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“Apologies for the intrusion,” says not-Father with an uneasy smile. “Hopefully we won’t be in your hair for too long.”
Damian stares back, narrow-eyed.
There is barely any grey in not-Father’s hair, barely any lines on his face. An almost Brucie-like expression of nervousness. Discomfiting differences certainly, but the man is still more or less Father-shaped. Still recognizable as an alternate dimension’s Bruce Wayne.
The same cannot be said of not-Richard.
Horrifyingly, the imposter Richard does not appear to be more than a decade old, if that. He is well below Damian in size and height. Small and short and scowling and baby-laden, holding not-Drake in his arms. Infant Drake. Pacifier-in-mouth Drake. A baby. Drake is a baby.
And yet somehow, Todd and Cain manage to be the most uncomfortable to look at. Their small size is less upsetting than the fact that they are each half-hiding behind one of not-Father’s legs. And that uncharacteristic expression of weakness is in turn less bewildering than the fact that they are wearing overalls. Matching overalls.
And of course, they’re all staring. At Father, yes. But also at Damian. The unknown variable. Who almost certainly doesn’t exist in their universe yet.
“I am Damian Wayne,” he introduces stiffly. “We understand this…intrusion is not of your own making, but the fault of a rogue from our universe. The expediency of your return is on us to facilitate.”
Some idiotic but ambitious mad scientist had planned to grab and brainwash the Gotham Bats from another universe. He’d been knocked out and restrained, but not before the machine he’d constructed had succeeded in pulling alternates through. They were lucky that the rogue had been unconscious, not able to see the identities of the superheroes he sought to control. Though perhaps he would have just assumed his machine had grabbed the wrong family when confronted with a group more suited for nursery school than knocking heads.
Introductions are obviously not necessary for the interlopers. But not-Father insists on doing them anyways. Himself, who Damian is invited to address as whatever you’re comfortable with - Bruce, Mr. Wayne, anything is fine –, and then the children. Timmy, Jason, Cass, and…Dickie.
The urge to defend Richard against diminutives is powerful, but Damian resists.
The imposters of course know who Father is, and already met him as Batman during the chaos of their arrival. But he still introduces himself, offering the same choice in a much flatter, gruffer tone – Bruce or Mr. Wayne.
This...seems to upset the tiny doppelgangers.
Little Todd stares at Father with a growing expression of distress. Small Richard stares with a growing expression of distrust, accompanied by a shift into the stance of a Robin ready to leap into battle if necessary, baby in hand or not. And while Infant Drake is probably best considered a decorative ornament, even he has a furrow to his baby brow, looking between Father and not-Father with clear confusion.
Miniature Cain is the outlier. She is staring at Damian rather than Father. With an expression that is actually quite familiar on her. Like Small Richard, she is assessing a threat, and has deemed Damian to be the greater one in the room. Though it is hard to consider her a threat like her counterpart when she’s still clinging to not-Father’s leg. And especially not after the imposter Father sweeps her and Little Todd into his arms, sparing only Small Richard the indignity of being carried.
For god’s sake, they all have legs. Damian's Father and Damian's Richard would never be this insufferably indulgent.
Well. Father wouldn't.
Pennyworth greets them as they emerge into Father’s study, unflappable as always. As if two Bruce Waynes and preschool versions of his adult grandchildren are an everyday occurrence. “Master Bruce, Master Damian, esteemed guests. I have prepared–,”
Little Todd bursts into tears.
“Why's everyone here so old?!” wails the tiny future crime lord. “Dad’s old and has grey hair and is all wrinkly and grumpy and scary and Alfred’s old and his hair's'not even on and he’s even more wrinkly–,”
“There, there, Jaylad. I know it’s all a bit overwhelming,” says not-Father, in a tone so soft and consoling that it’s frankly horrifying. “This dimension has a few years on us, that’s all.”
“They explained at the Watchtower, remember?” says Small Richard, and his tiny, prepubescent voice makes Damian physically recoil. “We’re gonna be older here too.”
Little Todd hiccups. Turns his tearful face towards Father and Damian. “Does the me in this 'verse also have white hair and one foot in the grave?!”
Damian and Father are both masters of masking their expressions, of never letting their thoughts show. And Damian's certain that their faces stay completely composed and neutral in response to the extremely on-the-nose question.
But Little Todd promptly screams “I hate it here!!” and bursts into a fresh round of sobs, so. Perhaps not.
11:38 AM
Damian
Update on the Imposter situation.
Damian
Initial instructions to steer clear of the manor in order to not overwhelm the visitors have been amended. Todd, Cain, Drake, and Richard are highly encouraged to show their faces at least once in order to alleviate the distress of our...guests.
--
Brown
uhhhhh want to clarify? Or like explain at all?
--
Damian
Alternate-universe Todd had an adverse reaction to Father and Pennyworth.
--
Brown
What does that mean???
--
Drake
Do you need backup? Damian, what’s actually going? Did the other Jason attack someone? Is he contained?
--
Damian
…is typing
Damian
…is typing
Damian
There is no danger. Stand by. I need to check something.
11:50 AM
Damian
In a gross show of incompetence, it would appear that the official Justice League report neglected to include the ages of our…visitors.
Damian
The alternate versions are from a dimension that is in the same calendar year as us, but has had events and existences delayed by about 17 years. The imposter Todd and Cain are perhaps 5. The imposter Richard is perhaps 10. The imposter Drake is barely out of the womb.
--Brown
PICTURES
Brown
PICTURES NOW
Brown
I DEMAND PICTURES NOW DAMI HOLY SHIT
--
Damian
Unfortunately, the imposter Todd apparently hasn’t been taught about the passage of time by Father’s inept counterpart, and as such, was distressed by how much older our Father and Pennyworth look than his own.
Damian
This in turn led to him concluding that he and all his siblings in this world must also be ‘old as hell’ and ‘on death’s door’.
Damian
It would seem Hood was prone to dramatics from a young age.
Damian
While seeing Cain, Richard and Drake might help the situation, I believe imposter Todd primarily requires visual proof of life for himself.
Damian
In conclusion, if Drake or Gordon could hack Hood’s phone so he can’t ignore this group chat and will actually see the damn messages, it would likely remove a great deal of stress and caterwauling from the manor.
To be clear, Jason was always planning to come to the manor.
The weird-ass status update from Damian blasted across every device with a screen in his apartment just means he doesn’t have to sneak in through a backdoor. Instead, Alfred lets Jason in through the front. Raising an eyebrow at his grocery bags but not outright objecting. Leads him towards the kitchen via a non-direct route that takes them through one of the spacious living rooms, currently occupied.
Bruce, predictably, is standing against a far wall. A stiff and spooky shadow positioned to have full view of the room while pretending to be a still-life painting. There’s absolutely no mixing him up with Bruce-2 who is sitting in an armchair, knitting. Who looks up as Jason enters and blinks, then smiles. Actually fucking smiles.
The kids are on the floor in an explosion of crafts and art supplies, but there’s only two of them– well three, if you count Damian. And Dami leaves immediately; grabs the groceries from Jason, whispers a quiet, threatening: “Infant Drake is napping with Small Richard standing guard. If you wake him up, I suspect that this Richard will disembowel you,” and then continues with Alfred into the kitchen. Leaving Jason with the duplicates and a lurking sha– nope, never mind, Bruce the Original is gone. Of course he’d hang around for Damian in case the alternates turned out to be evil, but Jason can be left to fend for himself. Fucking typical.
“Ah, I see where the confusion came from,” Bruce-2 says, still smiling like a weirdo. Though he’s at least stopped knitting. “I like the streak of white though; it looks cool, doesn’t it Jay?”
“You’re so big,” gushes the tea-cup sized doppelgänger. He scrambles up from the floor, all curly hair and big blue eyes.
“You sure are,” echoes Bruce-2, and it’s clear it’s not the mini-Jay he’s talking to. God, are his eyes shining? Is he tearing up? Jesus Christ.
