello Stephanie.” Damian greeted, her face expression tight with fake delight as she swung at him.

He stepped aside, grabbed her arm and scowled, her face red with rage, “What the hell!? You said he was fine! This isn’t fine!” her voice loud and unshakeable as she gestured towards the man watching them.

“I had assumed you’d been updated on the matter,” Damian kept his voice even, kept his words brief. Still Stephanie was not pleased.

“Like any of you actually communicate.” She scoffed, pulling her arm back from his grip, “You didn’t even tell me Dick was alive until Jason was bleeding out!”

Damian snarled, felt the heat just beneath his skin, “It hadn’t concerned you at that time.”

“Why? Because I’m not family?” She pointed an accusing finger into his chest, her nails digging deep through the unprotected cotton suit.

“You know as well as I that is far from the truth.” He spat as he held his head higher, glowering at her, “I could not compromise your life, if we had failed you would have been the only one left to defend Gotham.”

“You and your bigotry! That’s not an excuse! Timothy could have died, and I wouldn’t have known until two days later!” his chest tightened at the desperation and hurt in her voice as she screamed at him, he ran a hand through his hair as he looked over to Tim.

His eyes sharp as he tilted his head to the side, the mug was being nursed in his hands. He shouldn’t be having this argument here, in front of him. It risked too much, he couldn’t let anymore information leak.

“Your dating.” Tim spoke, there was no question as he looked at them. Stephanie froze as she turned towards the man in horror, Damian’s face scrunched up at the very thought of being in any relationship with Stephone, “Timothy, your dating Timothy.” Tim was quick to clarify catching their expression.

The horror on Stephanie’s face morphed into confusion, “You’re referring to yourself in third person?” her brows furrowed as she stepped towards Tim.

Tim looked down at the mug in his hands, Damian recognised the look, had seem Timothy do it on many occasions when he found what to say when explaining a situation as to not get a worse reaction; he watched as Tim looked back up at Stephanie, taking a sip from his coffee before setting it aside and reaching for one of the scatted devices.

Something that looked vaguely familiar to a smart phone.

“If it makes you feel better my Damian only tells Dick anything important,” there was amusement in his tone, as he turned the device on, “I can’t say that anyone else is better at communicating.”

“I don’t understand.” Stephanie had stopped short, and Damian had really wished that he’d sent her a message earlier. “What do you mean ‘my Damian’?”

“Hi, I’m Tim, universal traveller and famously known as Red Robin, not associated with the restraint chain.” With a performer’s smile Tim held a hand out to her.

Damian stared at the man, Red robin, just when he thought the colourful eggs were the peak of his insanity.

Notes:

Jason being a youtuber? Who wouldn't find him entertaining! He totally read books aloud and made the voices; he'd also be a little daredevil and give everyone heart attacks. then Dick got involved and it was chaos.

Timothy has a major soft spot for photography much like Tim; a teeny tiny fact that's just too adorable not to share- Timothy actually bought Jason a really good camera set up and often used to help with editing when he had the time! (Note that he still had a distant relationship with Jason)

Also huh??? I swear i posted the last chapter only three days go not six- sorry for the late update-

Also, also- reverse Steph and Reverse Tim? Them in a relationship just clicks? Idk how to explain it, but Og Tim be going for the guys yall i promise.

But who's up for deciding Reverse Bruce's fate? is he dead? Lost in Time? On a mission like OG Bruce? or is he just vacationing (Stuck) on a deserted island?

Chapter 14: Building Bridges

The gun shot echoed through the cave, his shoulder burned yet the knife he had stolen that morning remained tight in his grip as he dove for Jason. He could feel his blood soaking into the shirt he had borrowed. His eyes remained locked on the vial the other held tightly in his grip.

Another shot was fired, yet this time he dodged it with ease. Jason was cursing as he darted back as he reached out to rip the vial from his hand. Timothy couldn’t loose it. That was all that remained of the electrum, of the purified product the court had perfected.

It was his only chance to reverse what the court had done to Dick. The desperation in his movements must have been obvious, Jason’s face hardened as he moved. His hands twitched as he watched Jason loosen his grip, he froze as he clutched the silver knife tighter.

“You want it bad huh?” Jason’s eyes narrowed, his gun still aimed towards Timothy’s chest, ready to fire the second he moved. “Still haven’t told me what it is.” He scoffed.

“It’s unimportant.” His actions had already betrayed his words.

“I call bullshit,” Jason laughed, it was dry and humorless. Timothy’s grip tightened on the knife in his hand. “no one’s this desperate over nothing, now tell me what it fucking is or I toss it.”

He watched with a pit in his stomach as Jason gestured the vial towards the chasm that lay beyond the platform.

Timothy scowled, as Jason waited expectantly for an answer, watched as he held the only thing that could possibly help his brother loosely over the drop.

“Electrum.” He kept his voice steady, Jason tilted his head to the side, eyed the vial suspiciously.

“What’s it made of?” Jason questioned, as he tightened his grip on the vial. Timothy let out a shaky breath he had been holding. “Cause there ain’t no way this shit is natural.”

He shouldn’t be surprised that Jason had noticed, his own brothers had when he’d fist come into contact with it; the ancient magic imbued into the pit had detested the magical concoction that was electrum.

“I don’t know.” He spoke honestly, it could be a combination of anything, yet none of his efforts had succeeded in deciphering it, “It’s a cocktail of purified elements imbued with ancient magic. I’ve been trying to replicate it.” He sent a prayer to any god that his honesty would be enough.

Jason’s eyes went a sharper shade of green, his gaze dangerous and scrutinizing. He could see the way Jason weighed his words, the vial in his hand pulling away from the drop ; he released the breath he’d been holding, let his offensive stance relax ever so slightly, he dropped the knife to the ground with a ringing clatter. His shoulder burned and it slowly stitched itself back together.

It was nothing compared to the way Richard’s body pulled itself back together, he’d been molded into a monster, one that could get up over and over with no chance of being slowed down; his great grandfather had boasted on and on about how Dick was their chosen, how he’d been given the perfected formula, that he was unstoppable and Gotham would be reminded who exactly was in control.

Timothy had been there, among the Court’s members; had proven his ‘loyalty’ to them by slitting his own throat and letting himself be consumed by the electrum that now weaved itself into his very being. It was only a fraction of what then Talon had, a minuscule amount that barely changed him. He’d made men and woman into those mindless killers, most were willing, had grown up to become what they now were.

Those who weren’t… They were thrown into a never-ending labyrinth. Drugged and left to frostbite; Left to rot until they were hollowed out by insanity, only by then there was nothing of them left. He had stood by and watched, had taken part in that torment. Every moment he stood among them the more his stomach twisted, the more his own morality twisted; then he had seen a glimpse of the small acrobat, he’d spiraled.

His thoughts consumed with possibilities, had forced himself to keep the mask he’d created on; timothy had ran to Damian with his tail between his legs, had admitted to the cruelty, to the court’s plans, everything. At least what Damian had assumed was everything.

He’d with held the details of what he’d done to become a part of them, hadn’t whispered a word of having revealed their identities, given the court access to everything. As far as Timothy knew, no one else knew of the betrayals he’d done willingly.

“Why?” Jason’s voice cut through his spiral, his tone bland, his eyes searching him. Timothy’s mouth was dry, his hinds twitching as he processed the question.

Why?

It was such an easy question to answer.

Why?

But he couldn’t. he’d already let so much slip through; he’d acted impulsively the moment the man with his brother’s aged face had revealed one of the many cards in his hands. He didn’t know anything about this world aside from the reversal of their ages.

“I can’t answer that.” He didn’t recognize his own voice, thick with guilt and regret, heavy with things he couldn’t say.

Jason didn’t like that answer, not with the way his nostril’s flared and his eyes grew brighter with each passing second. “The fuck ya mean ya can’t answer?” His voice thick with the accent of true crime alley blood, his rage piercing.

He shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair, the strands crusty from the gel he’d used that night. He watched the vial, watched as Jason’s body shivered as the hair on the back of his neck rose with the goosebumps that spread over his pale skin; he felt the electrum in his body, felt the cold seep in and settle deep in his own bones.

“Are you familiar with The Court of Owls?” he asked in lieu of answering, his voice shaking as he watched Jason’s expression shift.

“The nursery rhyme?” Jason’s voice was thick with disbelief, his gaze heavy with judgment. “What the actual fuck does this have to do with that?!” the anger was back in his voice, his stance had shifted, arms crossed and shoulders tight.

“Its not just a nursery rhyme in my universe.” As long as Jason was willing to listen, he had a chance to ensure the last remaining electrum was secured; Jason’s head tilted, he remained silent his gaze simmered a vile green. “That vial, the electrum. Is all that’s left, my last chance to fix everything.”

“You still haven’t told me what its for.” For a moment Timothy could only see Bruce standing before him, Jason had that same look, that same distrust and judgement. His piercing gaze was picking him apart piece by piece, his words were thicker and heavier.

Timothy didn’t know if he could answer. didn’t know if he wanted to.

“It’s how they made their members live longer, how they made their talons.” He answered despite the weight of his honesty, under that all too familiar gaze, he couldn’t not. “They had different rituals for the Owls and the Talons, in the end both had Electrum running through their veins.”

“So what? They put it in your body and your basically immortal?” Jason scoffed.

“I’m trying to reverse it.” Timothy bit out, he needed to reverse it for Dick.

“Some big bad have it in em? That why you need it to ‘fix’ everything?” Jason snarled, the white tuft of hair bouncing as he threw his head back, “I call fucking bullshit, how can I believe anything you fucking say when you tried to fucking stab me?”

“The Courts already gone, we made sure of it.”

“Why the fuck are you even bothering to reverse it? If your so-called threats dead and gone, what’s the fucking point?” Jason moved forward, each step heavy with intent, he towered over him. “Because all you’ve been doing is watching us, you look at Goldie like he’s something else. You look at me as if I’m meant to be that kid who died. We don’t even fucking know which side your on and this is just making you look worse.” Jason stood over him now, his gun jabbing into his chest, the electrum held tight in his grip.

“How can I trust you?” Timothy spoke, his voice sharp and his glare vicious, “I’m in an unknown universe with people who share the faces of my family but with entirely different lives. I’ve already given you the truth of what that is, of why I need it, my intentions with it.” He watched Jason recoil at his indifferent tone. He’d faced the Owl man head on, fought against threats that would bring any normal man to their knees weeping.

Silence hung between them, thick with distrust. Timothy didn’t let his gaze fall from Jason’s, he refused to be bullied into answering, into cowering. The man standing before him might have the same mannerisms as Bruce, might be holding the only thing that could lead to a cure for his brother.

“I’ll hold onto it.” Jason glowered, Timothy’s stomach twisted but kept his feet planted on the ground. “If this is really as important as what you say? I ain’t gonna fuck someone’s life because you’re a piece of shit.” He sneered, he stepped back and shoved his gun into the holster on his hip, the vial of electrum disappearing into a pocket of his brown leather jacket.

But Timothy saw what it truly was. An olive branch, fragile but the sense was there, a moment of doubt in his own actions. He felt a trickle of relief loosen the knot in his stomach.

“Okay.” He agreed, he too stepped back, allowed space for them both to breath. “Okay.” He could work with this.

“I ain’t gonna tell the others shit. This stays between us.” Jason muttered as he moved towards his workbench, the disassembled engine still laying there in pieces, “But if you attack anyone of them? You’ll be dead where you stand.”

Jason had always been a protector. For the younger children in Crime Alley, to the working woman, those who couldn’t protect themselves… A protector for Dick… Timothy honestly shouldn’t have been surprised by the threat.

“I swear it.” And he meant it.

“Great.” Jason remarked as he reached for his tools. “Now fuck off.”

Timothy stood there a moment longer, he gave a curt nod as he turned as stepped away; he didn’t reach for the silver knife he’d stolen, nor did he move to the med bay, his wound already healed, and the bullet lodged somewhere in the cave’s rocky walls.

He paused on his way out as he caught sight of his suit and his utility belt laying beside it emptied of his belongings. Each item laid out meticulously and organized, he reached for the phone that lay within reach.

Maybe, just maybe it would work here. Maybe he could gather some intel of his own and find a way home.

He felt Jason’s gaze burning holes into the back of his, but he voiced no protests as he slipped his phone into his pocket.

He didn’t know if he should feel grateful or not for that small mercy.

Notes:

Secrets, secrets, secrets.

Timothy be hiding some pretty big ones.

Chapter 15: Secondhand Embarrassment

Looking at Stephanie was a bewildering experience. They had always been close in age, with her being a fair few months younger, but the woman before him? She looked so much like her father, in the way her brow creased with lingering anger from her brief fight with Damian, her eyes her jaw was more defined, and her figure was bulkier, fiercer.

 Her blond hair was longer, braided and tucked behind her, but he saw how the dyed ends hovered just above the ground. If Tim were being honest, he’d never pictured her with hair that long, it was a running joke between them that she’d shave her head leaving only enough to give herself a Viking braid right down the middle of her head.

Awkwardly Stephanie stared at his hand, her face cycling through several different emotions as she processed what he’d said; Damian wasn’t fairing much better, a spark of judgment as he eyed his red suit. Tim lowered his arm finding that she wasn’t going to accept it, instead he reached over to the steaming mug of his miracle drug.

He cradled the mug in his hands, he felt so much clearer upon having been handed the drink by Alfred; as much as his family complained and scolded him for his coffee addiction, they’d never outright taken it from him, the caffeine helped with the lingering effects of the Joker. It hadn’t helped him earlier that morning with the withdrawals upon being thrown into an alternative universe.

Already he’d catalogue the differences between their cave and his, the layout was slightly more to the left, the bat computer that sat at the edge of the platform wasn’t as tech savvy as his own, rather it looked quite outdated. In the back there was no collection of battle trophies, no sign of the giant penny, no dinosaur, no evidence they even existed.

The showcase of their suits was strange too, but understandable. Each suit looked to be startling similar, only accounting for body proportions and appropriate skill sets. The batman suit looked the same, sleek and dark in order to blend in with the smog and shadows of Gotham.

The next he could only assume was Damian’s, only due to the similar build to Bruce’s suit. It was reminiscent of the league’s assassins’ uniforms, only it was more padded in places and the dark red crest that spread like flames across the chest piece, It honestly didn’t seem too out of place for Damian, just as dramatic as his father’s style.

By process of elimination and by the approximate age progression the next was Duke’s; it was simpler than the Signal suite, less mechanical. The colour pallet looked out of place for something Duke would wear, greyscale and dull like the Gotham skies, Kevlar wrapped in wispy layers of grey fabric, almost as though the suit itself was a ghost in the land of the living.

The next three cases were empty, the third and fourth he guessed may have been his or possibly Stephanie’s depending on the possibility of who got here first and the fifth was Cass’s, he only knew that by the memorial case that sat beside it. Jason’s Uniform was similar to the Robin uniform, it was torn and burnt at the fraying edges, only there was no bright pop of colour, it was like a miniature version of the Batsuit, only smaller and lacking the signature cowl.

The last case was interesting. It wasn’t Dick’s, not with the feminine uniform that stood out the most among the rest. The original Batgirl suit, yet the difference was the deep royal purple with black accents that coloured the suit.

“Damian.” Steph’s voice was quitter, but it held a promise of violence in it’s wake.

“He didn’t know till this morning.” Tim spoke up as he casually looked over towards the older woman, “Alfred figured it out when I went looking for my coffee machine.”

“Your excusing him from not saying anything.” Her angry tone was aimed towards him now.

“If it helps, I’m sure he’s fine over with my brothers,” unbothered with the glare Steph sent his way he reached for the sleek black phone that lay in the pile of burner phones.

“And if he’s not?” Stephanie asked, voice trembling. Tim had a feeling he’d be repeating the conversation a lot.

“If he’s a threat then they’ll act accordingly.” He still didn’t know if these people were a threat, and his only chance to find out was a mere twenty feet away on the outdated computer that just made his skin crawl looking at it.

The chilling silence returned.

And it spoke louder than words.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the tense shift in Damian’s posture, the tightness in his jaw as he scowled back, Stephanie looked more resigned, yet her face remained hardened.

“He wouldn’t do anything unless he had to.” Damian spoke, firm yet genuine, Tim tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, calculating the weight of his resolve.

“Would he attack a child assassin is said child tried to cut his head off with a katana?” He rose a brow, face neutral and honestly it was a valid question. It took his Jason a lot of self-control when it came to the Demon Spawn, hell it took Tim a lot of will power not to totally screw the kid over half the time.

“He took care of Dickie when he was still violent.” Stephanie chuckled dryly, as she crossed her arms over her chest; Tim caught sight of the ragged scar that ran across her forearm as it caught the light.

He nodded along, a lump in his throat at the thought of Dick, a tiny child version of him being violent; of course, he wasn’t blind to the fact that Dick is dangerous, he was skilled in ways that Tim never could be, his anger wasn’t loud and explosive like Jason’s, it was silent, it was raw.

Tim knew that. Knew that Dick was Violent, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow; and this Dick seemed to be worse. He sucked in a silent breath, just like Dick had taught him. Let that single breath flow through his body and unwind the knots, let it seep in and clear his mind as he exhaled.

“He’ll be fine than,” He shrugged casually as he looked down at his phone, the screen remained black and only flashed with the image of an empty battery; disappointing but not surprising. He supposed he’d have to wait and see if it was even possible for it to communicate between dimensions – Especially with all the upgrades it had, the deep space communication distance was insane.

He set his phone aside and reached for another of the smaller devices that he kept in his utility belt.

“How did this even happen?” Stephanie turned to Damian, her eyes sharp and voice demanding. Curiously Tim watched as he cycled through devices, turning them on and finding the batteries dead.

“That mage Constantine made us aware of attempted a summoning forty-eight hours ago, as planned Jason stayed behind with Richard while Duke, timothy and I went after the mage.” Damian spoke, his head tilted downwards as he eyed the suits on display, “There were complications with the plan, when we arrived the spell had already been activated, Duke and Timothy went after the mage as I focused on dispelling it.”

Tim’s brows furrowed as he straightened, it was different from the events he himself had gone through on that same night, it was expected; what wasn’t was Damian trying to counteract the spell and pull it apart, it was illogical for someone with no link to magic to even succeed in that. He looked back to Damian’s shoulder, the one with the interact tattoo that snaked across his collar and clung to his neck, the one that no remained hidden beneath his tailored suit.

“Seeming as we’re dealing with a cosmic horror, I’m assuming you dispersed the spell.” It wasn’t a question, not with how sure Stephanie sounded as she glowered.

“Clearly.” Damian drawled, unimpressed as he looked at her. “We managed to recover the artifacts that were stolen, and I’ve yet to go back and check for any residual magic that may have withstood the counter spell I conjured.”

“I’m assuming he get hit with a spell?” Tim asked, startling Stephanie as she turned towards him, Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I was the intended target, seeming as I was able to stop the ritual before anything happened,” Damian confirmed, Tim hummed as he set the last device aside, just like the rest it was out of juice.

For the second time in this conversation Damian had confirmed that he was in fact capable of magic, in many ways it made sense, but in his own universe the Al Ghouls had no known ties to magic, not unless the Lazarus Pits counted. He filed that tidbit of information aside for later, where he’d go down that rabbit hole. He didn’t want to picture how Damian, already trained in a thousand ways to end someone’s life – would take gaining magic and how he’d use it to cause even more suffering.

“And you let him?” Stephanie asked accusingly as she jabbed a finger into Damian’s chest.

“There is no ‘letting’ him do anything; You’ve seen firsthand what he is capable of with or without any support.” Damian scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

Tim pursed his lips, unable to actively defend himself in this situation despite knowing that Damian wasn’t actually talking about him. He was sure if Dick or Jason, or well if anyone was here, they’d full heartedly agree.

“I wonder why that is?” Stephanie snarked, her braided hair swaying as she glared at the rocky walls of the cave, “All you’ve done is push us away, you’ve only started caring more ever since Jason came back, do you see how unfair that is Damian? That your own siblings can’t even trust you enough to come to you when they need you?”

In that moment Tim realized that maybe he shouldn’t be sitting here on the floor, listening to a conversation that hit too close to home, a conversation that was honest and raw. He studied the hollowness in Damian’s eyes as his defensive stance falter; it reminded him of the only argument he’d seen between Bruce and Dick, the one where he’d nearly died, the one where the Joker lay on the cold stone floor with rigor mortis slowly starting to set in the longer Dick stood over his body.

Reminded him of the violent fights between Bruce and Jason, screaming matches over dead robins and Bruce’s mission, repeating over and over with the same damning words. A truth they all knew but refused to speak, because what else could they do? It was a cycle, the beginning of a pattern that ended with blood and tears. Jason and Damian had already died. Stephanie had died. But they’d all come back, some sooner than others, how many more of them needed to die?

Deep down Tim knew that relying on Bruce meant nothing if he couldn’t rely on them; and looking at Damian now? The older one who wore Tahlia’s face, the one who held himself like Bruce? He could see the cracks forming, could see Bruce’s own choices affecting him as generational conditioning moved onto the next generation.

“I’m trying.” Damian spoke, voice sharper, his head rising as he looked at the woman before him. “I refuse to loose anyone else.”

Tim could see that he meant every word, but words mean nothing compared to actions. Stephanie’s own anger dissolved as she nodded, her expression made it clear she didn’t quite believe him either; Damian hadn’t seemed to have taken it personally, if anything it made him more determined.

Silence hung between them, thick with meaning but still the cold bit at his skin unlike the warmth he was used to. He eyed his many devices, his phone heavy in his lap, ne needed to charge them, or at least the more essential devices.

“What’s the plan then?” Stephanie broke the silence; her voice filled with that familiar determination.

“We track down the mage and the artifacts they got away with.” Damian replied easily as he moved towards the Batcomputer, “Duke’s been attempting to keep tabs on him, but with Timothy unavailable to care for Richard he’s unable to give his entire focus.” He explained.

Curiously Tim leaned forward and craned his neck as far as he could to try and catch a glimpse of the screen, he couldn’t see much, but from what he could it was rather outdated compared to the systems he used, the ones that were run by himself and Oracle, the files were a disorganized disaster – He cringed at the stated of it.

“Well, this Tim should be fine to take over.” Stephanie gestured in his direction. He blinked as he stared at her blankly.

Damian turned to face him, eyes filled with calculations and distrust, “He’s an unknown variable.” He deadpanned as he turned back to the computer.

“You’re all unknown to me too ya know.” He huffed, he reached for a birdarang, his own design compared to dick’s wing-dings; “My point still stands from this morning, you could all still be a cult of undead vampires. I mean your brother Dick is kinda pointing that way, along with all the closed curtains and the cold that seems to linger everywhere.”

Stephanie stared at him looking very unnerved as she sent glances in Damian’s direction. Damian himself was now pinching the bridge of his nose, but he looked quite concerned regardless. Tim simply sat there waiting, holding the birdarang in one hand as he fiddled with it.

“We’re not vampires.” Damian muttered.

“I’d believe you if I knew you were telling the truth.” He shrugged.

“I went outside in the sun.” Damian shot him a glare.

“Twilight vampires. Like we established different dimensions, dunno how much of it’s the same.” He shrugged as he passively ignored the glare, he was already used to ignoring his Damian’s glares and those were actually scalding.

“I mean, he does have a point.” Stephanie said looking bewildered.

“Logically vampires aren’t real.” Damian scowled, eyes glowing a slightly brighter green.

“I read in one of B’s earlier reports that he fought with versions of himself from other universes. One of them was a vampire,” Tim smiled as he saw Damian’s eye twitch.

“You’ve got experience with this?” Stephanie’s expression shifted as if seeing him for the first time again.

“No, not really, this was before Bruce took in Dick after his parents died, a lot of the files from back then are corrupted of have been transferred elsewhere,” He explained, “I doubt Dick or Jason could locate them, plus I’m pretty sure the device that was used to open the infinite universes imploded in on itself after all the alternative Batman’s and Joker’s left.” He frowned as he contemplated the likely hood of that same information existing on this Batcomputer, “Though Bab’s might have better luck finding it and reconstructing it.”

Damian was looking at him again, it was different from before, it still held that same distrust, but he looked to be considering something, Stephanie looked at him and Tim could see the way they looked at each other and the silent conversation they had. It was different from the way he’d silently communicate with his own family.

“Do you think my father would’ve been among them?” Damian questioned.

“Its possible.” Tim shrugged as he tossed the birdarang into the pile that lay beside him. Damian’s eyes narrowed, Tim tilted his head as he cradled the now cold coffee mug, uncaring that the liquid inside was now as cold as the cave surrounding him. “If it’s buried in the Batcomputer I’m sure I could dig it up.” He offered nonchalantly.

It was a bold move to suggest he be the one to find it, especially since it was clear there was little to no trust between him and the occupants of this world.

Stephanie snorted a laugh, but she was quick to cover her mouth, Damian looked aghast at the very suggestion, which was fair. Yet things took an unexpected turn.

“You call it the Batcomputer?” Stephanie barely managed to get out, Tim blinked as his brows furrowed.

“It’s always been called that.” He looked at the pair in front of him, for as long as he’d been part of this, the Batcomputer was always called that, all the gadgets had bat adjacent names, the rare occasion there was other names for things, like his birdarangs and Dick’s wing-dings.

“We have to trust him, Ian!” Stephanie grinned widely in Damian’s direction, “No one who names things like than can possibly be a villain!”

“I-“ Tim felt offended at the implications of him being the one to name everything. “I never named any of it!” he squawked.

“There's more?!”

Tim was starting to regret ever opening his mouth.

He looked at Damian and he looked to be regretting every life decision.

And Stephanie? She seemed to have adapted well to the fact he was here. And already he could see his Stephanie in her.

Notes:

OG Damian - Dami, Demon spawn, ect. an abundance of nicknames
reverse Damian - Ian. That's it. Its his only nickname. (I think i read this in a fic or i might've thought of it myself??? No clue-) ((He hates this nickname. Jason started it.))

Anyways- A or B?

Chapter 16: Deep In Your Bones, The Cold carves Its Home

When Cass stepped into the manor, she had expected the warmth that always reached out and embraced her when she’d return, how it welcomed her home after being away, a feeling that she always enjoyed. But today… stepping through the ancient doors left the cold clawing at her skin, she reeled back startled by the icy bite.

Her brows furrowed in confusion as she leaned forward, goosebumps trailing over her skin as the room suffocated her. She frowned, it reminded her of Dick, her big brother, only this was colder, had a harsher bite that burrowed itself into her very being.

The air shifted around her, heavy with silence, as if even the shadows had stilled in anticipation. Cass paused, listening—not just with her ears, but with the bone-deep instinct that had always guided her. The manor, for all its grandeur, felt unfamiliar now, a stranger wearing the face of her home.

Then she saw him. Not Tim, sitting by the bottom of the stairs in a corner of the manor that they themselves rarely used, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin set on his hands, his eyes watching her, but he made no move to greet her. Beside him a sleek device sat on a charger he had likely taken from one of the common rooms.

Cass stilled on the threshold, tension thrumming in her muscles. The hush between them stretched, delicate as spun glass. Not Tim’s gaze flickered—a silent apology, an unspoken question. Was he waiting for her to speak, or was he just as lost as she felt?

She took a tentative step forward, the old floorboards creaking beneath her. The chill brushing against her the further she walked into the manor’s walls.

Not Tim’s device glimmered with a faint blue light, casting odd reflections across his face. She wondered, fleetingly, if he found comfort in its steady glow, if it was a tether to something solid while everything else seemed to shift beneath them. Neither of them spoke.

Cass drew a breath, she clutched the strap of her bag tighter as they kept eye contact, his eyes glimmered in the afternoon sun, his skin almost as white as porcelain; the cold radiated from him, eating up the warmth with selfish endeavour.

Cass let her gaze wander, taking in the familiar paintings now shadowed, the grand chandelier above dulled, each crystal prism capturing only fractured, pale shards of light. She became acutely aware of her own breathing—shallow, careful—like the house itself was listening.

She shifted her weight, the soft scrape of her boot a small rebellion against the hush. “Tim?” she ventured, her voice nearly swallowed by the vast space. It wasn’t the right name, but it was the closest she could bring herself to say, and the syllable hung between them like mist.

Not Tim’s lips parted, but words didn’t follow. Instead, he looked down, fingers tracing absentminded circles along the edge of his device. Cass watched the movement, searching for signs of the brother she once knew—some flicker of warmth, of mischief or vulnerability—but the stillness only deepened.

A distant sound—a grandfather clock chiming somewhere deep in the manor—threaded through the space, counting out a time that felt both ancient and impossibly new. Cass felt the weight of memory pressing at her shoulders; Dick’s cool touch when he’d sling an arm around her, the chill that always made her shiver when he’d step into a room, the way that he’d selfishly hod the chair in front of the fireplace on cool nights.

However, the man seated before her, withdrawn and reserved, evoked memories of Dick—specifically his tendency to leave an atmosphere of coldness in his wake. Yet, this older counterpart to her brother seemed to extract any remaining warmth from the environment, leaving only emptiness behind.

Cass lingered by the threshold, her own reflection dim in the polished banister. The silence between them stretched further, so thin it seemed it might snap and shatter, sending both of them reeling into the echoing void of the manor. She let the memories flicker and fade; this was not a moment for ghosts.

She searched his face—Not Tim, but so like him in the way his jaw set when confronted, in the gentle slouch of his shoulders. Still, the shadows clung to him, casting unfamiliar angles, making him a stranger stitched from familiar parts. The blue light from his device pulsed, slow and measured, as if marking the seconds of his patience.

She took another step, boots silent now on the faded rug. “Okay?” she asked, the question almost a whisper, as if she feared the manor would judge her for daring to bridge the distance.

Not Tim’s gaze met hers, steady. He drew in a breath that shuddered at the end, then pressed his lips together. The gesture was an answer, or the closest he could manage—a subtle tilt of the head, a weary acceptance of her presence.

Cass set her bag on the floor; the soft thud amplified in the cavernous hall. She folded herself down beside him, knees drawn up, careful to keep a respectful gap between them. The device’s glow painted stripes across her knuckles.

For a moment, they simply sat, side by side but not together, two satellites in an orbit defined by caution and longing. Cass pressed her palms together, grounding herself, waiting—not for forgiveness, not for understanding, but for that first, fragile word that might make the next possible.

The clock in the depths of the manor chimed again, more insistent now. This time, Cass let herself listen, counting the tolls. She wondered if Not Tim did the same.

