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heyitsani · 3 years

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Loving You is a Losing Game Chapter 1

@jaydick-week Day 2 fic: Fairytale AU

Word Count: 3,543

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Monsters and Magic

Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson

Summary: When Batman goes missing, Nightwing is called in to try and track the man down. What he finds at the spot Batman was last seen is something he's not sure he's equipped to deal with. But that doesn't stop him from doing what he has to in order to get Batman out. Even if it means becoming the poisoner of a strange shadow man in a Gothic castle hidden behind a wall of magic on the edge of Gotham.

Notes: This is my Beauty and the Beast AU set in the comics (sort of...I’ve changed some details and you’ll understand once it’s all done). I’m not sure how many chapters this one will have but here is the first. I just wanted to be able to post at least part of the stories I prepared for the week since I wasn’t able to finish any of them.

You can also read it on AO3 here

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He felt the person before he heard them, and the presence alone was enough for Dick to tense up in ways he’d rather not admit happened. This was not a confrontation he was in the mood for at the moment, but apparently he was going to have to have it none the less.

“Deathstroke,” he said flatly, turning to look at the other man standing a few feet away in his familiar orange and black gear.

The white-haired man gave a smirk that boiled Dick’s blood, but he refused to react. “Nightwing, how lovely to see you tonight.” Dick never understood why Slade kept up the pretense of these meetings being unplanned. They weren’t. He might be oblivious to many things, but when a predator is stalking him has never been one of them. He was well aware of what Slade was doing when he appeared out of nowhere.

“Is there something I can do for you tonight? Or are you just here to get in my way.”

“Just curious how my favorite Little Bird was doing,” the man said as he leaned against the brick wall that held the door to head down into the building he had made his perch for the night. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors over the past couple of months and I wanted to see if they were true.”

This was a dangerous game, Dick knew that. He should just ignore Slade and head to a different spot in hopes the man would leave him alone, but his curiosity was also burning. What kind of rumor could Slade have possibly heard involving him.

Sighing, Dick turned to face the man. “And what rumors are those?” He took the bait. He frowned when Slade’s smirk turned predatory and made Dick want to take a few steps back to get more space between them. Despite there being about ten feet already.

“Nightwing hasn’t been seen in Gotham for almost half a year. And the hero community is wondering why the Titans have lost their leader suddenly.” Rolling his eyes behind his mask, Dick crossed his arms over his chest. “Now…you fighting with Daddy Bats isn’t all that strange, but six months? When there’s still the little Robin running around not fully trained?”

Dick didn’t point out that Damian was Batman’s own son and had been trained by the League of Assassins. He was more trained than any of them had ever been. And he made sure to point it out frequently to Tim.

“And that you have left behind your precious Titans? Now that’s surprising.” But Dick knew he no one other than the team knew why he had separated himself from them and they all accepted it. He hadn’t been ousted or banned. He had left because he had needed to. “Are you isolating yourself, Little Bird?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Slade shrugged and pushed away from the wall, taking a few long strides to close some of the distance between them. “Seems to me that you are pushing away everyone in your life, Kid. Perhaps you’re ready for your true destiny?” Dick frowned. “Join me. You know it’s inevitable.”

Dick laughed. Actually laughed at the words and shook his head.

“Dream on, Slade. I say it every time you bring it up,” Dick reminded him, uncrossing his arms. “Until the world has burned, I will never join you.”

“Don’t tempt me, Kid.”

Instead of responding, Dick just rolled his eyes and took a step back off the edge of the roof, free falling for a moment before shooting off his grapple in the direction of where he had parked his motorcycle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Agent A,” Dick said into his comm when he heard Alfred’s voice bleeding through. He was surprised to be hearing from the older man, but welcomed it none the less. Even if it was coming in the middle of a fight.

Landing a punch across the jaw of one of the goons and vaulting himself over the falling body to swiftly knock the other down with a firm kick to his chest, he breathed heavily. “Nightwing, I require your assistance in Gotham.” Frowning, Dick knelt down and zip-tied the hands of the goons together before sending off the signal and coordinates to BPD.

“You require it? Or Batman does?” He questioned as he shot his grapple up to get off the street and out of the area before the cops arrived. While the cops of BPD had gotten better over time, they still had an arrest order for all vigilantes. So it was always best that he just left before they arrived. “What’s going on?”

“Batman has not been seen for about 48 hours now. Robin and Red Robin are off world with the Titans at the moment and I know Batman would rather keep the search in the family before involving the League.” Which made sense in Bruce’s mind, but considering their hero friends had been vanishing left and right over the last two years, Dick thought it was somewhat foolish. “Might you make your way to the Cave?”

Figuring out where he was in relation to his motorcycle, Dick took off in the direction of where he had stashed it. “I’m on my way now. Tell me what he was doing the night he went missing.” He listened to Alfred relay the major points of the missing hero case that the entire community was working on while holding down their various cities. He listened as Alfred talked about Bruce starting the suspect something was happening in an abandon warehouse on the outskirts of town, not far from Crime Alley.

Dick confirmed that Bruce had mentioned that to him about a year ago and Dick had told Bruce that there was no activity in the area after running the scans. But apparently that didn’t mean Bruce had dropped it. It just meant he didn’t immediately deal with whatever it was that was happening there.

“Master Bruce linked these three heroes and their disappearances with that warehouse,” Alfred said as he pulled open three filed. Dick frowned when the faces of Roy Harper, Koriand’r, and Wally West appeared on the screen. Three of his closest friends whose absences he had felt deeply. If Donna’s face had come up alongside them then he would have left immediately. “All three had come to town for various reasons and all vanished when leaving in that direction.”

“And Bruce thinks they vanished in the warehouse so he what? He went there to try and figure out what was happening?”

Alfred nodded and pulled up a video, which Dick easily figured out was the cowl recording from the night he went missing. Dick watched from Bruce’s eyes as the batmobile came to a stop on the outskirts of the three-building area. His mentor took a moment to scan the area and look for any signs of life, but when the readings seemed to glitch he still decided to go in. An action Dick had specifically been told not to do if he had experienced the same thing.

“Magic,” Bruce had said when Dick had reported his findings.

But Bruce exited the car and headed toward the first of three buildings. And just as Dick leaned forward, pressing his hands on the desk to watch closely, the screen glitched again and then static. Scanning the screen for the readings of the video, he frowned. “What the hell was that?”

“My thoughts? It is the same magic you encountered when you had gone to scout the area at Master Bruce’s request.”

Dick straightened and frowned. That was heavy magic if it was able to cut everything off from Bruce. And it made Dick wonder if Bruce had somehow managed to get stuck behind the wall. “Is Zatanna one of the missing?” There had been so many that he couldn’t remember all of them. Alfred’s nod filled him with dread. “I have to go check it out.”

“Could I advise you to go to the Watchtower before you do?”

“There’s no time. He’s been missing for two days and some change. I need to head in there.” Dick frowned, grabbing his mask from where he had set it down when he had arrived. “But you should contact Clark immediately. I’m not sure if they’ll be able to spare any of the other magic users, but let them know what Bruce had suspected.” He turned to head back to his motorcycle but paused when Alfred’s hand landed on his upper arm. “I have to go, Alf. I can’t just leave him there.”