“And you’re not old, you’re just a grown up,” continues Jay excitedly. “Why's your hair white? Where’s Cass? Is her hair white? Is my hair gonna turn white?”
“Hair’s white ‘cause that’s how it grows,” Jason grunts awkwardly as both Jay and Cass-2 approach him. Circling and gaping at him like he’s the coolest attraction at an amusement park. “And nah. You’re what, two? You’re safe from white hair for awhile yet.” Especially if two extra siblings stops Ethiopia from happening. God, what a thought.
“We are five,” says Cass, with extreme decisiveness. She has also decided to scale Jason’s leg like a tree. “And you are armed.”
“Sure am. No firearms though.” Jason doesn’t see the point in lying to Cass if she’s still got the body-language eyes. And especially not when she’s made it to his torso, fingers hooked into his jacket and feet braced against his belt. No matter the age, a Cass this close to vital organs is a Cass to tread carefully around. “And everything stays sheathed as long as nobody pulls one on me.”
“Oh, like Dickie,” says Jay. Which, what.
But Little Jay doesn’t notice Jason’s look of surprise, grabbing onto his older self’s arm with a grin.“Are you strong? Are you really strong? Are you stronger'n Dad? Can you lift me? Can you do the uppy-swing? Can you beat Dad inna arm wrestle? Can you uppy-swing me and Cass?”
Jason does not know what the hel– heck an 'uppy-swing' is. A fact which seems to bewilder both Jay and Cass, until their Bruce reminds them (in an uncomfortably nostalgic dadly tone) that in this universe, they were all adopted when they were already too big to swing from their dad’s arm. And Jason really can’t stand the look of heartbroken shock on little him’s face, especially with little Cass literally breathing onto his neck, so he magnanimously asks the kids to teach him what an ‘uppy-swing’ is.
And that’s how Jason spends a good fifteen minutes with a child on each arm, both squealing with delight as he does bicep curls and arm lifts and windmills with them attached.
The whole time, Bruce-2’s eyes don’t leave his children. There’s a sharpness to his gaze now that suggests he’s acknowledging Jason as a potential threat, but a laxness to his posture that suggests he doesn’t think the threat is a likely one. And eventually, his hands return to knitting.
Fucking knitting. And still with the smiling.
Bruce-2 could deliberately be fucking with them, playing around just because he’s in an alternate universe and can. But that would require any version of Bruce to have a sense of humour, and Jason can’t quite get his brain to believe that, despite all the memories of the Bruce that Jason knew as a kid trying to plead their case.
He kind of wants to get out of here, actually.
“Alright, alright. I gotta go help Alfie with lunch,” Jason says, lowering the kids back down to the ground. “He’s not used to cooking for a whole soccer team.” And also hasn’t cooked for a child below the age of 10, like, ever. In fact, Jason’s emergency chicken nuggets have probably already found their way into the garbage disposal. Sigh.
“But Cass ain't– isn’t here yet!” Jay protests. “Is her dance almost over? Will she be here soon? I wanna– want to meet big Cass!”
“Yes. Big Me.” Cass in miniature nods her agreement vigorously.
“Uh…I don’t know?” Jason shrugs. “I mean, you seem to know more about her whereabouts than I do. Maybe ask Damian? He’s the one doing all the ordering around– I mean, all the texting.”
"But...if Cass isn't with me, she's at dance class," Jay says slowly. Frowning. "That’s the only place Cass goes that I don’t. Just like I go to the liberry–library and Cass don’t– doesn’t. So if she's not with you, she's at dance class. Right?" He turns to his sister.
Cass, unfortunately, has apparently seen something unpleasant in Jason's body language, because she looks upset. Very upset.
"You...you really for true don't know where Big Me is?" she asks, in clear disbelief.
And now there are two pairs of big, plaintive wide eyes staring at Jason. Uh-oh.
Because here’s the thing– Jason’s good with kids. He’s also a trained detective. And there are some very obvious puzzle pieces in front of him.
Jay and Cass-2 are wearing matching outfits. Their birthdays are eight-ish months apart. They are clearly in the process of growing up together, which is something literally none of Jason’s siblings had the chance to do. Heck, Cass-1 has never even lived at the manor. But this Jay and Cass are the same age, live in the same house, and wear the same freaking clothes. Which means they definitely, absolutely do not want to hear that Cass-1 and Jason lowkey hate each other’s guts.
“Remember kiddos, this is a different universe. That’s why I’ve got this cool hair, right?” Jason says, mustering up a grin and gesturing to the white streak. “We’re totally different people. So yeah, me and Cass aren’t as close as the two of you are. But that’s because we got adopted like six years apart. Different universes, different people, that’s all.”
“But we’re twins!” Cass protests, little hands balled into little fists.
“We’re twins,” Jay echoes, sounding positively devastated. “How can you– That’s not– it’s me'n Cass and it’s Dickie'n Timmy and that’s how it works.”
“And we’re twins!”
“Irish twins,” says Bruce-2, cutting in as Cass’s voice lifts in volume. “Jaybird, Cassie-bee, don’t yell at Big Jason. Remember, the Jason and Cassandra of this world didn’t come to live with their Bruce until they were much bigger. Which means they didn’t meet each other until they were older than Dickie is now. They had a different experience than you did, and we have to respect different lived experiences, right?”
“But they know 'ch'other now,” argues Jay, stumbling over a reemerging Crime Alley drawl and– oh no, the kid’s clearly on the verge of tears–, “They’re still twins'n still have the same mom'n still have you as a dad'n still should be together!”
Bruce-2 sighs. Looks at Jason apologetically, before setting down his knitting so that Jay, fully crying now, can fling himself into his dad’s lap.
Jason, on the other hand, tries very hard to keep his face neutral in a way that won’t flag Cass-2’s suspicions.
He can understand why the kiddos have run with the whole twin thing, really. Even beyond the matching outfits, Jay-2 and Cass-2 do share a lot of features. Jason remembers snide remarks thrown at his mom - at his adopted mom – when he was younger. Comments about her spending too much time in Chinatown. There was a reason Lady Shiva had been on his list of potential birth moms.
But Lady Shiva wasn’t his birth mom. And that, apparently, isn’t something that Bruce-2 has uncovered.
“Why…why…you’re con-food. You’re–,” Cass-2 makes a huffing sound. “Why is your body saying that?”
Goddamn it. I’m trying not to make your brother cry any more here, kid!
“It’s nothing,” Jason says casually, trying to pretend like he's not literally sweating. “It’s like your dad said. Our universes are different. So, uh, in this universe me and Cass don’t have the same Mom. That’s just how it is. But it’s uh, cool that you guys have the same mom where you’re from. We just don’t here.”
Cass’s face scrunches up. “Who is your Mom?”
“Uh–,”
“Sheila Haywood,” says Bruce-2, startling the fuck out of Jason. The man frowns from over little Jay’s head of Shirley Temple curls. “Is that your…mother here?”
Okay, what the hell? “…yes?" answers Jason warily. "But she’s definitely not Cass’s.”
“No,” Bruce-2 agrees. Then grimaces. “...Jason, I think there’s something you should know.”
2:22 PM
Damian
Is Cain sitting down.
Damian
Brown. Make sure that Cain is sitting down.
--Drake
Steph’s at work. What’s happened now.
Drake
What did Jason do?
--
Damian
Hood is disassociating in Pennyworth’s kitchen.
Damian
Is Cain in a place to safely receive information that could emotionally distress her?
--
Cain
😑
Cain
🤨
--
Damian
I will take that as an affirmative.
Damian
Todd and Cain are half-siblings.
Damian
The alternate versions of them were aware of this.
Damian
Father confirmed that this is true in our universe by running a test in the cave using the DNA on file.
Damian
According to Imposter Father, while Sheila Haywood did in fact birth Todd, she had received an egg donation from a Sandra Wu-san.
Damian
And so, biologically, Lady Shiva is Jason’s mother. Thus, Todd and Cain are half-siblings.