She glanced over his shoulder with curiosity to observe his screen. The device displayed an incorrect time by several hours and indicated a persistently low battery; however, the background image was notable—a photograph featuring him alongside a woman she presumed to be Stephanie. Her hair appeared longer, her eyes subtly shadowed, yet her gentle smile and the authentic crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes conveyed warmth. The Tim in the photograph, seated beside her, exhibited a noticeably different expression; his face appeared less guarded, and his gaze lacked the current coldness she now perceived.

She recalled the image on her phone's background—a photo of herself with Stephanie, where their shared glance conveyed an intimacy beyond friendship. Turning her attention to Tim, she noticed his eyes also lingering on the background image of his own phone. His eyes had softened and the harsh cold that licked at her skin wasn’t as sharp as it had been before.

She’d seen her little brother have that look in his eyes when he stared at his phone, when he laughed on the phone talking to someone else, the nights he’d go out and only returned hours later looking more alive than ever before. Cass shifted on the seat, turned to face him completely, held her hands out as she started to sign a question.

Only Jason had chosen that moment to step through the doorway that lead towards the kitchen, she could see the tension in her body as he looked between her and not Tim; something sharp and brittle was set in his posture, his eyes a vivid green. Yet Cass could see the way the cold clawed at his skin, the way he huddled in on himself and still ready to strike as if the cold was an untamed beast.

“Cass can we talk.” Jason was direct yet he tried to sound casual as he looked at her, but his eyes kept drifting back to not Tim, and the tension in his body only grew tighter.

With a tilt of her head she looked at not Tim, his body ridged and frozen, yet not out of fear or surprise or anything. It was as if the cold had settled in and spread ice through his body, yet his eyes watched Jason, and the silence hung heavy between them. Cass looked back to Jason and simply nodded, hesitantly she reached for her bag and slung it back over her shoulder, she stood from the spot beside Not Tim, lingered a moment longer before moving towards Jason, her steps quiet along the tiled floors.

Jason moved then, stepped back through the doorway and she followed, cautiously she paused and looked back at the man who looked so much like her brother, still he remained hunched, the blue light of his screen shining on his face and only highlighted the icy blue that his eyes were.

Yet for a brief moment she could’ve sworn she’d seen tiny fractures shinning across his paper white skin, gold shimmering just beneath the surface, just like how it lay scattered in his eyes.

She was struck again in that moment just how similar he was to her older brother he truly was.

Cass forced herself to look away from him, felt the way her stomach twisted with wrongness; She’d known there was always something off with Dick, had assumed it was just some quirk of his, but now? She had the gnawing feeling it wasn’t as simple as she’d first assumed.

There was a cold hush as Cass followed Jason down the narrow hall, their footsteps echoing with a tentative rhythm. The kitchen was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners and stretching long across the linoleum. Jason paused at the counter, bracing himself against its edge as if he needed to steady the world before speaking. Cass kept her distance, arms folded loosely, eyes sharp.

Jason inhaled, the breath hitching in his throat. “Cass,” he started, voice low but brittle, “Do you trust him? Tim- Timothy, I mean—whatever he is.” The question came out raw, desperation barely hidden beneath the surface.

Cass’s gaze drifted past Jason, thoughts swirling with fractured memories—of laughter, of warmth, of moments that felt solid and real but were now tinged by uncertainty. She shook her head, not in denial, but in the silent language she and Jason both understood she wasn’t sure, not anymore.

Jason’s knuckles whitened on the countertop. “there’s something wrong with him. I know you see it, Cass. I know you feel it.” His voice dropped to a whisper, as if afraid of waking something lurking just out of sight.

She nodded, biting her lip, and signed slowly, her hands trembling: What do you want to do?

He watched her hands, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “I want to protect everyone. But I don’t know from what.”

The silence that grew between them was different from the one in the living room—this one was thick with worry, heavy with the knowledge that something precious was slipping through their fingers. Cass stepped closer, laying a hand gently on Jason’s arm, grounding him, grounding herself.

Together, they stood in the half-light, the unspoken question hanging between them: If not Tim wasn’t what he appeared to be? Then who—or what—was he, and what did that mean for them all?

 

---

 

A hush settled over the narrow hall, footsteps echoing with an uncertain rhythm. Shadows pooled in the kitchen corners, stretching long across the linoleum as the world seemed to balance on the edge of revelation. Unspoken questions lingered in the heavy air, growing thick with worry and the knowledge that something precious was slipping away.

Suddenly, the city shuddered. Reality bent beneath the weight of unseen magic, warping time and space. For a fleeting instant, the world felt out of joint—shadows rippled, and the air thrummed with a power just beyond perception. As quickly as it had come, the magic faded, slipping unnoticed through the cracks of ordinary life, leaving only the subtle, irreversible sense that something had changed.

The atmosphere felt charged, metallic on the tongue, as if the boundaries between worlds had thinned. Every sound—the creak of the house, the distant wail of a siren, the tick of a clock—grew sharpened and brittle, magnifying the unease that curled through the space. Outside, the city appeared unchanged, yet the tension lingered, a silent promise that whatever had shifted would soon demand answers, and nothing would remain untouched.

 

---

 

Cass entered her room, her window open and letting the natural light in, soaking her room in that familiar warmth, the kind that held her, reminded her of home and family. Still the unease lingered, her smile turned downwards as she looked around the room.

Something just felt… Off.

She couldn’t quite place what exactly it was, but stepping through the threshold the separated her room from the hall it only made the feeling worse. With narrowed eyes she scanned every corner. He bed remained the same, perfectly made and looking just as soft as it had that morning.

With a tilt of her head she scanned her shelves that held all her precious keepsakes, and nothing looked out of place, the ceramic elephant Dick had given her still sat there with vibrant colours painting its surface. The books Jason had given her remained in place, ther covers worn from the many nights she sat there looking at the pages.

The photo of Hong Kong during a sunrise from Tim still sat in the frame perfectly centred sitting between Dick’s and Jason’s gifts. Her gaze turned to the wall that was adorned by the many photos of her and Steph at the park, sitting in one of the many carriages of the Faris wheel, even them just lounging on a rooftop in Gotham under the clouded smog filled skies

Her gaze drifted to her desk, where a mug of half-cold tea sat undisturbed, steam long gone. Next to it, a slip of paper fluttered as though caught in a breeze she couldn't feel. Cass frowned, heart thumping a wary beat. She was sure she hadn’t left any open notes there.

Moving carefully, she picked up the slip—just a grocery list in her own handwriting, nothing more, but it felt heavier than paper should. Even the familiar scrawl seemed strange, angles sharper, words slightly off from how she remembered writing them. She turned the page over. Blank.

Cass set the note down and crossed the room, pressing her palm against the sun-warmed glass. Outside, the street looked normal: a dog barked, a delivery van rolled past, a neighbour walked by with an umbrella despite the clear sky. Ordinary, but her skin prickled with the sense that the city was holding its breath just as she was.

She checked her closet, the floor, even the space beneath her bed. Nothing. Yet the feeling of dislocation, as if the world was half a step out of sync, refused to fade. Each item in her room—a picture frame, a hairbrush, her old ballet slippers—seemed to carry a shadow, as though touched by the same uncanny ripple that had swept through the house.

Cass paused, trying to steady her breath. She closed her eyes, reaching with senses trained to catch what others missed. There: a thread of magic, faint but unmistakable, humming just beneath the ordinary. It tugged at her, urging her to look deeper, to peel away the mundane until what was hidden stood revealed.

She opened her eyes, determination settling in her bones. Whatever had changed, however subtle, she would find it. Cass straightened, scanning the room once more; that’s when she caught a glimpse of something that wasn’t there before.

On the back of her door hung a coat that didn’t belong to her, it was a soft dusty blue with deep purple embroidered flowers at the edges; her brows furrowed, and she stepped closer, reached out and held the fabric between her fingers. The fabric was softer than she’d first thought, thicker too.

She pulled the coat from the doors hanger and held it up, she tilted her head curiously as she tok in the details of it. It looked like something Stephanie might’ve gotten for her and slipped into her room as a surprise. But that didn’t quite fit well.

She looked at it closer, examined the tags and pursed her lips at the size; it was smaller than anything else she owned, and likely it wouldn’t fit her, it might have once, but now? She looked around the room again before looked back at the coat in her hands.

Cass examined the contents of the pockets, seeking evidence to ascertain the reason for its presence. She grasped an object with her calloused hand, carefully extracting it to reveal a photograph. She looked at it and felt frozen as she locked eyes with herself, only she was younger in the photo, her expression sharp as she watched the boys that sat beside her. Jason – who looked younger and scrawnier – was holding the camera by the looks of his pose as he grinned, but that smile didn’t quite reach his eyes not with who looked to be the youngest of the three sitting between him and herself. A boy that looked like her oldest brother by the shape of his eyes and the crook in his nose, but his eyes shimmered and impossibly golden colour and his skin sickly pale.

Cass’s thumb brushed the corner of the photograph, feeling the ridges where it had bent and softened with age, but she knew she had never seen this picture before. It felt like looking at a memory someone else had tried to give her—a memory that pressed insistently against her own recollections, begging to be acknowledged.

Her chest tightened with questions, each more spiralled than the last. Jason’s wary smile, the glint in the golden-eyed boy’s gaze, her own posture—shoulders tense, jaw set—spoke of secrets she could not name. Had this day truly happened? Or was this evidence of something meddling with her past, twisting it just enough to make her doubt?

She turned the photograph over, half-expecting a cryptic message, a date, or a signature. Instead, the back was blank save for a faint, silvery smudge, as if someone had tried to erase words that wouldn’t stay hidden. Cass’s breath caught; she lifted the photo to the window, tilting it so the sunlight might coax out a hidden pattern. For a fleeting moment, a shimmered outline appeared, a shape like a key—but then it vanished, leaving her staring at plain cardstock.

A faint, persistent humming threaded the air, almost beneath hearing. It seemed to pulse from the coat itself, and when she pressed her hand against its lining, warmth blossomed beneath her palm. This was no ordinary garment; it was a relic or a warning—or both.

The world outside continued, oblivious: a distant siren, a child’s laughter, the steady tick of the living room clock. Cass held the coat and the photograph close and closed her eyes again, surrendering to the peculiar sensation of standing at the edge of two realities. Somewhere, doors were shifting. Somewhere, the past was not as immutable as she had believed. And whatever had slipped through was waiting for her to follow.

Chapter 17: ‘Interdimensional Door Number Three’

“You’d have better luck searching specific phrases.” Damian’s hands hovered over the keyboard as Tim spoke from where he stood rooted by his side, his voice casual, yet Damian knew that he was cataloguing everything he was seeing on the computer. He turned to face him, Tim’s expression was bored as he looked back at him with a raised brow, the mug he was nursing in his hands refilled with freshly brewed coffee.

This had been the compromise.

Damian would be the one actively searching for the files that could link to their universes having once interacted in the past, a chance to reconnect the worlds to put this Tim back and bring Timothy home. And Tim? He’d supervise and assist in finding the file without ever touching the computer and its complex algorithms.

Yet this was proving to be far more unhelpful the more Tim criticised his skills. It was insulting.

Damian, a prodigy by every traditional measure, should have been immune to such criticism. Yet Tim’s understated remarks managed to gnaw at the edges of his composure; words that landed soft as snow but melted into icy discomfort. He flexed his fingers over the keys, determined not to let frustration dictate his next move.

“If you have suggestions, then out with them,” Damian snapped, though he kept his eyes on the screen. The cursor blinked, impatient as he was. A list of shadowy file names scrolled past, each more cryptic than the last—Project Janus, Crosswinds, Echoes Protocol—none of them promising, all of them plausible.

Tim took a slow sip from his mug, the steam curling around his face like a veil. “Try combinations. Oblique ones. Think about what someone trying to cover their tracks would use—metaphors, in-jokes, numbers reversed. If they wanted to hide a link between worlds, they wouldn’t label it ‘Interdimensional Door Number Three’.”

Stephanie snorted a laugh from behind him; she’d settled down into one of the smaller monitors and had started on her own search. Likely in search for the mage that had escaped or possibly one of the cases she was currently on. Perhaps even catching up on Timothy’s seeming as he was unavailable to take care of them.

Damian bit back the retort perched on his tongue and began to type, translating Tim’s offhand suggestions into search strings: “palindrome,” “mirror,” “Janus,” “gate.” He threw in “Reverse Nine,” half as a joke, half as a challenge to the universe. The computer hummed, the search bar flickering. In that moment, the ordinary act of data mining felt like divination—a reading of digital entrails, looking for omens.

A soft chime sounded. One file, previously greyed out, blinked into focus. “See?” Tim said, quirking a half-smile. “Sometimes a door opens when you ask the right way.”

Damian hardly heard him. His entire focus narrowed to the glowing filename on the screen, the curser hovered over the file as he stared at it, the proof that has father had been involved in the event Tim claimed to have read about in his own universe. Had been hidden so deep in the computers systems that he had missed it.

His head turned slowly as he locked his gaze on Tim. His eyes shining with mirth as he looked back, it was surreal in that uncanny way. He saw the shift in the way Tim held himself, the way his eyes shone and the eeriness that hovered around him.

“You knew what it was called.” His eyes narrowed as Tim shrugged his shoulders in that light-hearted way.

“B’s had to get creative when hiding things, between Barbara and I, there not much we haven’t found.” The words rolled off of Tim’s tongue as if this were common knowledge, “That’s not even the others credit for their own detective skills.” Briefly he was blinded by the performer’s smile that flashed across Tim’s face.

Damian’s jaw tensed, a thousand questions simmering just beneath the surface. “You make it sound as though hiding anything from you two was a lost cause from the start.”

Tim’s smile softened, lines of mischief smoothing into something older, more tired. “Not much slips past us,” he allowed. “But sometimes it’s not about finding the file, Damian. It’s about knowing what you’re looking for—what you actually want to know.”

Damian stared at the man beside him, let the words settle in and the tone in his voice echo, watched as Tim hadn’t quite realized what he’d said, nor how he’d said it; he’d spoken to Damian as if he were younger, as if he were guiding a child down the right path without outright telling him which direction to follow.

The clacking of the keyboard behind him froze as he felt Stephanie’s gaze boring into him, she too having been caught off guard by the words, but wisely she made no comment.

For a moment, silence pooled between them, broken only by the faint whir of the hard drive.

Damian exhaled, steadying himself. His finger hovered over the enter key, the digital world waiting, inscrutable and infinite. “We’ll see,” he murmured, more to himself than to Tim, and pressed into the unknown.

 

---

 

He leaned back in the chair, the scowl on his face as he watched Tim meticulously search through the file, multiple documents were spread across the large monitor; Damian had been sitting there for an hour or so looking through everything, yet he himself had been unable to locate any significant information on the matter.

Stephanie lingered beside him as she too watched Tim work. The keyboard clacked and clicked, the cursor hovered over words, highlighted them and revealed coded words that hid key aspects of what Tim had theorized hours before.

Damian in his frustration had moved from the computer and had foolishly left it unguarded for only a moment and now in hindsight it might have been a choice he should’ve made earlier. Tim was efficient, in a way that not even Timothy could match.

“He’s good.” Stephanie murmured as she watched mesmerized by Tim’s seemingly erratic movements., “Like really good.”

“Indeed.” Damian acknowledged.

His eyes trailed over the young man’s movements, Tim lifted a hand to the monitor as if expecting it to act much like a tablet or a smart phone, watched as he hovered around the desk, took steps back or tilted his head in sharp angles to get a better perspective. He pieced together information in a way that reminded him of his Father’s own method, only Tim’s version was erratic with phases thrown in that hadn’t seemed to related to anything.

Then for a moment Tim froze as his brows furrowed, confusion in his eyes as his face reflected from the monitor’s screen. His hands hovered over the keyboard, the mouse discarded beside him as he absently reached for the empty coffee cup that sat on the edge of the desk.

“There at least thirty Batman counterparts accounted for.” Tim spoke as turned to glance back at them, Damian sat there and stared at the screen, stared at Tim.

In a matter of minutes, he’d already found more information that Damian himself could have. Beside him Stephanie sucked in a sharp breath as she stepped forward, her eyes stuck to the digital conspiracy board Tim had managed to piece together in such a miniscule amount of time.

“You said there was at a minimum of thirty.” Stephanie spoke, her voice wavering ever so slightly as she grabbed hold of the mouse and hovered the cursor over the organized chaos that was an array of flies and blurred photos. “Why is there only seven that you’ve marked?” Damian narrowed his eyes on the seven highlighted files that spread out across the monitor, digital strings connecting them to blueprints for an outdated machine.

Tim simply looked at her with a blank expression, empty cup halfway to his lips as he blinked at her, he lowered the mug  and shook his head with and exasperated yet amused sigh, “Theres an undetermined amount of potential universes, each with unique scenarios, some more similar to others,” his lips twitched upwards at the edges, “Many of the universes that were catalogued on your Batcomputer, most of those Batman’s weren’t even human, there were at leas three vampires, five took on inhuman appearances, two were ghosts and several were alternative versions, pretty sure he was swapped with a few of the other leaguers too.”

“All potential Universes that don’t match your own.” Damian let his shoulders drop as he understood, Tim hadn’t just been digging for information, he was systematically narrowing down the potential universes they’d have to look into.

“We have a winner!” Tim grinned as he raised the mug and bowed his head ever so slightly, “The files I’ve highlighted have the highest likely hood of being my universe, I can’t confirm which one, but it’s somewhere to start.”

“And how can you confirm which is which?” Stephanie’s brows furrowed as the cursor hovered over a picture of a man dressed in the batsuit, a man that didn’t quite look like his Father.

“I’ll need to look further into them, there wouldn’t be much there considering that it was only a brief interaction between them, its even a possibility that none of them are my Universe.” Tim explained as he moved to the keyboard.

Damian leaned forward on the chair, his hand over his mouth as he watched on carefully. He watched as Tim typed into the computer, and a set of incomplete blueprints engulfed the remaining room on the monitor.

“I’m assuming these are the blueprints for the machine that connected the universes,” Tim waived his hand across the screen, his lips pursed as nothing happened. Amused Stephanie held the mouse out to him, a playful smile dancing across her lips as Tim awkwardly smiled back and accepted the offered device. “I’ve got copies of some of the files on my phone, but it’s dead, likely an after affect from jumping universes, but I want to cross reference them and see if I can piece together the remaining parts that are missing.”

“You can figure out how to do that from incomplete blueprints.?” Stephanie asked sounding sceptical as her brows furrowed, her arms crossed over he chest.

“I figured out Bruce was lost in time and brought him back when everyone told me he was dead.” Tim replied blandly, eyes unblinking. “I’m sure I can rebuild a machine to set our universes back to normal.”

Damian felt uneasiness wash over him as he looked at the man, looked at what he’d accomplished in the matter of half an hour. He was unaware as to why the feeling rooted itself, nor why he even doubted it; there was a clear solution to the problem, swift and effective, it could potentially right everything in a matter of hours.

His brother could be home before tomorrow’s dawn.

And maybe that was the problem.

It was too easy of a solution.

Stephanie had shifted to look towards him, he could see that same uneasiness in her eyes as she tilted her head subtly, the twitch in her shoulders as she glanced back to Tim who moved seamlessly with the technology that was so unlike his own.

Damian made the motion to speak up on his unease when he felt the air around him shift, above him the fluorescent lights flickered for the briefest of moments. A lump rose in his throat as he stood from his chair, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up straight as Tim paused.

Stephine stood straighter as her expression hardened and ready to move with him. He scanned the cave cautiously as the surrounding area settled, the hair on his neck lowering and the lights untouched. It was as if something had passed through, leaving no trace once it had left.

“We’ll return to this matter in time.” He spoke, keeping the tremor from his voice as he levelled a look towards Tim who had stiffened and looked at him with a sense of bewilderment and offence, “Stephanie take him upstairs and make sure he stays there.” his order sharp as he turned on his heels and stalked deeper into the cave.

The silence that followed was brittle, stretched thin between the three of them like a wire ready to snap. Tim’s jaw clenched, a protest clearly forming on his lips, but Stephanie gently pulled at his sleeve, her grip firm and unyielding. Neither of them spoke as she ushered him towards the stairs, her eyes lingering on Damian for a fraction longer, as if searching for some reassurance that he did not possess.

Damian moved with purpose into the dimmer recesses of the cave, his footsteps muffled on the cold stone. The flicker of the lights replayed behind his eyes, an omen he could not ignore, and with every step, the weight of his suspicion pressed heavier against his ribcage.

He forced himself to pause, drawing a careful breath. The cave’s usual symphony—the hum of computers, the distant drip of condensation, the gentle buzz of the bats—felt wrong, out of tune. He reached for the comm at his belt and considered calling for Alfred, then hesitated. No, not yet. Not until he understood what they were facing.

He scanned the monitors, fingers flying over the keyboard, pulling up every possible diagnostic. Power fluctuations, atmospheric changes, security breaches—anything that could explain the momentary shift in reality he’d just experienced. The data returned, calm and unremarkable. No anomalies. No threats. Nothing at all.

And that, Damian thought, chilled him more than any visible enemy.

He straightened, eyes narrowing. Somewhere in the shadows, something was waiting, watching. The certainty of it crawled beneath his skin, and he pressed his lips together, determined not to let fear dictate his next move.

If the universe truly was this fragile, and Tim’s solution was truly so simple, then why did it feel as though the hardest part was just beginning?

Notes:

Oooh things are getting a bit interesting don't cha think?

Damian's and Stephanie's brains are all hurty from Tim being a smarty.

Who know what changes might happen next? What truths could slip through the ever forming cracks between these two universes?

Also random fact- Dick's my favourite and this was mean to mostly focus on him- but uhh It's all on Tim??? IDK how thats happened-

Chapter 18: Testing Gravity

Dick practically collapsed into his chair at the dinning table, his back aching from having to sit through meeting after meeting both in Tim’s and Bruce’s place; he didn’t mind all the talking, or the maths or anything specifically, only that it was the same topics over and over again and he had been forced to sit still through most of those meetings.

Wayne enterprises had been all over the recent changed for rougher communities like Crime alley and providing more support, a few years ago had been a start and then with Jason’s return as the Redhood and boosted it along further, but the more the supported and cleaned up the deeper the rot truly was.

That’s not even bringing up all the technically advancements and the projects that Tim was overseeing. Dick wasn’t all that lacking when it came to all that, but his thoughts were more or less preoccupied with the current situation pertaining Tim’s location in another universe, unsurprising that he was also reaching out to Constantine despite knowing the drunkard was out of reach for the foreseeable future.

He’d write an updated report over his day at the office later.

He rolled his shoulders as he stretched hic back, he glanced around the table. It was admittedly strange to see Damian sitting across from him with no Tim at his side, none of their bickering, no snide remarks from Damian and no sass from Tim in response.

Instead Damian simply sat there poking at his food as he glowered at the man who sat isolated from the rest of them; Dick tilted his head as he studied the alternate version of Tim, Jason hadn’t informed him of anything happening (not that Dick trusted that to be true-) yet this man looked more resigned than he had that morning, his face blank as he stared off at a wall.

Speaking of Jason, he’d practically run of the moment he’d stepped out of the zeta tube, his bike roaring through the cave as he cursed him out and sent him a double bird before disappearing down the tunnel that led to the back roads. Dick hadn’t expected much else since he’d guilted him into staying in the manor and keeping an eye on their dimensional travelling guest.

Dick looked up at the grand ceiling, at the chandelier that hung above and pursed his lips; the need to move that had been digging into his very being was overwhelming. He felt the urge to be high off the ground and having a moment where he could just do nothing but let his body wonder.

Realistically he knew it wouldn’t help with the current situation.

That and he’d undoubtedly be scolded by Alfred.

He shifted in his seat as he felt Cass’s piercing eyes settle on him, he lowered his head and angled it to the side to look towards his sister, his brows furrowed as she watched him. Her dark chestnut eyes looking for something, searching for something that even she didn’t know she was looking for.

“Cass?” Dick questioned, a frown on his face as he looked at her with concern.

Cass looked him in the eyes, shoulders tense – no she was hesitant and was looking between him and ‘Timothy’ (He really needed another name for him – Timothy wasn’t going to work at all). Dick followed her gaze and found that timothy was looking at him now too.

“Tt, whatever you have to say Cain, you may as well spit it out.” Damain scowled as he poked at the food on his plate, yet his vibrant eyes was watching their every move.

“Damn dude, that’s just mean.” Duke shook his head from where he sat by Dick.

“You were not part of this conversation.” Damain sneered, eyes sharpening dangerously.

Dick sighed as he rolled his shoulders and leaned forward, he sent a sharp look towards Damian and kept his voice steady as he spoke. “This isn’t the time nor the place to be starting a fight, I know your worried about Tim-“ “I feel no such thing for that lesser being!-“ “We’re all worried about him, but I need you to let Cass speak at her own pace.” His voice was gentle but firm, how watched Damian’s scowl deepen but he didn’t argue as he set his cutlery down.

His small arms crossing over his chest as he glowered at the food set out before him, Dick chuckled softly at the childish display, smiled at him before turning back towards Cass.

“Go ahead Cass, what’s bothering you?” he leaned back in his chair, let himself show that he was paying attention to her, that he would listen.

He’d made that mistake once, had failed Tim by not listening, hadn’t let him show the proof he’d found that Bruce was alive. He’d nearly lost Tim entirely. He’d never fail anyone like that again.

Cass shifted in her seat, a frown dancing across her lips as she struggled to put into words what she wanted to say.

He watched as she inhaled a breath of air, turned her gaze to Tim Timothy. She raised her hand towards him they balled her hand into a fist; Cass looked back towards him, raised her hand and again clenched her fist into a ball.

Dick felt a pit form in his stomach as she gently put her fists together, opened them and threaded her fivers together.

The same.

Dick’s eyes darted towards the man that sat veiled in the setting sun, his shadow spreading across the table like a bad omen.

Yet his brows were furrowed as he watched Cass’s gestures, he didn’t look to understand, whether his Cass spoke or used other means of communication, it didn’t matter.

Dick was relieved, a chance for them to communicate without the outlier knowing? It was a small win.

“What do you mean their the same?” Duke asked, his voice filled with confusion as he looked at Dick and Tim (Dick really needed another name for him-).

But god damn it Duke-

Cass was looking at him again, her eyes boring holes into his soul, prying at the edges as she looked for an answer.

Yet she shook her head, as if she herself didn’t understand the similarities between them, all she knew was that this version of Tim, was like him.

He didn’t show that her words had unsettled him, the last thing he needed was for his younger siblings to go prodding into something as dangerous as this.

It was possibly already too late.

A buzz from his pocket drew his attention, he pulled the slim device out and looked at the screen, a single brow rose as he looked at the name of the contact.

Stephanie.

He opened the message.

‘Hey so weird situation- i can’t find my suit and I’m freaking the fuck out-‘

Dick sat there staring at the words; Stephanie was careless with her suit on occasion, but she’d never lost it, that had always been a him thing.

He was already moving out of his chair, Damian’s eyes sharpened on him as his read rose from his pouting.

“Steph can’t find her suit,” he said simply in answer from the questioning looks. “I’m heading over to check it out, Damian check the Batcomputer, see if you can find the trackers. Cass head out and I’ll meet up with you as soon as i can.”

Cass gave him a sharp nod already rising from her chair and moving into the shadows.

“Tt very well Grayson, but i am not pleased to be left behind.” Damian scowled, as his eyes flared with a burning flame of determination.

He paused at the doorway as he looked towards Duke, he knew he’d be fine alone for a few hours, Alfred was around.

Yet it was the man sitting illuminated by shadows that had him worried. He locked eyes with his peircing blues and released a breath.

There wasn’t much of a choice, he knew the man had a suit, had the means to fight, to defend himself. And it’d be an opportunity to figure out which side he’s on.

“Tim, your with me.” He gave his best smile as the man looked taken aback before quickly composing himself.

“Very well,” he nodded politely before he himself stood to follow.

 

---

 

Dick inhaled a breath of Gotham air, it was crisp and sent ice thrumming through his veins, it was still early in the night, yet it felt like it had been hours since he’d left the Manor.

Behind him he could feel Raptor’s gaze following his every move; and despite the city noise it was suffocatingly silent between them.

He’d yet to run into Jason, seeming as they were headed towards Crime Alleys streets, going past them towards Steph’s. He doubted Jason would pop up tonight for them.

Likely having other tasks to handle, and the grudge He’d gain that morning towards his older brother, he chuckled under his breath amused at the memory of Duke shinning morning sun in Jason’s face.

Despite all that, he knew Jason wouldn’t stay away long. Not with Tim MIA and replaced with someone else, someone unknown, someone dangerous.

He paused at the edge of the building, took in the sight. His brows furrowed as he looked at the city before him.

It felt foreign in a way it had when he’d left the first time and came back to a boy sitting in the library, filling the vacancy he’d left behind and to a new Robin roaming the streets.

Yet he didn’t understand what had changed.

He heard the light foot falls of Raptor landing behind him, it reminded him of Damian. Casually he turned to face the vigilante behind him. His suit was bulky, sturdy, yet he carried himself with ease and confidence.

Moved like a ghost, someone who’s danced on deaths door and cursed out the Reaper. Defying everything .

Yet looking at Raptor’s suit he couldn’t help but notice that was such a Tim design, one that had no influence from others. His head free of a cowl or hood like Red Robin’s current suit, instead a mask much like Spoiler’s covered the lower half of his face; Raptor’s suit itself looked much more similar to the bat suit, the only differences was the emblem that spread across his chest, jagged like shards of ice or teeth. A serrated blade sat attached to his back nothing like the bo staff his brother used, twin daggers sit at either hip within reach as a cloak fluttered behind him.

“You didn’t eat.” Raptor’s voice sounded live nails scrapping against a chalk board. Dick suppressed a wince as it grated against his ears.

“I ate earlier.” Dick shrugged, the words rolling off his tongue with practised ease. The silence that answered was judgemental and unconvinced. “We’re five minutes out from Steph’s.”

He turned back towards the edge and peered down towards the streets of Gotham, citizens were lurking around, nothing that was out of place on a night like this; there was a shift in the air that sent a shiver through every bone, Raptor now stood beside him, head tilted up scanning the surrounding rooftops.

“You didn’t eat this morning either. Not down in the kitchen with your brother and I. Not when Agent A set a plate identical to ours down.” Dick’s eyes narrowed onto Raptor’s as he continued to look ahead, his voice still as painful as before. “By all accounts it likely you haven’t eaten at all today.”

“Trying to big brother me?” Dick rose a brow, his smile amused as he tilted his head up slightly to get another angle of Raptor’s face, “I can take care of myself.”

“Your Romani aren’t you?” Raptor turned to face him now, face blank as his tone held no judgement, only curiosity, Dick blinked as he stared at the man beside him. “Unless I’m wrong.” He mused, eyes sharp and watchful.