“I understand my boy, just be careful. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.” Dick gave a nod before continuing to his motorcycle. “I will contact the League and try to get the Robins to return to Earth.”

“Thanks Alf. I’ll keep you updated for as long as I can.”

He gave the older man one last smile before he gunned the engine and sped out of the Cave toward the warehouse where he would face too many unknown variables.

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Pulling up to the same place where Bruce had parked the batmobile, Dick frowned when he noticed the car was no longer there. They were far enough away from the majority of the city that thieves wouldn’t have gotten to it, but that didn’t account for whatever magic that had been used to protect this area. So he carefully set his motorcycle into stealth mode and left it tucked between two smaller buildings in the area. If he was lucky, it would be there to get him and Bruce back to the cave once he found the other man.

“I’m approaching now, Agent A,” he reported to Alfred through the comms, sticking to the shadows as he approached. He kept one eye on the grounds and the other on any possible movement around him. “I didn’t notice it last time, but you can actually see the current.” He moved to stand about a foot away from the now just slightly visible wall of magic. He looked up, trying to see how far it went, but after about ten feet, the angle didn’t provide a good look.

It almost reminded him of heat waves that came off the pavement during the worst of Gotham’s summers.

Reaching out a hand, Dick carefully touched the wall and jerked a hand back when it felt like he had been zapped by one of his escrimas. “It feels like electricity,” he said into the comm but the reply he got back was crackled and broken. And that meant he was probably on his own. “I’m not sure if you can hear me anymore, but I’m going in. Call for the League and the Robins. Find a magic user and get them here if you can. I’ll bring him back, Alf.” And with a deep breath, he stepped forward and into the wall of magic.

And when he came out on the other side, he bent forward with his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. “That is not a good time,” he groaned to himself as he tried to pull himself together. With a few more deep breaths, Dick straightened and gasped in surprise at the sight of what was on the other side of the wall.

The image projected on the city side of the wall was what he remembered the area to look like. Three large, abandoned warehouses and their various grounds surrounding them. Gray and boring, weathered from the lack of upkeep and use. But what was before him seemed almost gothic in comparison. In fact, it looked like some of the older buildings of the city. Gargoyles and all. The plain concrete walls had been replaced with stone, vines that had not been there two years ago had begun to creep up them giving them an even more aged look.

The grounds themselves were green and reminded him far more of the Manor than what he would have expected a warehouse to look like. They also looked immaculately kept. It was almost as if whoever had done the spell had taken a gothic castle and placed it on the edge of Gotham while making every one in the city believe the warehouses remained.

It made Dick feel like he had a rock in his stomach. This was a very powerful spell.

Scouting the area as best he could, Dick carefully made his way forward with his escrimas in hand and ready for a fight. He didn’t know what he was bound to encounter, but he wasn’t going to chance not being prepared. Not when it might be Bruce’s life on the line.

When the grounds revealed little information, Dick snuck his way inside through one of the windows in the front and quietly made his way through the main foyer. The more he saw of the building, the heavier the pit in his stomach got.

The sound of fierce whispering hit his senses as he came to the base of a set of stairs.

Nightwing, it is Nightwing.

He frowned, looking around to try and find the source.

Nightwing can do it.

He wanted to ask what exactly the whisperers thought he could do, but instead he remained silent and looked up the stairs. There was a faint light further up and like a moth, Dick made his way toward it. The whispers got quieter and quieter the further up he went. Until they had vanished all together and he was standing at the top of the stairs, looking at something that he was struggling to understand. It looked like cells but it wasn’t making sense in his head.

Of course, if this really was some sort of medieval structure, it would make sense for there to be a tower with cells for keeping prisoners. But what that even what this was.

The sound of movement from one of the ones on the right caught his attention and with barely a thought, he rushed forward to peer inside. “Batman!” He cried, latching his escrimas on his back before gripping the bars of the cell door. “Are you okay?!” He questioned as he looked the older man over.

“Nightwing,” the name came out as a groan and Dick frowned. Bruce looked roughed up, but he didn’t look like he was in that bad of condition. “You have to leave. Get out of here now. Before it takes you like it took them all.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not going to just leave you here,” he shook his head before searching his utility belt for his lock pick so he could get the cell open and get Bruce out of there. He had just about gotten the lock open when a loud crash sounded behind him and he was flying toward the cells on the other side of the small hallway.

“What are you doing here?!” The question was practically growled, and Dick tried to focus on the source but all he could see was a shadow and a pair of glowing green eyes. “You don’t belong here. Leave!”

Shaking his head, Dick looked over at Bruce before looking back to the shadow. “I’m not leaving without Batman.”

“Yes, you are,” the shadow growled. “He’s my prisoner. He’s cursed to remain.”

Dick carefully stood to his feet and grabbed his escrimas, moving into a fighting stance. “I’m not leaving without him. So either you give him to me or I take him.”

“Nightwing, no!”

But Dick ignored Bruce’s call and carefully moved so he was standing in front of his mentor’s cell. He didn’t know who or what it was he was facing, but he had fought enough in his years to be adaptable. “Dick, please just go. Get out while you can.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“One of you is leaving before I really lose my temper.”

That gave Dick pause. “One of us?” The shadow seemed to tilt it’s head and Dick considered the idea building in his mind. He could get Bruce out of there. He could get Bruce home to Alfred. And Bruce would figure out a way to get him out of there. He could do that. Dick would never be able to figure out how to combat magic like this. He wasn’t sure even their magic users in the League would be able to. But Batman always found a way. “Take me instead.”

“What?”

“No!”

“You heard me. Take me instead. Release Batman and I’ll take his place.”

“You…” the shadow paused, sounding almost awed. “You would do that for him?”

“Yes.”

“Dick don’t do this, please.”

Turning his head just slightly to lock eyes with Bruce, Dick pursed his lips. “I have to. You’ll figure it out. You’re already there. I trust you.” The man frowned but understanding filled his eyes and he gave Dick a firm nod. Turning back to the shadow, Dick latched his escrimas again and raised his chin. “I’ll stay as long as I have to if you promise to let him go safely on the other side of the magical wall.”

There was silence before the shadow moved like liquid, shoving Dick out of the way and getting Bruce out of the cell. In a blink of an eye, the pair were gone and Dick was left alone wondering what he was supposed to do now. He just risked his life on Bruce being able to figure this out. He had given up everything because he trusted the man enough to get to the bottom of whatever was happening here. Dick trusted Bruce and Nightwing trusted Batman, but jumping in front of a bullet was different than trapping himself inside a magical dome with no connection to the outside world.

With a deep breath, Dick pulled the mask off his eyes and looked around the room he supposed he would be staying in. The cells were stereotypical for a medieval castle and under any other circumstance, he would probably laugh at that. But now this was his...home?

“Come,” a voice came out of nowhere, causing him to jump and quickly turn toward the staircase he had come up.

The shadow was back.

More magic, he mused to himself. “What?” He questioned the command, wary of what the game might be here.