--
Drake
Damian. What. Is this a joke?
--
Damian
I imagine this will be as hard for Cain to swallow as it was for Todd, and recommend she have Gordon run her own analysis in their female cave.
--
Drake
Please never call the Batgirl-cave that again.
--
Damian
It may be best that no one else visit today.
Damian
Imposter Father is upset because Little Todd and Miniature Cain are upset that they upset our Todd. And Small Richard is upset that this emotional upheaval occurred while he was guarding Infant Tim’s naptime. He has the appearance of a displaced animal in an unfamiliar place who will bite first and ask questions later.
Damian
It is interesting to see Richard’s obsession with brotherhood be so…hm. Angry? I think if I tried to ruffle his hair as he does mine he would remove my hand from my arm with his teeth. Curious.
--
Thomas
…I see I’ve missed some things while at school.
--
Brown
@Damian YOU STILL HAVEN’T SENT ANY PICTURES
Brown
MY BREAK ENDS IN 12 MINUTES PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD
There are times Duke uses his ambiguous familial status to his advantage.
Not that any of the Waynes and Wayne-adjacents would ever call Duke’s status ambiguous. Yeah, Bruce is no longer his guardian, but there was a pretty significant period of time where it looked like he was going to go from foster kid to adopted son. His cousin taking him in and his mother recovering didn’t undo the relationship that had been built. Duke is still one of Bruce’s kids, even if they see each other most often in costume.
“I just don’t get to spend as much time at the manor, y’know?” Duke says, tone a perfect mixture of chagrin and hopefulness. “I’d been planning to swing by after school today to see if Bruce could help with my econ homework…I know there’s a situation, but I wasn’t sure when I’d have another afternoon free.”
None of this is true of course, which Alfred absolutely knows. But the butler sighs, permitting the pageantry, and allows Duke onto the premises despite "the situation". He doesn’t bother engaging with the lie though, leading Duke straight to the garden and the real reason for the visit.
Seeing two Bruces doesn’t actually mess Duke up that much. Beyond the age difference, it turns out that different dimensions have different wavelengths. A base vibration shared by everyone who calls that universe home. Trying to describe auras is always a Shrimp Colours situation, but if Duke absolutely had to assign human-spectrum colours, then everyone in the home stadium would have a blue-ish white base. On the other hand, the visiting team has something closer to mint green.
So there’s blue!Bruce standing beneath a tree, who matches Alfred and Duke, and green!Bruce sitting on the ground, who matches the kids he’s got crawling all over him. A Dick sprawled over his shoulders, a Tim in one arm, sucking on a binky. A Cass clinging like an upside down koala to his other arm and a Jason sprawled over his lap with a book that seems way past his grade level. They seem to have gotten over the emotional apocalypse Damian described over text– no one's in tears at least. But they do all stare at Duke like he’s going to jump out and bite them as Alfred introduces him.
“But I’m definitely not born yet in your universe, just like Damian,” says Duke immediately. “Which means there’s no way you can upset me! I am upset-proof. Do your worst.”
They don’t take him up on his offer. And strained-smile-green-Bruce gets this look on his face like he’s about to try and break the awkwardness with some positively awful dad-ism, so Duke turns to plan B.
“Did they tell you that I’m a meta?” he asks. “I can do some pretty cool stuff with light and shadows. And I’m going to be honest, little Timmy is beyond adorable and I kind of want to put on a show for him. Would that be okay Mr. Other Bruce?”
Duke very deliberately does not look at his Bruce, who is almost certainly emanating disapproval at Duke so casually disclosing his meta status to strangers.
Green!Bruce, however, does look over to Duke’s Bruce. And they have silent Bruce telepathy for a few long seconds, until green!Bruce looks back to Duke and smiles.
Duke starts with balls of light, juggling them, swirling them, letting the golden spheres dance through the air. Baby Tim (who has a goddamn cowlick, Jesus Fucking Adorable Christ) goes wide-eyed. The binky falls from his mouth as he smiles, little hands reaching upwards. Green!Bruce obligingly sets him down, and Baby Tim toddles towards the lights, grabbing for them.
Dick doesn’t seem to like this turn of events, scrambling down from Green!Bruce’s shoulders with an expression of clear panic. But Jay and Cass are delighted, untangling from their dad to join their little brother in chasing after the bobbing lights. They’re much better at it; Cass in particular can get some air when she jumps, slapping her hands through the lights and dispersing them into heatless embers. Which delights her, Timmy, and Jay but clearly stresses Dick out even more. Green!Bruce straight up grabs the back of his t-shirt to anchor him in place.
It's not entirely clear what Dick the Younger's issue is, beyond general paranoia. But if he like, had a stroke, it would probably put a damper on interdimensional relations? Probably? So Duke leaves the lights to Timmy – who, bless him, has no hope of catching and bursting one – and conjures shadows for Cass and Jay to chase instead.
The shadows are much faster, speeding across the ground. And the 'twins' take to this new prey like cats to a red dot, racing after the swift-moving darkness and pouncing. Pouncing on the shadows, then pouncing on each other; competing and play fighting in a way that makes it clear they wrestle all the time. And it's hard not to see that and just kinda...stare. Because yeah, Duke can see it. Jay and Cass absolutely look related.
It's kind of a mind trip?? Because they look related but they also absolutely look like adult!Jason and adult!Cass. Which means that, somehow, the Jason and Cass that Duke has known for years must also look related. Possibly, they’re not in the same room enough for anyone to clock how similar they look. And also adult Jason is so-bricked shaped and adult Cass is so wiry. But as kids? It’s no surprise that green!Bruce did a DNA test.
And then there’s Baby Tim. Toddling about with a great big baby grin. He’s not making any noise, which is a little odd based on Duke’s experience with 2-ish year olds. But he’s clearly extremely happy with the light show.
Dick seems less happy.
He’s still close to Bruce, though no longer being held by the shirt. The tense, deeply ingrained scowl suggests he’s been told to stay put, rather than keeping back by choice. Green!Bruce is chattering away at him, seemingly unbothered by Dick’s stony silence and unwavering gaze locked on Tim.
He doesn’t trust us. Or, more specifically, doesn’t trust Duke with Tim. And like, Duke gets it, really he does. Strangers, strange place, strange dimension, etc...but it’s still kind of weird, seeing Dick so intense and suspicious. Was this really what Dick was like as a kid?
Maybe Duke will ask Bruce later, or Alfred. Or better yet, Barbara.
For now though, he has a mission.
“Hey, don’t want to overstep, I know they’re not actually my siblings,” Duke says to green!Bruce. “But ye olde group chat has been blowing up, and several parties are furious they have not yet gotten to behold the mini-mes. Am I okay to take pictures to send to the group? You can vet them first.”
There’s a moment where green!Bruce seems unsure. Then his face crinkles in amusement and he laughs. “Well, if you sold the photos to the paparazzi, it wouldn’t exactly be my problem, would it?”
3:59 PM
Duke
@Steph B never say I don’t do anything for you.
Image description: A beaming young Jay, wearing blue overalls with embroidered birds and a yellow t-shirt, with his hands pressed to a shadow on the ground, having pounced on it. A young Cass, wearing blue overalls with embroidered ladybugs and bees and a blue t-shirt, mid-leap through the air, grinning and about to land on both Jay and the shadow.
Image description: A young Jay running with young Cass on his shoulders, her hands outstretched as she tries to catch a bird-shaped dark shadow moving through the air. Both children are laughing.
--
Steph B
Are they. Wearing matching clothing. Oh my god. Oh my god.
--
Timmy D
Huh. They really did look a lot alike at this age. Wild.
Timmy D
Maybe hide the photos under a sensitive content blur so Cass doesn’t have to see them if she doesn’t want to
--
Steph B
WHERE IS BABY TIM I DEMAND BABY TIM
--
Duke
I need you to know that my life flashed before my eyes while taking this picture
Image description: Baby Tim sitting on the ground in a blue footed onesie patterned with yellow ducks. His face is looking up, entranced and bathed in soft golden light, as his hands reach for a glowing ball hanging in the air.