“And if I am?” Dick questioned, keeping his voice steady as Raptor looked down on him.

“My brother is too,” Raptor said instead, his voice sharper and less grating on his ears, “We’ve had issues with his eating. Cultural and religious reasons. The language barrier in the beginning hadn’t helped either.”

“This has to do with me how?” he rose a brow, “Because as far as I can tell I’m not your brother and you’re not mine.” Dick knew his words were harsh, knew they were bitter and honest. Yet Raptor didn’t even flinch, he only pulled a grapple from his belt and aimed at the building just across from them.

“I’m trying to understand what makes you different from my brother.” There was no elaboration as he dropped from the building, the grappling line creaking as he flew to the other side of the alley, scratched against the concrete before Raptor flew up and across.

Dick stood there a moment longer, eyes sharp as he pulled back from the edge, watched as Raptor pulled himself up and over the edge with ease. he sucked in a sharp breath as he stepped back until he had a good distance for a running start.

He dug a foot into the pavement roof and pushed himself forward for more momentum.

He launched off the edge and flew cross the gap, hands outreached towards the edge. He gripped the edge and with the remaining momentum threw himself up and over Raptor and landed with ease. Dick grinned as he glanced back to Timothy to see his frame stiff and eyes wide.

“Try to keep up yeah?” He winked as he turned and moved with the grace of an acrobat.

He didn’t look back to see if Raptor was following him, didn’t need to, he knew the man would be trailing behind him.

 

---

 

Honestly Dick really should’ve seen the book that went flying towards Raptor coming; they’d only climbed through the window into Stephanie’s dorm room to be greeted with Stephanie standing there looking exhausted and stressed on the floor books surrounding her, assessments and other miscellaneous things scattered around. He should’ve called ahead to warn her he was bringing company that she technically had known but not met.

What he hadn’t been expecting was for Raptor to pull his serrated blade out and slice (more like shred-) the book in half. He stared at him, Steph gaped in disbelief as she turned towards him. Dick looked towards her smiling sheepishly as the three of then stood in silence.

“Steph meet Raptor! Raptor, Steph.” He introduced them to each other with a smile.

“Did Bruce adopt another one?” Steph adjusted well to the introduction as she squinted at Timothy.

“Uhh no-“ Dick laughed, yet he knew that it’d only be a matter of time before Bruce did in fact adopt another child or had guardian ship of them-

“I don’t believe you.” Stephanie deadpanned, entirely unconvinced.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, unexpectedly Raptor moved closer, sheathing his sword. With one hand Dick watched as Timothy pulled his mask down showing the rest of his face. He’d admit it was amusing to watch Stephanie’s face cycle through several different emotions as she looked at the man before her.

“Timothy Drake,” Timothy, who now stood unmasked before Stephanie, his hand extended and his eyes warmer than Dick had seen them since this mess had begun.

“Dick….” Stephanie was looking at him now, her hand in ‘Tim’s’ “What the fuck happened?!”

Dick opened his mouth to answer, yet instead Oracle chose the moment to buzz in.

“You there boy blunder?’ Babs’ voice crackled through his com.

“Hear you loud and clear.” Dick held the earpiece as he turned towards the window, yet he made sure he could still see Tim from the corner of his eye. “What do you need?”

“I’ve found a promising lead on that mage.” Dick perked at the news.

“Did I ever tell you that you’re the best?” he grinned as her laugh crackled through

“Flattery isn’t gonna get you everywhere Boy Blunder;” Dick could hear the clacking of her keyboard “Sending you what I’ve found and the mage’s last known location; found some other interesting information about those catacombs you stumbled across.”

“Thanks O, I’ll get onto that as soon as I can.”

“I’ll jeep you updated if I find anything else, Oracle out.” The com clicked and the silence buzzed through his ear

“Okay you ass, now explain!” Steph jabbed a finger into his chest as he turned to face her.

This was going to be a long night.

Notes:

Oop, got this out a little later than planned, but life does that lol

Anyways- I wonder what's going on over in the Reverse verse

Chapter 19: A Glimpse Of Shadows Lurking

Tim sat hunched over in the room he’d been given, this time it wasn’t the same small room that had belonged to his eldest brother, nor was it a version of anyone else's from his home.

From what he’d observed from Stephanie forcefully dragging him from the cave then being ushered by Duke upstairs to rest after his psychotic episode; it was a room that didn’t even exist in the manor he knew.

He looked out of the window, for the first time he’d dared to open the curtains and take a glimpse of the world outside.

He’d caught the gardens shrouded by the darkness of the night sky, he couldn’t know for certain what plant varieties they were. Nor could he tell the difference between the layouts of the garden from his memories, the one he’d only seen a few days earlier from the one blurred before him.

In the distance, just over the bay of trees he caught a glimpse of Gotham herself. It was as if he’d been pulled back through time as he looked at the barely visible buildings.

His Gotham wasn’t much better in terms of nighttime views, but even then the City that lay stationary before him was older, rougher and darker...

A crease formed in his brows as he squinted at the clock-tower he knew without a doubt that Barbara wouldn’t have set up shop there, yet it was a strange feeling not to be able to see the time even from all the way out here, the clock-tower  he knew had been upgraded, knew the clock face illuminated even in the darkest of days.

The skyscrapers reflected the little light that came up from the streets below them, but it was nothing compared to the illuminated buildings that shone like beacons in his own city, the shadows still lingered, but this universe looked darker.

He turned his attention from the window and looked to the corner in the room where his devices sat charging, a tangle of cords from his utility belt; usually he’d let Dick sit there and untangle them when he was in a bout of restlessness, but his Dick wasn’t here and now he was stuck with cords he was too impatient to untangle himself. Besides there were more important things for him to do.

He turned his gaze to the tablet Duke had given him earlier, the same one he still had now despite the episode he’d had. He let himself sink onto the mattress as he reached for the slim device; he hesitated as he powered it on, the device was dim, and the background still the same picture as before. He swiped up and watched as it unlocked and presented the paused video he’d previously been watching.

It was froze on a clip of Jason looking at the camera with a shit eating grin, base ball bat in hand and a small distance away Dick was standing eyes focused on the ball in his hands, his head tilted to the side as coloured powder covered him head to toe.

He remembered the video briefly, Jason had bought exploding balls, or maybe he’d stolen them. yet when they exploded coloured powder flew out in every direction. If he remembered correctly earlier in the video Jason hadn’t told anyone and had targeted Duke in his prank, only it had gotten Dick instead and things had quickly delved into chaos.

This Jason’s prank had been quickly derailed but they both looked to have enjoyed the outcome regardless. Yet even though this was at least a few years ago in their timeline, he still felt pity for the consequences the pair would’ve clearly suffered, he was even more so for poor Alfred who would’ve been the one to clean up after them.

Tim shook his head as he exited the app and found the search engine of this universe. He stared at the search bar, he wasn’t sure he’d like the outcome of his searches, what truths he’s possibly stumble across in the public domain.

He knew that downstairs beneath the manor the Batcomputer would have every answer he’d be searching for; to do that now whether he snuck down or hacked into it remotely, it’d draw too much attention now that this Damian and Stephanie had seen the skills he’d displayed when searching the computer himself only a few hours ago.

For now. Tim would play this smart.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, there were so many names he could search for, so many people that may not even exists in this world. Tim screwed his eyes shut as he steadied his breathing and the soft trembles in his hands before he began to type.

The Justice League

The results were unexpected, but in that pleasant reassuring way. The League existed here, it was a relief that settled his remaining nerves; He scanned over the members that the public could view. In his own universe there were members of the League who remained unknown to a good portion of the world, Tim himself was part of that long list of unknown heroes who worked with the League, other honorable mentions were other vigilantes from Gotham, John Constantine (who’d gotten him into this mess), and Bart. There were more unknown members than there was known.

So he wasn’t all that surprised to find the founders all listed as members of the justice league. Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Man Hunter, Flash, Green Arrow, Green Lantern and Aquaman. Tim frowned at the list, sure that he’d missed one of the most important members of the League, yet Batman was nowhere to be found on that list.

He searched through articles, other known member websites, even videos that had been recorded over the years the League had been active. Instead of finding Batman he’d found heroes he’d never heard of in his world, Twister and Whirlwind ‘The Tornado Twins’, Trinity, Solstice, lanterns of various colours were scattered through everything.

Other names were more familiar to him, names he’d recognizes and face’s he couldn’t forget if he even tried, Impulse, Superboy (Both of them), Beast Boy, Wondergirl and so many more. Yet there was not a whisper of the Gotham vigilantes, and other names he couldn’t find no matter how long he searched.

He frowned as he looked at the latest website he’d looked into, the notebook at his side filled with notes, with names and theories. Tim had found an article on ‘Flamebird, Trinity and Superboy’ a brief meeting between them that had ended with violence, the Superboy in question was undoubtedly Jon, yet it left him feeling uneasy as he read how ‘Flamebird’ had pulled kryptonite out over an action Jon had taken.

Tim looked back to the suite he’d seen in this worlds Batcave, it was undoubtedly Damian’s suit; he looked back at his brother’s relationship with the youngest Kent boy, they were inseparable yet Damian was in complete denial over their friendship in that kinda sweet bratty way. The important part was that they were friends.

Here they looked like enemies.

Tim doubted this was any true indicators of being unable to trust the Bat’s of this world, not with how he knew Damian was raised, a cruel environment where lover and care was weakness, where friendship always led to blood and betrayal. Yet he knew that Damian’s improvement was not his own choice, no in the conscious way, not with how they’d treated him when he’d first arrived.

No, the only person who had help[ed Damian improve and grow to show compassion and kindness in his own twisted way was through Dick’s influence. An influence that in the world never would’ve happened, not with their ages being entirely reversed; and if it were Dick, a child in this world who could’ve influenced Damian to change, that possibility was gone with the inhumanness that the boy was now.

Blankly Tim stared at the screen, he could do more digging, and probably should since there was still so much he didn’t know, so much that he could access as is without needing to go down stairs.

Just as his hand hovered over the screen to begin his search anew, a sharp urgent knock ricocheted through the room. Startled from the sudden noise he looked to the door.

“Come in,” he answered while staying seated on the bed.

He’d expected to see Alfred open the door; instead there stood this world’s Jason. Tim stared at him for an awkward amount of time, unused to Jason being polite enough not to just barge into his room unceremoniously.

Jason shifted uneasily on his feet as he looked back at him. His eyes scanning the room, lingered on Tim’s tangled up devices on charge before turning back to him.

“You’ve got Dick’s tablet yeah?” Jason asked, his voice uneasy and his hands twitching.

Tim looked down at the tablet in his hands, he looked back to the teenage boy that stood before him and rose a brow.

“You need it back?” Tim questioned as he exited to the home page, then he offered it to the teen before him, yet Tim had the feeling that he was being watched, but not by Jason who stood openly before him.

“Yeah, thanks...” it was easy for Tim to see the surprise in Jason’s eyes at how easily he’d gotten the device back, awkward silence followed as Jason lingered, Tim could see it in his eyes that he wanted to say something else.

“Anything else?” Tim inclined his head as he asked. Behind Jason and peaking through the doorway he caught sight of a pair of golden eyes; he blinked at the boy and felt some of the tension loosen as he found the source of his unease. He looked back at Jason expectantly.

“I overheard some of what Steph was telling Duke after you got sent up here…” Jason started, his voice sharp and sounding much like the hulking older man Tim was used to, only the teen that stood before him was lanky and his body proportions awkward. “Sounded pretty cool if ya ask me,” Tim stared at Jason as he tried to talk about this topic nonchalantly, but in his eyes, there was thinly veiled intrigue.

“My melt down? Introduction or my sass?” Tim pursed his lips as he stared at the teen, Jason stared back at him with an expression of confusion.

“The tech stuff…” Jason clarified awkwardly as he clutched the tablet and pulled his shoulders in.

“Oh…” Tim responded dumbly.

When Tim looked to the doorway again, he’d expected to see the same pair of eyes watching him, instead he found Dick hiding behind Jason, his arms wrapped tightly around Jason’s leg and his gaze still on him. Tim couldn’t stop the snort of laughter as he looked at the sight before him.

It was a sight that he’d seen on occasion, Dick clinging to Jason was always a sight to behold, especially when Jason was trying to act annoyed with their eldest brother. They all knew he loved it as much as he tried desperately to deny it.

Jason followed his gaze and shook his head amused yet unsurprised with the situation. Tim saw the way Jason’s face softened, how his body shifted to lean in towards the boy who sat on the floor staring up at Tim, he would have called it a blank stare, but it didn’t feel right. Not with the subtle pinch in his brows, not with the curiosity the gleamed in his eyes, nor with how he seemed to lean forward, an attempt to just get a little closer.

“I got your tablet back,” Jason mused as he lowered the device so that Dick could reach out and take it; Dick simply glanced at the device before dismissively looking back towards him. “Huh okay then,” Jason shrugged, nonchalant as he pulled the device away.

“How old is Dick?” Tim asked, Jason glanced to him and looked to debate answering.

“He turned fourteen a couple weeks ago,” the answer stunned him, he had anticipated Dick being younger, purely by the size of him, he’d always known that his brother was always on the shorter side, had been the smallest Robin and even now remained marginally shorter than most of the hero community, “I know he’s tiny, isn’t he?” Jason chuckled softly, an amused grin across his face.

“Not tiny.” The voice that spoke with high pitched, it crackled and grated against the silence, and the tone was sharp, and defying.

The room froze as Jason’s face morphed into shock as both their gazes turned to Dick who remained rooted to the floor and clinging to Jason’s leg. This had been the first time Tim had heard this Dick speak, in the silence that had been the manor all day, with only Duke being the one to speak to him it was an unnerving yet welcomed change.

“You heard it too, right?” Jason’s voice was shaky with disbelief as he slowly looked over at Tim, the way his eyes had widened made him look so much younger than how Tim had perceived him before.

In response dick huffed as he unlatched himself from Jason’s leg and stood from the ground. Beside the lanky teen Dick barely reached over the height of Jason’s elbows, his head tilted as he stepped forward eyes locked onto Tim, this time with recognition, yet confusion.

Tim sat frozen on the edge of the bed, Jason watching too stunned to speak or move as Dick stood in front of Tim; he wasn’t sure why Dick had suddenly decided to approach him despite having kept a distance all day.

“Grandmaster?” the confusion was evident in Dick’s voice as he reached out hesitantly.

“Grandmaster?” Tim looked at Jason for an explanation, hoping that he’d have a way to explain the missing pieces for him. Instead, Jason stood there looking pale.

“Owl?” Dick tried again, though he only looked more dissatisfied with Tim’s lack of a response.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me Dick.” Tim frowned as he lowered his gaze to meet the boy’s golden eyes.

“Master?” Dick’s voice trembled with a pleading desperation that made Tim feel sick. Before Tim could say or do anything Jason moved, gently pulled Dick back with a gentle firmness, restrained Dick looked to his brother pleadingly.

“Timothy isn’t your master, remember?” Jason’s voice trembled as he spoke firmly. “he’s our brother. But he isn’t here right now okay Dickie bird?” Dick looked back towards him, his eyes searching him for anything that could point to him being their ‘Timothy’. “It’s getting late, okay? I have your tablet; do you want to watch Animal Crackers? Madagascar Three? What about Open Season Three? Your choice Goldie.”

Tim held his breath as Dick looked back at him, the frustration in his expression fading into a mix of uncertainty and expectance. Gently Jason drew his attention back, keeping his voice even and reassuring, willingly Dick let him lead him out of the room.

Jason glanced back through the doorway, eyes locking briefly with his as he ushered the youngest of them further into the hall before disappearing into the shadowed halls. Tim exhaled a shaky breath as he stared at the empty doorway.

Notes:

Tim's having a rough time, but worry not! Soon he will be unleashed upon the world! Then no one will be able to stop him!!

and ohh R!Dicks first words!! (Jason was absolutely blind sided)

Also yeah this one was def later than planned- but i got distracted with another fic I've been writing- its a Dick/Grant fic lol

Next Time: I wonder what situation Dick, Steph and Timothy have found themselves in

Chapter 20: Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow, dishonor on your whole family!

“Foreshame!” Timothy followed closely behind the pair before him. Stephanie, now dress in an altered version of the Batgirl suit was crouched beside Dick as they scouted the area. He rose a brow had her overly dramatized expression as Dick shook his head, sheepishly amused.

“We’ve been busy Spoils, promise we were going to tell you sooner.” Dick nudged her playfully as he apologized.

If this was his Stephanie, Timothy knew she wouldn’t have handled this quite so… Well. She was always a flurry of ambition and independence, always voiced her displeasures over how their father, Bruce, had taught them to handle things in isolation. He had no doubt that no one would inform Stephanie, not that it’d stop her from finding out.

But looking at the vigilantes before him, he could see the difference in the way they interacted, the easy laughter, the bantering, the apologies. It was a stark contrast to what he was used to seeing, not even just now, but in the manor too, with their early morning routine; he’d caught the way Dick had looked at each of them, himself included.

Duke and Damian not at each other’s throats over minor issues.

Cass approaching him and not seeing a ghost of what he had been.

Jason who was consumed by so much more rage, yet was ready to go down fighting for his family.

Then Dick, the man who now stood before him, brimming with confidence as he spoke over comms to someone unknown to him.

“Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow, dishonor on your whole family!” Stephanie’s voice cut through his thoughts; Dick’s gasp was dramatic and Oscar worthy as he placed a hand over his chest.

“Not Batcow! She’s the most honorable one!” Dick cried out aghast.

“No yeah, Batcow is the best of us.” Stephanie nodded sagely.

Timothy cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at the group’s antics. “As riveting as it is to debate Batcow’s moral standing,” he interjected, his tone wry, “shouldn’t we remember we’re here to find the mage? You know, the actual reason we’re standing in this alley and not, say, arguing about farm animals at home?”

His remark earned a smattering of sheepish glances, and Stephanie had the decency to shrug, unrepentant. “Right,” she said. “Business before bovine.”

Dick nodded as he shifted closer to the edge, his eyes searching. Timothy approached and stood hidden in the shows as he scanned their surroundings; this Gotham was brighter, held less shadows yet felt just as suffocation and smelt just as rotten as his own.  

His gaze lingered on the street below, to the manhole that lay below in the alley. He kept his expression placid as the face of an owl was etched into the cover, tarnished with dirt and grime, but a sign that the court was rooted deep into the underbelly.

“Last seen near Gotham museum, right?” Stephanie’s voice drew his gaze from the street below, “We’re three blocks out, do we know what this guy’s looking for?”

Timothy turned to face her, instead he found Dick looking at him, head cocked to the side curiosity and judgement hidden behind the mask the covered his eyes. It was in this moment that he realized that this wasn’t just a random stop on the way.

Timothy’s mind flickered through possibilities, each more improbable than the last. Was this a message, a warning, or perhaps an invitation?

A sharp gust swept the alley, tugging at their capes and sending scraps of newspaper whirling across cracked concrete. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath—a hush that prickled at Timothy’s instincts. Somewhere, distant traffic murmured, but here, amid the hum of neon and the bitter tang of rain-soaked bricks, the air felt heavy with anticipation.

Then Dick broke away as he looked to Stephanie, “Not sure, I’d assumed he’d have skipped town after the failed summoning.” He spoke, Stephanie nodded along, “O’s hacking into the cameras as we speak, Black Bat, Robin and Bluebird’s on call if we need assistance.”

“Where’s Hood?” Timothy’s brows furrowed at the mention of ‘Bluebird’.

“Ran off in a huff, could be anywhere from Crime Alley to the Watch Tower.” Dick gestured as he pulled a slim device from his utility belt, “He’ll be back eventually, should’a seen him when we had Red- Raptor in the med bay.” Stephanie snorted a laugh, loud and un-lady like.

“Was he moping around and being a big softy?” She squealed; her body pressed against the older man as she peered over his shoulder.

“even better, he was stress baking!” Timothy wondered how they were again going way off topic, his face pinched as he looked on at the gossiping pair of vigilantes, wondering how this was his life now. “I gotta tell ya, Hood’s cooking is phenomenal! I snuck his cookies with me throughout all my meetings today.” his accent had shifted Timothy noticed, subtle but as he listened it was melting into Stephanie’s accent, matching her drawls and the heaviness in his voice.

He inclined his head slightly as he processed the newly revealed information. It was not unexpected that Jason possessed significant culinary expertise, given his frequent assistance to Alfred in meal preparation. Recalling his earlier conversation with the older man before him, he noted how Dick had only picked at the breakfast provided, and since he had not seen him for most of the day, he could not ascertain whether Dick had eaten during that time; furthermore, Dick’s dinner remained completely untouched.

It reminded him much of the youngest in his household. He’d only eaten anything they’d placed before him after Jason had bonded with the child, and he realized that maybe that wasn’t much different. Though it left more questions than answers… Dick was the eldest here, had likely known this worlds Bruce and Alfred longest, and even with the decades of knowing each other Dick still hadn’t touched anything Alfred had given him.

“And you didn’t bring any for me?! They would’a stopped me from throwing a book at whats’ his face!” Stephanie gestured at him vaguely, the movement theatrical.

“Sorry Spoil’s” Dick laughed as he nudged her gently off of him, “But we got a Mage to stop and a Robin to bring home, I’m sure Hood will make another batch before then.” He grinned widely and winked at her as he tucked the device away, briefly he looked up towards him, their eyes locked. He grinned, sharp and playful all at once, “Race ya there!~” And just like that he was jumping over the alley, moving with grace and purpose.

“That’s cheating!” Stephanie cackled as he lept after him. Timothy lingered a moment longer, his eyes looking back down to the manhole where the insignia of the Court lay clear as day in the darkened alley.

He inhaled a sharp breath, his mouth dry and his chest tightening as he too began to move. He didn’t know what this meant, why Dick had stopped here specifically, nor why he’d seemed to look right through him in that moment.

He forced his pulse to steady, pushing down the unease that gnawed at the corners of his mind. The Court’s presence was never accidental, and symbols in Gotham were currency—each one a promise or a threat. He knew better than to ignore omens, especially ones carved so brazenly into the city’s bones.

As he vaulted after his teammates, his boots barely making a whisper on the slick rooftop, Timothy’s thoughts whirled faster than the chill breeze. He wondered how much Dick knew—if his stop had been curiosity or calculation, or if the mask had hidden not only his eyes, but secrets that carried more weight than words.

The rooftops blurred beneath him in a rush of adrenaline. Stephanie’s laughter echoed over the city, bright and unburdened, but Timothy couldn’t shake the taste of foreboding. He glanced down once more mid-leap, catching a final glimpse of the owl’s face glinting faintly in the streetlight.

Whatever waited for them at the museum, he was certain: tonight, nothing in Gotham was as simple as it seemed.

 

---

 

Miles away in Star City, the city’s sharp edges softened by the lazy gold of early evening, Roy Harper sat sprawled on his battered leather couch, boots kicked up on a scuffed coffee table. The television flickered with some late-night rerun, its sound a background hum against the click and clatter of Roy’s hands dismantling and reassembling a bow, the ritual soothing in its familiarity. A half-empty mug of coffee cooled at his elbow, forgotten in the midst of the careful rhythm of his work.

Then, without so much as a polite knock, the apartment door crashed open—Jason barreling in with the subtlety of a thrown grenade. He was a storm of leather and adrenaline; helmet tucked beneath his arm and scowl set deep enough to carve canyons. The door shuddered on its hinges, and Roy raised an eyebrow, unhurried.

“Lost your key or just your patience?” Roy drawled, not missing a beat as he set aside a bowstring.

Jason kicked the door shut—harder than necessary—and stalked across the threadbare carpet. “Both. And don’t start, Harper. We got bigger problems than your security deposit.”

Roy leaned back, stretching languidly, eyes tracing the storm cloud energy Jason dragged in with him. “Well, color me intrigued,” he said, voice lazily amused, though his posture had shifted—shoulders rolling back, a predator at rest just before the pounce. “Let me guess. Gotham trouble? Or is this some new flavor of disaster you’re bringing to my door?”

In leu of answer, Jason stalked forward, his steps heavy and purposeful. Roy narrowed his eyes at the man , watched as he tossed his helmet (the one rigged with explosives mind you) aside haphazardly as reached into his jacket. In his hands Jason revealed a glass vial, at first glance it looked like mercury or some other liquid metal.

Then he looked at Jason’s expression; grim, frustrated and undoubtedly pissed. There were flickers of green in his muddled eyes, his already pale skin flushed red and even lighter than it usually was. His chest was rising and lowering faster as if he’d dropped everything and rushed over. Roy looked at the vial again.

Jason didn’t waste time with pleasantries. His hands tightened around the vial, the liquid inside shimmering restlessly, catching stray shards of lamplight. He met Roy’s gaze, jaw working, as if wrestling words out through gritted teeth.

“It’s not just Gotham this time,” Jason said, voice low and urgent. “This crap—” He lifted the vial, the metallic swirl inside shifting as if alive. “—came from someone who shouldn’t even be here. Another Tim. Not ours. Some parallel universe version, same face, same damn smart mouth, but… different. Dangerous.”

Roy’s eyebrows shot up, the lazy humor gone, replaced by a sharpened focus. He said nothing, but his posture spoke of coiled tension.

Jason pressed on, words spilling faster. “came down into the cave looking for it; attacked me when I pulled out and asked what it was, all he gave me was bullshit answers.”

Jason ran a trembling hand through his hair, frustration bristling beneath the surface. “In his world—” He hesitated, eyes darkening. “—this was the last of it, the only thing left. He kept going on about court of owls shit, claimed they were real and that he was trying to replicate it.” He waved the vile around. The anger and frustration clear as day in his every movement.

Roy’s gaze flicked between Jason and the vial; his lips drew into a thin line. For a beat, he didn’t move, didn’t speak—then he let out a low whistle, his chest tightened, and his stomach dropped all at once.

Roy didn’t flinch, but his gaze never left the vial—nor Jason’s shaking hands. “So, multiversal mystery juice and an imposter Tim. Hell of a Tuesday, Jaybird.” He sat forward, forearms bracing on his knees, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Did he say what it does?”

He knew what the liquid did, what it was.

Jason caught the flicker of recognition in Roy's eyes, the way his friend instinctively drew back as if the knowledge itself might burn. For a moment, the air between them vibrated with unsaid history—their own brushes with toxins, serums, and all the nightmares that slithered from Gotham’s underbelly and beyond.

Jason’s fingers flexed around the vial, knuckles blanching. “Claimed it let the fuckers in the court live longer.” he muttered, voice brittle. “I know there’s more he wasn’t tell’n me, I could see it in his face, this version of Replacement, he wasn’t entirely human anymore.”

Roy sucked in a breath as he leaned back into the couch cushions, his gaze drifting away from Jason and settling on the vial of electrum sitting on his coffee table; the last time he’d seen it was two and a half decades ago, long before Dick had been stripped of his role as Robin, before any of his brothers were in the picture. He knew that Jason knew that too.

He’d been the only one Dick had told after the whole thing, Roy himself had been there with Oliver when it’d first been revealed. And then the original Titans, Donna, Garth and Wally had all found out eventually too when Dick had slipped up.

But as far as Roy was aware the batservers had been scrubbed clean before Jason’s death. It was clear that Jason had never said a word to the others about this after his return from the dead, hadn’t even brought the topic up when it was just him around; but it was clear Jason had come here, Roy being the only one he could come to.

Jason’s grip on the vial loosened, uncertainty threading through his voice. “He kept saying he needed it, Roy—like it was the only thing that could set things right, wherever he came from. But he never told me what had gone so wrong in his world. He just danced around it.” Jason gave a short, humorless laugh. “Like the electrum was some miracle cure. But he wouldn’t say what, exactly, he was trying to cure.” He stared at the swirling metallic liquid, jaw clenched.

Jason’s words grew softer, frustration leaking in. “All he’d say was that this was his last shot. That perfecting the electrum would put things back the way they were. But for all his talk, I still have no idea what he was trying to fix—or why he was so damn sure it had to be this.”

Roy finally broke the silence, his tone uncertain, but edged with a touch of dark humor. “You know, Jay—when he talked about things not being right, did he mean... like, weird right? Multiverse weird? We’re not talking evil doppelgangers or zombie Robins this time, are we? Because—” Roy hesitated, a wry smile ghosting over his lips, “—the last time I heard someone this desperate about ‘setting things back,’ it was because Dick had been de-aged into a toddler and Damian wouldn’t stop biting people. Are we in bat reversal territory here?”

Jason huffed, a weary sound that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so haunted. He rubbed at his eyes, then glanced at Roy, the weight of too many lifetimes in his stare. “Yeah. Something like that.” He reached for the vial and rolled it between his fingers, voice flat. “He’s supposedly older that Dick and I in his universe, still stuck as a middle child though from the sounds of it.”

Roy swallowed the lump in his throat as he leaned forward, he body twisted to face Jason who now sat beside him. “What ya planning to do?” He knew Jason. Knew the way he thought, how he handled things; even now Roy could see that look in his eyes, “What do you need me to do?”

Jason looked up from the glass vial, his jaw set, but his shoulders had loosened. “I need you to keep this hidden, maybe break into S.T.A.R Labs and get this shit tested.” He held the vial out to him.

Roy offered a nod as he took the vial from Jason. Chills ran down his spine at the familiar chill biting at his palms; Jason nodded back, face tight yet he looked grateful. Roy slipped the vial into his own jacket pocket; he’d deal with it soon. He needed to pick Lian up from Oliver’s anyways, then he could dig up some of their older gear.

An alert buzzed through the apartment, Jason’s scowl returned full force as he pulled out his phone and glared at the screen.

“What the hell do ya want Brat?” Jason demanded. Ah so Damian. “The fuck you mean?” Yeah that definitely didn’t sound good. “Fuck, yeah, yeah I’ll fucking be there in half hour tops.” Without so much as waiting for a response Jason had already disconnected the call, had reached for his helmet and looked worse than when he’d first came.

“You love it.” Roy grinned at the scathing look Jason sent his way.

“I want to strangle all of them.” Jason deadpanned.

“Please Dick said the same thing! Hell so did the rest of the Titans!”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Go play big brother Jaybird, I’ll hold the fort from here.” Roy waved the younger man off.

He watched amused as Jason grumbled out curses as he stormed out of his apartment, the walls shaking as he slammed the door. With a shake of his head he reached for his bow that lay scattered across the table before him.

He pulled back and instead reached for his phone. He had a feeling things were only going to get more complicated from here.

Well that’s what Back up is for.

Notes:

I'm still pissed Mushu wasn't in the live action Mulan, i haven't watched. Mushu is the best character.