The shadow shifted and moved forward, stepping into the light to reveal a man. Not a shadow at all. Blonde hair, sharp cheekbones, and green eyes. He was tall but not as tall as the shadow had made him appear to be. And not as bulky, but still solid in muscle mass and strength. “Do you want to stay up here?” The man growled, his green eyes taking on an almost glowing look to them. It made Dick take a step back in self-preservation.

“No, but I thought…” This was where Bruce had been kept after all. Why was he not to assume that it would be the same for him?

“You thought wrong.” The man turned and headed down the stairs and after a short hesitation, Dick hurried to follow. He kept quiet as he followed the man down the stairs he had come up in the beginning and then down the halls toward a different wing of the castle. “This is your home now. You can go anywhere you like but the West Wing.”

Dick glanced behind him, remembering the staircase they had passed that would have been in the westward direction. “What’s in the West Wing?” He asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. He blamed Bruce and his need to raise detectives.

“Nothing of your concern!” The man ground out, turning to glare at Dick with his glowing green eyes. And though he wanted to take a step back, he resisted the urge. He did, however, give a slight nod of understanding to pacify the man instead. There was a moment of pause before he seemed pacified and they continued on the path. “You will stay here,” the man said when they reached an elaborately carved, pair of double doors. Dick looked up at them before stepping forward and inside the room after he pushed the doors open.

The room itself looked as though it had come right out of a movie. Four post bed, gleaming silvers and blues all over. The bed looked plush and the furniture was likely hand carved. Everything was polished and smooth, gleaming under the lighting. It was ornate and fancy and Dick hated it. But that might have had more to do with it being his prison than it being overly done.

He heard the man clear his throat and Dick turned to find he remained in the doorway of the room, looking hesitate to enter. But that was something Dick had no desire to unpack that right then. Not when he was still technically a prisoner.

“If you need anything, the others are always lingering.” The man glanced around the room before straightening his spine. “I expect you to join me for dinner.” Dick frowned when the man turned away and slammed the door behind him. Sighing, Dick turned in a small circle before dropping down onto the edge of the bed.

#jaydick #jason todd #dick grayson #slade wilson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #beauty and the beast au #jaydickweek2021 #anikah writes

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fishfingersandjellybabies · 4 years

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Boy I’m Telling You - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake Summary: The Titans, the Teen Titans, the Outlaws and Young Justice. After the team-up of the century, Damian finds himself standing alone. A/N: Based on/Inspired by ‘Not Losing You’ by Maddie Poppe. This strikes me as a very Damian and probably Dick song, and I didn’t do it any justice in my rusty, suddenly infrequent writing. Dick absolutely lives up to what he told Jason and makes it a thing. He also threatens Jason and Tim with pain of death if they’re ever the ones to tell Damian it wasn’t. Their friends are a little offended that they all immediately abandoned them without a reason for Damian, but the other Batboys are perfectly fine with that, Dick, of course, especially. Artemis and Bizzarro are the only ones who don’t hate/probably actually like Damian, just haven’t hung out with him much, so. This is really poorly/not really at all edited so. Sorry I’m garbage :/

It was quite the team up, to say the least.

Titans, Teen Titans, Outlaws. Even Drake’s ridiculously named Young Justice joined in the fray.

The battle was hard. Long. Painful. But it was over now. They’d won. The bad guy was taken down. There were no casualties. The day was saved, and they were heroes to the people once more.

And now that the war was won, the teams were slowly ungrouping. The Outlaws here, the Titans here, their teen counterparts over there, and the like.

And Damian…stood off to the side. Alone.

His team didn’t like him much, he knew that. They worked with him when they needed to, like today, but otherwise kept their distance. So he tried to respect that. Tried to give them the space they wanted.

Tried to pretend it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

He heard Grayson laugh across the space, and glanced at him. He was in the center of the Titans, somehow giving each of his friends his full attention at once. Donna was smiling, Wally was cackling, smacking Dick on the shoulder.

He glanced over towards Drake’s team, Young Justice. It was Drake spreading the physical affection here, an arm around Conner Kent’s shoulders, high-fiving the others, one by one under the shouts of one of them for pizza.

Jason’s celebration was more muted. An arm punch from the Amazonian one, Artemis. The Superman clone rubbed at his hair, and laughed as Jason frowned at him. Roy even popped over from the Titans clique, wrapping Jason in a hug that Jason grumbled at, and kissed his cheek. Kory waved across the way, remaining at Dick’s side.

One last look to his own team. They all had their backs turned to him, talking to each other. Smiling and whispering, paying him no mind.

So…that was it. The battle was over.

Guess he could just…go home, then.

He did one last look toward everyone, made sure he didn’t notice any injuries someone was trying to hide, or troubles lingering around them. Then nodded and turned away, wondering where he left his bike.

He had only taken a few steps when: “Damian?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and found Dick, suddenly extracted from his Titans, jogging almost desperately towards him. He paused, turned.

“Everything okay?” He asked as Dick approached.

“Yeah, of course…where are you going?”

“Home.” Damian almost smirked. “Where else would I be going?”

“With us to get the obligatory and celebratory ‘we-saved-the-day’ Korean BBQ?” Dick pointed his thumb over his shoulder.

“I was unaware I was invited.” Damian murmured. He glanced over Dick’s shoulder towards the Titans. They were all still grouped together, laughing and chatting. “…I don’t think your friends would appreciate my tagging along.”

“My friends?” Dick tilted his head. He hesitated, then followed Damian’s line of sight. “Oh! Well, they…weren’t really invited. I didn’t mean them.” Dick laughed, and turned further. “I meant, them.”

Damian glanced around his brother to find both Jason and Tim separating from their teams to move towards them.

“With all the craziness around Bruce’s death, I never really got to show you this tradition.” Dick smiled softly. “No matter how big the team-up, if we’re all involved, we go out for a family meal after.”

Damian watched as his brothers got closer, but his gut churned uncomfortably.

“…That’s a tradition you have with them. Don’t feel like you need to include me too.” He frowned, looked over at his own team. “Out of pity.”

“…Damian.” Dick huffed in an exasperated laugh. Tim reached them then, and cocked his head to the side in curiosity. “How many times have I explained to you that nothing I do with you is out of pity?”

“Look, I know you’re not an idiot.” Damian felt himself beginning to ramble a little, embarrassment and defensiveness growing as Jason now silently joined them. “I know you saw the divide between my team and I concluding this battle. I know you think I look like…like the lonely kid on a playground or something, but it’s fine. I…I’m tired anyway. And there’s reports to be made on this. So.” He sniffed, avoided Jason’s understanding gaze, and Tim’s sympathetic one. “So go have fun. Bring me a box of BBQ later if you think of it.”

Dick threw his head back and gave a long, suffering sigh that turned into another airy, this-can’t-be-real laugh.

“…Damian.” He repeated, bringing his head back up. He leaned forward and put both his hands on Damian’s shoulders, forcing Damian to look up at him. “I don’t care about your team. Frankly, it’s their loss, in my opinion.” Dick grinned, gave Damian a little shake. “And like I said, a family meal. You are family. Period. And honestly, if you’re not coming, then I don’t even want to go.”

“I’m going whether any of you three are there or not.” Jason quipped. “’Cause I’m fucking hungry.”

Tim slapped his arm.