--
Steph B
I’m going to die. I’m deceased. I’m dead.
Steph B
Holy shit Tim were you actually this cute as a baby? I don’t think so. I think in this alternate dimension you’re cuter
Steph B
I understand you completely Duke. I too would have nearly died taking this picture
--
Duke
the cuteness is not why I felt my life was in danger
Image description: An off-centre selfie, with half of Duke’s face at the side of the screen. His visible eye is wide with dramatic concern-fear as he takes a photo over his shoulder. In the background, Dickie stands with a face like murder, mouth practically snarling and eyes narrowed and furious.
Duke
It was extremely clear to me that if one of my lights so much as startled Timmy my life would be forfeit
Duke
Damian was not exaggerating about Dickie in the slightest
--
Timmy D
???? Does he not trust you because he doesn’t know you in his universe???
--
Duke
No he trusts literally none of us. Not Bruce or Alfred either.
Duke
Also like he’s definitely armed. I mean Other!Bruce probably also has a weapon concealed on him, but did our Dick ever carry weapons as Robin aside from batarangs?
Duke
It was pretty much just fists and feet right?
Duke
Well Dickie is definitely concealed-carrying some knives.
Duke
It’s like someone installed 10-year-old Damian software on 11-year-old Dick’s body
Duke
With a side-dash of Eldest Daughter Syndrome for good measure maybe?
Duke
Like I dunno how much I can judge from just an hour or so with them
Duke
But when Timmy had to go the bathroom he went to Dickie instead of Other!Bruce? (congrats btw on being potty-trained before the age of two Tim)
--
Timmy D
😑
--
Duke
And Dickie took him alone, carried baby and baby bag and away they went.
Duke
And then afterward Dickie just didn’t let Timmy out of his arms even once
Duke
Idk how to feel about all that honestly. But also probably shouldn’t judge after knowing them for only a few hours. Maybe it’s just that they’re in a high stress situation
--
Steph B
Oh dang the plot thickens. Guess it’s not all sunshine and rainbows in the baby dimension
Steph B
Wait Tim, didn’t Dick attend one of your Young Justice parent teacher nights instead of Bruce????
--
Timmy D
It wasn’t a parent teacher night. It was a meeting
--
Steph B
Wasn’t the meeting between parents and your superhero teacher?
--
Timmy D
Red Tornado wasn’t our teacher he was more like a Hall Monitor
--
Steph B
sdfljgfjlgkd whatever it was the meeting between your supervisory body and your parents and the people who attended were the parents of your teammates + Nightwing?
--
Timmy D
Yes technically but Bruce wasn’t my parent at the time anyways so it doesn’t actually matter that Dick came instead
--
Steph B
...is typing
--
Duke
...is typing
--
Dami AW
That you are having this conversation when Richard is not on the planet to defend himself or his doppelgänger is reprehensible
Dami AW
Though I don’t see the problem with the False Father leaving Small Richard in charge of the Infant Drake. After all, Father trusts me to care for all of the manor’s animals unaided does he not? He has better things to do than tend to creatures that cannot care for themselves in any capacity.
Dami AW
Once Infant Drake becomes Child Drake and is worthy of his father’s time, I’m sure False Father will assume a more direct role
Dami AW
Why are you all calling me????
Stephanie’s not a fan of babysitting.
Being a girl in a neighbourhood of desperate people working multiple shifts to survive, she got asked pretty often. She wasn’t terribly fond of kids, was even less fond of fathers with lingering eyes, but money was money. And she learned early on to only take jobs from single moms, or from parents who agreed to only ever have a woman do the handoff. And if those female hands got handsy too, well, Steph had a ‘one copped feel and you’re out’ policy for clients of all genders.
She stopped babysitting entirely after she'd had one of her own.
Tonight, however, is a special occasion. Because baby bats.
The whole visiting gang has formed a greeting party at the base of the manor's main stairs. There’s the promised Damian-coded Dickie, scowling with baby Timmy settled on his hip like he’s a 1950s housewife. There’s a Little Jason and Little Cass, each in one of their dad’s arms and dressed in recently purchased PJs. Matching, of course. Jay is more obviously sleepy; head on his dad’s shoulder and eyes fixed on the interlopers but only half-open. Cass is of course avoiding showing weakness, sitting up with eyes sharp.
“I feel like I’m getting spoilers,” says laughy, smiley, extremely dad-vibed Bruce, “getting to see what you’ll grow up into. And to meet the people who will be important to you. Wow. I just…wow.”
“Spoiler, what a fun choice of word,” Steph grins, giving Tim a cheeky elbowing.
Tim, who is not good with kids, and who became very bad at emotion sometime during the period where nearly everyone he loved was dead, seems unable to figure out how to react to both a Bruce that is unabashedly happy to see him and children…and children. His smile keeps flickering between press-ready and gala-charming. Truly, times are desperate if he’s been tapped for babysitting.
But it couldn’t be helped! Batman and Robin didn’t want to skip tonight’s patrol because they have an active case, but they also didn’t want to leave Alfred in the manor alone with inter-dimensional travellers, no matter how cute they are. Adult Cass seems to be pretending the entire situation isn’t happening and is sulking in the Clocktower with Barbara. Jason has possibly fled the country in anticipation of Cass taking her irritation out on him. Duke can’t really spend the night anymore, and Dick, poor bastard, is in space and has no idea any of this is happening.
Which leaves Steph and Tim to spend the night at the manor. Hence, the meet and greet before the kids are tucked away to bed.
“I mean, it might not be a spoiler,” Tim says, falling back on PR Personality #4 - a voice-for-parents usually employed at charity events related to schools. “Who knows! Your Timmy might actually have a chance to crack 6 feet!”
Dadly!Bruce and Tim laugh in perfect rich person unison. The kids, bless them, have the good sense not to reward Tim’s Timness and are all giving him properly judgmental side-eye.
Except, Steph notices, Timmy.
His soother has fallen out of his mouth, and he’s staring. Just staring. With big, blue, Tim Drake-patented-stalker eyes.
And then he grins.
It’s a big ole baby grin, complete with an incomplete set of baby teeth. He twists in Dickie’s arms, reaching out to Big Tim with grabby baby hands.
Dickie looks shocked and betrayed. Dadly!Bruce looks amused. Tim looks completely caught off-guard.
“Amazing. The only child you don’t weird out with your improperly installed ‘normal human being’ programming is yourself,” Steph marvels. Tim doesn’t move, staring back now, still flummoxed. “Oh my god, Tim. Are you going to leave the baby hanging? A baby?”
He doesn’t leave the baby hanging. Hesitantly, Tim takes his happily grinning baby self from a much less happy Dickie. The happy baby grin grows wider, little feet kicking with excitement.
“You don’t look a thing like your parents,” Steph muses. “That was my first thought, but nah. Maybe it’s like…a mirror thing? You know how babies love to look at themselves in mirrors.”
Timmy slaps his baby hands enthusiastically against Tim’s cheeks, which Steph takes as a ringing endorsement of her theory.
“Be careful,” Dickie grits out, as relaxed as a rattlesnake in a Western. “Have you ever held a kid before? Don’t drop him.”
“Dickie,” says Dadly!Bruce, with a tone of soft admonishment that Steph has never ever heard Bruce use before. Which kind of makes her tense. The weirdness of it. The possibility. The idea that their Bruce could sound like that, physically speaking. Like his vocal cords are capable of producing that tone. It just…doesn’t happen.
“Shhh,” says little Timmy. Except it’s more like “Shhh?”. Not a command, but a question. And aimed at Big Tim, not Bruce or his brother.
But it’s Dickie who answers. “You don’t have to be quiet, Timmy. Be as loud as you want.”
Big Tim’s face does something complicated. Little Timmy beams.
And then he begins to babble. Baby noises, with random words of English and strung together sounds thrown in. It grows in volume, until Timmy is practically shouting a joyous, bubbly, baby rant that he punctuates with happy little paps against his adult self’s face.