Timothy, you may be onto something

I just love Roy and Jason's dynamic big brother Roy and gremlin brother Jason

Also yay! i've posted this earlier than my last chapter lol

Chapter 21: Buried Versions

Damian stood at the center.

The cavern beneath Gotham was thick with stagnant air and the foul stench of the bubbling bog that cut through the center. His suit clung to him like a second skin as he moved forward in silence, stopping at the exact point where Timothy had once fallen. The circle etched into the soil—made from blood and bone—lay smudged and broken beneath his boots.

He lifted one hand and closed his eyes.

All around him, the cave hummed with wild magic. It hissed and murmured, laughed at him, curled inward like smoke and pressed against his spine. It promised rebirth. Power. A hunger that ached to be fed.

But he kept his heartbeat steady.

Venomous green flame ignited in his palm as he opened his eyes—and the cave revealed its true form.

Crystal-veined walls glittered faintly, their brilliance dulled by the bog water leaking from a jagged crevasse, pooling into the center. Damian stepped out of the circle and approached the pit. His eyes narrowed at the chained corpse below, long-decayed and half-swallowed by the rot. A wizard—if the stories were to be believed—vicious and cruel, who had once cursed these lands before being consumed by them. Doomed to slumber beneath the city whose people only whispered his name.

Damian had only been here once before.

He’d been younger then. Harsher. Spiteful. Desperate to claim a birthright no one had truly offered him. At the time, he had still just been a child with a bloody and murderous history, fighting for ground he thought Duke had stolen.

Then The Specter had made an appearance in Gotham. What it wanted—he still didn’t know. Likely never would. But it had seen something in both of them: in Duke, and in himself. It had shown them things. Truths too large to be spoken aloud.

Magic had lived in his blood even then—ancient, buried, volatile.
In Duke, it had burned bright. Untamed. Blinding.

Damian stepped away from the pit and returned his attention to the circle. The blood and bone had blackened and melted into the dirt. It hadn’t looked that way when he’d reversed the remainder of the failed spell that lingered and left this place. He hovered the flames in his hand over the corrupted ring and watched it wither beneath the heat.

He withdrew the flame, expression tightening.

The residual magic pulsed.
The air thickened.
It choked. It shrieked. It clawed at his ears.

Damian snuffed the fire with a thought. The cavern shifted at once, masking its true shape behind the mundane illusion of stone and muck. He rose to his full height and turned at the sound of footsteps. Duke stood across the chamber, watching him with hooded eyes.

There was something haunted behind them.

“You were supposed to stay at the Manor,” Damian said, voice low and dry.

“I thought you reversed it,” Duke shot back.

“I did.” He had. He didn’t do things halfway.

“Then why’d you come back?”

“To confirm the shift I felt earlier originated here,” he replied, meeting Duke’s stare as he stepped closer.

“You’re making excuses now?” Duke’s voice sharpened. “Thought you grew out of that after Jason died.”

Damian’s jaw clenched as Duke jabbed a finger into his chest.

“If you don’t believe me, look for yourself,” he snapped, brushing past him toward the sewers. “Whatever’s causing this, it wasn’t a failure of mine.”

“I don’t need to,” Duke replied.

Damian paused but didn’t look back.

“You know as well as I do—you’re more worried about Timothy. Even if you had reversed it, there's no telling what could be happening there.”

“I doubt they'd be so careless,” Damian muttered. “I saw the way Tim navigated the foreign systems—effortless. Like he’d always known them.”

“We all make mistakes. Even them.” Duke’s voice was firm, steady. Certain.

Damian exhaled slowly and turned. Faced the brother he never asked for. The one he’d spent years convincing himself he didn’t deserve. And he asked the only question that mattered:

“…What did you see?”

 

---

 

Damian detested standing in the Watchtower zeta-bay.

The room buzzed with machines, robotic voices announcing his arrival while cameras tracked his every step. Cold, sterile, and over-designed. But it was the glances—those sideways stares, the words exchanged behind hands—that grated most.

Still, he held his head high.

He had more pressing matters.

As his father's only biological child, Damian was one of the few in their family formally acknowledged by the League—alongside Bruce himself, though even that was a technicality. Damian was the only one besides Batman who had full access to the Watchtower. Superman and Wonder Woman had both extended invitations to him in the past. Where they failed, their children had taken up the effort, trying to drag him into the fold by sheer persistence.

Damian, as always, had declined. Just as his Father had.

Officially, the League didn’t know who Batman or Flamebird really were beneath the mask. It was one of the few iron laws Bruce had insisted on from the beginning—identities were sacred, and secrets were power. Damian upheld that line without exception.

And that was part of the problem.

Everyone knew Gotham’s shadows were deep. But it was different when those shadows walked the halls of the Watchtower, silent and sharp-eyed, knowing everyone else’s secrets while revealing none of their own.

Damian could feel the tension as he passed other heroes. Not fear—but unease. Mistrust.

Batman and Flamebird knew everything. Who was under which cowl. Where they lived. Who their families were. And they never said a word. That silence was an echoing threat. It didn’t help that neither of them had ever cared to reassure anyone otherwise.

Damian called it necessary.

The others called it dangerous.

Even in his civilian guise, Bruce Wayne had funded the League for years. Damian had inherited that duty, understanding that without the League, the world would have burned long ago.

Still—necessary or not—it didn’t make these interactions any less exhausting.

“Flamebird.”

Damian halted, shoulders tensing as the familiar voice echoed behind him. He turned, and of course—it was the one Kryptonian he’d hoped to avoid.

“Jonathan.” He met the taller boy’s eyes with a flat, unimpressed stare.

Everyone knew Damian had access to League identities. He could use codenames—but he didn’t. Watching heroes squirm under their real names was one of the few entertainments he allowed himself.

Jonathan, naturally, didn’t flinch.

“I didn’t know you were coming to today’s meeting,” the Kryptonian said, all easy smiles and warm light.

“I wasn’t,” Damian replied coolly, already turning away. “I need to speak with the Founders.”

“Sounds like you’re in a bit of a pickle,” Jon said, trailing after him like a golden retriever. “I’d be happy to help.”

Damian didn’t break stride. “I don’t need your assistance. Frankly, you’d be more of a nuisance.”

He stepped into the main hall, instantly irritated. The League’s layout was inefficient—every hallway led here, the dining hall-slash-meeting space. Every time he came, it meant walking into a crowd. Into them. Dozens of heroes who had opinions about Gotham, about Batman, about him. And yet, somehow, they still expected his cooperation.

Jonathan kept pace behind him, heavier footsteps purposefully slow, like he thought Damian might bolt.

“You don’t know that,” Jonathan teased, chipper as always.

“Do you not have an Amazonian to pester in my stead?”

“Trinity’s busy,” Jon replied, with that insufferable tone that meant he had no intention of going to her. “Besides, you came here for help.”

“I’ve done no such thing.”

“We both know you’re lying, Flamebird.”

Damian’s jaw twitched. The urge to grab the Kryptonite capsule from his belt and shove it down Jon’s throat surged violently.

Instead, he turned on his heel.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Jon stood over him, tall and unbothered, that same damned curiosity in his eyes—the one he’d always worn. The same one that had followed Damian since they were kids.

But Damian wasn’t a child anymore.

He wasn’t the messy, jealous teen. He wasn’t the grief-stricken man, either.

His voice was cold as steel when he spoke: “That is none of your business.”

For just a heartbeat, Jon’s smile faltered.

“Compose yourself,” Damian added flatly, turning away. “We have an audience.”

Eyes followed them as he walked—some curious, others wary, and more than a few full of quiet contempt. He didn’t care. Let them look. Let them whisper. He had survived worse in worse places.

He moved forward, toward the Founders’ chamber, the weight of secrets pressing on his shoulders like armor.

 

---

 

Duke stepped out from the grand master clock into the quiet of the Study, brushing dust from his shoulder as he scanned the room. He’d half expected Cass, Jason or even Dick to have been sitting on the aged leather sofa; he could see that at some point Jason had been here as red hard covered book lay open against the oak coffee table.

Yet something felt off. The air held the faint charge of disruption—likely the same disruption that had Damian run off, the same one that he’d caught a glimpse of.

His eyes landed on the curtain behind the massive desk. It was open. He was sure it hadn’t been when he’d last passed through. Morning light poured in, cutting across the grain of the desk and casting sharp angles of brightness. Something gleamed in that light—something unfamiliar.

He approached with narrowed eyes, fingers trailing over the aged wood. A small device sat atop the desk. It didn’t match the usual items kept here. At first glance, it might’ve belonged to Bruce. But closer inspection told a different story. Sleek, compact, advanced—something more in line with what Tim might carry. But Tim hadn't been in this room.

He trusted Jason and Cass to have ensured Tim stay out of here; realistically he knew they’d have never been able to stop their dimensional traveler from making his way in here, he himself had been left utterly exhausted just predicting his every move.

Duke frowned, tension creeping up the back of his neck.

He moved behind the desk and drew the curtain closed. It was one of those unspoken rules of the household, ever since Dick had returned to them he’d been slowly recovering. It was easier to keep the curtains shut and the halls dark to help with his sensitivity to light while they worked on reversing the atomization process. Still, Duke couldn’t shake the unease growing in his gut.

He looked back across the room. The Study felt... different. The arrangement, the atmosphere—subtle things, but Duke noticed them. His gaze returned to the desk. The device remained exactly where it had been. He bent closer, noting the sheen on the surface, he knew it wasn’t something that belonged here, something not of this world.

Instinct guided his hand to the drawer. One that had always been locked—its key long lost.

It opened.

Duke stilled, heart giving one solid, heavy thump.

The contents were meticulously arranged: business documents for Wayne Industries, blank contracts, a leather-bound journal. All mundane on the surface. He sifted through carefully. Then he found it—an official legal document. Adoption papers.

His breath caught.

They weren’t his.

Duke stared at it, conflicted. It wasn’t surprising—Bruce had taken in many over the years, and Richard had been the youngest, long after Duke had already been officially adopted. But seeing the intention formalized, seeing the document unfiled, hidden away… it said more than words could.

He adjusted the edge of the paper, fingers brushing over the corner where the ink had bled slightly. The date caught his eye.

His brows knit.

The year wasn’t right.

Not just wrong—but impossible.

This form was old. Too old. Years older than Richard himself should be. A time-stamp from a version of Gotham that didn’t match his own. And the birthdate listed beneath the name: Richard John Grayson. Age: 9.

Duke’s stomach dropped.

This wasn’t their universe.

It was a remnant from Tim’s Universe—the one where Richard had come first. One where Bruce had found him first.

Duke stared, the room going a little quieter than before. A strange hush in his ears, like he’d just stepped through a memory that wasn’t his.

He looked down at the name again. Not just a kid Bruce had taken in. Not just a fighter or a symbol or a survivor.

Dick.

The kid who had made people laugh even when everything was on fire. The one who had never let the shadows consume him. Who bounced back, again and again. Who had looked up to Duke like a real brother, never once making it feel like he was measuring him against someone else.

Duke exhaled slowly. This didn’t change that.

But still—the twist in his chest deepened. Not jealousy. Not fear. Just… something hard to name. Like finding an old family photo with a stranger in your place. A version of history where you simply didn’t happen.

He set the form down gently, but the weight of it lingered in his hands.

The document was real. The signature was real.

And it had never been submitted. Unfiled. Unfinished. Tucked away like something too painful to throw out but too complicated to complete.

Bruce had meant it. Somewhere, in some version of this life, but he’d never made it official.

And maybe that version of Dick had never gone missing. Never been twisted by pain or war. Maybe that Bruce had more time to do things right.

Duke’s jaw clenched—but it wasn’t anger. It was protection. Quiet, heavy, and sharp.

Because this Dick—his Dick—was still healing. Still putting himself back together one scar at a time. And whatever Bruce had meant then didn’t undo what they were now. Brothers. Complicated, tired, stubborn—but brothers all the same.

He turned his attention back to the drawer. A check book. A crumpled note. Faded photographs he’d never seen before. Nothing dangerous. Nothing alarming. No signs the drawer had been tampered with—no forced entry, no scattered contents.

He examined the lock, running his fingers along the mechanism. Still intact. Still untouched.

A strange chill ran down his spine.

He glanced again at the form.

His hand reached out, picking it up once more.

Alternate universe or not, Bruce had meant it. Had written it, signed it. But hadn’t cared enough.

And something about that—about this quiet discovery, this hidden truth—left Duke with a deep, unshakable ache in his chest.

Not grief. Not resentment.

Just... the echo of something tender, something lost—and something fiercely worth protecting.

 

 

Notes:

Welp the Gotham curse is real and so's the slumbering wizard who made the curse- Wonder what Duke saw?

Damian and Jonathan? Enemies to lovers anyone?

Oop we got another reality shift! That's a whole ass desk that came through! I wonder what the Og-verse will find in there?

Chapter 22: The Plot Thickens

Dick moved silently through the shadows of Gotham Museum’s great hall, high above moonlight slithered through the skylight, and cut through the darkness below. Security cameras scanning the area as he blended into the aged stone walls, a chill in the air bit through his layered suit, digging in and planting seeds of ice in his veins.

The last time he’d stepped foot into these ancient halls it had been with Jason, when it had been only the two of them. It was a place they’d both enjoyed, unlike the library, which was too still, too dusty and a reminder of something darker for him, or the zoo which had always been too bright, too loud and too suffocating for Jason. They’d walked these halls for hours, looking at the constantly rotating exhibits.

A soft whisper of movement caught Dick’s attention, he’d expected it to be the mage they were hunting; but when he turned, the space was empty — just shadows stretching long against the marble floor. Then, in the corner of his eye, a flicker of motion: a boy, younger, with unruly black hair and those same sharp eyes full of restless energy. Jason.

The echo of a grin, half-mischievous, half-challenging, brushed against his mind like a forgotten melody. For a moment, Dick thought he heard a voice, low and teasing, “Comin asshole? We still gotta see all the cursed shit!” But when he blinked, the figure dissolved into the moonlight and cold air, leaving only the faint scent of gunpowder and worn leather behind.

“Nightwing.”

Raptor’s sharp voice cut through the quiet like a blade. Dick spun around, eyes narrowing as the vigilante from another world stepped out from the shadows — older, colder, carrying the weight of years that didn’t belong to this timeline.

There was something in Raptor’s gaze — a flicker of unease, almost imperceptible — as if he sensed the tension coiling beneath Dick’s calm exterior. But whatever it was, Raptor kept it carefully guarded, masking concern behind his usual stern demeanor.

Before the silence could stretch any longer Stephanie’s voice crackled through the comm in his ear

“Nightwing!” Stephanie’s voice breathless and urgent, “I think this is a new record!” Dick’s heart sank, his feet already moving with an urgency.

“Spoiler what’s your location.” He didn’t bother framing ait as a question, not with the reality that she’d stumbled her way into finding the Mage they were searching for. Behind him Raptor moved without instruction, their brief moment over with the necessity to find Spoiler and ensure her safety and the capture of the mage.

“All things occult or something,” Through the comms, Dick could hear the telltale fizzle of magic distorting the audio, like static dragging nails across glass. Metal clinked sharply in the background — the grappling hook she was using to swing herself clear of… something — before the line steadied just enough for her voice to push through again. The line steadied, just enough for her voice to cut through again, faint and breathless. “I’ve got eyes on him. Not for long.”

His gaze flicked upward to the overhead signs, eyes scanning past Egyptian Antiquities, Gotham Natural History, until one caught his focus — Occult Collections.

“Hang in there, Spoiler,” he said into the comm, forcing his breathing into measured rhythm. His footsteps fell quicker now, each stride reverberating off the marble walls.

“I feel like that very sad inspiration poster right now,” her laugh was dry and crackling with static, “You know, the one with the bat hanging from a bui-“ His breath hitched as the line went dead.

“Spoiler?” His pace quickened, boots striking harder against the marble. Static screamed in his ear, making him flinch, but he didn’t slow. “Spoiler, do you copy?” The edge in his voice was sharp enough to cut.

No answer.

He shoved himself faster, every muscle in his legs burning as the Curios Cabinet exhibit swallowed him whole. The air here smelled faintly of cedar and dust, the faint glint of brass fixtures gleaming under the low light. Glass cases lined the path, displaying oddities that would be at home in any Gothic novel — preserved blackbird wings splayed in wooden frames, a music box with its crank slowly turning without a hand, a jar of silver powder that shimmered unnaturally when he passed.

The stillness pressed in, almost listening.

His breathing stayed even, but the unease coiled in his gut was thickening into something rawer, something with teeth. The comm hissed faintly, and for a heartbeat, he thought he heard her again — a muffled syllable, or maybe his own mind clawing for it.

Another step, another glance ahead — and the faintest trace of frost was spiderwebbing across the next archway.

He pushed through.

 

---

 

The joke barely left her mouth before the mage moved.

A ripple in the air slammed into her like a wall, knocking her off her feet and sending her skidding across the polished floor. The comm in her ear fizzled out completely, Dick’s voice dissolving into a smear of static before vanishing.

Her staff clattered out of reach. She scrambled for it, but the temperature in the room plunged — her breath came out in a visible gasp, fingers numbing instantly.

The buzz of magic sparked through the room as she looked up at the mage, her heart pounding in her chest while she clutched her staff close to her chest to preserve the warmth that was gradually being carved out by the ice slithering across the polished marble floors.

Yet as she cast her gaze towards the mage, they weren’t looking at her. No their attention stayed locked on a glass display. Her breath hitched as the silver blade rattled from inside the case, its silver edge catching light from nowhere.

The glass that surrounded it had frost biting at the edges as the mage chanted in a language that left the air in the exhibit dropping further in temperature. Her eyes darted to the sky light above where moonlight streamed through, thick fog was creeping in through the edges as she felt her body trembling as the cold dug in.

“Okay then,” Stephanie spoke under her breath as her teeth chattered, “Mr. freeze copycat, I can handle this.” She knew that Dick was on his way.

For as long as she’d known Dick, for as long as she’d trusted him, he would drop everything if it meant coming to her aid, to any of their aid. It was a mantra she’d realized he’d lived by, had witnessed it more times than she could ever keep track of; when it had been just her, Damian and Dick, when they’d been Batgirl, Robin and Batman. No matter what was going on he’d put them first, let buildings burn and villains’ escape. Where Bruce would’ve left them to peruse justice.

As she inhaled a breath or ice that ripped against her throat as pushed herself from the ground, held herself steady while she clutched her staff tighter; she mourned the misplacement of her spoiler suit that would’ve protected her mouth and nose from the chilling frost.

She moved forward as ice coated the floor, her steps slipping as she steadied herself. Her gaze set on the mage, who had turned to face her fully now.

Up close, their eyes were different than they had been before. Now it were as if they’d been possessed by something else; now their eyes were bottomless pits, reflecting nothing — not her, not the room, just the kind of darkness that ate light whole, like that of a black whole that consumed everything and nothing at all.

Frost crawled outward from their boots, spiraling in delicate, predatory patterns across the marble, swallowing the displays as it went. The silver dagger hovered lazily behind the frosted glass case, spinning point-down as if it couldn’t wait to be used.

Stephanie tightened her grip on her staff, letting the wood’s familiar weight steady her. The cold gnawed at her exposed skin, each breath a jagged wound in her throat, but she refused to step back.

“Alright, Frosty,” she muttered, “you and your floaty butter knife are gonna have to go through me.”

The Mage’s lips curled into something that was not a smile. The dagger tilted as the case around it shattered like crystals of ice, then snapped into his palm with a metallic whisper, and the air between them dropped to a temperature that made her bones ache.

Somewhere behind the walls, she thought she heard the faintest echo — boots pounding, getting closer. Dick. And… Raptor. Their visitor from another universe, one who was entirely out of place here.

The mage tilted his head slightly, as if he heard it too. His voice slid into the space between them, oily and wrong.

“They’ll be too late.”

Stephanie swallowed the shiver threatening to shake her. “That’s the thing about him,” she said, lifting her staff into a ready stance. “He never is.”

The shadow moved in the corner of her vision, reforming from smoke, stretching toward her like a living nightmare. She didn’t wait — she charged first.

 

---

 

The cold hit them first — a wall of air so sharp it felt like stepping into another world.

Timothy’s eyes caught the small breath of air that escaped Nightwing’s lips, his ears catching the barely audible hitch as the cold seeped right through them. His own body stiffened as ice clawed at his skin, around them the museum was eerily silent, something twisted in his chest as he glanced to the marble floors, a layer of ice slowly forming and reflecting his own face back to him.

Still they pushed forwards.

Nightwing’s boots barely made a sound as he pushed forward, escrima sticks tight in his grip. Timothy kept pace beside him, blade drawn, scanning the dark corners with predatory focus.

“Sound died about twenty feet back,” Raptor muttered. “We’re in the dead zone.”

“Then we’re close.” Dick’s jaw was set, that locked determination Stephanie had seen a hundred times before. He picked up speed.

The corridor bent, and the glow of moonlight through the Occult Collections windows spilled across the frost ahead. Voices carried now — faint, echoing. One was hers.

He knew it wasn’t the same one who whispered his name, that she wasn’t the one who he’d lay his life down for. But in this moment, it didn’t matter that she wasn’t his, what did was if she made if out alive.

 

---

 

She lunged, staff cracking across the mage’s wrist. The dagger jolted but didn’t fall; it spun once, slicing the air with a cold hiss before realigning in his grip. Frost bloomed out from where she’d struck him, spiderwebbing along her weapon and biting into her gloves.

The cold was worse up close, gnawing into her bones. Every breath burned. Her lashes and hair slowly freezing over the longer she stands in this room. The mage stepped toward her with measured precision, boots crunching over the frost-coated floor, veins like a dying star made of magic crawling up their forearms.

“You’ve got the arrogance of a child,” he said, voice low, and slick with oily resentment

Stephanie tightened her stance. “I’ve also got a better personality than you!” she mocked.

The mage raised his free hand, and shards of frozen glass lifted from the ground around them, circling lazily in the air like teeth.

The other cases around them clattered and vibrated as objects inside pulsed with magic she couldn’t stop, Stephanie braced, staff up. She just needed to hold on a little longer. With a body trembling in the cold she reached into her utility belt threw her batarangs at the shards headed straight for her.

“You’re stalling,” he said flatly as stalagmites and stalactites made from ice crept around her, trapping her as they blocked the entrances.

She gritted her teeth. “I’m buying time.”

And then —

The ice behind the mage shattered in an explosion of sound, fragments spraying across the marble like hail. Her eyes darted to the unblocked archway and felt a rush of warmth through her chest as Dick burst through.

His escrima sticks in hand, steam rising from his breath in sharp, controlled bursts. But she could see the tremble in his body, not from the cold, not fear. But pure unbridled rage, the silent kind she’d seen only a few times before, the times she’d nearly died under his care, the time’s Damian had gotten hurt.

Behind him, Raptor slipped in like a shadow, blade angled low, his movements precise enough to be almost soundless despite the crunch of frost underfoot. His eyes — ice cold blue — locked on the mage with a focus so sharp it felt like a weapon in its own right. That same look she’d seen a thousand time’s in Damian’s eyes.

Stephanie couldn’t read his body language; there was no wasted motion, no tell of what he was planning next. But those eyes told her enough — he was already calculating angles, distances, the rhythm of the mage’s stance. The way his jaw tightened hinted that he’d already decided exactly where to strike, and exactly how much force it would take to make it hurt.

Stephanie exhaled in visible relief but didn’t drop her stance. “Took you long enough,” she said, teeth chattering.

“Hold that thought.” Dick’s sticks crossed just in time to catch the first downward slash of the dagger. The impact rang out like steel on steel, but colder — the sound felt like it could split bone.

Raptor moved in from the side, his blade forcing the mage to shift his footing, breaking his hold on the forming ice cage around Stephanie. She kicked a chunk of it aside and moved in on Dick’s flank, staff ready.

The mage’s lips twitched upward. “Three against one,” he murmured, the frost spreading faster underfoot. “How sporting.”

 

---

 

Jason had barely stepped through the zeta tube when Babs’s voice echoed through the comms built into his helmet, “Nightwing, Spoiler and Raptor went radio silent approximately thirty minutes ago, any attempt of locking into their exact location is a no go.”

He stopped mid-stride on the platform, the familiar chill of the Batcave wrapping around him like damp stone, only the cave felt colder than it had earlier that day when he’d looked the Surrogate in the face a gun aimed at his chest.

“I have Orphan and Bluebird enroute now,” He cursed under his breath, eyes locking on the monitor — the Gotham Museum floor plan glowing in pale blue, three dots clear as day… and frozen in place.

“You gotta be screwing with me.” He started moving again, steps sharp and measured, pacing the cave’s stone floor. His gaze flicked to Damian, who sat poised at the Batcomputer, hands gliding over the keyboard. The kid’s posture was perfect, precise — but the tight set of his jaw and the slight furrow in his brow gave him away. The frustration was plain on his childishly round face, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.

“Tt, I told Richard not to take that ingrate with him, Its likely his fault this is happening.”  Damian sneered as the three dots remained unmoving on the screen. Jason swallowed the lump in his throat, he knew exactly who Damian meant.

He knew why Dick had taken fucking Timothy with him. He trusted the guy just as much as Jason himself did, he saw that there was something off with him and Jason was inclined to agree with the brat that this was his fault.

“Alright Bat Brat, move aside.” He didn’t bother letting Damian protest, just grabbed the back of the chair and shoved it out of the way. The wheels squeaked against the cold stone floor, the sound swallowed by Damian’s undignified and very offended war cry.

Jason leaned over the keyboard, fingers already flying across the keyboard. He wasn’t as polished at this as Babs, hell, not even close — but he knew enough to dig his way into the museum’s systems the dirty way.

“Your lack of finesse is astounding,” Damian snapped, leaning over him.

Jason smirked under the helmet. “And yet, it’s about to work.”

The screen flickered, the dots shuddering but not moving. Then — a feed bled through, scrambled and glitching, the image flickering like a dying lightbulb. For half a second, Jason caught sight of Spoiler in her batgirl uniform, Nightwing standing beside her with electricity buzzing from his escrima sticks and as Babs had called him Raptor striking from behind a blurred figure  of the mage in a frost-covered exhibit hall, a dagger glinting cold and sharp in the hand of a man whose veins pulsed with something wrong.

Static swallowed the image before either of them could blink.

Jason’s jaw tightened. “You catch that Babs?”

“Affirmative, Orphan and Bluebird are arriving now.”

“Eta ten minutes for my arrival.”

“Ahem.” He turned to Damian and caught the sharp look in his eyes.

“Yeah sorry, Dick would loose his shit if you tagged along.” Jason huffed as he pushed away from the monitor and headed for the Batmobile, Bruce could try and argue with him when he got back from his vacation in the stars.

“Richard needs me!”

“Barbie lock the cave down.”

“Copy that.”

He smirked as he slammed the door car door shut just as a knife flew past him and embedded itself into the cave wall.

 

---

 

Wally’s heart raced, his hands trembling as he locked onto the bear that lay on his bed, the same bear that he’d long since left behind when he’d been taken in by Iris and Barry, his room smelled faintly of his mother’s perfume, cigarette ashes and alcohol.

The air was heavy, thick with the phantom scent of a place he’d tried to outrun his entire life. He’d tossed that bear into a box years ago, along with every other reminder of his parents—shoved it deep in the closet of his childhood bedroom and never looked back. Yet here it was, perched neatly on his bed like it had been waiting for him.

He stared at a piece of the past that shouldn’t be in his apartment. He hadn’t spoken to his parents for a long time, he sucked in a breath as he turned to the pile of letters on his desk, the ones he’d never opened, letters from his parents he’d never read but had kept.

They didn’t know where he lived now, not his phone number, they knew nothing about his life now. His mind raced as he stepped back from the doorway. This was strange, possibly classed as one of those spooky speed force things that rippled through occasionally.

His pulse drummed in his ears, a staccato beat that made the room feel too small, too close. The bear’s glassy eyes seemed to follow him, catching the dim light from the streetlamp outside.

He ripped his gaze away from the bear and down the hall t the kitchen island where his phone started ringing. ‘¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!’ for a moment he just stood there staring at the phone as the ringtone went on and on.

Roy was calling him. The ringtone had been a joke, Speedy from Loony Tune’s catchphrase an inside joke for his original hero name, a joke that he’d started when they’d been on the Titans together. the phone kept ringing and ringing and he blinked as he realized that it meant something was wrong if Roy was calling him.

Wally moved with the speed of a startled deer as he reached for the phone and answered mid ring; he’d deal with the odd situation with his bear later-

“Late as always.” Roy spoke, Wally heard a shuffle from the other end and a soft muffled curse.

“You Man, what’s up?” He got straight to the point trying to settle his pule while unease crept in.

“Jason dropped by an hour or so ago, he brought electrum with him.” Wally’s heart stopped as his eyes widened, “Shits going down in Gotham, said Tim got swapped with another version of himself from another universe.”

“Electrum? You mean the stuff that-“ he set his phone down before he crushed it, put it on loudspeaker.

“Yeah, it came with the other Tim, Jason doesn’t trust him.” Roy confirmed, voice stiff with tension, “Don’t think I do either, we all know what happened last time shit with the court went down, I don’t think Dick knows yet.”

“Fuuuuck.” Wally cursed, he cast his gaze down the hall to his room, the one with his own odd problem set inside. Yeah that didn’t seem like that much of a big deal now.

“I already called Donna and we all know Garth is hard to reach on a good day.” Roy went on, “Jason left the electrum with me, but this ain’t something they can all handle alone if this other Tim is in cahoots with the fucking owl fuckers.” Wally couldn’t help but snort a laugh, heard the sound that Roy let out.

“Your spending too much time with Wing dude, your even making puns now.” He smiled at the frustrated sigh Roy let escape, “Hey or it’s just the Dad in you surfacing.” He teased.

“Oh fuck off Wally.” There was a moment of silence before Roy spoke again, “Just fucking get your ass overhear already.”

“Ey, ey Captain Dad jokes,” He chuckled again at the curse Roy sent his way, “I’ll be there in a flash, I’ll zip up to the watch tower, drop off some paperwork before the big bad bat gets back and I’ll be at yours in no time at all.”

“We both know you’ll take longer.” And then just like that Wally was left in the silence of his apartment.

Wally stood frozen for a heartbeat longer, letting the weight of it settle in his chest. Then, with a sharp exhale, he rolled his shoulders, shaking off the lingering chill like it was something he could outrun.

In the next instant, he was gone—his apartment blurring into streaks of color as he slipped into motion. The world slowed around him, and piece by piece, his suit came together in the familiar rhythm he’d perfected over years: gloves snapping into place over trembling hands, boots locking around his ankles mid-stride, the reinforced panels sealing over his chest as the lightning in his veins flared bright. The new suit clung like a second skin, its golden accents catching flashes of streetlight as he cut through the city.