“But you’re right…I did see how you and your team are. And I know what you think all of our friends think of you. And if you ever want to work on that one day, you let me know. But you know what?” Dick asked. Damian just stared. “I don’t give a shit what any one of them think.”

Damian continued to watch.

“Not even Donna.” Dick claimed. “And she would kill me if she heard me say that.”

That earned a smirk. Dick grinned back, and ruffled his hair.

“Now come on, kid. Because I’m with Jason – I’m starving.” Dick nodded. But before he could scoop Damian up and throw him over his shoulder to forcibly bring him along for some brotherly bonding, Tim stepped up first wrapping an arm around Damian’s shoulder and leading him towards the nearby street.

And when he looked back, Dick thought he’d be looking at him, a knowing look at what he was planning to do. But instead, Tim was looking at Damian’s team, with quick glances at his own.

Because of course, they were all watching. The Titans, the Teens, the Outlaws, the Young Justice. The Bats love to make an exit, after all. And the feeling about Damian was mutual amongst most of them.

And by the pure cold fury in Tim’s eyes, it looked like he might be even more sick of it than Dick was.

After all, Dick wasn’t lying. It was absolutely, 100-percent their loss, that they didn’t love this boy as much as he did.

Jason suddenly jabbed him in the side in the elbow. “Don’t pick a fight over the kid. Not today. He’s embarrassed enough by you as it is.” He stepped after the younger two. “And I’m still hungry.”

“Right, right.” Dick snorted. “I’ll do it next time, when you aren’t hungry.”

“Preferably when I’m not here at all.” Jason hummed. “Though…I wouldn’t be opposed to babysitting the kiddos while you go fight for Damian’s honor.”

Dick smiled, clapping a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jason watched after their younger counterparts. “…He’s going to find out you lied, you know. Eventually.”

“What about the celebratory Korean BBQ family dinner? Probably.” Dick asked, as they followed after Damian and Tim. “Unless we make this a real thing.”

“As long as you’re paying, I’ll keep showing, I guess.” Jason decided. But it was said gently, like that wasn’t the case. Like he might actually enjoy this small chance at family time. “You’re lucky Tim and I caught your hand signal, and are good at playing along.”

“Even if you hadn’t, I’d have made another cover story.” Dick smiled. “Though I still don’t get why it’s so hard to believe that I really do love hanging out with Damian.”

“Not for me. You two are the same brand of gleefully violent when you want to be. I know that.” Jason nodded. “You really going to fight your friends for him though? Or Tim’s? Fuck, or mine?”

“Jay, I’d fight the whole world for that kid.” Dick grinned. He bounced his shoulder against Jason’s. “And I know you would too.”

Jason didn’t answer, and that was answer enough for Dick.

When they reached the street, they found Tim and Damian waiting for them at the crosswalk. Immediately, Dick wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulder, stealing him from Tim’s side. When Damian shifted away slightly, Dick squeezed his shoulder, and hugged him tighter, silently declaring he wasn’t letting Damian stray.

Not for anything.

Or –

He glanced back at the teams and friends they all left behind, without a word, or a reason.

- for anyone.

#Damian Wayne #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 4 years

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A @batfam-christmas-stocking fic written for @renecdote!! happy holidays <3

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Alternate universes suck so much. Tim has always known that, but he’s never really grasped it, not until he and Dick were forcibly thrown into one a week ago.

Gotham feels different, even though it doesn’t appear that way on the surface. The violence is more personal, less showy, and as far as they’ve seen, there are almost no super villains. Somehow, though, there’s more crime on the whole, every corner of every street host to pimps and drug dealers and traffickers.

Tim tries to fight it, tries to intervene, but Dick pulls him back. “We can’t risk it, you know that.”

He does. But that doesn’t make it easier. “They need our help,” Tim fires back, everything he’s ever been taught about bettering the world, the pressure of saving people, battering around in his mind.

“It’s not our world or our place,” Dick explains, and for all that he sounds apologetic, his eyes don’t stray away from the shadowy parts of the street where they can hear people being hurt.

Dick is a good actor, but Tim can read him like a book. He’s following the protocols put in place for dimensional travel, playing the I’m The Big Brother And I’m In Charge card, but he doesn’t like it anymore than Tim does.

The rules are what they are for a reason, and Tim knows that. Grudgingly, he lets Dick pull him away, go back to their own little shadowy corners. They sleep on cardboard they find in dumpsters, huddling up for warmth. In the mornings, they go to the local library, hoping to fill out some of their knowledge on this world, since no rescue or way out otherwise is forthcoming.

There, sitting at the outdated computers, they find out that Martha and Thomas Wayne are still dead. Bruce wasn’t 8 when it happened, though—he was 16. He got shot too, making it painful and difficult to walk or move in general. According to one interview from a few years before, he’s kept on bedrest a lot, and has been in and out of physical therapy ever since it happened, now fifteen years prior. When he’s not doing that, he’s campaigning for control of Wayne Enterprises and tweeting about coffee.

There’s no Batman. Not like how they know him, at least.

One day, Dick flirts with a cop and Tim pickpockets the man’s scanner, and they learn that whole case files, suspects and evidence all neatly put together, have been sent to the GCPD over the past six years. They never see anyone fly overhead, though. At first, they think it might be Babs, but when they try to look her up, Tim finds that she’s been locked up in Arkham for at least the last four years.

Neither one of them want to know why, so they just don’t look into it any further. “This isn’t our Babs,” Dick reminds himself, and Tim, too. But mostly himself. “She’s not .”

They share a look, and don’t have to say anything to know it’s time to compartmentalize. This Babs isn’t their Babs. This Bruce isn’t their Bruce. This world doesn’t have the Joker or Poison Ivy or any of them except Two Face and the Penguin. This isn’t their world .

“Come on,” Dick murmurs, sticking close to his side as they leave the library. As they head to their latest alley, they pass all kinds of drug deals and gang members beating the shit out of people. By the time they actually get to where they’ve been staying, they’re both so tense, one smartass comment from Tim is all it takes to snap them into an argument.

”I’m sorry,” Tim says after they’ve gone back and forth a few times, sounding hostile even to himself. “I’m so sorry I can’t see things the same way you do. I’m sorry I’m not perfect Dick Grayson , who always knows what to do without even having to think about it, who always does the right thing, who is totally fine letting all these people suffer, because it’s in the protocol!”

He doesn’t even believe his own words. Tim’s just upset, unable to handle living on the streets for a week in a universe where everything is unfamiliar and grim, lashing out against one of the only things he can control. Dick is all he has here—and spending that much time with someone, let alone one of his brothers, would be hard even in the best of circumstances.

Dick flinches, and Tim only has a second to feel bad before the flash of a reflection from a gun in the window above them catches his attention. He moves on instinct, stepping forward and trying to pull Dick down even as Dick tries to move towards the mouth of the alley, protective to a fault. The bullet hits Dick’s left shoulder with a sickening and familiar crack-thwack .

For a moment, everything is silent, slow motion. Dick sucks in a pained breath, stumbling back a few steps, and Tim hopes and prays the bullet hasn’t hit an artery.