“Oh, is that so?” says Big Tim, finally smiling a real smile. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Abubububu phal an’ fwoosh an’ cheese,” says Timmy. And when Tim nods in understanding, Timmy lets out a delighted, shrieking laugh.
The Tims entertaining each other, Steph turns back to the ‘twins’, who both look noticeably sleepy now that they’ve decided Tim and Steph aren’t a threat to be watched. Well actually, Jay is straight up asleep. Cass though, perks back up to attention when she notices Steph’s eyes on her.
“Hey, I know it’s bedtime, I won’t keep you much longer,” Steph says. Then leans in with a conspiratorial whisper. “But I just want you to know– you and me? We’re tight over here. Besties. Tim and I had a good run but then I met you and decided his sister was way cooler and way more worth my time. So if you see a blonde girl who loves purple and waffles dragging little Timmy around, make sure to say hi, okay?”
“Purple blonde girl who loves waffles. Got it,” says Dadly!Bruce. His smile is genuinely warm. Which again. Weird.
Cass however, doesn’t smile.
“Big me,” she says. Words slow. Deliberately chosen. “Doesn’t like Jason.”
Bruce’s smile falls away. Steph winces.
Doesn’t like isn’t the half of it. Cass can’t stand Jason, and is happy any time a situation arises that justifies her beating him up. It’s Jason’s utter lack of regret for like 95% of the people he’s killed. A lack of regret that Cass can see plainly when she looks at him. She can’t forgive him for it, and considers him a brother by technicality only. On Jason’s part, he’s definitely not Cass’s biggest fan. But what’s annoyance and dislike for Jason is genuine disgust and anger for Cass. Which means finding out they’re half-siblings is likely to upset her way more. Hence why Jason’s probably fled to Mexico. Because unfortunately, when Cass is feeling ‘big emotions’ her inclination is to punch someone about it.
“I don’t like what Big Me likes,” Cass declares, more militant than petulant. Like she’s swearing an oath. “We’re different.”
“You sure are!” Steph agrees, pulling a smile back up onto her face. “You’re a whole different person! And I bet you’ll get along great with the other me. Because I think Jason’s great. He’s the only b– uh, only person in this house I respect. Not only did me and him have the same kind of, uh, formative childhood experiences, he’s also the only person in this house with unrestricted access to the kitchen. And,” she stage-whispers, “he makes better waffles, crepes, and pancakes than Alfred.”
Little Cass's eyes go wide as saucers. “He does not. Big Jay?”
“He totally does. Which is one of the many reasons I like Jay. I love Jay. I’m not one of Bruce’s kids– so don’t let your dad try to adopt me or anything.” Steph’s not going to ruin alt!her’s chances of dating Tim and/or Cass by getting sucked into Bruce’s adoption black hole (Duke taught her that having an alive and capable mom isn’t enough to save you). “But I consider Jay to be a brother all the same.”
Cass doesn’t smile, but the downright hostile expression fades away. She nods, vigorously. “I will find you. Me-sized you who loves Jay. Back home.”
“I’m a year older than Timmy, so I’ve got maybe another year or two before I’m interesting enough to play with. But then, absolutely. She’ll be delighted to know you.”
Disaster averted, the meet-and-greet comes to a close with a yawning Cass snuggling her face into Bruce’s neck and Bruce not at all hiding the fond way he’s staring at Big Tim and the contemplative way he’s staring at Steph. Dickie, in comparison, is looking a little manic around the eyes by the time Big Tim returns Little Tim to him.
“Safe and sound,” says Tim, which Dickie rewards with a glare. Tim’s undaunted though, and asks, “Was there some Romani mixed into what he was saying just now?”
“Yes,” replies Dickie, defensive. “I’m teaching Timmy to read. I teach the Romani words at the same as the English words. He’s gonna know both.”
...Interesting. Steph avoids side-eyeing Bruce through full strength of will. Huh. I see what Duke was talking about. But maybe Dickie’s just helping Timmy learn to read, and Bruce, the parent, is the one doing the actual teaching. Maybe. Hopefully.
“That’s…that’s really something,” Tim says, and his latchkey-kid brain clearly doesn’t share Steph’s concerns, because his voice is soft with something like fondness and wistfulness and wonder. “I wish our Dick wasn’t in space right now. I think he’d really like the chance to talk to you.”
“Then he shouldn’t have gone to space,” Dickie snaps. “Or live in a different city. Or not be here. There are five unknowns who arrived through suspicious means in his home, with his siblings, and he’s not here, and no one can reach him, and if something happened it would be his fault for not being here. Your Dick is terrible and I hate him!”
His voice, full of venom, echoes against the high manor ceilings.
“On that note,” says Bruce brightly into the ensuing stunned silence. “I think it’s time for bed.”
8:32 PM
Stephanie
Meeting the kids was so great. kids are adorable, baby Timmy has already passed the mirror test with flying colours as expected
Stephanie
but uhhhhhh,,,,,
Stephanie
does anyone know when Dick’s going to be back from space? Or can like, intergalactic WhatsApp him?
Stephanie
because the longer it takes him to get back in touch the stronger the likelihood he’s gonna come back to find Dickie under his bed with a carving knife
He has to get out of the house.
He knows it’s a different Gotham, knows it's a different world. Knows that familiar ledges might be an inch or two off, familiar handholds might crumble beneath his fingers.
But Dick needs to get out of the house. And I'm not going out as Robin anyways.
No colourful costume, no gear. Free-running across rooftops with nothing but dark clothing and the trust he has in his own weightlessness. He doesn’t do any crazy leaps, doesn't risk any moves he's not 100% confident he can handle without equipment. But Dick can handle a lot. The air sings for him, always has. He was born a little bird, Mama would say.
Bruce definitely knows by now that Dick's snuck out, not just gone to the bathroom. But what's he going to do about it? Leave Timmy and Jay and Cass in that not-manor alone with not-Alfred and the….the big Tim and the girl that maybe Cass will know in the future? No way, Bruce has to stay behind with them and trust that Dick will be fine on his own. Dick is always fine on his own.
Well, almost always. But it's been awhile since Two-Face got the drop on him.
Dick doesn't know if Two-Face is out tonight. Doesn't have comms or radio or walkie. He doesn't think so, though. The city seems quiet. A slow night, maybe. A buzz rather than a frenzy on the streets below. He watches it all from a roof ledge, legs dangling.
This Gotham isn't all that different, is the thing. And that's scary, because everything about the Waynes is different. It's all different and bad and awful. An exploded puzzle in a thousand pieces in a million different places that somehow seems to think it's whole. No one together, everyone scattered, and still acting like they can call themselves a family. It's all completely wrong and Dick hates it.
And he hates the other him most of all.
"Finally back from space, huh?" Dick spits out. "You'd have been too late if we were hostiles."
There's no response from the figure that just landed on the rooftop beside him. And Dick tries to keep staring forward, tries to keep giving the man his shoulder.
But. He peeks.
A costume of blue and black, lacking any of the bright, Grayson family plumage. Long-ish dark hair, a domino mask over his mother's nose and father's chin, mouth half-quirked into a rueful smile.
Smiling.
The other him is smiling.
And Dick seethes.
"What is wrong with you?!" Dick demands, jumping to his feet and stalking up to the other, awful him. "How can you leave them? How can you go off to wherever– how can you go to space– how can you live in a different city– how can you just– just–,”
"That's a lot of questions! Hey, can I ask one?" The other him raises his hand, and doesn't stop smiling. "Why don't you trust Bruce?"
That's my voice. That's what I'll sound like. But Dick doesn't want to think about that right now. "What? Of course I trust him!"
"Ah, you know what, you're totally right!" The other him slaps a palm against his forehead. "I'm being silly; of course you trust Bruce! You left the manor, after all. You left your siblings there, in a strange house in a strange place, because you trusted Bruce to keep them safe while you were gone, right?"