Keystone’s night air was crisp against his faceplate as he streaked across rooftops and alleyways. He came to a stop in the narrow shadows of a side street just shy of the central plaza, the hum of traffic a low murmur beyond the brick walls.

Already his fingers were at his comm, voice low and sharp as he rattled off his access code.

“West, Wally. B-03. Authorization delta-seven-seven.”

The alley lit up in a soft blue glow as the Zeta Tube flared to life, its energy swirling like a vertical pool. He stepped toward it, jaw tight, the image of that bear still burned behind his eyes and Roy’s words echoing in his ears.

 

---

 

On the Watchtower, the Zeta bay shimmered, its soft blue glow spilling across the polished metal floor. The system’s automated voice announced the incoming arrival. And then the light flared, casting a small figure in the glow as the arrival sequence reached completion.

But before the sound had even faded, a boy who couldn’t have been more than ten—standing in the arrival bay; a mess of untamed, copper-red hair framed his face, the strands catching the overhead light like flickers of fire. His clothes hung loose on his slight frame, the sleeves of his hoodie swallowing his hands, though that didn’t hide the tremor in his fingers.

His green eyes were impossibly wide, darting from the swirling energy of the Zeta Tube to the silent corridors beyond. It wasn’t the fearful kind of look that made someone back away—it was sharper, edged with curiosity, like he was trying to piece together an impossible puzzle.

The hum of the teleportation field made him flinch. He took a half-step forward, leaning in as if drawn toward it despite the way his knuckles tightened around the frayed hem of his hoodie.

The boy startled as footsteps approached, he darted behind one of the bulky machines that buzzed and blinked, his breath hitched as he pulled the hood of his jumper over his head to hide his face. He held his breath as the steps stopped, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he peaked around to see if the room was clear.

He went rigid as he locked eyes with an older man hovering above the ground, dressed in a glowing green suit with a mask covering his eyes; the man stared back at him, his own posture rigid and his mouth agape.

“Wally?” The man asked in utter disbelief.

Notes:

Ohh this took longer than planned- but procrastinations a real bitch- plus still trying to get the second chapter for Grant X Dick out- But anyways-

Looks like we're about to get a real beat down with the Bats vs the Mage

Little Hc but Wally and Roy def introduced Dick to Loony Tune's while they were on the Titans, Wally made the Speedy Gonzalez joke and Dick had no idea who they were talking about (perks of being a circus kid with two red heads as best friends!)

Wally def isn't having a good time and it's about to get ten times worse for him!

Chapter 23: Spooky Speedforce Things

Summary:

Okay so- just for those who may have read this chapter already, Wally’s section has been rewritten, I woke up and hated it lmao

The doors to the Founders’ chamber slid open with a soft hiss.

Damian stepped through, silent as a shadow, the sound of his boots swallowed by the hum of screens and machinery. The seven founders sat around the great circular table, deep in discussion, not sparing him a glance.

“Look, I’m telling you—the sooner we deal with him, the easier our jobs will be.”

Hal Jordan’s voice cut sharp across the chamber.

Damian paused just inside the threshold, letting the shadows cloak him.

“I hate to agree with him,” Oliver Queen sighed, leaning forward with his usual scowl, “but hasn’t it been long enough? Flamebird’s just one bad day away from joining Gotham’s rogues gallery…” His tone carried no humor, only the bone-deep exhaustion of a man who’d fought too many wars.

“Do not be so quick to judge.” Diana’s voice cracked like thunder, her fist slamming against the table and making several flinch. Her eyes were molten steel. “We have fought beside him. Does that not mean anything? In his grief, he has shown nothing but the spirit of a warrior.”

“Indeed.” Arthur Curry’s rumble followed, rough but steady. “It is a testament to his resolve that Flamebird still stands with us—despite his reservations about being an ally, despite refusing our banner. He has only us at his side.”

Barry Allen leaned forward, brows knit, frown tugging at his mouth. “We are talking about the same guy, right? The same Flamebird who helped Batman draw up contingency plans against all of us? The same one who once swore he’d put us in the ground if we so much as stepped foot in Gotham?”

Arthur gave a short, humourless laugh. “Ah—well.” His gaze flicked toward Diana, then Clark.

And Clark finally spoke. His voice was calm, but his eyes carried weight as they scanned each of the others. “Flamebird is all Gotham has right now. You may doubt him. You may resent him. But you cannot deny the truth: despite his reservations toward this League, despite his mistrust, he has saved us—and this world—more times than most sitting at this table.”

The words rang heavy in the chamber. And still, Damian stood in the doorway, unheard, unseen, their every judgment settling like iron across his shoulders. Then J’onn tilted his head slightly. His crimson eyes narrowed, voice quiet but cutting through the chamber.

“Flamebird… We were not expecting you.” J’onn’s voice was steady, yet Damian could see the way he shifted in his seat.

Every Founder turned toward the doorway in unison.

Damian held his head high as he stepped from the shadow. Each stride was sharper now, the soft clicks of his boots echoing across the chamber like a metronome counting down. His gaze locked with theirs in turn, unflinching.

Jordan shifted first, squirming in his seat, his earlier bravado collapsing into fidgeting discomfort.

Queen’s face paled as he straightened, trying and failing to recover the sharp edge of his voice.

Allen watched him with wide eyes, guilt written plain across his expression.

Curry’s smile stretched broad, but the nerves flickered underneath, a tremor in the corner of his eyes that betrayed him.

Prince alone met him with her head still high, gaze steady, calculation gleaming like a blade.

And then there was Kent—that damned sympathetic expression, all kindness and quiet weight, the same one Jonathan so often wore when looking at him.

The silence that followed was heavy, volatile, stretching long enough that the hum of the monitors felt louder than their own breathing.

Judgment was nothing new to him. He had long since ceased to flinch from it. Damian knew what they thought of him—had heard their whispers, had seen the wary looks that followed him through these halls. He held no qualms with their opinions. He knew what he was capable of. He knew that even without him, Gotham would go on.

He had never corrected them about Gotham. About those who lived there. Those who thrived in its shadows. Let the League misunderstand. Let them twist its image into fear.

“Your opinions of me,” Damian said at last, his voice cutting through the chamber like ice, “and my capabilities—matter not to me.”

His eyes swept the table, never lingering on one face for more than a heartbeat, never yielding.

Distantly, he thought of Duke, and what sharp rebuttal he might have offered to their barbs. He thought of Jason—what violence he would have chosen in response to such scrutiny. He thought of Timothy, whose own gaze could freeze a man where he sat, had he not been trapped in another universe.

Out of the corner of his vision, Damian saw the flicker of unease pass between Allen, Queen, and Jordan—shared glances of panic, sharp and guilty. Once, he might have chosen blood for words like theirs. Once, the insult alone would have been enough to spark violence.

But those days had burned away in the wake of tragedy.

The silence lingered, heavy and suffocating. Damian let it stretch, his presence alone pressing against them like a weight none of them cared to name.

Then, finally, a voice cut the stillness.

“…Why are you here, Flamebird?” It was Diana who asked, her tone steady, not accusatory but sharp enough to pierce the tension. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes never leaving his.

Damian’s gaze shifted to her, cool and unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing, only letting the question hang between them. Around the table, the others waited—some curious, some impatient, some already bracing for an answer they wouldn’t like.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried through the chamber with the weight of steel.

“I came because there is a matter that demands your attention. One I cannot resolve alone.”

A ripple of surprise crossed the circle—subtle, but there. Arthur’s brow furrowed. Barry straightened in his chair. Jordan’s jaw tightened. Even Oliver, who had sat stiff and scowling, blinked at the words.

Damian stepped closer to the table, unflinching. He didn’t lower his chin, didn’t soften his voice.

“You will hear me out. Not for my sake, and not for Gotham’s—but for your own.” The silence that followed his words stretched long and taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. Damian didn’t flinch. He let them look at him, let them measure their own discomfort against the steel of his resolve.

Arthur Curry was the first to shift, leaning back in his chair with a broad grin plastered across his face. But Damian saw the tightness around his eyes, the way his arms folded across his chest like armour. The man wanted to appear at ease—he wasn’t.

Barry Allen couldn’t sit still. His fingers tapped the table, his gaze darting between Clark and Diana as though he could borrow courage from them. His guilt was plain. Damian almost smirked at the irony—an enemy turned supplicant, at least in thought.

Hal Jordan, predictably, bristled. He leaned forward, chair scraping, and spat words edged in heat. Damian barely heard the details; he didn’t need to. It was always the same with Jordan: bravado and noise, a man too used to people mistaking volume for authority. Damian didn’t so much as blink in his direction.

Oliver Queen, on the other hand, sat like a man carved from stone. Pale, jaw tight, eyes fixed. Damian could see the weight behind his silence—the kind that tasted of regret, of a man who knew his words might damn him further if he dared to speak.

Diana was as she always was, a pillar of composure. Hands folded, gaze sharp, her calm steadied the air itself. She acknowledged him not as an intruder, not as a danger, but as a fellow warrior. “Then speak,” she said, her voice a command as much as an invitation.

Clark Kent leaned forward, kind eyes softening even as Damian felt the sting of them. Sympathy. It curdled in his stomach. Of all the things he could endure from Superman, it was that look he despised most—the same one Jonathan gave him, as though he were fragile porcelain instead of tempered steel. Clark’s voice carried gentleness, but beneath it, Damian heard the steel: he would be heard.

And J’onn. Damian felt it before he saw it—the faint brush of a mind grazing his own, testing the iron bars he kept locked tight. Red eyes glowed, piercing and unreadable. A small inclination of the Martian’s head, almost imperceptible, and Damian understood. J’onn saw him. Truly saw him.

Their reactions were varied—fear, guilt, bravado, respect, sympathy. It made no difference. He had expected nothing else.

He stood straighter, the weight of their judgment pressing against him like a storm against a cliff face. Let them doubt. Let them whisper. They would listen all the same.

 

---

 

Jason exhaled a trembling breath as he stepped out of his and Dick’s room. The earlier encounter while retrieving the tablet had left him teetering, caught between the edge of hysteria and something dangerously close to euphoria.

The situation with Tim was complicated—too complicated—and Jason knew Dick couldn’t fully grasp it, not with his head still such a fractured mess. And yet, against all odds, Dick had been uncharacteristically bold. It had taken months after the Court was dismantled for him to even inch close again, longer still to step away from Timothy’s side.

And then—unprompted, unexpected—Dick had spoken.

Not words shaped like knives. Not a death sentence. Just words. Simple, fragile, extraordinary.

Jason couldn’t say it aloud, couldn’t find the language even in his own thoughts, but his menace of a brother had leapt where no one thought he could. Dick—his little brother—was healing. Healing despite everything determined to drag him back down. Healing, even if he’d crash and burn a thousand more times before he truly flew again.

But then he remembered. That look of desperation carved into his brother’s face. The shattered, pleading sound in his voice as he uttered words that broke Jason’s heart clean through.

He had stood before Tim, begging for a Grandmaster long dead, for an Owl long buried, for a Master who never should have claimed him in the first place. Jason knew only fragments of what Timothy had done, deep in the rotting heart of Gotham—but he knew enough. Timothy was the last Owl left. The only one who could still bear that title of Grandmaster.

Jason’s hands curled into fists at the memory, nails biting into his palms. His stomach twisted, nausea rising like bile. The Lazarus stirred at the edges of his mind, whispering, urging, until his blood felt like it was thrumming with the rhythm of vengeance and betrayal. His jaw locked tight, muscles straining as though the fury could force its way out through his teeth.

He forced his eyes onto the closed door that led back into his room—the one from before all of this. Before the deaths. Before the betrayals. Before the secrets that hung between them like scars that never healed.

It had been his space long before Dick entered the picture. Back then, it had just been him, Cass, and Timothy; Duke and Damian had moved out for reasons Jason still didn’t know. But even if they weren’t under the same roof, they were still out there, protecting Gotham from the shadows, same as Batman.

Jason flexed his fists, focusing on the chipped paint along the doorframe, on the half-faded stickers clinging stubbornly to the lower panels. His mind drifted—back to when Dick had first arrived. Small. Shattered. His parents murdered. Crying out in a language none of them understood. Hiding in crawlspaces they couldn’t reach, refusing meals, unable to grasp their words.

Jason couldn’t even remember when that changed. Couldn’t mark the moment the boy who hid from everything started trailing after him, haunting the places he lingered. He remembered the irritation, the unease… and then, finally, the reluctant acceptance.

And now? That memory felt like salt in a wound. Because somewhere between then and now, Jason had failed him. Failed to shield him from the kind of pain that left him standing in front of Tim, begging for ghosts.

Worse, he’d failed him the moment he died. The moment he left Dick alone—abandoned him without meaning to. Jason’s death hadn’t just broken him; it had left his little brother to navigate grief, betrayal, and monsters in the dark without the one person he’d chosen to trust. The thought clawed at him, dragged bile up his throat. The Lazarus whispered it was his fault, all of it—that he hadn’t just died, he’d doomed Dick by doing so.

His blood pounded, violent and hot, demanding he lash out, destroy something, anything to drown out the guilt. But underneath the fury was a quieter truth, heavier, colder: he’d left Dick behind once. And no matter how many times he swore he wouldn’t, some part of him feared he’d do it again.

He tore his gaze from the worn door and forced his feet to move. If he stayed planted there, staring, he’d do nothing but poison the fragile calm he’d managed to give Dick by settling him into the bed Bruce had installed—at Jason’s demand—so they could share it, the way real brothers would have if the world had been kinder.

He needed to find Duke. To report what had happened. That Dick had spoken—real words, not whispers or silence—and that he’d pleaded with someone who wasn’t even from their world. Pleaded for someone who had hurt him. Jason’s chest tightened just remembering the sound of it, that fractured hope twisting through his brother’s voice, reaching for hands that didn’t exist here.

Tim’s face flashed in his mind—first panic, then confusion, then sharp-edged horror—etched as deeply as Dick’s desperation. One brother had begged for ghosts. The other had looked like he’d just seen one claw its way back from the grave.

Jason dragged a hand over his face, nails biting into stubble, trying to steady the rush of bile in his throat. The truth gnawed at him: in Tim’s world, the Court wasn’t gone. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Whether they’d been dismantled, driven underground, or still weaving strings in the shadows, Jason couldn’t tell—and that uncertainty was worse than an outright answer.

The Lazarus stirred at the edges of his mind, whispering poison: if the Court had touched Tim’s Gotham, then they weren’t finished. They never were. They were watching, waiting, their claws buried deep enough to tear open either world. His blood thrummed with the thought, violent, furious, every muscle in his body urging him to act—to hunt before they possibly could.

And yet, there was Duke. Jason trusted him—more than Damian, more than Tim. Duke understood him. Duke understood Dick. More than that, Jason knew Duke would see through him—would foresee the moves he was planning before he even laid them out. That’s why he would go to him. If he had to act, Duke would know exactly what was coming and how to help him carry it through.

The others—Damian, Cass, Timothy—shared that same drive to protect Dick. Jason knew it. But this was his responsibility first. His brother’s safety rested on him. Going to Duke didn’t mean he was handing over control. It meant he was arming himself with the one person who could anticipate the storm he was about to unleash.

Jason’s boots scraped against the floor as he moved down the hall, every step measured, every muscle taut. He was searching for Duke—needed to. Needed to lay everything bare before the older man could anticipate the next move Jason was only beginning to see himself.

But then he stopped. Something made him pause mid-step, a jolt that went straight to his gut.

On the wall where the familiar portrait of his own family should have hung, there was… something else.

A portrait of another family that looked so much like his own—but chaotic in a warm, almost teasing way. Dick, older, eyes a bright cerulean blue and with skin kissed by the golden sun (a stark contrast to his brother) stood at the centre, holding Damian (far too small to be the man he’d once looked up top) up on his shoulders, Dick’s grin wide as mischief danced in his eyes while Damian failed to hide the smirk dancing on his lips.

Tim (the same one who now resided in the room just down the hall) leaned to the side, mock-rolling his eyes at something Jason couldn’t see, while Cass (her body relaxed in a way he’d never seen before) stuck her tongue out behind him, mid-prank. Jason’s own figure who peaked in from a corner of the frame, in this universe, had an easy grin, caught in the middle of a laugh he didn’t remember having.

Bruce looked slightly exasperated, hands-on hips, trying to keep everyone in line, while Alfred’s calm, knowing smile betrayed a hint of amusement at the family’s antics. Even the positioning of everyone in the frame suggested movement—arms flung over shoulders, legs tangled, everyone leaning into the chaos of family life.

Jason’s chest tightened, a pang of longing twisting through him. The portrait radiated warmth, laughter, belonging—the kind of messy, happy family dynamic he had never truly had. It was almost unbearable. His fists curled at his sides, but not with rage this time; with ache, with envy, with grief for the family he never got to have.

He tore his eyes away and continued down the hall, muscles coiled, thoughts sharpened. Duke needed to see him. He had to. But for a fleeting heartbeat, Jason carried that glimpse of a family he’d never have with him—the laughter, the chaos, the life he hadn’t known.

 

---

 

The Zeta Tube disengaged with its usual crackle, light collapsing in on itself as Wally stepped into the bay. His boots hit polished metal, the sterile tang of ozone biting faint in the air. He glanced down at his upturned palm where a small holographic screen lit up, scrolling through the final lines of his Keystone report.

Quick in and out. Drop the file in Bruce’s inbox, then bolt to Roy’s. No reason to linger.

He stepped into the corridor, walking by instinct. He knew the Watchtower like the back of his hand, had run these halls a thousand times. He didn’t even glance at the consoles or the walls as he passed—his eyes stayed fixed on the scrolling holographic text.

“Gotta love bureaucracy,” he muttered with a grin, flicking the screen shut.

He turned down the next hallway without looking up from the holographic screen still glowing in his hand. His mind was already racing ahead—drop the report, head to Roy’s, figure out what the hell Gotham’s mess had to do with electrum. Easy checklist.

The corridor stretched on and on, longer than it should have, its sterile lights buzzing faintly overhead. Wally barely noticed, eyes scanning the last lines of his report as his boots tapped a steady rhythm across the metal floor. He knew this route by heart; muscle memory carried him without thought.

But after several dozen paces, something tugged faintly at him. The hall hadn’t curved yet. It should’ve curved. It always curved by now, spilling him out toward the communications wing.

He frowned down at his holo-screen, chalking the thought up to distraction. He hadn’t exactly been at the top of his focus game tonight. And when he finally glanced up—still half-distracted—he walked face-first into a wall.

“—ow! What the hell?” He staggered back, rubbing his nose as the hologram fizzled out.

The plating where the hallway should have continued was seamless, no doors, no panels, just solid metal. He frowned, shrugged, and stepped forward anyway. The corridor funnelled into a space he didn’t remember existing.

The lounge spread out before him, cavernous and bright, its ceiling soaring above the narrow halls. The air smelled faintly of over-brewed coffee and cleaner, a mix of sterile and lived-in.

Tables and chairs stretched across the floor in utilitarian rows, bolted down but showing signs of use—rings of cups left behind, stacks of papers folded and forgotten. A vending unit hummed in the corner, its display flickering unevenly. Beyond, wide windows opened onto the Earth, its curve impossibly vivid against the void.

Static sat cross-legged on a table, earbuds in, spinning his fingers through a small tangle of wires as sparks jumped faintly from his fingertips. He didn’t glance up once, fully absorbed in his tinkering.

Livewire leaned back in a chair, arms crossed, her signature green hair catching the light from the windows. She tapped her fingers against her data pad, eyes never leaving the screen as a small flicker of electricity danced along her fingertips.

Blue Beetle perched on the edge of another table, demonstrating some gadget mechanics to another member who kept fumbling with a half-dented training uniform. His body tilted slightly toward Wally as he passed, hands gesturing subtly toward the device as if silently judging the rookie’s coordination. The slight lean and shift of his head conveyed the same mix of curiosity and unease crossed his face—but he didn’t speak or acknowledge him. Attention drifting back to the member he was helping.

Wally laughed awkwardly as he adjusted himself, glancing around the room again. A faint sense of unease clung to him, the same strange, prickling feeling he’d had not even an hour earlier in his apartment.

He could feel eyes lingering on him—heroes and vigilantes alike observing him from across the lounge. Some returned quickly to their previous tasks and quiet conversations, while others whispered in low tones, glancing at him before looking away. Wally’s grin stayed in place, though slightly forced, as he stepped further into the common room, boots clicking against the polished floor.

Then in the distance he caught a glimpse of Bart and Cassie seated in a corner, huddled over something on the table. Bart’s hands moved quickly as he spoke, animated and almost bouncing in his seat, while Cassie leaned in, nodding along with a small, amused smile. Wally’s grin returned, a little more relaxed now—and started making his way across the lounge, boots clinking against the polished floor.

Wally weaved between tables, dodging a stray data pad and a half-finished cup, his grin still wide as he approached Bart and Cassie. But as he drew closer, something pricked at the edge of his mind. Bart’s hands still moved quickly, still animated, but he looked older—taller than Wally remembered, his features sharper, and his uniform subtly different, the colours darker and more streamlined.

Cassie, too, seemed different. She still leaned in toward Bart, nodding along, but her suit was heavier, more formal than the one she had worn when Wally knew her. Their energy wasn’t wrong exactly, but… off, like watching familiar faces in an alternate version of their lives.

While caught in his inner turmoil, Bart cast a brief glance his way before turning back to the device in his hands. A moment of awkward silence passed between them before Bart suddenly froze and snapped his head toward him.

Wally opened his mouth to speak, to ask what had happened to change everything. But when he looked into Bart’s eyes, there was no glimmer of recognition—only cold unfamiliarity, as if Wally were a stranger.

“Who the hell are you?” Bart was the first to speak, his voice deeper and sharper than Wally would’ve ever expected him to grow into.

Cassie was looking at him now too, her expression unreadable except for the slight furrow between her brows. Wally swallowed, the tingling unease he’d felt back in his apartment now pressing firmly against his chest.

“Looks like a speedster,” Cassie said, her head tilting slightly as she glanced at Bart—who still hadn’t taken his eyes off Wally.

“There shouldn’t be more speedsters...” Bart muttered, squinting at him. It was the same expression he always made when something didn’t add up, when he was trying to figure out why.

“Well, that happens when you try to recreate the experiment that gave your uncle his powers,” Wally said with an awkward laugh.

Bart didn’t laugh. His eyes narrowed further, scanning Wally like he was a puzzle with missing pieces—dangerous pieces.

“The Flash doesn’t have a nephew.” he said flatly. Not a question. A statement.

Cassie shifted her weight, subtly moving one foot behind her—ready, Wally realized, to launch into action if she had to. Her fingers twitched near the quiver on her back.

Wally ran a hand over his face, frustration and unease gnawing at him. He couldn’t quite grasp what was happening. Had someone gone back in time and changed something? And now... everything was unraveling because of it? Or worse—what if this wasn’t even his timeline?

He forced himself to take a slow breath, grounding against the chaos screaming in the back of his mind. “Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “let’s start over.”

“I’m Wally West,” he began carefully, “the current Flash since my uncle, Barry Allen, retired to raise his kids—my cousins Don and Dawn. You’re his grandson from the future.”

A heavy silence settled over them. Bart and Cassie exchanged a quick, tense glance—silent words passing between them. Wally’s nerves twitched beneath his skin.

His eyes darted around the large room, taking in details he hadn’t noticed before. His heart thundered in his chest as he tapped his foot restlessly.

Bart finally broke the silence, his voice cautious. “Is there more you can tell us?”

Wally’s frustration bubbled over, his footfalls quickening as he paced. “Everything was normal—just an hour ago!” he muttered. “Then I went to my room in my Keystone apartment, and there it was—a stuffed bear from when I was a kid, sitting right on my bed. I haven’t seen that thing in years.”

He stopped pacing and looked at them, eyes wide with disbelief. “I figured it was some weird Speed Force glitch, but then Roy called about something happening in Gotham with The Bats.”

He gestured wildly toward Bart. “I needed to drop off my reports first, so I came to the Watchtower—I didn’t notice anything at first, but the Watchtower is different from how I remember it.”

Cassie stepped forward, her voice measured but laced with concern. “Different how?”

“in that uncanny kinda way,” Wally said, running a hand through his hair. “Like, I walked into a wall where a should’ve been, this rooms bigger and now that i think about it all the tech is off too.”

Bart frowned, folding his arms. “And your sure of this?” Wally could hear the scepticism in his tone of voice

“Yes,” Wally spoke in confidence.

Cassie exchanged a look with Bart before nodding slowly. “If what you’re saying is true… then it’s not just you. Something bigger might be going on.”

Bart tilted his head, squinting at Wally with a mix of doubt and unease. “Or it’s you,” he said bluntly, tone cutting. “I mean, a stuffed bear, walls in the wrong place, tech looking weird? That’s pretty thin evidence, dude.”

Wally’s jaw tightened, frustration sparking hot in his chest. “Thin evidence? I live here, Bart! I know the Watchtower inside and out. I know how many steps it takes from the lounge to the monitor womb. I know where the hall bends, where the bulkheads sit, what the panels should look like.” He jabbed a finger toward the wall. “This isn’t it. This is wrong.”

Bart’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of uncertainty now. He glanced at Cassie, and she exhaled, rubbing her forehead.

“Okay,” Cassie said softly, trying to cut through the tension. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say… something about this place is wrong. What do you think happened, Wally?”

He hesitated, what did he think happened? Then a thought struck him—clearer now, sharper. While on the phone, Roy had mentioned another Tim. A Tim from another universe, swapped with theirs.

His breath caught.

“What if that’s it?” Wally said, voice low but urgent. “What if it’s not just Tim? What if it’s… everything? What if I got swapped, too?”

Bart blinked, frown deepening. “Swapped? As in—multiverse, parallel worlds, that whole deal?”

“Exactly that deal,” Wally shot back, his words tumbling out faster now, almost tripping over each other. “Roy said it like it was a one-off, like it only happened to Tim, but what if it didn’t stop there? What if whatever yanked him out of his universe…” He gestured around at the lounge, at Bart and Cassie in their not-quite-right uniforms. “…pulled me into this one?”

Cassie’s expression tightened, her jaw clenching. “That’s a huge leap, Wally.”

“Yeah, well,” Wally muttered, forcing a humorless grin, “huge leaps are kind of my thing.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. Cassie shifted uneasily, and Bart glanced at her, clearly searching for confirmation, but finding none.

And for the first time, Wally wasn’t sure if he wanted to be right.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 24: There Is Ice In My Veins And A Fire in My Heart

The Batmobile came to a screeching halt in a dark alley by the museum. Jason shoved the door open, boots hitting the pavement before the engine even died. Cass and Harper landed beside him like a pair of shadows.

“Took you long enough to get here,” Harper said around a pop of gum, casual like they weren’t walking into god knows what.

Jason ignored the jab. “What’s the situation?” His eyes were already on the building ahead — Gotham Museum, stone façade washed pale in the moonlight. The windows were wrong, frost creeping up the arches like veins. The whole block was dead quiet. Heavy quiet. The kind that usually came before someone tried to put a bullet in his skull.

Cass tilted her head, sharp gaze locking onto the roofline. Fog leaked from the skylight above, just faint enough to catch in the moonlight. Jason tracked her stance — the way her shoulders tightened, the subtle shift in her footing. She smelled danger like blood in the water.

“Yeah,” Jason muttered, rifle strap biting into his shoulder as he adjusted it. “I see it too.”

Harper flexed her gauntlets, electricity humming low and dangerous. “Frost inside, fog outside. Real subtle. Totally not a red flag or anything.”

Jason’s jaw clenched beneath the helmet. He didn’t answer her. His attention kept circling — frozen windows, the yawning dark alley, the silence pressing too thick against his ears. Nothing about this sat right.

“Comms are dead past this point,” he said flatly. “Which means Nightwing, Spoiler and Raptor are in there cut off.” He didn’t miss the way Harper tilted her head, gum snapping as her brows twitched up in a silent Raptor? She didn’t voice it, though — probably saving the smartass comment for later. Smart. “And we’re about to do the same.”

The words hung heavy, colder than the frost creeping down the windows. Jason adjusted the rifle strap across his chest, scanning the façade again. He hated going in blind, hated worse that Dick was already trapped in the icebox with some magic freak, and now he was stuck playing catch-up.

Harper’s gauntlets hummed as she powered them up, a low crackle like distant thunder. Cass didn’t wait for orders, her eyes fixed on the roofline, body coiled and ready. She wasn’t asking permission. She never did.

Jason let out a sharp exhale that clouded the air in front of his visor. “Alright. We go in fast, we go in quiet. Stick to me and Cass, Harper — don’t get cute with the electricity unless you’ve got a clean shot.”

Harper smirked, a flash of teeth in the dark. “Define cute.”

Jason shot her a look, visor hiding the roll of his eyes. He kept his voice steady as he spoke into his comm, “Oracle, if we’re not out in ten—”

He didn’t get to finish.

“You will be out in ten minutes max,” Babs snapped, sharp enough that the words rang in his ear. “If you’re not, I’ll throw the lot of you into a pit and kill you all myself.”

Jason huffed a short laugh under his breath; more air than humour. “Copy that. Threats of homicide received loud and clear.”

Harper’s grin crooked sideways, gum popping between her teeth. “Love it when she talks dirty.”

Cass didn’t react; eyes already locked on the skylight above. Jason caught the slight twitch of her fingers, her way of saying time’s up. He adjusted the grapple in his grip, the cold metal biting through his glove. “Alright, you heard the boss lady. Ten minutes to kick this guy’s ass and get our people out alive.”

He fired his grapple and followed Cass up, Harper’s sparks flickering at his flank.

The roof greeted them with silence, but the kind that thrummed with violence just beneath the surface. Frost spread thick across the skylight, white and sharp under the moonlight. Jason crouched low, scraping a strip clear with his knuckles.

The cold bit through the layers of leather, Kevlar and cotton, sharp and biting. Harper crouched beside him while Cass hovered just over his shoulder, silent as always. Jason could taste the tang of magic seeping through the air, metallic and wrong, like ozone laced with blood.

The glass beneath his gloved hand was frozen solid from the inside, so thick with frost it blurred everything below into shapes and shadows. He scraped harder, but the ice clung stubbornly, refusing to give him a clean look. That alone told him how bad it was down there — when magic decided to mark its territory, it never meant anything good.

Behind his visor, his jaw locked. Dick, Stephanie, and the Surrogate were in the middle of that storm, and he was stuck crouching on the outside like a goddamn spectator. Their fate entirely unknown with no communication between them.