And then Tim twists to face the mouth of the alley and books it towards him, jumping on the bastard and bringing him to the ground. He rips the gun away and lets all of his pent-up anger and stress out, punching and punching. It’s only Dick, gritting his teeth and clutching his shoulder, calling out his name that saves the guy’s teeth from actually being knocked out.

Panting and shaking with fury and adrenaline, Tim stands. “Are you okay?” He demands.

“Fine,” Dick replies. “We—we should go.”

“Yeah, okay.” But he bends down instead, patting the guy’s pockets until he finds what he’s looking for: a wallet. As he rifles through, searching for a driver’s license or state ID, he explains. “We need to know who he is. If he’s working for Harvey….”

They both shudder at the thought, but the truth is worse. The name is Italian, familiar to Tim from a bust a few years before. He’s one of Maroni’s men.

Another thing they learned during their hours of research at the library: seven years ago, Haly’s Circus came through town. Bruce Wayne didn’t attend, or more likely, couldn’t. Mary and John Grayson fell to their deaths, and once it became clear that little Dick Grayson, only eight years old, knew something about the murderers, he ran. He’s been missing ever since, and if he’s still alive, then the Maronis are probably still on the lookout for him. Tony Zucco, apparently, is still alive. Still working Gotham’s underbelly, terrorizing and murdering. The Dick Grayson native to this universe is a threat to them.

They probably heard me say Dick’s name , Tim realizes, tucking the wallet away in the man’s pockets. Which means he was shot because of me. Fuck.

----

Big brothers, Tim finds, are fucking heavy. Especially when they’ve been shot and are steadily losing blood. When they’re dead weight, fading in and out of consciousness. When they’re relying totally on Tim to drag the both of them to uncertain refuge in an unfamiliar city.

And Tim…he wants to be someone Dick can rely on. (Obviously, he already is, but his anxiety says maybe this is just who Dick is. Tim could be anyone and the situation would be the same. Still, it would be better for Dick if Tim was Damian, instead. Or Bruce. Or Donna. Or anyone but himself, really.) But more than anything, he wants someone who can help Dick, who can keep him alive. Living on the streets the way they are just doesn’t lend much in the way of medical supplies.

Tim drags Dick all the way to the clinic, based on a vague awareness that it exists here, too. When they get there, though, the building is obviously abandoned, Leslie nowhere to be found. Wherever she is, he doesn’t know, but he hopes she’s okay. He can’t think of a situation that would keep her from helping the people of Gotham. Still, he sets Dick up against the wall and breaks in, hoping for something useful, and finding nothing inside but rubble and evidence of homeless people using the space for shelter.

He goes back to Dick, feeling like the world is ending. They don’t have any first aid supplies, and even if they did, even if a first aid kit fell out of the sky right now and Tim could patch Dick up, it wouldn’t mean anything. This only happened because Tim wasn’t paying attention, wasn’t thinking to be careful. It could happen again. What does he do then?

What would Bruce do? Roy? Wally? Diana or Clark? Hell, Kon ? Any of them could help Dick so much more right now. More than Tim can or will ever be able to. And really, what good is Tim if he can’t even keep his brother alive?

Aware the thoughts aren’t helpful right now, he shelves them for later and looks back at Dick, cataloguing everything he sees like Bruce taught them to do. Dick’s still steadily bleeding out, and though that’s most concerning of all, Tim finds the only thing he can think about is how they don’t have clean clothes so Dick can walk around in something not soaked in blood.

With a strangled shout, Tim kicks the wall. It doesn’t affect him, much—thank god he’d been wearing steel-toed shoes when they were transported here—but the brief release feels good. Sort of. It’d be a lot better if he were still laying into the Maroni guy, if he’s honest.

“Tim,” Dick says, both reproachful and concerned.

“Shut up,” Tim replies, dragging his fingers through his hair. His mind is racing. He wants to go home so badly his chest aches with it.

Dick knows him well enough that he can sense what Tim is thinking. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, Tim. No . We can’t.”

“Where else are we supposed to go?” Tim cries out. It’s a stupid idea, it’s against the protocol, and they’ve already talked about it anyway. They’d agreed it’s stupid and they can’t do it and moved on. But he can’t help feeling the impulse, especially now.

“Stephanie’s,” Dick shoots back immediately. But they both know it’s not possible—here, Steph is another face on the dozens of missing persons posters that litter the city. He realizes it a second too late, and stumbles over his next words. “Just, anywhere but there.”

Jason is dead, has been for years now. Damian doesn’t exist. Cass is in Star City with Dinah Lance. Luke and the other members of the Fox family have never lived in this Gotham. Duke’s parents are still alive—they recently moved to Blüdhaven, and took their young son with them. Harper and Cullen are nowhere to be found, but Tim tells himself that’s a good thing—it means they aren’t in the obituaries. Kate is overseas on a honeymoon with her wife. Half of the Titans and Justice League don’t seem to exist, and the ones that do wouldn’t step foot in this cesspit of crime and drugs.

‘Anywhere but there’ means nothing. Nowhere. There’s no place for them to go, no one who can or even would help.

The words, or maybe the thoughts that come with them, wear Dick out. He starts to fade again, eyes slipping closed, and that means Tim’s in charge.

And Tim? Tim wants to go home .

He grabs Dick, keeping him from sliding down the wall, throws his brother’s arm over his shoulder, and starts off towards the Manor with every ounce of determination he can muster.

----

Several hours later, when it’s dark and Dick is pale and mostly silent, barely keeping up, they make it home. Everything feels different: the security that allows them to get all the way up the drive (after only a little effort on Tim’s part), the trees oddly placed and the doors and shutters all painted a light blue instead of the rusty red he’s used to. It’s disorienting and upsetting. Home is supposed to be familiar and it’s not and he hates it.

Tim knocks on a side door that only family knows about, hoping against hope it won’t be Bruce that answers. He doubts it, but he’s positive he won’t be able to keep his composure in front of his dad. It’ll be a little easier with Alfred. Probably. In any case, Alfred is the better option of the two.

While they wait, Dick mumbles, “This is stupid.”

Tim presses his hand against the wound, trying not to be impatient. Trying not to feel sick with nerves. He doesn’t reply, knowing Dick isn’t really paying attention right now.

When the door finally opens, Tim could collapse with relief. Alfred stands there, one hand hiding his rifle out of their sight in an all-too-familiar pose, while the other holds onto the doorjamb. His hair is darker than Tim is used to, his face less wrinkled. He’s staring at them like they’re weird, strange boys, standing at what’s supposed to be a virtually unknown entrance to a private, secure home in the late hours of the night.

Blood covers Dick’s upper body and Tim’s hands, and they both look and smell rough. They don’t make a pretty picture, and Tim knows that, but there’s nothing he can do except get Alfred to let them in somehow. He’s been thinking about what he wants to say, what’ll appeal to Alfred’s compassion or curiosity or both. Please, help my brother before he loses too much blood. Please, don’t tell Bruce about this. Please, I’m so exhausted and I need a cup of your chamomile and a cookie and also maybe a hug or I’m going to explode.

What he says instead is, “ Alfred .” It’s a relieved sob, leaving him without permission, and Alfred’s shocked and confused reaction is much more noticeable than it should be. “I—we didn’t know where else to go. He’s hurt.”