Dick freezes. "I– that's– that's different!"
"Is it?"
"Yes! Because I'm not in space!"
The other Dick tilts his head, seemingly contemplating. Then nods once. "True, but my siblings are all adults. So not only do I trust Bruce, I trust them to keep themselves safe while I help other people in need across the galaxy. If I didn't trust Bruce, if I didn't trust my siblings, then I wouldn't go."
"They weren't always big," Dick argues, more uncertain than he means to sound. "Are you saying you never ran off to space when they were little?"
There's a moment where Dick thinks he sees a wince. But he's not sure, because than the older him says, "I never even knew them when they were little."
Remember, the Jason and Cassandra of this world didn’t come to live with their Bruce until they were much bigger. That point that Bruce had to keep reminding the twins about, over and over. But how much is much bigger? "How old were they then? When you met them?"
"Oh, old. Jay was twelve. Tim was thirteen, but wasn't adopted until he was sixteen. Cass was seventeen, but wasn't adopted until she was eighteen. I had already moved out when Jay was adopted; never lived in the manor at the same as any of them."
Why did you move out?? Why did you leave Bruce?? But that's not the important question. Because the other him said–
"Sixteen?" Dick repeats, dumbfounded. He can get Jay and Cass, kind of. Because maybe someone else found them first, maybe someone else was taking care of them. But– "Timmy walked into the Batcave. How did Bruce not adopt him right after? Did that not happen here?"
”He– wait, he did what?” The other him sounds just as dumbfounded. “I mean– Tim technically did that here too, but he was thirteen, and we didn't adopt him then because he was at boarding school and legally not neglected. How did your baby Tim walk into the Batcave?”
“We think he fell down a hole on the Drake property and got into the cave system. Because his parents suck fucking balls,” Dick growls.
They'd all been in the cave. Jay and Dick and Bruce. Dick suiting up, getting ready to head out. Bruce at the Batcomputer with Jay in his lap, trying to see if he could get Jay to calm down enough to go to bed and let Bruce go out as Batman.
And then a baby had walked into the Batcave.
Dirty and scuffed, with bruises and small cuts. In footie pyjamas covered in mud and soil. He'd toddled solemnly across the floor, laid down on the training mats, and promptly going to sleep.
Tests confirmed that it was, in fact, a baby and not a spy robot or a shapeshifter or anything else. Reviewing the cave footage revealed that he'd basically emerged from a cave wall, probably through an animal-dug tunnel that wasn't alarmed or fitted with sensors. How he'd gotten into the tunnel was a complete mystery, but the cave system beneath Gotham was extensive. And there were many cases of missing toddlers covering unbelievable amounts of distance. A quick check of GCPD records confirmed that no one in Bristol had reported a missing goddamn baby. It seemed pretty likely that someone from outside of Bristol might have just...dumped their baby on a fancy lawn and driven away, instead of going to a safe surrender site. And then that baby had fallen down a hole, and walked and crawled until he'd ended up in the Batcave.
Of course when Bruce contacted the police, he just claimed to have found the baby in an animal burrow at the edge of the Wayne property. As a registered foster parent in a city with an extremely overburdened child welfare system, Bruce was happily taken up on his offer to just...keep the baby while the GCPD tried to figure out where he'd come from. He didn't match the descriptions of any missing babies, and also didn't show any signs of the usual mistreatment that led up to babies being abandoned.
And then, about a week after they found him, the baby started talking. Just a little. And one of the words he knew was his name. A garbled, baby speech version. But identifiable as 'Timothy Drake'.
It had all snowballed from there.
The Drakes couldn't be contacted, but when Timothy's footprint matched the hospital records and his identity was confirmed, the investigation gained a whole bunch of warrants which allowed them to access Drake Manor, including its security system.
The sequence of events was damning. The Drakes put Timmy to bed. He got up. Left his room, went out the backdoor. The Drakes didn’t check on him again before retiring. Setting all of the house's alarms with their son already on the outside of it. The next morning, they'd left at 7:10am for a flight. A babysitter was supposed to be there at 7 on the dot, but was running late. The Drakes had clearly decided they couldn't risk missing their flight to, you know, make sure the babysitter was there before leaving their baby. And apparently didn't check on Timmy before leaving. Because if they had, they would have found an empty nursery.
The babysitter arrived at 7:40am. Used the access codes provided by the Drakes. And found no child needing to be sat. When the GCPD contacted the babysitting company, they claimed they assumed that the Drakes had taken the child with them since the sitter was late (delayed by a rare early-morning rogue attack downtown). They admitted, however, to not reaching out to confirm this with the Drakes. Because, well. The company contract stated refunds could only be provided if a request was made within two weeks of the first date of service. So. They were not inclined to reach out to the Drakes if the Drakes didn't reach out first. And of course, there was no reason for them to believe that the Drakes had left their child unattended rather than taking him with them.
What was important in all of that though, was that Bruce Wayne had reported the lost baby while Jack and Janet Drake were still at home. Timmy's case was opened with the GCPD the night before Jack and Janet Drake left their house and the country.
Yeah, they lost custody real fast.
The Drakes didn’t get jail time for neglect, because rich people in Gotham. And apparently, there was a chance for reunification if they kept up with parenting classes. Jack Drake definitely wasn't going, was apparently trying really hard to argue that 'one perfect storm of mistakes' didn't mean he needed 'remedial classes in how to be a goddamn father'. From what Bruce explained, Jack seemed to think attending the classes was an admission of guilt, and that he'd have a stronger case in court if he didn't agree to them.
Janet Drake seems to think differently, and has never missed a parenting class. But Bruce said that Janet wouldn't get custody if she was still married to Jack. So...so Timmy's safe. Timmy will stay with Dick, so long as Janet is married to Jack and Jack keeps refusing to do the state-mandated classes.
Dick explains all that. And the other him, the one called Nightwing, listens.
He's...quiet. Nightwing. Still, too. It's...it's weird. The quiet and stillness is a lot like Bruce, which means it's not like Dick's dad. John Grayson, who wasn't still or quiet at all. Who was all movement and motion and big gestures and big sounds. Nightwing is a Dick who's grown up into the mold of a Wayne and not a Grayson. And it doesn't make Dick hate him, doesn't worsen his anger, but it does make his chest hurt.
"I don't know how much is the same. What...events or decisions your accelerated timeline has moved forward," Nightwing says, no longer smiling. Serious in a way that makes the Wayne resemblance stronger and the Grayson memory weaker. "As far as I know, the Drakes were decently attentive to our Tim when he was little. They didn’t start leaving him alone constantly until he was in middle school. That’s what he says anyways. I hope our dimensions are just different. Because Jesus. Baby Timmy fell down a parental-abandonment well. And here we were thinking you all came from a sunshine and rainbows universe.”
“It’s not sunshine and rainbows,” Dick snaps, bristling again. “It’s awful and hard and full of terrible people who shouldn’t be parents, and people who are great parents who die, and people who are great adoptive parents trying to fix a city full of evil bastards while also trying to take care of kids who depend on him!"
"Four young kids is a lot," Nightwing says mildly. "Our Bruce really only ever had one at a time. Not sure he'd manage as well as yours does."
"Yeah, because you're not helping him." Like a flashover fire, all of Dick's anger has returned. "That's what Robin does. Helps Batman!"
"And Robin helps Batman...raise three young kids?"
"Robin. Helps. Batman. Period!" God, is he thick? What is wrong with adult him! "When we got Jay, Jay needed Bruce all the time. If Bruce wasn't with him every second of the day he'd freak out. And Bruce could be there for him, because I was there for Gotham! I would go out as Robin until Jay was asleep. Because I'm Batman's partner, and I cover the angles he can't! And then when Timmy came, and Jay still needed Bruce, I was there for Timmy. I made sure Bruce could prioritize Jay. And Jay doesn't need Bruce as much now because he has Cass, But both Jay and Cass still need Bruce a lot. They need him so much. They need him to feel safe. And Bruce can be there for them as much as they need, because just like I took care of Gotham when he couldn’t leave Jay, now I take care of Timmy so he can spend more time with Jay and Cass, while also protecting Gotham, and doing all his business stuff! Because I'm Robin!”