Harper leaned closer, her breath visible in quick white puffs. “Can’t see jack,” she muttered, electricity twitching faintly between her gauntlets as if the cold itself was daring her to spark.

Cass didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes cut toward him, then back to the skylight, her body angled forward in that way that screamed we move now.

Jason’s hand flexed against the glass, the frost crunching under his palm. He let out a slow breath that fogged the inside of his helmet. “Yeah. I get it,” he muttered.

Somewhere inside, Dick and Stephanie were fighting for their lives. Timothy — the guy who’d slid into the Replacement’s place — could just as easily be fighting beside them as against them. And the mage, the bastard who’d caused all this, was in there tearing apart people Jason would protect, no matter the grudges, no matter the bad blood.

His grip tightened on the rifle strap across his chest. Didn’t matter if he hated Dick’s decisions, or if Timothy set his teeth on edge — if they went down in there, he’d never forgive himself.

Cass shifted at his side, her stance angled forward, every line of her body screaming readiness. Harper cracked her gum again, gauntlets buzzing with restless sparks.

Jason exhaled slow through his nose, visor fogging for a second. “Alright,” he muttered, voice low but carrying. “We’re going in. Stay sharp, stay close. No screw-ups.”

 

---

 

Timothy grunted as he was pushed back by another blast of ice, the twin tri-edged blades gripped tightly in his hands; the temperature of the room was colder than anything he’d ever felt before, frost building up on his lashes and hair stiffening like it was being chewed on by the cold itself.

Every joint screamed protest, stiffening by the second. He clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from rattling, blinking hard to clear the thin film of frost clinging to the corners of his eyes. A dive to the side carried him behind the remains of a shattered display case, the marble floor beneath him slick with frost.

His gaze darted toward the archway — still blocked, the exit sealed in thick walls of ice that shimmered with unnatural veins of magic.

Stephanie was there, this world’s Stephanie, one arm wrapped tight around herself as she planted small charges across the frozen surface. Her hands shook, every placement slower than the last. Her breath came in faint wisps that barely showed anymore before vanishing into the air. She was fading fast.

Timothy’s gut tightened, but his eyes dragged back to Nightwing.

The cold was devouring him. Frost laced across the black of his suit, white edges spreading like cracks in glass. His breath tore out in sharp bursts, steaming for half a second before dissolving into nothing. The escrima sticks in his hands sparked weakly, arcs of blue light flickering like dying embers instead of steady fire.

Timothy could see the fight draining out of him piece by piece. His swings were still sharp, still trained, but the speed was gone. His footwork lagged, boots grinding slow against the ice that spider-webbed from the mage’s stance. Every move looked heavier than the last, like chains had been strapped to his limbs.

His jaw was locked tight — Timothy knew it wasn’t just focus but to keep his teeth from clattering. Even from across the room, he caught the slight tremor in Nightwing’s hands, the way his shoulders hunched for warmth he wasn’t going to find.

The mage had him pinned without even touching him, bleeding the heat right out of his body.

Timothy gripped his blades tighter, frost crackling over the metal. He could feel the same chill dragging through his own bones, but watching Nightwing stagger under it lit something sharper in his chest.

His breath hitched, a quiet stutter that broke the rhythm of the fight’s noise. Dread pooled low in his stomach, heavy and cold, because for a split second he didn’t see Nightwing anymore. He saw a boy — a boy shoved into an icebox until his body locked stiff, skin burning from the cold that never ended. A boy forced to stumble through labyrinth after labyrinth, joints freezing until he looked as though he’d been carved from blocks of ice, nothing but brittle edges and shivering bones.

Timothy blinked hard, forcing the memory back, but it clung like frostbite, slow and gnawing. He forced icy air into his lungs, the blades steady in his hands despite the tremor in his chest. He couldn’t lose focus. Not here.

He twisted his body, boots skidding against the frost as he pushed off the edge of the display case he’d been taking cover behind. Muscles coiled, ready to lunge toward the fight, blades drawn tight in his grip. Nightwing was staggering, the mage’s frost biting deeper, and Timothy wasn’t going to stand still—

A thunderclap split the air.

The sound of a bang echoed sharp and brutal, followed by the splintering crack of ice giving way. Shards rained down from above, glittering in the dim light like falling glass. Timothy’s head snapped upward, heart stuttering in his chest.

Three figures stood high above as mist spilled into the room, pouring down like smoke from a broken lung. Timothy squinted through the frost, eyes locking first on the gleam of a red helmet catching the moonlight.

Red Hood.

The recognition hit sharp, like a blade sliding too close to the bone. But the sight of him jarred Timothy almost as much as the mage’s ice. The helmet this Red Hood wore was nothing like the one his Jason wore; his brother had kept the hood Ra’s had given him during his time with the League, his mask old tech he’d pieced together. But looking at the man above him it was clear who he was meant to be.

Beside him, a figure dressed in blue flexed gauntlets that pulsed with electricity, arcs snapping faintly in the cold. The third — darker still — moved like a living shadow, untethered and silent as it leapt from the skylight’s jagged frame.

Timothy’s grip on his blades tightened. He didn’t know the other two, didn’t recognize their suits, but he recognized the names Dick had spoken earlier. The knowledge should have steadied him, should have meant reinforcements, but the gnawing weight in his chest didn’t ease.

Behind him, Stephanie choked. The sound was sharp, raw, cutting through the roar of blood in his ears. He risked a glance back — she had one hand clutching her throat now, shoulders hunched, her lips, now slowly turning blue trembled as she sucked in another breath that came out thinner than the last. The cold wasn’t just biting anymore; it was consuming, pulling at her like a tide she couldn’t fight against.

The mage’s presence was swelling, thickening the air until every inhale scraped Timothy’s throat raw. Frost spiderwebbed further across the floor, creeping toward their boots. He could see Stephanie’s movements slowing, her hand fumbling with the last charge she’d been planting as she dropped to her knees

And still the mist poured in from above, the ice pressing closer, as if the whole museum was freezing them alive.

“Raptor!” Dick’s voice cracked sharp, warning laced through every syllable. His eyes darted back toward the fight raging behind him — but the mage’s focus had already shifted.

The ground split with a sound like glass shattering. A spear of ice tore free from the frost, jagged and merciless, lurching straight toward Timothy.

For a second he froze. His breath hitched, his body locking as the memory slammed into him — of steel-cold walls closing in, the bite of frozen air that refused to let lungs expand, a mask in his hands with a blade coated in blood. His blood. His blades trembled in his grip.

The spear surged forward, hungry for him, the cold dragging at his legs like chains.

 

---

 

Jason was already moving. He stepped through the shattered skylight and let himself drop, glass and mist swirling around him like shards of a broken dream. His HUD flared green, illuminating the battlefield below.

Stephanie. She was trying to carve a way out, planting charges with hands that shook too hard to finish cleanly. Her body trembled, breaths ragged, misting into the frost-choked air. Cass was already cutting a path toward her, shadow-quick, ready to rip her free before the mage’s cold could finish what it had started.

And then Dick. His brother.

Jason’s gut clenched. Every movement Dick made was dulled, dragging like he was moving through molasses. Escrima swings that should have been fluid looked labored, shoulders stiff, stance faltering. Still he fought, still he threw himself in front of the mage’s fury, buying time with his own body. Rage flared in Jason’s chest, hot and sharp.

Then his eyes caught movement on the far side of the hall — Timothy. The one he couldn’t yet fully trust.

Pinned against a frozen display case, frost crawling hungrily over his uniform, Timothy seemed swallowed by the ice itself. Jagged icicles pierced through the glass into his gut, forcing his body into a ragged bow. His breath came shallow and white. Tri-edged blades trembled in his hands as he fought to keep hold of them, knuckles stark against the dark metal.

He hit the ground with a crunch of ice and shattered glass underfoot. The cold hit him like a physical weight, pressing against his lungs, clawing at his throat. Every breath shredded the air, but the familiar, burning pulse of the Lazarus Pit flared through him — his veins buzzing, senses sharpening, reflexes twitching a heartbeat faster than human.

“Holy shit.” Harper landed beside him, boots crunching against the frost. She moved toward Timothy, precise and unflinching despite the biting cold.

Jason tore his gaze away. Harper had him; Cass was already guiding Stephanie clear. That left one thing — the mage, and keeping Dick alive.

A pulse of icy magic surged through the room, gnawing through leather and Kevlar alike. Jason’s stomach clenched as he saw Dick stagger, escrima sticks swinging sluggishly, every strike stealing energy from his brother’s body.

“Hey, why don’t cha leave him alone and try picking on someone who shoots back?” Jason’s voice cut through the frost — sharp, cocky, dangerous. Even through the Pit’s heat, his words carried the weight of a promise: cross me, and you’ll regret it.

The mage froze mid-motion, head tilting just enough for Jason to catch their face in fractured moonlight. Skin drawn tight, cheeks hollowed like ice had carved them down to bone. Eyes were nothing but black pits, endless and devouring. Something inhuman flickered — the man beneath scraped away, leaving only cruelty honed razor-sharp by frost.

And then they smiled. Pearly, precise teeth glinting in the moonlight. A puppet, not a man, strings pulled taut by an unseen hand.

“Shoot, then. Let’s see if your fire burns hotter than the cold that already owns him.”

Jason stepped forward deliberately, planting himself between the mage and Dick. Behind his visor, his gaze tracked every tremor in his brother’s body — the stumble, the faltering swing. Rage burned steady in his veins, fueled further by the Lazarus Pit. Every strike he’d ever seen Dick endure, every brush with death, sharpened the edge of his focus. If the mage wanted another shot at Dick, they’d have to go through him first.

A glance behind him: Dick’s face twisted in horror, trembling, waxen from the cold. Cass hauled herself toward the skylight. Stephanie, limp but secured. Harper braced Timothy upright, ice still embedded but bleeding slowed. Timothy’s eyes, raw and fierce, held anger, guilt, understanding.

“Hood—” Dick’s voice cracked, urgent, fearful. The word twisted Jason’s gut. Fearful wasn’t a word he’d ever associated with Dick. The brave one, the one who stared God in the face.

“You wanted a fight?” Jason said low, lethal, voice tightening with the Pit’s heat. “Congratulations. You just found mine.”

He shifted his hands. Fingers brushed air before curling tight. Heat sparked across his palms, surging into fire kissing steel. In a heartbeat, the All-Blades answered — twin silver lengths flaring, edges hissing against the frost.

The frost recoiled, jagged cracks spiderwebbing across the marble. The mage’s body wavered, strings of control trembling. A flash of recognition — something inside them recoiled from the All-Blades.

Jason surged forward. All-Blades cutting streaks of fire through the frost. The pit in his chest sang, adrenaline and heat, every nerve alight.

The mage flung their dagger upward. Jagged ice surged, tearing across the marble. Jason’s stance shifted, blades brighter, heat flaring. Every movement calculated: shield Dick, give Harper time, Cass time, use the mage’s own momentum against them.

The mage’s eyes widened — fear or calculation, Jason didn’t care. With an explosive movement, they slammed the dagger to the ground. Ice shattered in jagged shards, a blast of wind and smoke-like frost tearing toward the skylight.

Jason staggered back, All-Blades raised. The mage twisted midair, body flaring with icy magic — and then they vanished. Not shadow, not smoke, but somewhere else entirely. Only a swirling storm of frost and shattered glass marked their escape.

The chill lingered, pressing against walls and floors. The room stilled. Jason’s visor scanned the chaos, fists tight around the blades. The mage had escaped, yes — but not without leaving a warning carved into the very air: this fight was far from over.

The sharp exhale of trembling breath made him turn. Jason let the All-Blades wink out, silver fire dissipating like smoke, leaving only the frozen shards of the battle behind. His eyes locked on Dick — body trembling, skin pale and blotched, every movement sluggish. He looked worse than before, the cold gnawing at him like a living thing.

His own hands shook as he grabbed his brother’s shivering form, muscles tensing to support him, the Pit’s heat coursing through his veins keeping him steadier than his body had any right to be. Every step toward the skylight felt like wading through ice and smoke, but he didn’t falter. Not for a second. Not while Dick was still half-frozen in his arms.

“Alright, Goldie,” Jason muttered, voice low but rough with urgency. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

Notes:

Gotta say Jason with magic swords? Absolutely fire!

Also y'all are lucky. Was gonna leave it on a cliffhanger when Timothy got impaled, but I don't feel like being murdered in my sleep by a friend (Their a major Tim Fan-) ((they know where i live and can walk in at any time-))

Chapter 25: Keeping Track

Tim moved through the halls, restless. He’d tried to sleep, telling himself it would be a better use of his time than pacing the room he’d been given. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw only the same image: his reflection warped into pale white skin, lips the color of fresh blood, and hair streaked with a sickly green that turned his stomach.

That earlier moment of insanity clung to him like a stain. He couldn’t shake the memory of Dick’s golden eyes, the desperation in his voice, or the flicker of horror across Jason’s face.

So, instead of trying again, he walked. The silence of the darkened halls offered him something to focus on: a simple goal. Retrieve the notebook he’d abandoned earlier, start drafting a plan of action. He couldn’t afford to wait around for answers. He didn’t know what the people in this universe intended to do to fix this mess—and he wasn’t sure he trusted them to.

He stopped short. Morning light spilled through a crack in the wall, falling across a portrait. Tim’s breath caught, his stomach sinking. He stepped closer, brows knitting in disbelief. Tentatively, he reached out, fingertips brushing the rough edge of a brushstroke. His hand recoiled as if burned, his heart pounding in his ears.

This was wrong.

That painting shouldn’t exist here. Not with his family staring back at him from the canvas.

His gaze locked on the portrait even as he forced himself to move again, feet carrying him faster now, urgency snapping back into his stride.

 

---

 

He stepped into the study. The room was unchanged from the last time he’d been inside. So far, he hadn’t crossed paths with anyone else in the manor. He didn’t waste time wondering where they might be. His eyes went straight to the notebook on the desk.

It wasn’t exactly where he’d left it, but it remained unopened. Inside were the pages he’d filled in haste—messy scrawls capturing fragments of everything he’d witnessed so far. He snapped it shut with a sharp clap and slid it into his pocket. Only then did his gaze drift toward the bookcase along the back wall, its shelves neatly arranged.

Tim tilted his head, worrying at his lip. He hadn’t confirmed whether the hidden passage here existed the same way it did back home. He wondered if Duke was already waiting beyond it… or if he wasn’t.

His eyes scanned the spines of books, all familiar, arranged in the same pattern. He slowed as he reached a volume bound in dull red, its once-golden lettering worn dim by age.

He reached out. The cloth cover rasped against his fingertips. He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back, frozen in place. Trepidation drummed in his chest.

Then he heard it—the soft click, the groan of gears awakening behind the wall. Relief surged; the passage existed here. But the weight pressing against his chest didn’t ease. The false wall shifted aside, revealing a tunnel coated in dust and cobwebs, stale air drifting out like the exhale of something long-buried.

He stepped inside without hesitation, taking note of the neglect. Dust layered the floor, filaments stretched across corners. Alfred—or any Alfred—would never have let a passage fall into such disrepair.

And yet, untouched stonework and forgotten air felt like a small victory. Some things still followed the patterns he knew. He could use them.

The narrow tunnel stretched before him, a ribcage of stone and brick. Each step stirred dust that clung to the air, coating his tongue with grit. The further he moved, the more the manor above seemed to fade, swallowed by silence broken only by faint echoes of his footsteps.

The walls pressed close, rough and damp in places, until the ground sloped downward and widened. A chill swept through him as he reached the final descent. He didn’t need to see it yet—he knew where it led.

The Batcave opened around him, vast and hollow. Shadows clung to the rock like living things. The glow of the main computer and floodlights sat far off, illuminating only fragments of the cavern.

Tim didn’t head toward them. He moved along the edges, staying in darker fringes where the equipment didn’t reach. He found a corner tucked away from the central hub, the kind of place someone could stand unseen.

Stalactites hung heavy above. Water dripped slowly into pools that mirrored faint light. The air was heavier, colder here. He pressed his back against the stone, notebook secure in his pocket, and let the shadows fold around him.

Bats swept overhead, returning from their hunt. Wings whispered against the cavern air as they vanished into the higher dark. Tim’s eyes followed them briefly, then shifted back to the cavern floor.

There—laid out in practiced order—was his gear. His suit and equipment lay exactly as he’d left them when he’d been forced out of the Cave by this world’s Stephanie. The sight twisted something in his chest.

The Batcomputer glowed at the far end of the Cave, screens tangled with the web of information he’d pieced together earlier. Stephanie sat in the chair, scrolling through it, her face lit by the shifting streams of data.

Tim froze, a muted curse slipping through clenched teeth. His eyes swept the cavern—exits, blind spots, angles of her line of sight. He didn’t know what she’d discovered or suspected.

His gaze returned to his suit. He needed it—the Kevlar, the tools, the mask. Armor between himself and this place, this version of his family. Without it, he was exposed. Vulnerable.

And he couldn’t afford that. Not if he was going to leave and find this world’s Constantine.

It was reckless, maybe even suicidal. But the thought had already lodged itself in his mind. Tim knew himself well enough to recognize its inevitability.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a slow, deep breath. He felt his heartbeat hammering in his ribs, loud in his ears. Hesitation could betray him. He let the air out gradually, steadying the tremor in his hands. One step. Then another. Silent. Controlled. Calculated.

He shifted his weight carefully, boots finding stone that wouldn’t crunch or echo. Step by step, he hugged the shadows, edging closer to the table where his suit waited.

The bats above rustled, wings beating against the air. Tim froze as Stephanie’s head turned slightly at the sound. For a heartbeat, he thought she’d seen him. But she muttered something under her breath and returned to the monitor.

He let the tension bleed from his shoulders and moved again. The table was only a few feet away now. Relief flickered sharply as his fingertips brushed the edge of the cloth.

He lifted the mask first, its cool weight pressing into his palm, a comfort he hadn’t realized he’d needed. His other hand closed around the utility belt, leather straps melding to his grip. Piece by piece, he began to rebuild himself.

Then the chair creaked. Stephanie shifted slightly, the glow of the monitors stretching farther than before.

Tim froze mid-motion. Mask in hand, belt dangling loose. Stephanie’s head shifted slightly again, and the shadows around him seemed thinner, stretched and uncertain. Every muscle in his body coiled tight, every nerve alert. He felt the weight of the silence pressing down, the low hum of the Batcomputer and the distant dripping of water in the cavern magnifying the smallest sound.

A bead of sweat ran down his temple. He dared not move. Just breathe. Just wait.

Then she leaned forward, fingers brushing over the keyboard, entirely absorbed again. The spell of danger broke—but only slightly. Tim exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders loosen just enough to move.

Step by careful step, he inched backward, hugging the shadows along the cavern wall. The bats above stirred, their wings whispering against the stone. Each sound, each flicker of movement, he catalogued and anticipated.

Finally, he reached the far edge of the cavern, where the main hub of the Batcave gave way to an isolated corridor carved into the rock. Here, the lights dimmed and the hum of technology fell away. The air smelled cooler, more musty—less monitored.

He found the discreet exit he had hoped would be here just as he’d hope the passageway had been. A narrow stairway spiralled upward, barely visible in the dim light, hidden behind a loose panel in the rock. One last glance over his shoulder toward the Batcomputer—Stephanie still absorbed in the web of data—then he slipped through.

The corridor hugged the cavern wall tightly, forcing him to move slowly, silently. Each step brought him closer to freedom. At the top, a small, unmarked door led to the outskirts of the manor grounds—an exit few noticed, a route rarely travelled.

A route that was now his advantage.

Tim emerged into the cool morning air. The morning rays touched his face, the familiar tang of earth and stone filling his senses. Mask and belt secure, notebook still in pocket, he paused for a heartbeat. The danger of the Cave behind him, and the unknown challenges ahead waiting in the night.

He had escaped—unseen—but first? He needed to get out of Gotham and preferably before his disappearance was notices. He turned toward the city that remained a silhouette in the thick fog that surrounded it, a journey that he’d need to take of foot. Lucky for him in the distance he heard the rumble of wheels on the old asphalt road.

His eyes narrowed behind the mask as the edges of his lips twitched upwards. There was no thrill like truck surfing.

 

---

 

His feet hit the gravelled rooftop with a muted clatter, the grapple’s cord snapping back into place with mechanical precision. The sound seemed too loud in the stillness, though the city below paid him no mind. Morning had taken hold, but the sky remained bleak and colorless, a washed-out canvas that matched the world he’d stumbled into.

He crouched low behind an air conditioning unit, fingers already flicking against the screen mounted to his wrist. A scowl tugged at his mouth when the display remained frozen—time and date locked on a point that had long since passed.

Frustration prickled at the back of his neck. From the scraps of information he’d gathered at the manor, their universes were offset by no more than two years. But the timelines didn’t align, not perfectly, and he had no way to measure how much of that was due to the lost hours—or days—he’d spent unconscious.

He let his arms fall to his sides, head tipped forward, eyes closing against the static hum of the rooftop. A slow breath, steadying. Then he looked up, gaze catching the distant clock tower. His lips pressed thin at the time it displayed. If he moved quickly, if he timed it exactly, he could make it downtown in five minutes. That would put him on the six-o-eight to Metropolis.

From there?

His best bet would be to break into Lexcorp and gain access to usable tech that was close enough to his own advanced systems. Breaking into Lex Luthor’s systems wasn’t a challenge. With the right entry point, he could pry open the entire network, gain unrestricted access to everything LexCorp touched—and beyond it.

His head tilted as the thought unfurled. The memory of the outdated Batcomputer, its sluggish processor and unimpressive security protocols, slid unbidden into his mind. A system like that wouldn’t have even slowed him down. The only reason he’d been unable to get in was because of this Universes Duke and his own lack of foresight for the older man’s meta human abilities.

Tim rose from his crouch in one fluid motion, keeping his profile low against the skyline. The gravel shifted faintly beneath his boots as he crossed the rooftop, every sound amplified in the silence that clung to the city. He fired his grapple again, the line whirring out and catching with a muted thud. A heartbeat later, he was swinging into the air, cloak cutting through the bleak light of morning.

Every movement was measured, every arc planned. He stuck to the blind spots—alleys too narrow for prying eyes, rooftops shielded by taller buildings, stretches of shadow where security cameras hadn’t been updated in years. His brain mapped the path in real time, adjusting for angles, recalculating risk.

Below, the streets were beginning to stir. Early commuters. Delivery trucks. A city shaking itself awake. Tim kept to the heights, eyes flicking to every glint of glass that might hide a lens, every shape that might be more than it appeared. He couldn’t be seen. Not here. Not now.

By the time his boots hit the ledge overlooking the station, his pulse had steadied into something sharp and efficient. The clock tower loomed in the distance, its hands marching closer to the minute he needed.

Six-oh-eight. He could make it. He would make it.

Tim dropped down onto the edge of the platform, boots striking concrete with a dull scrape before he melted into the shadows of a support beam. The crowd was already thick, commuters pressing closer to the yellow line as the clock tower loomed overhead.

His eyes tracked the hands as they slid into place. 6:08.

Too late.

A curse caught in his throat, his stomach tightening as he scanned the tracks. Empty. The platform buzzed with irritation around him—people checking watches, tapping phones, muttering about delays.

Tim’s pulse hammered. He knew this was a potentiality, knew that he’d either be too late or too early; both possibilities risked him being caught, an outcome he couldn’t risk at a time like this.

But then, from down the tunnel, a low hum stirred. A flicker of headlights cut through the gloom. A whistle split the air.

The train. 6:09.

Relief threatened to loosen his muscles, but he forced it down. Coincidence or not, it felt like the universe was cutting him a sliver of slack—and he wasn’t about to waste it.

The brakes screeched, sparks flaring as the train pulled into the station. The press of the crowd leaned forward, impatient, ready to flood the open doors. Tim kept with them only long enough to mask his movement.

Then he shifted. One step back, a breath to gauge the distance, and his grapple snapped upward with a muted thwip. The line caught clean on the lip of the roof, the recoil pulling him skyward.

He landed in a crouch atop the car just as the doors hissed open below. The crowd surged inside, footsteps and chatter muffled through the metal beneath him. Up here, only the wind reached him, cold and steady against his face.

Tim stayed low, palms flat against the roof as the train lurched forward. The motion carried him out of the station, the city beginning to peel past in a blur of concrete and glass.

It wasn’t comfort, not really. The roof was exposed, the angles precarious. But it was solitude. No eyes to track him, no chance of being cornered by questions he couldn’t answer. Up here, the only thing he had to account for was his own balance, his own silence.

The train picked up speed, the roar of its wheels thrumming through his bones. Metropolis lay ahead, and with it—LexCorp.

Tim hunched lower against the roof, letting the rhythm of the tracks mask the hammering of his heart. He hadn’t been too late after all.

Notes:

He's left the nest! I repeat! He's left the Nest!

And wait- Whatever do you mean? Of course not! Of course this isn't just an excuse to set up something diabolical!

Genuinely excited for next chapters fallout lmao

Chapter 26: Guilt And Regret, Its All The Same

Stephanie’s body trembled as she sat in the med bay, Cass’s arms wrapped firmly around her. The two of them huddled together beneath an impressive heap of blankets, stripped down to their undergarments. Stephanie hadn’t been given a choice in the matter — Leslie had been waiting, brisk and unyielding, and the Batgirl suit had been peeled off before Steph could muster a protest.

She remembered the explanation only in fragments, Leslie’s calm voice cutting through the fog: skin-to-skin contact, shared body heat, the fastest way to re-regulate a dangerously low core temperature. Stephanie had gone under fast, the cold sinking too deep, her body tipping toward hypothermic shock. Now the warmth pressing against her felt strange, overwhelming, yet necessary. Every shiver that racked through her frame was met with Cass’s steady hold, her quiet strength anchoring Stephanie against the echo of the frost still lingering in her bones.

“I’ve got you,” Cass whispered into her ear, soft and certain. Her voice carried that same unshakable calm, angelic in a way that made Stephanie’s heart stutter despite the trembling in her body.

The words slipped under her skin, warmer than the blankets, warmer even than the shared heat between them. For the first time since the frost had closed around her lungs and threatened to smother her, Stephanie felt her chest ease — just a little. She let herself lean into Cass, let herself believe in the promise threaded through those three quiet words.

 

---

 

“Yes! I’m fucking telling you the mage was possessed,” Jason hissed into the comm, low and venomous. The words burned out of him like acid, sharp enough to leave a taste in his mouth. He’d already said it seven times, but the Pit in his chest wanted it louder, harsher, until someone finally believed him. “Whatever that thing was, it nearly froze the three of them alive.”

He didn’t say how he knew. Didn’t admit the fire that had surged in his palms, the All-Blades tearing their way into the world like they’d been waiting for him. He ignored the way Dick’s stare bored holes into the back of his head, demanding answers Jason wasn’t ready to give.

“I need more than that, Jason.” Barbara’s voice was clipped, sharp, but beneath it he thought he caught hesitation. “Forty-five minutes of radio silence — I need details, not just your temper.”

Jason’s breath came rough, too fast, the Pit humming under his skin. “Yeah?” he snapped, voice roughened into a growl. “Then fucking wait for it.” His hands shook as he unclipped the helmet, ripping it free and tossing it aside before she could wedge another word into his skull.

The silence that followed was suffocating, the burn in his veins refusing to ebb.

“With a temper like that, it’s no wonder the mage escaped.” Damian’s scoff cut across the med bay, sharp as broken glass.

The Pit in Jason’s veins snarled. Heat boiled through his blood, ugly and violent, and before he knew it his body was already twisting, ready to lunge, to bite back. But instead of the brat’s smirk, Jason found Dick standing between them.

The sight stopped him cold.

The air around Dick felt wrong, sharper, colder than it had any right to be. The Pit inside Jason recoiled, squirming under his skin as though it wanted to claw its way out just from looking at him. Dick’s skin hadn’t recovered — still waxy, tinged a sickly grey that clung too close to death. His eyes should’ve been bright, cerulean like a spark of light in Gotham’s shadows. Instead, they looked muted, dimmed, as if the frost had buried itself behind them and refused to let go.

Dick’s lips pressed into a thin line, brows knitting tight, and Jason had to shove down the sickly lurch of déjà vu clawing at his stomach. That look — it wasn’t for himself, wasn’t for Damian. The concern burning in Dick’s dimmed eyes was aimed squarely at him.

As if Dick hadn’t just been dragged back from the edge in that museum.
As if his body wasn’t still carrying the frost’s poison in every breath.
As if nothing was wrong at all.

“Jason…”

His name rasped out rough, hoarse, scraping at Jason’s ears like broken glass. The Pit screamed in his veins at the sound, recoiling from the ice still lodged in Dick’s throat. Every instinct in Jason burned hot and cold at once — a need to shield, to lash out, to fix something he couldn’t touch.

“Jason.”

The second time, Dick’s voice cut sharper, steadier, threading past the static roar of the Pit in his veins. Jason blinked hard, the haze breaking just enough to register his brother standing directly in front of him, closer than he’d realized.

A hand settled on his shoulder — firm, steady, warm despite the chill still clinging to Dick’s skin. Jason’s muscles twitched under the touch, every instinct straining to pull away, but he couldn’t. The Pit seethed, boiling beneath his skin, yet that single grip anchored him, dragging him back from the edge he hadn’t noticed he was standing on.

“He’ll be okay.”

Jason stared at his brother, the words lodging like ice and fire both in his chest. His mouth opened, ready to snap back — to argue, to remind Dick of the blood, the frost, the way Timothy had nearly been carved apart — but nothing came out.

He didn’t need to be told who Dick meant, didn’t need the reminder that Tim- Timothy was the one in that operating room, not the replacement, not the kid that he’d stupidly gotten attached to despite how things had started.

That stupidly, intelligent kid he’d do anything for wasn’t the one who’s he’d watched be impaled. Tim, his Tim was in another universe, quite possibly fighting for his like.

Yet as he looked down at his brother he felt his chest loosen.

Because of that look.

Resolve, steady and unflinching.

Understanding that ran deeper than words. Even half-frozen, even marked by something wrong still gnawing at him, Dick’s eyes burned with the same stubborn certainty Jason had known his whole life. And against that, Jason’s anger faltered, the Pit’s hiss in his ears dulling into a restless ache.

 

---

 

He stepped into the room, careful, instinctively quiet. Every step made him hyper-aware of the sterile smell, the hum of the lights, the faint rasp of Timothy’s breathing. The man on the operating table seemed smaller somehow, fragile in a way that made Dick’s chest tighten. Timothy’s eyes flickered gold in the harsh light, and Dick had to fight the instinct to step back, to protect himself from the unease twisting in his gut.