There are more words on his tongue, an avalanche of them wanting to come out, but Alfred stops him there with a raised hand. He doesn’t put the rifle down, but he says, “Come in, then,” and opens the door wide enough for them.

Dick groans when Tim drags him up the steps. Blinking sluggishly at Alfred, he says, “Alf…?”

“Yeah, it’s Alfred. Come on, help out here a little bit. We’re just gonna sit down and hopefully get you patched up, alright, Dickie?”

“Hrn.”

Tim bites his lip at the Bruce noise, stupid tears stinging in his eyes.

He’s home. It’s unfamiliar. Dick is hurt. He’s in charge.

Now is so not the time to cry.

Alfred leads them to a nearby couch in a sitting room they’ve never used in all the years Tim’s known Bruce. Rifle still in hand, he seems much more unsure than their Alfred, who would’ve already had the situation on lock by now.

“We need a first aid kit, please,” Tim says. He glances at the weapon, and adds, “We won’t cause any trouble, I promise. I—I know this is probably super weird, but….”

But what? Tim can’t think of a way to end the sentence so he just doesn’t. Instead, he turns to Dick and starts pulling his brother’s shirt off, something they really should’ve done hours ago. While he uses the fabric to put pressure on the wound again, he hears Alfred moving around behind him.

If this Bruce is anything like theirs, a first aid kit shouldn’t be too far away. There’s one in every bathroom back home.

It’s not long before Alfred is back, shooing Tim away and setting a large first aid kit on the couch. His rifle is gone, but Tim knows it can’t be far. There’s no way this Alfred trusts them enough to not have it close at hand. “Do I dare ask what happened?”

God, it’s good to hear his voice. “My brother got shot,” Tim says, reverting to his natural instinct to reveal as little as possible. Normally Alfred is someone he can give a full mission report to, but Tim is just Tim right now, not Red Robin, and this is not his Alfred, so he’s going to keep his mouth shut up tight.

“Well, my word. You wouldn’t know it from looking at him.” And there’s that Alfred sass. It doesn’t make him laugh like it usually does—no, it just reminds him again that he isn’t actually home. “Care to explain more? Should I be concerned you were followed?”

Tim thinks on it for a minute, but really, there’s no way Maroni’s guy got up in time to tail them. The rest of the mob family have probably heard about them by now, but Tim isn’t too worried about it. He can’t find it within himself to be. All he can really think about is Dick, Alfred, Bruce. If coming here was a mistake after all. If they’ll ever make it home to see their Bruce and Alfred. Eventually, he says, “No. We weren’t followed.”

Dick groans as Alfred starts to prep the gunshot wound to get the bullet out. He sways a little, dizzy, and mumbles an apology when Alfred has to readjust him.

Alfred says, “Just hold as still as you can, and you’ll be alright.”

Hearing the tenderness in Alfred’s voice does something to Tim. This is Alfred , he thinks. He can help us with more than just this.

He blurts out, “It was one of Maroni’s men.”

“Sal Maroni?” Alfred sounds suspiciously uninterested, not even bothering to look away from his work. “The mob boss?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Alright, young man, I’m going to get this bullet out now.”

“Tim,” Dick grits out, reaching out his hand. Tim takes it, sitting down on the other side of his brother. He forces himself to watch as Alfred goes through the familiar motions. Dick doesn’t actually squeeze his hand that much, too used to this kind of pain, but Tim thinks maybe they both feel better having the lifeline.

He stays there until Dick is stitched up and accepts a dose of Tylenol—no matter how much Alfred gives them concerned looks and insists on something stronger, a Bat doesn’t take hard drugs.

Not quite huffing in exasperation, Alfred acquiesces and leaves Dick alone, sitting back against the cushions. Then he turns to Tim. With his hands on his hips and his sleeves rolled up, he’s honestly kind of intimidating. “Now you, young man,” he says.

“Um. What? I’m fine. I didn’t get shot, I don’t need anything.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow. Tim can out-stubborn almost anybody, even his other family members, but Alfred Pennyworth is not one of them. Everyone bows down to him.

Tim sighs and scoots a few inches away from Dick, and when Alfred shoos him all the way into the other corner, he goes. Surprisingly, the older man sits next to Tim, between him and Dick, and instead of reaching for the kit, he just. Puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Which Tim finds extremely weird, considering how British and physically distant Alfred is. Oh sure, he hugs them all. He catches them when they fall, he reassures them with arm pats and shoulder squeezes. But it’s unlike him to just... sit here and rest his hand on Tim’s shoulder, looking him in the face with an expression Tim finds he can’t read.

Not being able to read people, especially someone he knows so well, freaks him out.

Tense, Tim says, “What?”

Alfred is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Where have you boys been staying?”

Oh. Yeah, okay. He’s suspicious of them. Tim can understand why. “We have a place.” It’s a disgusting alley behind a pizzeria they can’t afford to eat at, scraping by with the last of the money they had on them when they were sent here, but it’s not a lie.

Alfred backs off, picking his battles and probably recognizing this one for what it is: unwinnable. He’s more than perceptive enough to read between the lines anyway, add up all the clues—their clothes are dirty, their hair greasy, and Tim knows he’s looking pretty gaunt. And considering how jumpy Tim is acting, it’s likely Alfred thinks they’re homeless. Which they are.

“Are you injured anywhere?”

Tim holds out his hand, his knuckles split and raw from earlier, and ignores how badly he’s shaking. Alfred takes his hand, and grabs alcohol wipes from the kit. He dabs at the wounds, glancing at Tim’s face like he’s expecting a reaction. And yeah, it stings a little, but he’s had much worse. This is nothing.

“Hmm.” Alfred moves Tim’s hand around, looking for other wounds, finding a few little cuts. “So your brother’s name is Dickie?”

“Dick,” Tim corrects. Bruce and Jason are the only ones who call Dick that usually, and Jason almost always does it because it’s his ‘little brother duty’ or something. The only reason he said it earlier is because he hoped it would be comforting. “Short for—”

“Richard, I assume.”

“Yeah.” Tim falls silent, trying to keep his hand still. When a few moments of silence go by, he looks up at Alfred, finding him making an expectant face. “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m Tim.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tim. You seem to already know my name.”

Yeah. Shit. Unable to think of a lie beyond ‘you look like my grandpa’, Tim laughs nervously. “Lucky guess?”

Dick snorts. “You jus’ look like our gran’pa, that’s all. His name’s Alfred. Yours too, huh?”

Alfred doesn’t look convinced, but he goes along with it anyway. “Yes, mine too.” What an odd coincidence , he doesn’t say, but Tim hears it anyway.

It doesn’t take long after that for Alfred to finish up Tim’s knuckles. He offers to put some band-aids on, but Tim shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Dick gives him a look, and despite the fact that he’s still acting loopy, there’s a strength to it. Tim can tell what he’s thinking—that if the cuts weren’t on the knuckles, a very awkward place to put bandages, Dick would be insisting on it. Well, whatever , he thinks, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. You’re not in charge right now anyway.

Alfred stands and looks them over for a brief moment, hesitation obvious in the way he pauses, inhaling deeply. Then, with determination, he says, “I will prepare you something to eat. Do either of you have any allergies I should be aware of?”