Nightwing doesn't say anything for a long stretch of seconds. Stares out into the city, shrouded in a gloom barely pierced by the electric, sickly orange glow of the streetlights. Then exhales slowly. "Is Bruce usually too busy for Timmy?"
“Don’t say it like that!” Dick says, snapping again. "It’s not that he’s too busy. It’s that we’re partners. Bruce could absolutely take care of Timmy and Jay and Cass all by himself, but if I do most of the Timmy taking care of than Bruce can give more to Jay and Cass. It’s just like Gotham. Yeah, Batman can stop lots of crime and protect the city on his own. But he can do a better job, be a better Batman, with Robin. We’re a team. And they're my siblings, my family. And I have to be there for them. And Timmy he can't– he can't think he's being forgotten, or that he'll be left alone. He needs me. He needs me and I'm never going to be you. I'm never going to leave him."
“But one day,” Nightwing turns away from the city, turns back to Dick, “they’re going to leave you.”
Cold, like icy fingers pressing to his spine, shocks through Dick’s system. “No they’re not.”
“They’re going to grow up into strong, capable people,” Nightwing continues. “And they’re going find things they want to protect, values they believe in, missions they want to see through. And it’s not going to be the same as what you want, or what Bruce wants. And they're going to have to leave to make the things they want happen. And Dick, that’s okay. You need to understand that’s okay.”
“How can it be okay?!” Dick hates, hates that his eyes are burning, that tears are prickling there. “How can it be okay that you’re not together? That you’re all scattered and separated and alone?”
“Not being in the same place doesn't mean that we’re alone. And I can be okay with it, because I trust them. I trust them to handle themselves, I trust them to protect themselves, I trust them to be strong. And I’m not going to pretend I don’t have regrets. There are…there are some pretty key moments where I wish I’d been there. To help. To stop them…to stop them from being hurt. And I always try to be someone they can depend on, but also respect that they don’t need me. That Bruce, and Alfred, and I have trained them to be strong enough to handle all the world has to throw at them. Dick, you have to trust them.”
“I trust them. I love them. But they could still– Someone could still– still–,”
“Cut their wire, send them plummeting,” Nightwing whispers. “But Dickie, never leaving them isn’t the answer to that. Us being there didn’t save our parents.”
Dick squeezes his eyes shut. “I know, but–”
“There will always be terrible things in the world. We can’t stop all of them. We can’t save everyone. But we’ve learned a lot, since we lost our parents. And I’m telling you now, you’ll get the chance to teach all of that to your little siblings. And then, you'll have to let them stand on their own. You'll have to trust that what you’ve taught them means they can catch themselves if they fall. And one day, they'll be strong enough to save you if you fall."
"But what does that have to do with them leaving?" Dick scrubs a furious arm across his face. "Why did you say–, Why did you say that–,"
"Because I get the feeling that you not wanting to leave is only partly because you want to protect them." The gentleness of Nightwing's tone sands the harsh edges of the Gotham accent from his vowels, leaving an achingly familiar cadence that sounds like tents and trapezes and travellers. "I get the feeling you're holding so tight because you don't want to be alone."
"I'm not– I'm not scared of that! I'm not scared, because I'm not gonna be alone! I'm not gonna be you!"
"Dickie. I promise, I'm not alone either." Nightwing's smile returns, somehow less infuriating even while hurting more to look at. "I live in a different city, and sometimes I go to space, but I'm not alone. We are still a family, and we still love each other. And distance doesn't change that. We can still protect each other, save each other, be there for each other, cry on each other. You don't have to hold so tight. And you don't have to try and do all the holding. You gotta let yourself be held too, okay?"
"Stop talking to me like a social worker. I know what you're implying, so don't." Dick struggles to wrestle his emotions back under control. To sound like Robin, like a hero, and not like an overwhelmed child. "Bruce takes care of me If I need it. I just don't normally need it. I'm not a little kid."
"You don't need to be held? You don't need hugs? Like, all the time?"
The tears are prickling again. "N-no."
"Are you sure?"
Dick hates Nightwing. He hates his other self. He hates him he hates him he hates him–
He doesn't, however, hate his hugs.
11:47 PM
Dick
on one hand, I have to give Single Mother Bruce credit. an 11-year-old me being interested in anything other than doing backflips and mauling criminals is a goddamn miracle
Dick
on the other hand, holy parentified codependence Batman
--
Babs <3
Is it bad to find it funny that even perfect PTA parent Bruce is still…Bruce.
--
Dick
hey, 4 traumatized kids isn’t easy for any twenty-something to handle. wait am I older than this Bruce??? I hope not. god I hope not. Fuck.
Dick
i do think I got through to Dickie though. about managing his anxiety around being away from his family. I think they'll be alright in the long run. healthy coping mechanisms are on the horizon
--
Babs <3
Oh, you got through to Dickie, did you? On the topic of family-related anxiety?
Babs <3
You told him about the absolutely super healthy way you manage your near-crippling fear of something happening to your family when you’re not there?
Babs <3
You told him that in the future he’ll have a speedster and a high-level magic user as best friends, and will also hack into the Justice League’s remote teleporter, and therefore always have the means to get back to Gotham basically instantaneously if any of his siblings need him, or if his Bruce-is-in-trouble sense starts tingling?
Babs <3
Or did you say none of that, and instead made it seem like through the power of love and belief you can power through a titanic guilt-complex and continuous anxiety?
--
Read 11:56 PM
--
Babs <3
DICK GRAYSON
The Bruce from elsewhere stands by the partially open door to the room they’ve been allocated.
He does not move as Alfred approaches. Does not look away from the four sleeping forms on the bed. Two similarly-sized children curled around each other. One recently returned pre-teen with a toddler asleep on his chest.
Alfred does not take the lack of acknowledgement to heart. "Tea, sir? Master Bruce and Master Damian will be returning soon, so I have prepared a fresh pot.”
“That’s alright,” Bruce says softly. Then: “I don’t owe any of you an explanation you know.”
Alfred doesn’t blink. “Quite so.”
“This isn’t my world, and we’re different people. You can guess at our circumstances, but not know them for certain. The only judgment you might have comes from incomplete knowledge.”
Not an outright defensive statement, but an edged one. “Did you think I approached to scold you?”
Bruce tenses. Not like a cornered animal, but like a cornered child. Shoulders hunching a moment, before sagging.
“He never figured it out, did he?” Bruce asks, softer. “How to keep Dick out of the cape, off the streets. Your Bruce never figured it out, and so it continued. And the other kids followed his example."
Alfred looks away, into the room. “Quite so.”
“My Dick rarely goes out now. Only twice a week usually, if that.”
That is a genuine surprise. One Alfred doesn’t mind letting show on his face, since this Bruce still isn’t looking at him at all.
“It was Tim,” Bruce continues. “Dick's obsessive need to fix the world, to stop others from being hurt, the fire that drove him out into Gotham every night– it all refocused on Timmy. And I’m not– I’m not going to pretend my parenting failures had nothing to do with it. Jason was…he needed a lot from me. He was so young, and his mother–,” he breaks off. Takes a breath.
“Tim came to us at a time when Jay needed a lot of attention. And Tim…didn’t seem to. And I know, I know how bad that is. Taking in a child who was taken from his parents because of neglect, and then not spending every moment of the day showering that child with attention. I know. But Jay needed me all the time, constantly, and Tim...was quiet. Always quiet, while Jay was howling the house down. I tried to strike a balance, I tried to give Tim the attention he deserved. But I failed enough for Dick to notice. For Dick to feel like he had to step in.”
“I would not presume to comment on a situation of which I only have a day’s worth of knowledge,” Alfred says evenly, “but I would not call Young Master Dick’s relationship with Young Master Tim merely stepping in.”