Leslie moved methodically at the side, hands precise, almost detached. He hated how normal she seemed, how ordinary the motions were, compared to the unnatural blackness creeping over Timothy’s skin. The blood was wrong. Too thick, too dark, blotching like ink soaked into paper. Dick’s stomach twisted, a nausea he couldn’t shake.

He wanted to turn away. He wanted to run. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when the man before him carried his brother’s face, his brother’s body, and yet wasn’t the brother he knew.

Leslie gave him a sharp glance, then left. The clicks of her heels faded, leaving Dick alone with the tension pressing down like water in his lungs. He could hear Timothy’s shallow breaths, feel the faint warmth from his body struggling against the pallor of the blood-stained skin.

Dick’s gaze fell to the wound—or what should have been a wound. The dark blotches across the pale skin mocked everything he understood about injury, about healing, about human fragility. His fists clenched without thought, white knuckles pressing against the ache in his chest.

“You’re not a Talon,” he said flatly.

Timothy stiffened, the subtle twitch of his hands betraying fear, maybe confusion, maybe the tiniest spark of hope that he might be trusted. Dick’s head tilted, eyes narrowing. “And you’re not an Owl either, are you?” He didn’t need to hear it.

“No.” Timothy’s voice was sharp, rough, raw.

Dick lowered himself onto the table, close enough to feel Timothy’s heat, to see the rise and fall of his chest, but not close enough to mistake it for trust. Anger coiled in his gut, a storm barely contained—but beneath it, uncertainty gnawed. Could he really tell friend from foe here? Could he trust himself to not act on instinct and make a mistake he couldn’t undo?

He reminded himself: Timothy had stayed. Fought alongside them. Done nothing outwardly to deserve this scrutiny. Yet Dick’s mind kept racing back to the monsters he knew all too well—the Court, the Owls, the Grandmaster—faces hidden behind names, cruelty disguised as destiny. Could Timothy truly be free of that taint, or was he just another mask?

“I can’t let you back out there,” Dick said finally, voice low, edged with steel, though the tremor he tried to hide betrayed him. “Not unless you give me a reason to trust you.”

He remembered the signs. The grey tint of his skin. The gold flecks in his eyes. The pause atop the ruined rooftop, hesitation like a shadow he couldn’t ignore.

Timothy didn’t answer. His gaze slid to the wall, as if the sterile whiteness could shield him from the weight of Dick’s eyes. Then the words came, jagged and pained.

“Five years ago… Jason had an argument with Damian. He left to find his birth mother. The Joker killed him before any of us could get to him.”

Dick froze. The memories surged, sharp and raw. Jason’s voice, frantic and pleading in voicemails. The rants. The silences that followed. He wanted to scream at Timothy to stop, to not dredge it up—but he stayed silent, rigid with the weight of it.

“Dick—my Dick—was closest to him,” Timothy pressed on, voice breaking. “He knew we were vigilantes. He wanted in, pushed us to train him. Jason’s death broke him. He went after the Joker alone… and he never came back.”

Dick’s chest ached, tight, suffocating. He felt the rage building in him, not just at the Court, not just at the Jokers of this world, but at his own helplessness, at the past he couldn’t change, at every life he’d failed to protect.

Timothy’s hands clenched into fists. Hair fell across his face as he spoke. “We looked everywhere. Hoped for months. Years. Jason came back, but wrong. Angry. Vengeful. Thought Barbara was a replacement. Thought we’d moved on without him, without them. Things were broken before they healed. If they ever did.”

Dick’s voice sliced through the tension sharper than intended. “A sob story doesn’t give me a reason to trust you.”

Timothy’s face twisted, but the eyes told the truth—empty, haunted, raw. “No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “I found the Court by accident. Documents hidden in Drake Manor, an inheritance written in blood. Thought investigating might distract me. Until my hands weren’t clean anymore. Too late to back out. And then… I found him.”

“They took him,” Timothy continued, voice trembling. “Destroyed him. Smile, laugh, the way he moved like air—gone. Made him a Talon. Not just any Talon. A chosen one. Marked by the blood they drained.”

Dick swallowed, bile rising. He knew the story. Knew the chains disguised as destiny.

Timothy dragged his hands down his face. “I ran back to Damian, to Duke, like a coward. Told them what I could stomach. Tore the Court down—but he’s barely changed. Still follows me… in some sick way, I do own him.”

Dick felt his stomach twist. He hated seeing Timothy like this—broken, guilt-ridden, desperate. And yet he hated himself for feeling the tiniest spark of doubt: what if it wasn’t Timothy’s fault? What if it never could be undone?

“I’m trying to fix it,” Timothy said suddenly. Words spilled fast, jagged. “Everything they did—I’m trying to undo it. Reverse it. I can’t let that be the end of him. Not my brother. Not our Dick.”

Dick’s heart splintered. He wanted to believe. He wanted to reach across the table, to pull him into some fragile hope. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t true. The Court’s corruption wasn’t something neat and reversible.

Timothy’s gaze met his, pleading. “It was reversed for you… tell me how to do it too.”

Dick exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay, to measure the storm of emotions thrashing inside him. Anger, fear, frustration, and a reluctant thread of hope tangled in his chest. He wanted to believe Timothy—wanted to trust that the man in front of him wasn’t a threat—but the truth pressed down on him like ice.

Dick felt his face drop. Every muscle in his body stiffened, and a hot, tight ache lodged in his chest. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t promise what didn’t exist. And the weight of knowing there was no cure, that Timothy’s hope would shatter the moment he realized, made his own gut twist with guilt.

There was silence, heavy and suffocating. Dick wanted to reach out, wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck. The truth burned sharper than fire. No cure.

Timothy’s hopeful gaze faltered, a flicker of confusion and fear crossing his features. Seeing that glimmer shatter, watching the desperation drain away, was worse than any truth Dick had ever faced.

He swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest gnawing at him. “Understand this,” he said finally, voice low and deliberate, breaking the silence. “This isn’t a free pass. One misstep, one lie… it’s over. No excuses.”

Timothy’s eyes met his, steady despite the tremor in his hands. 

Dick studied him for a long moment, the storm inside still raging. He wanted to protect the others, to keep them safe, but he also wanted to give Timothy a chance—however fragile—to prove himself. “I don't trust you. Not yet, maybe not ever. But if you’re going to be here, you follow my lead. No surprises. No secrets. We do this together—or not at all.”

“I understand.” Timothy said, voice raw, gold flecks in his eyes catching the harsh med-bay light.

Dick exhaled, slow and deliberate, letting just a fraction of the tension ease. He didn’t fully trust him—he might never—but the compromise was real. Fragile, yes, but it existed. Side by side, they stepped toward the door, leaving the med bay behind. The silence lingered, but for the first time in a long while, it carried the weight of possibility, not only despair.

Notes:

Steph: Cold😖
Cass: Hugs!!
Steph:😊
Cass:😊

Jason: *About to absolutely loose it*
Dick: He's okay.
Jason:
Dick:
Dick: Oookay well-

Dick: No yeah that sounds like me lol
Timothy: Wha-
Dick: you hurt them, I'll rip you apart and freeze every piece before dumping your body in a black hole.
Timothy:
Timothy: Noted
Dick: Great! lets go out there and let everyone know your not dead!

Chapter 27: I See Your Face, But Its Not The One I know - Part One

Wally followed a few paces behind as he wrapped his head around his current situation; ahead of him he watched as Bart spoke in hushed whispers with Cassie, their eyes kept glancing back to him. He frowned as he looked past them and towards a set of doors that was likely to be their destination.

Bart continued to get more agitated, and honestly Wally couldn’t blame the guy, he’d been agitated from the moment he’d been overwhelmed since he’d found the bare sitting on his bed as if it’d always been there.

“Okay, worst case is their busy,” Cassie spoke as she came to a stop, “Best case they actually listen and believe us.” Wally caught the look of distrust and doubt lingering in her own eyes as she looked back at him.

“I mean they believed Bart was from the future, right? I doubt Universe hopping is all that different;” Wally shrugged, his tone light-hearted as he smiled reassuringly.

Wally didn’t miss the way Bart went rigid, topaz eyes widening, his face draining of color like someone had just ripped the floor out from under him.

Cassie’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Bart?” Her eyes shone with suspicion and concern.

Bart shook his head hard, almost frantic. “Nothing. He’s wrong.” His voice cracked sharp, defensive, too fast. His gaze snapped to Cassie, then back to Wally, panic blazing under the surface. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Wally froze, the grin slipping off his face. His mouth went dry as he caught Bart’s panicked expression. Then his eyes flicked to Cassie’s—confusion, suspicion already sparking—and he realized with sudden clarity: she didn’t know.

“Whoa, hey,” Wally blurted, lifting his hands in surrender. “That came out wrong. My Bart—the Bart I know, back home—he’s… from the future. Guess I got wires crossed. Mixed you two up.” The words tumbled out too fast, too forced, and Wally knew he sounded like an idiot even as he said them. He added a weak laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Multiverse, right? Easy to get confused.”

Cassie’s frown lingered, her eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. She didn’t press, but she didn’t look convinced either.

Bart, though—Bart went even stiffer, eyes wide, denial written in every line of his face. “I’m not him,” he said quickly, sharply. “Whatever version you think you know, that’s not me.”

Wally swallowed hard, resisting the urge to push. He’d already said too much he realised. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. My bad.”

The silence that followed was thick, awkward. Cassie looked between them like she was missing the punchline to a joke that wasn’t funny, while Bart’s jaw worked as if he was chewing on words he couldn’t let slip.

Wally shoved his hands behind his back, clenched his fists as he forced a crooked smile. “So… Founders’ room?”

Bart only gave a stiff nod as he spun on his heel a little too fast, muttering something under his breath. Cassie gave Wally one last searching look, then followed.

Wally trailed after, heart pounding. His throat felt dry as he looked over the man before him. He didn’t understand why Bart wouldn’t have told anyone he was from the future. Bart had never exactly been subtle about it back home—half the time he wore his time-traveler status like a badge of honor, slipping future slang into conversations or casually referencing things no one else could possibly know.

But here? Here he was clamped shut, defensive, terrified.

Wally’s brows drew together as he studied the back of Bart’s head, the way his shoulders hunched forward, tense as steel wire. If this Bart had gone to such lengths to bury the truth, there had to be a reason—one serious enough to keep him silent even around friends.

The thought pressed uncomfortably against Wally’s chest. Maybe in this world, trust didn’t come so easily. Maybe here, being from the future wasn’t a quirky footnote—it was dangerous.

He glanced at Cassie walking beside Bart, her expression guarded, still flicking back at Wally like she was measuring every word he’d spoken. She didn’t look convinced. And if she didn’t know Bart’s secret, what would she do with the sliver Wally had just let slip?

Wally exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus forward. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t his place to out Bart. Not here. Not in this universe. But one thing was clear: if he was going to figure out what was happening to him, he’d need to be careful—careful not to push too hard, and careful not to trip into secrets that weren’t his to reveal.

 

---

 

Cassandra stared at the small, fluffy creature in front of her. Its fur was a patchwork of grey and white, soft but a little uneven, and it stood unsteady on only three legs. Still, its tail wagged with such frantic enthusiasm that the imbalance barely seemed to matter. What caught her most, though, were its eyes—startlingly blue, clear and piercing, locked on her as if it saw straight through her silence.

Her gaze drifted to the navy-blue collar circling its neck, a small metal charm glinting faintly against the fur. She tilted her head, mirroring the dog’s curious look, and slowly extended a hand toward the charm.

The sharp bark broke the stillness, and Cassandra jerked back, muscles tightening on instinct. The dog limped forward a step, unbothered by its missing leg, tail wagging harder as if urging her not to retreat.

Hesitantly, Cassandra reached out, her fingers brushing the cool metal before curling around it. She lifted the small charm into her palm and turned it over. The engraving caught the light, clean and simple.

Haley.

Her brows furrowed, the name sitting heavy and unfamiliar on her tongue. Slowly, she looked back at the dog—at Haley—with her round, eager face and those impossibly blue eyes. The tail thumped harder against the floor as if the creature already knew she belonged here.

But Cassandra couldn’t shake the confusion twisting in her chest. How had Haley gotten here? Into her room of all places? And why was the door locked from the inside, as if the little thing had always been waiting for her?

 

---

 

He squinted against the Metropolis skyline, the sun already climbing high, bright enough to make the glass towers glint like blades. From his perch on a rooftop across the avenue, LexCorp’s monolith dominated the horizon—sleek, imposing, a structure that seemed to sneer at the city it lorded over.

Three hours. That was how long it had taken him to get here by metro, riding the roof, keeping out of sight. Three hours to think, to plan, to second-guess, to factor in the threats. By the time the train had rattled into the heart of the city, his resolve had only hardened.

Now, crouched in the shelter of a rusting ventilation unit, he studied the building’s mirrored windows and razor-edged architecture. Every instinct screamed at him that this was a bad idea. But bad ideas had never stopped him before—especially not when the alternative was doing nothing.

Even in his own Universe, LexCorp was more than a skyscraper. It was a vault of information, tech, and resources that stretched its reach far beyond Metropolis. If he could worm his way into its systems, he could build a map of this world the same way he always had back home—through its shadows, its secrets, its weaknesses.

Tim adjusted his stance, hand brushing over the edge of his utility belt where the grapple rested. Distance, angles, security measures—all calculations that would have to be made in seconds if he wanted to breach undetected.

The sunlight burned against his pale skin, the heat absorbing into the darkness of his suit and sweat beginning to pool down his back, but he didn’t faulter. Not yet.

LexCorp wasn’t going to hand him answers. He’d have to take them.

 

---

 

“I’m sorry, you expect us to believe that our universe is merging with another?” Hal asked incredulously, leaning back in his chair. His arms folded across his chest, his tone sharper than his expression.

Flamebird didn’t waver. He stood at the centre of the Founders’ table, his cape drawn close around him, his voice clipped and precise. “Yes. Three days ago, Gotham was the epicentre of the surge, and it hasn’t stopped bleeding despite my best efforts to dismantle the spell that was cast. The city’s bleeding unstable magic from a wound that won’t clot.”

Diana tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “You sound certain. How do you know it’s not residual chaos from the attack?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, shoulders stiff beneath his cape. He had an answer—of course he did—but it wasn’t one he could speak aloud. Not without unravelling the careful scaffolding of lies Bruce had built, the fragile veil separating Gotham’s shadows from the League’s light. To admit what he knew would mean exposing the network of vigilantes and anti-heroes that had taken up his father’s mantle in Bruce’s absence. And that was a risk he couldn’t afford.

So instead, he met Diana’s gaze unflinching, his tone as sharp as a blade.
“I know because I was there. Because I’ve witnessed the consequences. And because if it were just simple chaos, it would have burned itself out by now. This is different.”

Silence settled over the table, heavy and deliberate.

“What Proof do you have that this is what you say it is.” Flash spoke up, a frown on his face as he leaned forwards, “How are you so sure this isn’t something that can fix itself?”

For a flicker of a moment, Damian hesitated. Evidence meant admitting more than he should. Evidence meant revealing pieces of Gotham the League wasn’t meant to see. His father’s rules pressed against the back of his teeth, sharp as ever.

J’onn’s calm voice carried over the table, though his brow was furrowed. “You believe these fractures connect directly to another universe?”

“I don’t believe. I know.” Damian’s tone was sharp enough to cut. “If it isn’t sealed, Gotham won’t just collapse—it’ll spread. You’ll have rifts opening across the world. This isn’t speculation, it’s escalation.”

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, likely to ridicule him all the same, but Diana raised a hand, silencing the table. Her gaze stayed steady on Damian. “If what you say is true, then this is no ordinary rupture. But extraordinary claims require more than your word, Flamebird. What evidence can you bring to us?”

The only proof was handing over the knowledge that Timothy, Raptor existed in the shadows of Gotham, it meant exposing Tim, the man who’d been swapped with the one he considered family despite the strain of their relationship. His jaw clenched, teeth pressing tight as his mouth went dry. There was no world in which he could hand over that knowledge and still retain the control he needed to stabilize Gotham. And yet… if he withheld it entirely, the city—and perhaps the world—risked unravelling.

A heavy silence fell across the room. Eyes sharpened, waiting, sceptical but curious. Even Hal’s frown softened slightly as they waited for him to speak.

Then the door opened with a robotic whine.

Damian kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to falter, though the rest of the League couldn’t help but turn toward the interruption. There were more pressing matters than distractions, and every second counted.

“Impulse, Wonder Girl,” Clark greeted warmly, his voice casual, as if the intense discussion moments ago hadn’t existed. But Damian caught the flicker of confusion in his eyes, sharp and calculating. “Who’s this with you?”

“Is that the Flash’s costume?” Oliver added, brow furrowed as he straightened in his seat.

Damian’s pulse spiked. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder—and there they were: Impulse and Wonder Girl, and between them a man he didn’t recognize. A stranger, dressed like the Flash, standing there with that familiar grin that somehow didn’t belong here.

Every instinct screamed at him. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Flash is this another speedster you’ve not introduced us to?” Diana’s asked, her voice thick with accusation.

“No!” Barry was quick to deny, “I’ve never met him.” He frowned.

“Yeah it’d be a lot easier if you did know me Uncle Barry.” The stranger laughed awkwardly, a genuine smile, but his eyes flicked around the room, scanning as though an unseen threat might strike at any moment.

“Uncle? You have a nephew?” Hal asked, turning to Barry with a look of bafflement that barely concealed his incredulity.

Barry’s frown deepened. “No… I don’t. Not that I know of.”

The room fell silent for a beat, the tension thickening. Every League member’s gaze shifted to him, suspicion sharpening with each second. He was a stranger, yet he carried the confidence of someone who belonged… somewhere else entirely.

“Wally West,” the stranger introduced himself, another bright smile flashing across his face. Damian caught the subtle shift in Barry’s posture—the faint flicker of recognition, the way he straightened ever so slightly. “The current Flash, protector of Central and Keystone, active member of the Justice League. I was heading up to the Watchtower to hand in a report and… ended up here instead.”

Dread pooled in Damian’s stomach as he watched him. The way this Wally carried himself, the precise cadence with which he recounted events—it was methodical, practiced, almost military in its clarity. Every word, every pause, mirrored the verbal reports Damian had been drilled to deliver, the exact style his father had ingrained in him, in Duke, and in the others who patrolled Gotham’s streets. This wasn’t just a stranger—it was someone who moved and spoke like one of them, yet clearly wasn’t.

It didn’t seem to be just Damian who had noticed either.

“That ain’t possible, kid,” Oliver drawled, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he kicked his feet up. “Barry’s the Flash. The only Flash.”

Wally’s grin faltered slightly, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Yeah… I guess it does sound crazy. Totally get it. I mean—Barry is the one you all know, right?” He gestured toward the rest of the League, trying to keep the mood light, but his eyes kept scanning the room, aware of the weight of their scrutiny.

Hal’s brow furrowed. “Then… who are you?”

“The Flash,” Wally replied, his voice steady, carrying a confidence that didn’t waver under their scrutiny. “At least… I am in my universe.”

The room went quiet, a weighty pause as the words sank in. No one moved. No one spoke. Every pair of eyes flicked between him and each other, trying to reconcile what they were hearing with what they knew.

Oliver snorted, leaning back further in his chair. “Right… so you’re a Flash from somewhere else. Got it. That’s not suspicious at all.”

Diana’s gaze stayed fixed on him, piercing and unblinking. “You claim to be a hero we’ve never seen, from a universe we’ve never visited… and you expect us to take your word for it?” Bart and Cassie shared an unease glance, as if even they didn’t believe it.

“I mean, I’m really not feeling the mode here,” Wally laughed, just as awkwardly as before, stepping forward. Behind him, Bart went rigid, and Cassie sent him a strange, assessing look. “But—”

Damian cut him off, his hand moving deliberately to the katana strapped at his hip, fingers gripping the aged leather with precise control. His voice was calm but sharp, carrying weight in just two words: “Red Robin.”

Damian didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He let the words settle, studied every micro-expression, every flicker of doubt or recognition. Nothing about this man was normal. Nothing about this encounter was random.

Wally stepped forward awkwardly, and Damian’s hand went to the katana at his hip, gripping it with practiced precision. “Red Robin,” he said, voice calm but carrying weight.

The reaction was instantaneous. Wally’s eyes widened, the grin faltering for the first time. Damian’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, as he addressed the League once more. “You wanted proof that our universe is merging with another. Did you not?”

The room went still, the weight of his words settling over the Founders. For the first time, Hal didn’t fire back immediately. Even Oliver leaned back, brow furrowed, as though trying to process what Damian had just confirmed.

Clark, who had remained mostly quiet, now stepped slightly forward. His eyes were sharp, measuring, but there was no trace of mockery or disbelief—only a careful assessment, the kind that Damian recognized from his father’s teachings. “Then tell us, Flamebird,” Clark said, his tone steady, commanding without raising his voice. “What do you need?”

 

---

 

Crawling through the vents was a welcome comfort, dust and cobwebs clinging to his suit as he inched forward. The space was narrow, the air stale, but it felt familiar in a way the open rooftops hadn’t. Here, the world narrowed down to shadows, steel, and the sound of his own controlled breathing.

Every scrape of his knee, every shift of weight, he measured carefully against the hum of the building’s ventilation system. Beneath him, muffled voices rose and fell—office chatter, the tap of keyboards, the distant drone of meetings that meant nothing to him. He pressed on, mapping each turn in his mind, counting the grates, tracing the building’s bones like he’d done a hundred times before in Gotham.

The structure was different, the layout more primitive than he’d thought Luthor would have built. Breaking into LexCorp was usually a welcomed challenge—cameras packed into every sector of vents, heat sensors primed to flare at the slightest rise in temperature, drones programmed to swarm the second a system flagged an anomaly.

But here?

It was almost laughable. The great Lex Luthor of this universe had skimped on ventilation security, leaving nothing more than a few dust-caked motion detectors that hadn’t been recalibrated in years.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Tim’s mouth. The thought of taunting his Luthor with this would’ve been delicious—watching the man’s pride fracture at the idea that some alternate self had cut corners this badly.

The smirk faded quickly, though, as the reality set in. Either this Luthor didn’t fear infiltration the same way, or worse—he didn’t need to. Which meant the vulnerabilities here might just be a mask for something bigger, something buried deeper.

Tim shifted forward, elbows sliding along the grit of the duct. He slowed his breathing, forcing every movement to stay controlled, silent. His fingers traced the seams of the vent until he reached a panel secured with outdated screws.

Easy. Almost too easy.

He flexed his wrist, pulling a tool free from the belt at his hip, and began working the first screw loose.

The sound of rushed footsteps made him freeze. The tool in his hand stilled, clutched tighter as his pulse quickened. Slowly, carefully, he angled his head, peering through the slits of the vent shaft.

A figure cut across the once-empty office below—the office that belonged to Luthor, the one that fed directly into the laboratories where horrors were born and perfected.

Tim’s breath hitched. Blond hair caught the overhead light, mussed from hurried movement. Eyes like warm, polished chocolate glanced briefly toward the desk as the man adjusted the strap of his lab coat—its fabric blotched with chemical stains, ghostly fingerprints of work that belonged anywhere but here.

Bernard.

The name slammed through Tim’s mind before he could stop it.

His grip on the tool tightened until the edges bit into his palm. He blinked hard, once, twice, but the image didn’t waver. It was Bernard—focused, moving, dressed like he belonged in LexCorp’s inner sanctum.

Dust clung to Tim’s tongue, thick and suffocating as his lungs refused to draw the next breath. This was impossible. Bernard wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this city. Not working for Luthor.

And yet—here he was.

His hands shook as he watched Bernard cross the room, each step measured with a familiarity that twisted Tim’s stomach tighter. Bernard moved straight to Luthor’s desk, not hesitating, not searching, as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

Tim’s breath caught when Bernard leaned down and pressed his hand beneath the edge of the desk. The panel responded with a muted click.

Tim knew that sound. He knew what it meant.

Beneath him, the floor groaned with the heavy shift of machinery. Metal grinding against metal. A door hidden in the office wall slid open, its weight reverberating faintly through the ducts where Tim lay frozen. A dark passage stretched beyond, the faint gleam of sterile light spilling upward in a thin, cold line.

Bernard straightened, his profile sharp under the fluorescents, eyes hard in a way Tim didn’t remember. Without hesitation, he stepped through the opening.

The door began to close behind him. Tim’s pulse roared in his ears. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to follow, to find out what lay beneath. But the tremor in his hands wouldn’t stop, the image of Bernard’s face branded across his vision.

It wasn’t just the impossibility of seeing him here. It was the ease. The confidence. Bernard hadn’t stumbled into Luthor’s secrets—he belonged to them.

Tim’s stomach turned as he shifted back from the slits in the vent, the metal cool and unforgiving beneath his palms. He knew Bernard. He’d sat next to him in classrooms, endured teachers’ monotone lectures with him, shared the same cafeteria noise. They’d parted ways when he’d dropped out, their paths scattering with the chaos of Gotham.

And then, by chance, they’d crossed again. Tim remembered it too clearly—the smile, warm and blinding, the kind of smile Gotham rarely allowed to survive. Eyes that carried a kindness so unguarded it had almost seemed fragile.

That was who Bernard had been to him.

But this Bernard? This version, in a lab coat stained with things Tim couldn’t name, moving through LexCorp’s innermost sanctums like it was second nature…

Tim’s chest tightened. He didn’t know the history of the Tim Drake who belonged to this world, didn’t know what threads had bound him to this Bernard, what shape their connection had taken. He didn’t know if it was friendship, rivalry, something more—or nothing at all.

All he knew was that the sight of Bernard here, beneath Luthor’s roof, unsettled something deep in him.

All he knew was that the sight of Bernard here, beneath Luthor’s roof, unsettled something deep in him.

The ducts suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. Dust scratched at his throat as he pressed himself back into the shadows, the sound of the hidden door grinding closed reverberating in his bones.

He wanted to move—wanted to follow, to confirm, to understand. But hesitation rooted him in place. The image of Bernard’s smile flickered in his mind, overlapping with the cold, precise movements he’d just witnessed. Two truths that couldn’t exist together, colliding in the same fragile memory.

Tim dragged a hand down his face, the grit of metal and sweat clinging to his gloves. He couldn’t afford this. Not here. Not now. He couldn’t afford to hesitate.

He steadied himself with a sharp inhale, forcing the knot in his chest to loosen. Bernard wasn’t the mission. Luthor wasn’t either. Answers to questions he couldn’t get answers for were.

The screwdriver bit turned soundless in practiced hands, the soft click of loosening screws muffled beneath the hum of ventilation. One by one, they came free, tucked into his palm so none would fall, so nothing would betray him.

The grate shifted with a reluctant creak. Tim froze, breath caught, ears straining for any sign he’d been heard. But the footsteps below had already faded—Bernard was gone, deeper into whatever lay beneath Luthor’s office.

Tim exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, then pushed the grate aside. He dropped down light as a shadow, knees bending to absorb the impact. The office smelled faintly of chemical solvents and scorched metal, of secrets burned into the air.

His feet moved silently over the polished wooden floor, each step measured, each breath restrained. The office loomed around him—Luthor’s world of control and calculation—but Tim’s focus never wavered from the desk.

He rounded it in silence, fingers brushing the underside until he found the recessed panel Bernard had pressed. For a moment, his hand hovered there, the weight of the choice pressing heavier than the wood beneath his touch. Then, with the same motion Bernard had used, he pressed.

A muted click.

The floor shuddered beneath his boots as hidden mechanisms groaned to life. Panels shifted, gears turned, and the air filled with the hiss of metal grinding against stone. A seam split open behind the desk, revealing a narrow stairwell that bled cold air and shadows into the room.

Tim’s jaw tightened. The way forward gaped before him, a trail Bernard had already taken.

He followed.

 

---

 

“He did get past you?” Duke’s hand gripped the back of the chair tightly as he stared at Stephanie. The bags under her eyes were impossible to miss, but he realized too late that asking that out loud might have been the wrong thing.

“Got past me? How did you not see this coming?!” she shot back, nostrils flaring, voice sharp. “Isn’t it your whole thing that you can see what’s going to happen?!”

Duke ran a hand down his face, trying to massage away the headache forming between his temples. “You know that’s not how it works,” he bit out, carefully.

Stephanie’s hands shot into the air, frustration blazing. “Then how does it fucking work, Duke? Because that’s the same excuse you throw out every single time!”

“I only asked how he got past you, Steph,” Duke said evenly, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “I wasn’t doubting your capabilities or ripping into you. It was a simple question.” Stephanie’s chest heaved, and Duke realized he was treading a thin line—but he wasn’t about to back down.

“Can we find him?” Duke shifted the subject, leaning toward the monitor, eyes scanning the tangle of data and surveillance feeds.

Stephanie’s fingers paused mid-scroll, jaw tight. “I don’t know,” she admitted, voice low. “Everything he left behind was calculated—every camera blind spot, every timing window. He didn’t just slip through; he disappeared entirely.”

Duke pressed closer, squinting at the screen. “There has to be something. A pattern, a trace—anything.”

Stephanie shook her head. “Not from here. Not with what we’ve got.” Her shoulders slumped, exhaustion plain in the way she leaned back from the console. “If he’s smart—and he is—he’s already three steps ahead, and we’re just scrambling to catch up.”

It was always like that with Timothy, and from what he’s heard from Stephanie it seemed Tim was no different. Duke’s jaw tightened. He hated feeling powerless, hated the helpless weight settling in his chest. But he forced himself to focus on the feeds, on the possibilities, on any angle they hadn’t considered yet.

“We’ll find him,” he said finally, more to steady himself than to reassure her. “We have to.” He wouldn’t let anyone else slip away, wouldn’t allow it to happen again, couldn’t afford to.

Stephanie didn’t respond, her eyes still fixed on the monitor, but Duke could see the tension easing just a fraction. That was enough—for now.

Notes:

Sorry not sorry!! ;D

Also- Ignore the previous chapter Bart was part of- I'm doing a DC and retconning the part where Wally mentions Bart being Barry's grandson from the future- I honestly just want the family drama this will cause lmao (I might go back and edit it out eventually- knowing me probs not-)

Chapter 28: Vulgar and Unfiltered

“My dad says superheroes are narcissistic cunts.”

Hal froze mid-sip of his coffee. The words hung in the med bay, too sharp, too casual to come from a kid’s mouth. He lowered the cup slowly, staring at the literal child perched on the bed opposite him.

Wally’s legs swung back and forth, sneakers thudding against the frame. He looked perfectly at ease, like he hadn’t just lobbed a brick through the window of conversation.

Hal cleared his throat. “That… is a hell of a thing for a kid to repeat.”