“Sulfites,” Tim says at the same time Dick says, “Shellfish. And pet dander.”

“Dick, man, I’m pretty sure they don’t have pets. And even if they did, pets aren’t allowed in the kitchen under any circumstances.”

“Oh yeah,” Dick says with a faint chuckle. “Forgot.”

“Mister Tim,” Alfred cuts in before Tim can reply. It’s unspeakably weird to be called Mister Tim instead of Master Tim, even though Alfred called him that for years. “Will sandwiches suffice?”

The thought of eating Alfred’s food—and even more than that, something they haven’t fished out of a dumpster—is drool-worthy. Quickly, he agrees, “Yes, that’s perfect. Thank you.”

Alfred nods and leaves, probably thankful to get the heck away from them for a few minutes. Once he’s gone, the brothers fall quiet, both a blessing and a curse. Not having Alfred asking questions that Tim has to evade is great, but it does give him the opportunity to keep freaking out.

What do they do next? Alfred might not let them leave while Dick is healing, and that means the chances of running into Bruce raise astronomically. Tim knows that he won’t be able to handle that. Not at all.

“Stop it,” Dick whispers, loud in the overwhelming quiet. “I can see your forehead vein from here.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to think.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Tim sighs, letting the banter drop for a moment. “Look, I’m sorry you got shot. I know it’s not my fault,” he says, speaking over Dick’s immediate protest. “I know that. But I’m still sorry.”

“…Thanks. I’m accepting your apology but not your responsibility.”

“Duh.” Tim fiddles with his hands, satisfied but also knowing, in his heart of hearts, that it is in fact his fault and Dick is totally wrong. “I’m not sorry I brought us here, though.”

“Duh,” Dick repeats, sounding more than a little peeved. Not that Tim can blame him, really. If Tim and Damian had agreed to something, and then Damian went back on it… that’d be really annoying.

Still, that little brother duty Jason talks about means he has to defend himself. “Dick, we were gonna end up coming here anyway, don’t you see that?” He shoots to his feet and drags his hands through his hair, pacing in front of the couch. Despite his earlier flip-flopping, he’s sure now. This was the right decision even if it does suck a lot. “Where else could we possibly go? We don’t belong here. The only way we can get home is by ask—”

Tim cuts off immediately when footsteps echo down the hall. They sound different from Alfred’s, a third tap that sounds a lot like a cane.

This Alfred doesn’t use a cane. The only person who could is—

Both Dick and Tim tense as the doorway is filled up by Bruce freaking Wayne.

“Um,” Tim says.

Bruce looks different. Not just in the sense that he is, in fact, using a cane, but just. Everything. He looks younger, a neat beard covering much of his face. There’s barely any salt in it at all. The scars that litter the skin of his face and arms, mostly bare considering he’s wearing only a t-shirt and pajama pants, aren’t there. Worst of all, there’s no recognition in his eyes.

His sons have become strangers. But no, this man is not their father. Tim has to shout it at himself. He’s not! Bruce Wayne would never look at them like this. Especially not Dick.

Dick makes a noise, a small and sad little whimper, and Tim thinks, shit. Shit shit shit. Unable to do anything to help, Tim shuffles closer to him, hoping it’s enough to comfort.

“Who are you?” Bruce asks, moving further into the room. He says it casually, like this is a totally normal situation, but there’s steel there, too. Of course there is. This is Bruce Wayne. He doesn’t mess around, especially when it comes to strangers invading his home. And as much as that feels like a knife to the chest, that’s what they are. Strangers . The word lingers in his mind, leaving a bad aftertaste.

Tim gets the distinct feeling that the cane, for all that it serves to help Bruce walk, is a weapon. One this Bruce will have no issue using against them. “Um. We—we’re homeless,” he blurts out, trying to push the thought away. “And my brother got shot, so we came here looking for help. We’ll be gone soon, I promise. Don’t worry about us, this is just a one time thing, and we won’t tell anyone else. I know this is a house and not a triage center.”

Bruce is already looking at him like he’s an intruder, but at that, the man’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Oh, right. That’s something the other—the right —Bruce would say. Has said many times. Because it’s something their Alfred has always said, and apparently this Alfred too.

Scrambling, Tim keeps going, pasting a fake smile on his face. “Alfred knows we’re here. He’ll be right back. It’s okay, we’ll just wait right here and not steal anything, so you can go back to bed. Goodnight.”

“Tim,” Dick bites out, obviously trying to communicate that he thinks Tim is being a weirdo, and that he’s doing nothing but tipping Bruce off to the fact that something is wrong.

“I’m freaking out, okay?” Tim exclaims back, curling and relaxing his fingers in an effort to control himself. It’s impossible, though—this is their dad , for crying out loud. Their dad, who they haven’t seen in a long time, not since before they were attacked as civilians and flung through the wormhole that deposited them here. Their dad, who Tim really, seriously needs a hug from right now.

Bruce comes closer, leaning against one of the two unused chairs. Where Tim tenses further, unsure of what he’s about to do or say, Dick relaxes. He’s really out of it now, the blood loss and medicine finally catching up with him. He’s blinking heavily and listing to the side. “Hand me that, will you?” He asks Bruce, gesturing to a throw blanket resting on the top of the chair.

Suddenly feeling very protective of Dick, Tim says, “I can—”

“No,” Bruce interrupts, the corner of his mouth curling up like he thinks this is funny. “I’ve got it.”

He grabs the blanket and walks over to the couch. Tim stumbles back a few steps to give him room. For a second, it seems like none of them breathe—but then Bruce leans on his cane like a crutch, bends down, and lays the blanket over Dick.

Tim has seen Bruce tuck people in before, usually Damian. All those times, he either didn’t care much, or a swirl of jealousy had tightened in his stomach. He can remember wondering why Bruce didn’t tuck him in. Why his parents never did it, why Mrs. Mac and all the nannies hadn’t either.

This time, his eyes sting with tears. He forces them back, biting the inside of his cheek.

Dick snuggles into the cushions behind his back, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Thanks, dad,” he mumbles, slipping off into a nap.

Bruce and Tim both freeze.

“Um,” Tim says, because something has to be said, this needs to be nipped in the bud and stopped right now before Bruce can ask anything. But really, the chances of Bruce Wayne not asking questions? Less than zero. And Tim’s brain is screaming, because what the hell could he possibly say to explain that ?

Alfred enters the room again before anything can happen, carrying a tray holding a few sandwiches. He sets it down on a side table before looking up.

“Oh,” he stops short when he sees Bruce, hands hovering above the food. “Master Bruce, I thought you were downstairs.”

“I was just doing some reading,” he waves off, but he can’t quite manage to sound casual. “Now… did he just call me dad ?”

Oh fuck , Tim thinks. Awkwardly, he laughs, “No! What? No, that’s ridiculous.” Seeing that this tactic isn’t working—Bruce and Alfred both have legendary ‘bitch please’ looks that go beyond the confines of time and space, apparently—he shifts gears. “I mean, okay, yes he did. But—but it’s just because you look like our dad! A lot like him, actually. Haha.”