“He doesn't trust me to prioritize Tim, and so Tim became his mission,” Bruce agrees tiredly. “Always being there for him. Never leaving him alone. Not trusting anyone else with him. Even after we adopted Cass and Jay started to need me less, Dick still saw Tim as his responsibility. His purpose. And it’s not healthy, I know it’s not. But Alfred, Dick rarely goes out at Robin. He’s not spending every night dodging knives and bats and getting shot at. He hates leaving Tim. It’s the school year that did it really– Dick couldn’t handle leaving Tim alone during the day and during evenings and nights. So he stopped going out on weeknights. He still trains, and he still patrols usually twice a week. But I’m no longer trying desperately to get him to scale back. And when he does go out, he's so much less...angry. Less aggressive. Less like he's trying to take on the whole world for what it took from him. I think he was ready to die before, as long as he could do it while hurting anyone that reminded him of Zucco. But now he has a reason to get home safe. Has something other than anger and hurt and revenge driving him.”
How familiar. It's Alfred's turn to take a breath. “And so...you do not seek to alter the situation.”
“I haven’t discouraged it. Codependency seems like a better alternative than grappling with cocaine smugglers and potentially catching a murder charge before turning twelve.”
Bruce shuts his eyes, weariness and discomfort painted over his face. “But seeing you all…all of your kids, grown up. All of your kids, who seem to be self-sufficient, and independent, and alive, despite having grown up as vigilantes. It feels like…it feels like I might have made the wrong call. Picking codependency over Robin.”
Alfred lets that sit. The discomfort of it, the ragged honesty hanging in the air. What to say, to that? What words to share with a Bruce who is not his own? What comment to make, that will not split open the scars of what the vigilante lifestyle has wrought upon his family?
“You are correct to say I have no right to pass judgment," Alfred finally says. "You shoulder an unimaginable burden, and parenthood is difficult without the complication of nighttime activity. If I am to provide any comment on your particular choices, it will be that codependency seems an easier issue to address than childhood vigilantism. For one, it is something that can actually be brought up to a child psychologist.”
Bruce grimaces. An expression that is the most similar to his counterpart that he’s made thus far.
“Ah,” Alfred says, amused. “I see disdain for therapy is a universal constant.”
“I didn’t benefit from child psychologists. At all. Not even a little.”
“But Young Master Dick is not who you were at ten years old. He has reason to want to heal. People he wants to depend on him. You didn’t find your reason to master your grief until you were a young man. Dick has already found his.”
The grimace melts away. Entire expression softening. Bruce looks into the room, at his children, with a face of absolute fondness. Love.
It makes Alfred look away. Stare down into the steaming tea. The three cups held there, held steady by hands used to staying steady while stitching flesh.
“There is perhaps one other comment to make,” he says, in a tone less neutral than he would have liked. “Do not heap undeserved laurels onto the decisions your counterpart here has made. We have lost family to the mission. We have buried children. You have buried children.”
Bruce's head whips towards Alfred. Facing him for the first time. Alfred meets his eyes, unflinching.
Slowly, Bruce returns his gaze to his children. Fondness replaced with fear. "I see."
“And those who remain are not unscarred. Master Damian and Mists Stephanie both have recurring pain during rainstorms– a broken back for Master Damian, a broken everything else for Miss Stephanie,” Alfred continues brusque, matter-of-fact. “Master Timothy is immunocompromised, as he had his spleen stabbed out. Master Jason’s PTSD is…he has hurt his siblings before. And we know he may hurt them again, however much he no longer wants to. Mistress Cassandra never had the opportunity to unlearn violence as a first solution to everything. Master Richard has, to be blunt, turned into another version of you, however much he hides it with a smile. All your grief, all your paranoia, all your insistence on being a soldier before being a man.”
Bruce has shut his eyes again. “How did–,"
“I will not warn you of the specifics of what led to the aforementioned events, lest something worse comes about through overcorrection,” Alfred says firmly. “But I will say this. Between all these broken children, we have a Gotham where the crime is not gone, but under reasonable control. With streets that have eyes everywhere, ready to assist. With people who breathe just a little easier in the darkness of night. There is no peace in Gotham, but it is no longer a cesspool and war zone. It is simply a city with slightly high crime statistics, rather than a hellmouth. Perhaps this family of self-sufficient children who know nothing but battle is the preferred outcome for Gotham. But Gotham is not you. And you are not the Bruce of this world. It is up to you decide how you want to raise and run your family. As I said, I can pass no judgment on your parenting. All you can do is try and be the best version of yourself, and one day, decide whether that means the best version for Gotham, or the best version for your children.”
6:07 PM
Damian
I am pleased to report that the Justice League reverse-engineered that stupid Bat-seeking dimension device and the imposters have been safely returned to their appropriate universe.
Damian
You cannot imagine the bliss that has fallen over the manor after four days of…children.
--
Brown
Says the 14-year-old 😜
Brown
Do you think ruined any chance of you existing in that other universe??
--
Damian
We did not reveal my parentage, and with luck the Other Father will have forgotten my features before he encounters my Mother, and therefore will not put the pieces together, allowing events to...unfold naturally.
--
Brown
Doesn’t he have an eidetic memory.
--
Damian
I said with luck, not with certainty.
Damian
Anyways, Father says the same people have a way of finding each other in every world, dimension, and universe. He is not worried about accidentally preventing my existence and so I see no reason to.
Damian
I am happy to put this incident and those interlopers firmly behind us.
--
Brown
I’m going to miss them!!! 😢 Hitting everyone with a de-aging ray just wouldn’t be the same. The mini Waynes were totally different people 🥲
--
Damian
And thank God for that. I shudder to imagine what harm could come from a Todd and Cain always in concert. Godspeed to Alternate Father, who knows not what he’s unleashed by allowing them to grow up together.
Damian
I understand why Cain elected to avoid any interaction with them at all costs.
--
Brown
…yeah
Brown
yeah, I do too.
The past four days have sucked.
Neither Batman or Black Bat can punch the cause of it, so they fly as twin furies through Gotham instead. It is not reckless or cruel, but is relentless and angry. More heat and emotion than normal behind each fist and punishing foot. The dual bad mood of the two scariest Bats becomes information widely shared, and the streets quiet unusually fast. A thousand rats scrambling back into holes to wait out the night's storm.
And the storm does end. Before dawn. With two twin shadows perched on a condemned building. Knowing they've punched out all the emotions they can, and all that's left is to talk about it.
But words have never been their preferred form of communication.
A defensive hunch to Cassandra’s shoulders. An unyielding stiffness to Bruce’s. A sideways glance and questioning head tilt. Stiffness ceding to a weary slump, telegraphed guilt in every line of an armoured body. Surprise, outrage in response.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Cass insists. But the guilt remains in Bruce's body. He looks at her, and there's a questioning tilt to his head now, but his stance is bracing. Dreading the answer.
“No,” she says. And then she keeps talking, because he needs more words than she does. “If I regret what made me, then I regret what was made. I do not want to regret myself, who I am.”
Tension bleeds from Bruce's shoulders. Not all, but a lot. He nods.
No matter if there was a better way, a better world, a better version of themselves that could have been; to regret the past is to wish themselves out of existence. Without those past actions, they would not be who they are.
And with that understanding, that agreement, Cass feels a growing bubble of guilt for something else entirely.
1:07 AM
Cass
If you do not kill anyone again ever
Cass
We can be civil maybe
Cass
I will not just see what you did that I don’t like
Cass
I will pay attention instead to what you do now
Cass
Maybe
Cass
I will try
--
💩🔪
Cass sweetheart, I thought you went home?
💩🔪
Give big Cass her phone back and go to sleep. Don’t worry about her and me okay?
--
Cass
😑
Image description: A slightly blurry selfie of Cass with a deadpan expression, holding a piece of paper with BIG CASS written in messy handwriting and an arrow pointing to her face.
--
💩🔪
Ah.
--
The number 💩🔪is no longer in service
--
Cass
🙄
🫵 👶