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“I don’t know how things are in your world, Tim,” Bruce said softly, lowering himself so he wasn’t towering over the boy. “But in my world, I don’t hurt my kids. We’ve argued for sure, we’ve all been angry with each other, but I’ve never hit one of my kids because I was mad at him.”
Tim mumbled something Bruce couldn’t hear.
“What was that?”
“I’m sorry, sir!” Tim yelped, straightening his posture and looking Bruce dead in the eye with the rigidity of a soldier. A very scared soldier. “I just—I said it’s, discipline, it’s important! I know that, I would never fight back, I promise! You know best!”
Bruce snorted, he couldn’t help it. “You’re definitely not my son if you’re saying that.”
He regretted the words as soon as the left his mouth, dammit. He hadn’t meant to phrase it that way; he knew how anxious Tim could be about belonging. His Tim, that was, which was what he meant. As much as his Tim could feel insecure, he would also unabashedly tease and challenge Bruce. He’d gotten over the honeymoon phase after a couple months and realized (with Dick’s help) the Bruce didn’t know everything and wasn’t always right.
“I just—my Tim. You have a place here, and we won’t let anyone hurt you. I just meant that my Tim, the one from this world, he can get mouthy,” Bruce explained, wishing his Tim were on-planet to prove so. “All my sons, they’re that way. They let me know exactly what they’re thinking.”
The other Tim looked physically sick at the idea of mouthing off to Bruce.
I need to call Dick.
His oldest son would have the new Tim calling Bruce an old fart with creaky knees and bad taste in music before dinnertime. Dick had a way of setting people at ease, especially around Bruce. It was why they’d worked so well as Batman and Robin. Even as Dick grew into his Nightwing identity, the pattern remained the same: Bruce was the muscle, Dick was the PR.
“Does your Bruce have a Dick?”
“Um—” Tim blinked in confusion. “Y—yes. Um. Do you—nevermind, I’m sorry.”
That was good. Hopefully the new Tim had a good relationship with his Dick Grayson. That would give them a good starting rapport with any luck. Tim didn’t seem alarmed at the idea of Dick, just a little confused.
“I’ll call him, then. He’ll be over in an hour or two, I’m sure,” Bruce told him, giving Tim’s knee a gentle squeeze. “Until then, you stay here. I can turn on a movie for you? Do your like Star Wars?”
Tim’s eyes were wide and terrified, and Bruce cursed himself for touching the boy without warning. It was hard remembering that this boy wasn’t just his Tim but a little skinnier and a bit more scarred. He was a different kid with a different background, one seemingly heavily featuring abuse from Bruce. They didn’t know if anything about his life was the same as Tim’s beyond the fact that his name was Tim Drake and he was Robin under Bruce Wayne.
“I’m sorry, Tim. I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission. Will you be fine here for a little while?” Bruce apologized.
Tim sniffled and nodded, tears glistening in his eyes. The misery pouring off him killed the parent in Bruce, but pretty much anything he could do would only make things worse.
This was hell.
I’m in hell. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks, soaking the collar of his borrowed tee shirt. He couldn’t even summon the willpower to wipe the tears away. It was like his limbs were there but not listening to him, and he finally just gave up.
This world’s Bruce had turned on the movie and left to make his phone call, leaving Tim to stew in dread.
Bruce—real Bruce, his Bruce—was going to be so mad when he found out Tim had gotten himself caught. Even if it was by another Bruce, failure was unacceptable. Then add to that Tim was being all weepy and dumb, he’d be lucky if Bruce waited till they were back in their world to get his belt buckle off and whip him.
Tim’s Bruce would arrive any second, which gave away the lie. Earlier, this Bruce had told Tim he couldn’t even find what world Tim was from yet, let alone tear a hole in the fabric of reality and cram him back through. Now suddenly he could get Tim’s Bruce to this universe to take Tim back. What, was Tim supposed to think the weird question about Bruce’s nether regions had something to do with somehow breaking whatever quantum physics laws it took to get Tim home? If that was supposed to be covering for the lie, it wasn’t very—
Knock, knock.
His stomach dropped, but he didn’t flinch. Flinching just made Bruce mad.
Everything makes him mad, Tim thought sourly.
Don’t let him hear you think like that, he scolded himself. Bruce would know, he always did.
“Hey, kiddo. How’re you holding up?”
Tim inhaled sharply, his head snapping around to see…he didn’t have a clue who this was.
For a second, he thought Jason, but that was just because of the black hair and blue eyes. The face wasn’t Jason’s, and he looked several years older. His smile was friendly and open in a really deliberate way, like he was a book Tim was reading and he wanted to be read.