He desperately hoped for someone—anyone—to walk in and save him from this situation. It’d been one thing when he’d stumbled across a shrunken Wally in the Zeta-Bay, but it was an entirely different beast to deal with the kid’s complete lack of a filter.

Wally shrugged, casual as anything. “My dad says it’s true. Says you only put on a show, that the people you ‘help’ are all paid off, or left to die when the cameras stop rolling.”

Hal blinked, his jaw working soundlessly. God, why me? He ran a hand over the back of his neck, glancing toward the med bay door like the universe might throw him a lifeline in the form of literally anyone else—Batman, Superman, hell, even Guy Gardner.

“Kid…” He dragged the word out, trying to buy himself time. “That’s… not really how it works.”

Wally gave him a look, one eyebrow raised like he’d already heard the defence rehearsed. “That’s what a narcissist would say.”

What the hell kind of shit was his father putting into this kid’s head?

He was well aware of the strain between the grown-up Wally and his parents, though he’d never gotten the full story. Just that Wally had left home young, had found the Titans, and never really looked back. Hal had chalked it up to the usual “bad blood” that happened in families, the kind you left in the past and never picked open again.

But staring at the pint-sized version in front of him—the one parroting back bile like it was gospel—Hal realized it had gone a lot deeper than he’d ever understood. And now here he was, sitting in the med bay with a kid who didn’t know the stories Hal and the League knew. Just the version his parents had fed him.

Hal set the mug down before he dropped it, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, kid… whatever your dad says, it’s not the whole truth. We don’t do this for a pay-check and we sure as hell don’t leave people to die.”

Wally tilted his head, unconvinced. “That’s exactly what he says you’d say.”

Hal groaned.

He pinched his eyes shut for a second, searching the fluorescent-lit ceiling for patience—or maybe divine intervention. “Kid, you ever think maybe your dad’s wrong? Or at least, not totally right?”

The kid just shrugged again, all sharp little angles and adolescent suspicion. “He’s never lied to me before.”

Hal wanted to laugh, but it came out as something closer to a sigh. “Yeah, well, sometimes people don’t tell you the whole story because they want to protect you, or themselves. Doesn’t make it the gospel truth.”

Wally’s gaze flickered then, uncertainty darting across his face before he masked it with that stubborn, familiar set to his jaw. “So prove it. Prove you’re not just pretending.”

Hal opened his mouth, then shut it, caught off guard by the directness of it. Prove it? He thought of all the times he’d tried to do the right thing, the times he’d failed, the times he’d gotten back up anyway because that’s what you did when the world was burning.

“Kid,” he said at last, gentler now, “I don’t know if there’s anything I could say that would matter more than what your dad’s already got in your head. But you stick around long enough, you’ll see for yourself. Actions speak a lot louder than words.”

Wally snorted, but his shoulders eased, just a fraction. Hal caught it—a tiny crack in the wall.

Then, almost too quiet to hear, Wally leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His voice dropped, losing all the bluster.

“I… I love heroes.”

Hal blinked. For a second he thought he’d misheard. But the kid’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, lashes shadowing his cheeks. “I think they’re awesome. The stories, the powers, all of it. I just… I can’t say that at home. Not with my dad. He’d…” His mouth twisted, the words dying off.

Hal set his coffee aside, feeling the tension in his chest ease. He allowed the significance of the young man's words to settle in the med bay’s quiet environment. Hal nodded, permitting the silence to linger between them, punctuated only by the distant ticking of a clock beyond the curtain. Eventually, he leaned forward slightly, seeking to make eye contact with Wally.

“You know,” Hal said softly, “It takes guts to admit that. More than most people have.” He hesitated, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “So, kid—if you could say it, just here, just now… who’s your favourite hero?”

Wally’s fingers fidgeted in his lap, the question hanging there, fragile and full of possibility.

Hal waited, giving him space. “You don’t have to hide what you care about—not with me. Whatever your dad thinks—that’s his story. You get to write your own.”

Wally’s shoulders hunched, but he didn’t draw away. Something small and hopeful flickered in his posture, a question forming behind his eyes.

Hal’s voice lowered, gentle as a secret. “You’re allowed to love what you love. Even if it scares you. Even if it’s just in this room, right now.”

Wally let out a shaky breath, the burden a little lighter than before. And in that moment, Hal thought he caught the first glimpse of trust—quiet, uncertain, but shining all the same. He waited, anticipation itching at his skin as Wally opened his mouth to speak.

The moment between them was cut short when the gliding metal med-bay doors opened with a soft fwoosh.

Hal’s head snapped up, his shoulders tightening instinctively. Wally flinched, the words he’d been about to speak swallowed back down as quickly as they’d surfaced. The brightness in his eyes shuttered, replaced by that stubborn mask he’d worn when this conversation started.

Whoever stood in the doorway—ally or not—had just slammed the brakes on something that felt rare. Delicate. Like watching the first crack of dawn only to have a storm roll in.

Hal didn’t move, didn’t say a word. He only watched the kid retreat into himself again, jaw set tight, small hands curling into fists against his knees. And he promised himself, silently, that he wouldn’t let this slip away entirely. Not if he could help it.

“I came as soon as I heard,” Barry said, his voice breathless as he pushed through the curtains that separated them. There was no hesitation, no pause—he went straight to Wally, dropping to a knee in front of the bed, hands cupping the boy’s face like he was afraid to let go.

Hal could practically see the concern buzzing off him, thick as static. Barry’s thumb brushed just under Wally’s eye, searching for bruises that weren’t there, words tumbling in a rush. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you know what happened?—”

Wally stiffened under the weight of it. His small hands twitched like he didn’t know whether to push Barry away or cling to him. The earlier softness—the shaky confession that had hovered on his lips—was gone, walled off by confusion, by shock.

“There’s a couple bruises, a little disorientation, and his blood sugar was low,” Hal spoke up. The coffee in his hands had gone lukewarm, forgotten. Barry glanced over his shoulder at him; a frown etched deep into his face.

“Doesn’t know what happened or how he ended up here,” Hal continued, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. “J’onn’s still running tests, but… we’re thinking it’s a de-aging spell.”

Barry’s frown only deepened as his gaze snapped back to the boy in front of him. His hands gentled, thumbs brushing Wally’s cheeks like they could anchor him to something steady. Hal caught the tremor in his voice when he said, “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

And maybe it would’ve worked on any other kid, but Hal had seen Wally dig his heels in before—seen him fight tooth and nail against anything that didn’t fit his logic. Watching an kid version do it, though? That was something else entirely.

The kid’s nose scrunched up, fists knotting in the sheets. “That’s dumb,” Wally burst out. “Magic isn’t real! That’s just fairy tales for babies.”

Barry froze, hands hovering, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and déjà vu.

Wally shook his head hard, hair flopping into his eyes. “People don’t just get smaller ‘cause of a spell! That’s not how stuff works! You’re just saying that ‘cause you don’t know either.” His voice wobbled, shrill but sharp, panic hiding under every word. “Science is real. Magic’s fake. Always.”

Hal leaned back in his chair, swallowing the bitter dregs of cold coffee. He almost laughed—because he’d heard this before. Not here, not like this, but years back, when Wally first wriggled into that yellow suit with more energy than sense.

Back then, it had been the same chin jut, the same fire in his voice: “It’s just physics people don’t understand yet.”

Barry’s face flickered with recognition, too—his frown easing, touched by something almost fond.

This wasn’t new. Different circumstances, sure, but the same wall of stubbornness. Same refusal to accept anything that didn’t fit into neat, logical boxes.

Hal huffed, setting the coffee aside. “Guess some things don’t change, huh,” he muttered, more to Barry than to Wally. The boy was too busy glaring at the floor, arms folded tight across his chest, to notice the way both men shared that quiet, pained understanding.

Yeah. They’d been here before. But seeing it play out in this smaller, fragile version of Wally? That stung in a way Hal hadn’t expected.

“Wally, how old are you?” Barry asked. Hal could only commend him for the subject change—easier for all of them if the kid just answered straight.

But Wally’s head snapped up from the floor, face still scrunched tight. His eyes narrowed, sharp in a way that didn’t belong on an eleven-year-old. “I never told you my name.”

Hal grimaced. Barry looked like he’d just been slapped.

The reaction wasn’t new—Wally had done the same thing when Hal said his name earlier, kicking and thrashing in the Zeta-Bay like a cornered animal. But the weight of it hit harder now. This wasn’t just panic. This was recognition by absence.

Wally didn’t know who Barry was. Didn’t recognize the man who was supposed to be his uncle.

“I’m Barry Allen,” Barry said again, steady this time, voice patient but firm. Hal couldn’t help but silently commend him—keeping a straight face here, in front of a kid who didn’t even recognize him as family, was no small feat. “I’m married to your dad’s sister, Iris.”

Wally’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly as if trying to figure out whether Barry was serious or joking. Hal leaned back slightly, watching the gears turn in the boy’s head, already anticipating the stubborn questions or outright denial that were bound to follow.

Then the scowl came. Lips twisted, fists clenching. “Iris? Lardass… ass-kisser… larcenist bitch!” Wally rattled off the words so fast it was almost a jumble, like he was afraid he’d get in trouble if he thought about them too long.

Barry blinked, caught off guard. Hal froze mid-sip of coffee, torn between laughing and groaning.

“She… stole my dad’s inheritance,” Wally finished, voice rising, and Hal noted the small fists clenching tighter, knuckles white.

Hal sighed quietly. Of course. The kid wasn’t inventing this—he was repeating what he’d heard from his father, all exaggeration, anger, and unfiltered judgment.

Barry’s mouth fell open, a flash of hurt crossing his face before he forced a tight, awkward smile. “Well… okay,” he said gently, voice careful. “That’s… one way to hear about your aunt.”

In all honesty, Hal thought, Barry deserved a retirement bonus for this. It was one thing to come all the way up here to help deal with his nephew while he’d been shrunk to fun-size. It was another entirely to sit through Wally being completely unfiltered—cursing out the entire hero community and his own family in the same breath—and still manage to respond with patience.

Barry cleared his throat softly, leaning closer to Wally, eyes patient. “Hey… um… so how old are you, really?”

Wally’s scowl faltered for the briefest second, the anger from his rant still simmering, but something in Barry’s tone—steady, careful, unflinching—made him pause.

Hal watched, quiet, as the boy wrestled with whether to answer, knowing full well it was going to take some coaxing.

Wally’s eyes narrowed again, jaw tight, like Barry had just asked him to reveal the secret formula for kryptonite. “I’m… I’m… eleven!” he blurted, voice sharp and defensive, fists clenching in the sheets. “But that’s not the point!”

Hal raised an eyebrow, quietly amused at the predictability. Barry, however, kept his face gentle, nodding slowly.

“Eleven, huh?” Barry said carefully. “Okay… that makes sense. Thanks for telling me.”

Wally huffed, crossing his small arms over his chest. “Doesn’t mean I believe in any of this magic stuff! And heroes? Half of them are idiots!” His words tumbled out fast, a mess of indignation, influence from his dad clear as day, but tinged with his own frustration.

Hal leaned back, silently noting how much Wally hadn’t changed since the first time he’d trained under grown-up Barry. Still fiery. Still defiant. Still… Wally.

Barry just let it go, a patient smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got it,” he said softly. “Eleven, stubborn, and not a fan of magic. Duly noted.”

"Additionally, conditioned," Hal remarked quietly, feeling a sense of unease as he recognised the complexity of the interactions between the younger Wally and his prejudiced father. This recognition suggested that these family dynamics may have contributed to Wally's decision to sever ties and largely discontinue contact.

Wally glared at the floor, cheeks hot with the effort of keeping his posture combative. The silence that settled felt oddly gentle, padded by the quiet hum of machinery in the distant hallway. Hal wondered if Barry would push harder, but instead, Barry just stayed, letting the quiet do its work.

Moments ticked by before Wally glanced up, suspicion flickering in his eyes, as if waiting for the lecture or the pity or—worse—the disappointment. But Barry only offered a small, encouraging nod, as if being eleven and furious and utterly lost was something he could understand.

“So,” Barry said finally, light as a breeze, “I hear you’ve got some strong opinions. Want to tell us more, or should we just sit here and see how many times Hal can roll his eyes in one minute?”

A reluctant snort escaped Wally, a spark of humour breaking through the storm. He tried to bury it with another huff, but it was too late—Hal caught Barry’s eye and shrugged, smirking. There it was: a crack in the armor, the faintest sign that maybe, just maybe, Wally didn’t want to fight the whole world tonight.

And for the first time since this all began, the air in the room felt a little less heavy.

Notes:

Ahh I love when a seemingly innocent kid uses the most vulgar language imaginable!

Also, I think Hal deserves a raise- It was not easy to wrangle Wally and get him to the med-bay! *Completely ignores Martian Manhunter who got bitten and kicked in the face by tiny Wally and take it like a champ*

And what do ya know? They think it's de-aging! I swear the bats are the worst! At least R!Damian had the dignity (you mean the dignity he eviscerated by going to the league and asking for help??) to inform the League about the danger!!

Wait that's right- they still don't know LOL

Chapter 29: I See Your Face, But Its Not The One I know - Part Two

Wally’s eyes stayed fixed on the figure at the centre of the room—Flamebird, Superman had called him. The name tugged at something at the back of him mind, reminded him of a legend he’d once heard Dick tell him before he’d chosen the name Nightwing; a tale of two lovers one born from the never ending dark and the other from the burning glory of day.

But this wasn’t Dick. The man’s skin was a pale, rich olive, as if starved of sunlight, his shoulders broader than anyone Wally had seen, his jaw sharp and angular. Every movement was precise, controlled, almost surgical, and yet there was something about him that made Wally’s chest tighten and his stomach knot.

Still, the way Clark spoke his name gave the word weight, as though it carried history Wally had yet to understand.

He turned then, almost instinctively, toward Bart and Cassie. They stood just behind him, close enough to reach but distant in a way that twisted his stomach. Bart was rigid, every line of his posture screaming tension, his expression hard to read beneath the flicker of unease. Cassie’s gaze was sharp, evaluating, like she was seeing him for the first time and didn’t quite know whether to trust what she saw. The sight only deepened the ache building in his chest.

He tried to stitch together the threads Roy had mentioned before—Gotham bleeding unstable magic, Tim replaced by another version of himself, electrum, the Court of Owls, and some unseen force pulling the strings. Pieces of a puzzle scattered across two worlds, none of them fitting cleanly.

He looked over to the founders and their faces told a story of their own.

Diana’s composure was iron, though her eyes betrayed concern. Oliver leaned back too casually, his every movement sharp with suspicion. Hal’s arms were folded tight, a wall of skepticism in human form. Barry sat forward, frown deepening, studying Wally’s face as though searching for something he almost recognized. J’onn’s calm broke only in the faint crease of his brow, a ripple of quiet worry. Arthur remained still, but his jaw was set hard, the silence around him charged, like the moment before a storm surge.

Discomfort. Dread. Resolve.

Wally was familiar with that look. He had seen it before in his League—when they realized too late that a crisis had already begun.

“I need to contain the centre point in which the spell was cast,” Flamebird said at last, voice clipped and deliberate, as though every syllable cost him something. He didn’t shift, didn’t soften, but there was a weight beneath his words, an unspoken admission that asking for help was a battle all on its own.

Wally’s boots made soft, hesitant clicks against the polished floor as he shifted, trying not to draw attention but unable to tear his eyes from the figure at the centre of the room. There was something familiar in the precision of his stance, in the sharpness of his tone, in the way he seemed to balance his words like blades.

“You’re allowing us to come into Gotham?” Wally’s gaze flicked to Oliver as the archer leaned forward, incredulity stamped across his face.

“Are we sure the water there hasn’t messed with his head?” Hal added, squinting at the man standing at the table’s centre. His tone was half-joking, half-accusation. “I mean, come on, Supes? You’re just gonna cave like that? All because some imposter who claims he’s from another universe recognises a chain restaurant?”

Wally stared.

“Hi, sorry. But how do you not believe him?” he deadpanned as he stepped forward.

It was strange to have the league in any capacity doubt the logic of a Bat, whether it seemed entirely illogical, if it was rooted from a gut feeling or was conspired from the limitless paranoia they seemed to have.

Every head snapped toward him at once, the weight of the League’s collective scrutiny slamming into him like a wall. Even Flamebird’s gaze cut to him, sharp as a knife through glass. The glare was precise, practiced—the kind Wally knew all too well. It was the same chill that had crawled down his spine whenever one of the Bats decided he’d overstepped.

That same shiver gripped him now, reminding him with bone-deep certainty that he hadn’t misread the man under the mask. Still, Wally squared his shoulders, refusing to back down beneath the stares. “Seriously—he’s not exactly spinning fairy tales here.”

“Look, you seem like a nice kid—” Hal’s hand flicked through the air in a dismissive wave, as if he were brushing off a child’s tantrum.

The gesture hit Wally harder than it should have. It dragged him back to smaller, sharper moments—standing in his parents’ house, listening to them complain about how the world had wronged them, how nothing was ever their fault. It carried the same flavour of dismissal, the same you don’t matter undertone.

And worse, it reminded him of the way the Founders had once looked at them—at him, at Roy, at Garth, at Donna, at Dick. Too young. Too reckless. Too much trouble. Kids trying to make a difference in a world that refused to believe they could.

Wally clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to flinch under it this time.

“—But you should let us do the talking here,” Hal finished, his tone thick with condescension. “We don’t know who you are, so you should just go back home, or wherever you came from.”

Wally’s eyes narrowed as he locked onto Hal. “No, I don’t think you understand, Hal.” His voice was sharper now, stripped of the awkwardness he’d tried to carry earlier. He took another step forward, and Hal jerked back despite himself.

“I thought you were supposed to help when you were needed?” Wally tilted his head, the gesture instinctive—one he’d done a thousand times before when he’d challenged the Justice League, when he’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder with friends who hadn’t been taken seriously either. “Because from where I’m standing, all I see is a man so busy being an asshole with a stick shoved so up your ass that you don’t even realise how much he’s struggling to ask for help.”

The silence that hung in the air around them only pressed against Wally’s nerves more, thick with something heavy and old—a weight that had always sat between them, shaped by years of mismatched expectations and bruised pride. Hal’s bravado seemed to falter for a fraction of a second, his mouth working around words that refused to materialize. The others stood rigid, uncertainty flickering behind their carefully schooled expressions.

Wally could feel the tremor of adrenaline in his gut, a familiar chain-lightning sensation. He let the silence stretch, daring anyone to fill it. When no one did, Wally pressed on, voice steady and clear. “So either you start listening,” he said, “or you keep pretending you’re the only one who knows what’s going on. But I’m not walking away.”

The air between them seemed to crack open, possibility humming in the vacuum where doubt once lived.

He held his stance, chest tight, feeling the tension like static in the air. Then Clark spoke, cutting through the quiet like sunlight through clouds. His voice was calm, firm, and impossible to argue with. “Enough. He’s right. Flamebird came here asking for help. Dismissing him—or anyone—who risks coming forward isn’t what the League stands for.”

Wally’s eyes flicked around, taking in Arthur’s booming voice joining in. “Agreed. It is dispassionate toward fellow heroes of our world, or not, to be so insensitive. An ally requesting aid is never to be ignored, no matter how preposterous it may seem.”

Wally exhaled slowly, pulse thrumming in his ears. For the first time since he’d stepped into the room, he didn’t feel like he was pressing against a wall that refused to move.

Then Diana’s voice cut across the chamber, calm but edged with steel. “I agree with Clark. To turn away anyone brave enough to come before us asking for aid—whether from this world or another—would betray the very foundation the League was built on.” Her gaze swept the table, lingering longest on Hal, sharp enough to leave no room for dismissal.

Wally’s chest loosened at her words, but the reprieve didn’t last long.

Oliver leaned forward, his voice rough with disbelief. “Come on, Diana. You can’t seriously be buying this. We’re talking about some stranger waltzing in, claiming universes are crashing into each other, and you just want to take him at his word? That’s not leadership—that’s recklessness.”

The air thickened again, tension flaring sharp as flint.

That same frustration clawed its way back in, the same annoyance that always seemed to spark when people refused to see what was right in front of them. It was giving Wally a headache. He folded his arms across his chest, levelling a glare at Oliver.

“You’ve got contingency protocols here, don’t you? Every world’s League does.” His tone was dry, edged with disbelief. “Because this isn’t new. Back home, three months ago, Red Hood, Roy, and Starfire got blasted halfway across the galaxy through an interdimensional wormhole—Batman already had a plan for it. A file, a step-by-step, like it was just another Tuesday.”

In the corner of his eye, Wally caught the shift—subtle but unmistakable. Flamebird’s shoulders tightened, his jaw locking into that controlled tension that only came from Bat-training. And then came the stare. Even through the mask, Wally felt it, sharp and dissecting, the kind of look that stripped you down to every flaw.

He knew that glare. He’d been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count, back when Damian used to size him up like he was an opponent instead of a teammate. Scathing, unrelenting, silently demanding he prove himself.

Wally didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. That glare was all the confirmation he needed—Flamebird was Damian.

But he also caught the way Oliver seemed to go pale, the casual slouch gone in an instant. “Roy?” His voice was too sharp, his posture suddenly straighter, sharper. The shift was enough to make Wally’s stomach twist. For a moment, panic clawed at him—had he said too much? Was Roy dead in this world, or had something worse happened?

“Who the hell is Star?” Behind him, Cassie whispered loudly. Whether she meant to or not, Wally heard it all the same, and the words hit like a pinprick against his already frayed nerves.

“Let’s forget that for the moment,” Wally said quickly, waving the topic aside. “Can we go back to the contingencies Batman has in place? I’ve got access to at least a dozen, but—”

He raised his arm, letting the holo-screen flicker to life, glowing faintly in the air. For half a second, the steady hum anchored him—until it fractured. Static ripped across the projection, sharp and jagged, before sparks spat from the wrist device.

Wally’s breath hitched as lines of unfamiliar code poured across the air, the display convulsing, rebooting, and then—without his command—linking straight into the League’s main terminal. A heavy buzz pulsed in his bones as the download forced itself through, data streaming across the holo with reckless speed.

The sound alone drew every eye in the room. Chairs scraped, voices faltered, the silence thickening as the screen reflected off their faces.

“—What the hell?” Oliver muttered, already pushing halfway out of his chair.

Hal’s jaw went slack. “That’s League clearance. He shouldn’t even—”

“Impossible,” Diana’s voice cut firm and low, though her eyes never left the screen.

Wally’s pulse hammered as the progress bar hit its peak, the final chirp of confirmation ringing too loud in the stunned quiet. The holo stabilised, glowing steady again, the entire console feed sitting there in his device like it had always belonged.

Every gaze—Clark’s steady, Oliver’s sharp, Flamebird’s unblinking—pinned him at once.

“I—” the word stumbled out, but nothing else followed. Not an excuse, not a cover. Just the raw mess of it. His hand clenched around the device as static flickered across the holo-screen, mocking him with its timing.

He’d always had issues with the damn thing refusing to link up with the Watchtower—had been wrestling with it for months, actually. Half the time it refused to register clearance, the other half it crashed mid-run and left him staring at outdated data. And now, of course, when he needed it quiet, when every pair of eyes in the League was already trained on him like he was a ticking bomb—this was when it decided to work?

Like Tim had hard-coded the universe’s worst sense of humour into it just to spite him.

And honestly? That was a totally Tim thing to do.

 

---

 

Tim moved through the halls, eyes sharp, sweeping every corner, every ceiling fixture, every shadow that might conceal a camera. Luthor’s paranoia was evident in the redundancy layered throughout the building, but it lacked the suffocating weight of the facilities back home. The halls were quieter here, emptier, almost deceptively calm.

No one in this universe—outside Luthor and Bernard—knew this place existed. The thought tightened Tim’s chest. Dangerous, yes. But valuable. He kept his steps measured, slow, deliberate, each footfall carefully controlled as he approached the source of the faint mechanical hum: the lab.

The air grew heavier with each step, threaded with the sterile tang of chemicals. Machinery hummed low and constant, like the pulse of something alive. The faint glow ahead seeped through the cracks in the lab door, cutting thin lines across the dim corridor.

Tim froze at the threshold, pressing himself against the cold wall. Voices bled through the narrow seam of the door, distorted, buzzing:

“And the project?” Luthor’s voice, more static than human, cut through the quiet.

Tim’s jaw tightened. He flattened himself against the wall, forcing his pulse to steady.

“Subject Thirteen is showing promising signs to the alterations,” Bernard replied. His voice made Tim’s chest twist—the familiarity jarring in this place. “Stability has improved since the last phase. Cellular rejection rates are down to under two percent.”

Subject Thirteen. The words slipped silently from Tim’s lips, the name gnawing at him. He didn’t need to see the subject to know who it was.

“Better,” Luthor’s tone snapped, crisp as glass. “But not enough. I don’t want promising. I want results. Can it withstand extended field application?”

Bernard hesitated. Long enough for Tim to catch the tremor in his voice. “Short term, yes. Long term… still uncertain. The Kryptonian physiology adapts faster than anticipated. Restraint protocols hold, but if he—if Subject Thirteen—pushes against them—”

Tim’s stomach knotted violently. Kryptonian physiology. Subject. Alterations. His mind went to Clark. Then Kara. Then—no. Not them.

“It won’t,” Luthor cut in sharply. “Not if you’ve programmed it correctly. Not if your loyalties are where they should be.”

Bernard’s breath hitched audibly. “You’ll have your weapon, Luthor. It will be ready for the reveal—if stability holds.”

Weapon. Kryptonian. Subject Thirteen.

And then it clicked.

Kon.

The realization hit Tim like a punch to the gut. His hands curled into fists against the wall. Every fragment of conversation confirmed it. They weren’t talking about some experiment. They were talking about Kon, a boy he knew, a friend—trapped here as a weapon.

“I look forward to seeing the result,” Luthor added, venom dripping from every word.

Tim’s stomach twisted. The air felt heavier, tighter, suffocating. His mind screamed to move, to do something—anything. But instinct, training, and the precarious balance of the mission demanded patience. He couldn’t afford a mistake.

He exhaled, slow and deliberate, steadying his racing heart, and slipped through the narrow opening into the lab. Machinery hummed around him, cooling fans whirred, and a faint metallic tang filled his nose. He pressed close to the nearest metal structure, trying to blend into the shadows.

Bernard’s back was to him, absorbed in the terminal, hands moving efficiently over keys. Tim couldn’t see the screen, but he didn’t need to. He had one objective now: get Kon out.

Tim reached into his belt and retrieved the small device he’d brought. It was a gamble, risky and untested—but it was all he had. Fingers trembling slightly, he tapped the haptic pad, aligning the device with the terminal’s feed. A low hum began, almost swallowed by the ambient noise of the lab.

Tim’s fingers tightened around the device. It wasn’t built for range; it needed proximity, contact. He measured the distance, the angle, the rhythm of Bernard’s attention. When the drone shifted a fraction to the left, its optics scanning away from the console, Tim moved.

A quick flick of his wrist sent the device arcing low across the narrow gap. It landed flush against the terminal’s base with a muted click, magnetized and clinging just out of Bernard’s direct line of sight. Bernard didn’t notice. His focus stayed locked on the alerts flooding the console.

Tim let his breath go slow, silent, his gaze darting between Bernard’s rigid profile and the faint glow of the device now latched to the terminal.

Tim shifted his grip, thumb grazing the haptic pad. The blue light on the device pulsed again, syncing with the faint hum under his fingertips. For a heartbeat, it worked—lines of code bled into his wrist display, jagged but legible. He almost let himself breathe.

Then the screen stuttered. Text fragmented into static blocks, pixels dragging themselves into unreadable smears before collapsing to black. His throat tightened. Not now.

The device gave a low, ugly buzz, the kind that spelled short-circuit. He shielded it against his thigh, pulse spiking as Bernard leaned forward in his chair. The drone adjusted its position, optics flickering red in idle alert. Tim froze, every nerve screaming stillness.

Seconds crawled. Then, with a sharp flicker, the screen blinked back to life. Boot-code scrolled in jerky bursts, the device rebooting itself in fits and starts. Tim’s chest constricted with every delay, with every pixel that refused to stabilize. He couldn’t afford this—not here, not when Bernard was an arm’s reach from turning around.

At last, the feed synced flawlessly. His wrist screen illuminated, revealing terminal data arranged in an organized and easily readable format. With this, he gained access to information on containment levels, restraint configurations, logs of unsuccessful experiments, and all laboratory records.

Tim swallowed hard. He had half of what he came here for—floorplans, schematics, blueprints that could lead him straight to a device useful enough to bridge the gap. Something part of this world, something he could twist into a tool, slip into Constantine’s hands, and use to pry open the Batcomputer’s files from afar. The path was there, neat and clinical on his wrist display.

And yet his eyes didn’t move.

They stayed fixed on the glowing outline near the bottom corner of the floorplan: the containment pods. The thick, insulated blocks of the lab designed to hold what no one should be able to hold. He traced the lines with his gaze, unwilling to admit how his stomach turned. The plans showed redundancies stacked on redundancies, fields layered three deep, each annotated with Luthor’s sharp, exacting notes.

He should keep moving. He should pocket what he had and vanish while the chaos still covered him. That was the smart call—the Bat call.

But his eyes stayed stuck. And the name burned through the schematics, repeating with a mechanical precision that felt almost mocking.

Subject Thirteen.

 

Notes:

I love a good moment of Hal being an idiot and getting hit with a Wally roasting!

OG!Wally: I bet Tim did this on purpose!
R!Damian: *Side eye* What.
OG!Wally: He has it out for me! I swear he's plotted my murder!
OG!Tim: *materializes out of nowhere* That's because when You and Dick are together you both loose your braincells. *Disappears*
OG!Wally:
R!Damian:

Tim's part didn't come out exactly how i wanted it to- the chapter would've been out sooner but i had to rewrite it like three times lmao

Buuut! Who's excited to see the chaos in the Og universe? I have a bad feeling for the Arrow family tho and I don't think Roy is going to be happy.

Notes:

This is the song that inspired the title, quite an ethereal song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHNPT_QPQ_U

Originals:
Dick - 28 - Nightwing
Babs - 29 - Oracle
Jason - 24/25 - Red Hood
Cass - 24 - Orphan
Tim - 22 - Red Robin
Stephanie - 23 - Spoiler
Duke - 17 - Signal
Damian - 11 - Robin

Reverse:
Damian - 29 - Flamebird
Duke - 28 - Grey Ghost
Stephanie - 25 - Marauder
Tim - 24 - Raptor
Cass - 20 - Black Bat
Jason - 17/18 - Red hood
Babs - 15 - Batgirl
Dick - 14 - Talon/Robin