Bruce and Alfred stare at him, concern building as he keeps laughing, spurred on by a week of non-stop stress and the pressure of being in charge— maybe , he thinks, this was a bad idea all along and we shouldn’t have come here and Dick was totally right. It’s only when his laughter turns to hiccuping sobs that either of them move, Bruce managing to grab his bicep in time before Tim can sink to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Alfred hurries to his other side, fretting, “Come on, young sir, just sit down now.”

They lead him to one of the chairs, where he collapses, his head in his hands. Dick is better at this—at leading, at interacting, at not breaking apart. It should all be the opposite: Tim sleeping off a GSW while Dick lies through his teeth as he explains what’s going on. Not that Dick would’ve gotten them into this situation, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, refusing to look up. They’re both staring at him again, clearly unsure what to do with a strange, crying teenager.

After a moment, Alfred says, “You boys say I look like your grandfather, and now Master Bruce looks like your father. By chance, what is his name?”

“Bruce Wayne,” Tim replies to the floor. “But… not him. A different one.”

“A different Bruce Wayne?” The confusion and curiosity is clear as day in Bruce’s voice, and Tim can’t help but snort a little.

“Yeah. Um, this is going to sound really crazy, but my brother and I are from a different universe.” He peeks at their faces, not surprised at all by the blatant disbelief he sees. “I can prove it.”

Alfred and Bruce share a wide-eyed look.“How?”

“I know you’re the one who’s been sending the GCPD all those case files. And before you say you’re not, you just said you were doing some reading. Downstairs. In the cave below this property, right? Back home, it’s called the Batcave and you’re Batman.”

“Go on, Mister Tim,” Alfred says after a moment. “We believe you.”

Relief crashes down on him and more tears slip out against his will. “I need your help. We need your help. We’ve been here for a week, and—and—and we have no idea how to get home. None. There’s no one else we can turn to, ‘cause the people who would usually help us either can’t or wouldn’t, since they don’t know us here. And god, this world is nothing at all like ours…. I just want to go home. I don’t know what to do. Please,” he begs, desperate. “I need advice.”

Bruce hesitantly sets a hand on Tim’s back, rubbing up and down in a motion that is, wow, extremely soothing. “We’ll figure this out, Tim. I promise you, Alfred and I will help you boys any way we can.”

Before Tim can ask if it’s just because they’re his sons in some other universe, Alfred clears his throat. “It may take some time, mind you. But you and your brother will need to stay here anyway, seeing as that wound needs time to heal. I can’t, in good conscience, let that happen out on the streets.”

Tim wants to refuse. Wants to say thanks but no thanks, you can put us up in a motel or something until everything is worked out. Wants to cry and cry and wake up from this nightmare. Instead, mentally and physically exhausted, he just says, “Okay.”

Both men are concerned by the response, he can tell. Though he isn’t looking, he can practically hear the silent conversation they’re having over his head. Then Alfred stands. “I will make up two of the guest rooms, then, sirs. Mister Tim, could you help bring Mister Dick upstairs?”

“Just set up one, we can share,” Tim replies. It’s late and he doesn’t want Alfred to have to do anything more than he’s already done. Than he’s already doing.

“If you’re certain….”

“I am. Thank you.”

He’s not gone for long, and thank god, because Tim can hardly stand to be alone with Bruce without spilling even more. He’s already said so much tonight, he feels empty and hollowed out, kind of like a balloon that’s been blown up only for all the air to wheeze out of it, leaving it sad and stretched. Holy shit, that metaphor. He needs to go to bed, and he needs a mattress instead of another cardboard box laid over hard cobblestone and concrete.

Shaking his head to stop his thoughts, he moves over to Dick and wakes him, a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Dick, wake up,” he says a few times until his brother is blinking heavily at him.

“Wha’?”

“We’re gonna go upstairs and sleep. Come on, I’ll help you.”

“Hrn,” he says again, and this time, Bruce hears it. Tim glances at him, almost surprised to see the emotions on Bruce’s face. Apparently that’s a Bruce noise in this universe too, and it only helps to cement Tim’s story.

Tim helps Dick stand up, swinging Dick’s good arm over his shoulders. Together, they slowly ascend the stairs, something Tim is more than familiar with considering how many times something like this has happened at home. At the top, they meet up with Alfred, who takes them to a guest room that is thankfully unused in their version of the Manor.

Alfred helps Dick get settled into the mattress, his shoes and belt shed. “I could get you both some pajamas,” Alfred says when he sees the way Tim flops down, both of them still in battered, dirty, expensive chinos.

“We’re okay,” Tim says, aware that the only pajamas in the house must belong to Bruce and Alfred, and that neither size would fit them. He’s not sure he could handle it right now even if they did. “Thank you though. For…for all of this. It means a lot.”

Alfred graces him with a gentle smile. “Of course, young sir. I would like to think that your Bruce will appreciate this.”

He leaves, and then it’s just Tim and Dick. They’ve shared a bed plenty of times before, on nights when there was no one else around and they didn’t want to be alone. Dick was the one who taught Tim one of the best parts about having siblings: cuddles. Dick is a cuddle monster, but maybe tonight Tim won’t wake up being held protectively to his brother’s chest.

Under the covers, Tim stares at the ceiling. His mind refuses to shut off even though they’re finally somewhere safe. Somewhere he can sleep and not worry about what might happen when he’s not paying attention.

He feels a little better, now that there are actual adults in charge, who are going to help. Who can keep Dick from getting hurt again, especially from Tim’s carelessness. But it makes him miss home, just reminds him how far away he and Dick are from their real family. He’s curious, on some level, about this Bruce Wayne. He trusts him to take care of them long enough for them to return home. How long that’s going to take is a question, though, one that he thinks can probably be answered by: a long time.

It’ll be good for Dick, at least. Give him time to heal.

God, Dick shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. But of course he did, and of course it was because of some dumb argument, because of Tim—

“’M not perfect,” Dick whispers, making Tim, who was certain he was asleep, jump. When he turns to look, he finds Dick’s eyes are closed. Squeezed shut. “’M not . I don’t know what I’m doing, Tim. I didn’t wanna come here ‘cause of the rules, and ‘cause it’s hard… hard to see them. ‘M lucky I getta sleep through it, I guess.”

“Dick—”

“I woulda done the same thing, okay?” And now he opens his eyes, meeting Tim’s head on. “This was the right choice. Coming here. Alfred gives the best advice.”

“Yeah.” Tim’s throat feels thick, the word hard to get out.

Dick reaches out his good hand and rests it on Tim’s cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here. You saved me. Now go to sleep,” he says, and then teasingly smacks him. “I can hear you thinking all the way from here.”

“You’re like two feet away,” Tim points out, but he tries to listen anyway. He closes his eyes, thinking maybe he will be able to rest. Dick is the best at comforting people.

“Shhhh,” Dick says, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. Sleep.”

“Yes, mom.”

“ Shhh !”

Tim laughs, and for the first time in a while, it’s real. He feels safe and warm and not alone, and while he can’t exactly say he’s happy right now, he’s a lot closer than he was just a few hours before.

Tomorrow , he decides, settling down, I’m going to take a shower and eat a real meal. And then, then I can finally start figuring out how to get us home.

#bcs19 #tim drake #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batfam #batfamily #batfam fic #fanfic #my writing #renecdote

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