The stranger leaned against the doorframe, shifting his gaze from Tim to the screen. “What’re we watching? Star Wars?”
Tim was confused, because this was definitely Star Trek—the characters were all there, Luke, Han, Leia. They did look different, though. Han didn’t have his ponytail, but at least Luke didn’t have the stupid mullet they gave him in the first movie. Leia was basically wearing a ghost costume with donuts on her ears instead of her pink battle gown with her braids, so that was disappointing.
Tim realized too late he hadn’t responded.
Now it would be too late, it would look like he was just covering for himself, or it would look weak and scared like he was, but if he didn’t say anything, the man was going to be offended, and if he was offended, he’d teach Tim a lesson, or maybe this Bruce would teach Tim a lesson, and if this Bruce felt the need to teach Tim a lesson, his Bruce would be so mad at him for embarrassing him in front of the multiverse, but his Bruce would be so mad he wouldn’t even take it out on Tim, he’d take it out on Jason, and—
The man shoved off the doorframe and stalked forward with the casual grace of a predator. Tim dropped his gaze to the floor and tried to focus on his breathing. He needed to calm down or everything was going to get so much worse.
The stranger bent down to pull something from under the coffee table—a large basket, probably full of tools or instruments for punishment—and…
Tim watched as the man pulled a throw blanket from the basket, unfurled it, and plopped himself down on the other end of the sofa.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Cold?”
Tim just stared.
The man threw the blanket over Tim and retrieved another for himself, lounging back without a care in the world to watch Star Trek. With Tim.
Okay. Okay, weird, but Tim could casually watch movies too if this was just how the game was played in this world. It wasn’t his place to question the adults, especially not the ones Bruce trusted.
Tim settled cautiously back, pulling his legs onto the couch before thinking better, but now he’d already done it and putting his feet back on the floor where they belonged would only draw attention to the fact that he’d put his gross feet on the couch in the first place. It would also demonstrate that he’d known better and did it anyways.
Maybe the punishment would be less strict if he could play it off like he’d done it by accident, or maybe he could slowly put his feet back down without the stranger noticing. His legs were shrouded by the blanket, so it would be easier to sneakily do that.
Then the stranger pulled his legs onto the couch, and Tim nearly fainted. Had he done that to show Tim he’d noticed? Was that allowed here? Was he subconsciously mimicking Tim in a way that would get both of them in trouble when Bruce came back?
Tim just wished he could be back in his room in his world where he couldn’t cause any trouble. Instead, he was in a stranger’s world, watching an almost-familiar movie play out on the screen.
The story was almost the same, but different in subtle enough ways that amounted to a totally different movie that couldn’t be separated from the one Tim knew. By the time the movie was over, it…
Tim hated to say it, but this movie was better than what he’d grown up with. He wished that wasn’t true, but it was.
As the credits rolled, the man glanced over at him. “What do you say? Want to watch the next one?”
“There isn’t a next one.”
“Huh?” the man frowned.
Tim winced. Correcting adults like that was rude, especially when his movie-mate seemed excited to see what happened next. It just wasn’t Tim’s place to be telling adults things, but now he’d basically asked what Tim was talking about, so Tim had to tell him the bad news.
“George Lucas died halfway through filming the sequel. It doesn’t exist.”
The stranger frowned in confusion. “What?”
“It was really sudden. Only a few scenes ever leaked to the public, but—”
“There’s like, a million of these movies, kiddo,” The stranger chuckled knowingly. “Trust me, my Tim eats this stuff up.”
“But—” Tim stopped suddenly, for once not from fear of correcting an adult, but because it was suddenly occurring to him that this was not his world and not his universe and that Star Trek might not be a niche cult-classic 70’s movie in this world.
“There’s—there’s more?”
“There’s at least nine in the main series. There’s other movies and tv shows, and I think some books, but you’d have to ask our Tim if they’re canon or not. He’s got big feelings about Star Wars.”
Star Wars was the TV show, but Tim wasn’t going to correct the man when he was telling Tim such wonderful news.
Tim deflated, the joy turned sour as quickly as he’d thought it was sweet. He settled back against the arm of the couch and shook his head. “I don’t want to watch the rest.”
“What? Why?”
Tim shook his head. “Your Bruce said my Bruce is coming to get me soon. I should be ready.”
The truth was that he didn’t want to start the movie and not get to finish it. The unanswered questions would kill Tim. He’d probably spend the rest of his life thinking about it now, what could have been if things had just gone a little better.
“What?!” the stranger shot to his feet so fast Tim couldn’t help but flinch.
“He—he said—” Tim stammered, but fear was a tight band around his chest, choking off his words.
His new friend looked spitting mad. If he went and started fighting with Bruce like this Bruce said people did here, then this Bruce was going to know that it was Tim who told him!
Too late to do anything, the stranger was already pulling out his phone. Before Tim could choke out a plea for him to wait, the man pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear.
It took three seconds for Bruce to pick up—an eternity, a blip in existence.
“Bruce,” the stranger snapped. “Why does little Tim think his Bruce is coming to get him? No, he said you told him his Bruce was coming to pick him up!” A pause. The tension in the man’s shoulders slowly relaxed. “Good.” Tim wanted to bury himself in the blankets and never come out. “Yes, of course you should.”
The man put his phone away and dropped back down onto the couch, running a hand down his face with a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh.
It’s my fault. I made him upset.
“Bruce—my Bruce—is on his way up. He thinks you misunderstood something. Your Bruce is still in your world, and he’s going to stay there if he knows what’s good for him. B said he doesn’t know why you thought your Bruce was gonna get you, but B was telling you I was coming to hang out, baby bird.”
“Huh?”
That—Bruce did that sometimes, and Tim hated it. He’d tell Tim one thing, then he’d say another thing later and act like Tim was crazy for noticing that the story had changed.
Tim bit his tongue. Bruce would just smack him for being a brat if he pointed out that Bruce had—he hadn’t lied, Bruce didn’t lie, even thinking that was stupid. Bruce just sometimes forgot that he’d said one thing before.
Maybe this Bruce lies. The thought was rebellious and scary, and he was mad at himself for even thinking it. Accusing Bruce of lying was a good way to get his hide tanned. At least his Bruce had a reason not to hurt him too badly—this Bruce had already said he didn’t need another Robin.
Tim just waited glumly for Bruce to arrive.
He didn’t have to wait long.
This universe’s Bruce walked briskly into the room and stopped on the other side of the coffee table. Tim shifted anxiously before coming to his senses and sitting still.
“Tim, Dick says you thought—”
“Your name is Dick?” Tim blurted before his mind caught up with his mouth. “I’m sorry, I just—”
Maybe that was a different thing in this—TIM WAS SUCH AN IDIOT.
Bruce hadn’t been asking if his Bruce was physically intact, he was asking if this guy existed in Tim’s universe, and like—maybe? Tim didn’t know! Was he supposed to know this guy?
Understanding dawned on Bruce’s face. “Timothy, what is my oldest son’s name?”
“Jason,” Tim answered automatically. He didn’t get why Bruce was asking him the question, but he could already tell it was the wrong answer just by the look on Bruce’s face even though Tim knew it was true!
Bruce ran a hand down his face in almost the same stressed gesture as Dick’s from earlier. “I…think I know how the confusion happened. Tim, do you know Dick Grayson in your world?”
Tim shook his head, then the name struck him. “Were you in the Olympics last year?”
Dick raised his eyebrows, impressed. “…not here, no. But apparently I could have been. Did I win?”
“Gold,” Tim said, confused. Was Dick not an Olympian in this universe? How did someone go from the Olympics in one world to working for Batman in another?
Dick grinned. “Nice to know I could’ve been cool.”
“You’ve saved the planet multiple times,” Bruce said flatly, which—what?
Dick just shrugged like the bit about saving the planet was just an everyday thing for him. Maybe it was some kind of joke? It had to be an exaggeration, right? But who says planet instead of world if they don’t mean planet? And they clearly were more involved with space and dimensions than Tim’s world was, given the interdimensional machine they had that had accidentally snagged him in the first place.
“No one gives out gold medals for saving the world,” Dick said in a mock-sad voice. “You do it for the love of the game.”
Tim was pretty sure you saved the world for the love of not dying, but he’d never saved the world, so what would he know?
Bruce rolled his eyes in what looked like amusement at Dick’s joke. Tim wasn’t sure he was reading Bruce right, because that would be…weird. The joke wasn’t even that funny.
“Tim,” Bruce said, drawing all the attention in the room back to Tim again. “In this world, Dick is my oldest son. He was my first Robin, but now he’s Nightwing. My second son, Jason, used to be Robin, but now he’s Red Hood. My third son—Timothy Drake—is Robin right now.”
That would…Tim frowned, because Jason was Tim’s brother, and Tim felt like the Jason in this universe was almost his brother because he was almost Jason? But that would make Dick almost Tim’s brother, right? Or maybe it only worked the other way. That would explain why Dick had been so nice: Tim was his almost brother because Tim was like the local Tim.
“Tim…” Bruce said again, drawing the attention back to himself this time. “I need you to know that you’re safe here. We’re not going to let your Bruce get ahold of you again. Things might change later, but for now, you’re safest right here.”
“And by things might change, he means you could come live with me or maybe Jay if this—” Dick gestured vaguely all around. “—is too much. He doesn’t mean you’d ever go back to your Bruce.”
He wants to keep me.
Tim had offered to be useful while he was here, he’d offered to go out as Robin and earn his keep and do chores or whatever Bruce needed, but he wasn’t meant to stay forever. Bruce had turned down all his offers of work and help! It didn’t make any sense!
…No, it made perfect sense. Bruce hated sharing, what could be more on brand for Bruce than stealing something from himself across the cosmos? This just meant Tim belonged to this Bruce until his first Bruce decided to steal him back—if he ever did.
“You’re safe here, Tim,” Bruce promised, stepping around the coffee table.
Tim expected to be grabbed and hurled off the couch, expected the hiss of leather on beltloops. He could almost feel the lick of the belt against his skin.
To his surprise, Bruce knelt instead of looming, but it was a different kind of powerplay, reminding Tim that he could be domineering and pushy but he was actively choosing not to be.
Tim wasn’t sure which style was worse.
“Tim, tell me what you’re thinking,” Bruce prompted.
He was thinking this Bruce could kill Tim and get away with it. At least in his world, there was a level of protection just because Bruce was such a public figure. If he went too long without an appearance because of bruises or broken bones, the press started asking uncomfortable questions.
This Bruce already had a Tim. He didn’t need to let anyone know that he had a new Tim to match the old one. The press would never know, and no one would ask questions, just like they’d stopped asking questions when everyone assumed Jason had been killed in that explosion.
Jason. He needed to get back to his Jason somehow. Tim couldn’t just abandon his brother, not when Bruce would be so mad to get swindled out of Tim. Jason had survived the explosion, he’d survived years of punishments, but Tim wasn’t sure he could survive what Bruce would do to him.
“I…” Tim swallowed hard and thought.
This Bruce was trying to be nice. It was weird, some kind of sick mind game, but he was acting like he wanted Tim to like him. Maybe that was how he liked to control people, with a carrot instead of a stick.
My Bruce just uses two sticks.
If Bruce wanted Tim to like him, the best thing to do would be to give him what he wanted, at least on the surface. Tim could be pliant, pleasant. He’d never had to put on his paparazzi smile for Bruce before, but Tim could be charming.
Then he’d figure out a way back to his world, jump through, and get back to Jason.
…and then maybe he’d jump back.
If he stayed in his world, his Bruce would go on punishing him and Jason for the rest of their lives. If he came back to this world with a present for Bruce, Jason—a second copy of his favorite kid—then he could win favor with this Bruce.
Dick didn’t seem hurt or even cautious about Bruce. This Bruce had said that the Tim from this universe was mouthy. Maybe that meant this Bruce was less strict, or at least less dangerous than the Bruce in his world.
“Dick—he said there’s more Star—” Tim kept himself from saying it the right way. “—Wars movies in this world. Will…will you watch? With me?”
“I’d be glad to,” Bruce said.
Tim barely restrained a shudder, stepping to the side so Bruce could sit down. Tim expected him to sit in the middle where he could easily reach Dick or Tim, but instead, he took Dick’s seat on the far end of the couch.
Hesitantly, Tim sat in the middle. He didn’t try to move in any closer to Bruce, but even that proximity made his skin itch and his eyes prickle.
“Everyone’s stealing seats in this house,” Dick grumbled, pulling on the edge of his throw blanket that Bruce had sat on instead of just getting a new one or taking the one off Tim. “Move your fat butt, B, you stole my blanket.”
Tim froze, watching Bruce for a reaction. Had Dick lost his mind? Bruce was going to kick in his teeth for a stupid comment like that!
Except Bruce didn’t.
Bruce just shifted enough to let Dick take the blanket back, focusing on finding the next movie instead of punishing his stupid son. Either this Bruce really did like when his kids were sassy, or he was waiting to lull Tim into a false sense of security. How he’d get Dick to play into that though…
Bruce turned on the second movie, and Tim—despite all the fears—was enraptured. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: a whole new story, a strange new world, something untouched by the tragedy of what had been in the world he’d come from.
It was new, it was amazing, and it was Tim’s for the taking.