Chapter Text
Damian woke slowly.
For a few disorienting moments, he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling above him before remembering exactly where he was. The memory returned all at once: the magician, the artifact, the blinding light, another universe, and the deeply unfortunate fact that he had fallen asleep wearing Richard Grayson's clothes.
He sat up and glanced at the clock.
Later than usual.
Much later.
Damian frowned.
Normally, one of his brothers would have interrupted his sleep long before now. Richard in particular had developed an alarming habit of launching himself directly onto Damian's bed whenever breakfast was ready.
His reasoning was apparently that ‘if Damian got to wake him up for patrols, then it was only fair.
The child was a menace.
Alternatively, Damian would have been awakened by an argument. Jason and Richard possessed a remarkable ability to transform absolutely any subject into a debate if left unsupervised together for more than fifteen minutes.
Yet the manor was silent.
No shouting.
No footsteps racing through the halls.
No younger brother attempting to use him as a mattress.
The quiet should have been pleasant.
Instead, it felt wrong.
After showering and changing into the clean clothes Alfred had thoughtfully left outside the guest room, Damian made his way downstairs. The smell of breakfast reached him before he entered the dining room, accompanied by the low murmur of conversation.
Inside, Alfred was serving tea while Richard and the younger Damian sat at the table.
Damian paused briefly in the doorway.
No Bruce.
The relief that immediately settled in his chest was embarrassing enough that he refused to examine it too closely.
Bruce had been nothing but courteous since Damian's arrival. If anything, he had shown an unexpected amount of patience. Yet something about him remained unsettling. Perhaps it was because every interaction reminded Damian that this was not his father. Or perhaps it was because this Bruce seemed strangely relaxed around his children. Comfortable, even. Damian was not entirely certain what to do with that observation.
"Good morning, Master Damian," Alfred greeted.
"Good morning."
Richard looked up immediately and grinned.
"Hey, you survived sleeping in my clothes."
"I fail to see why that would be difficult."
"You've seen my room."
"A fair point."
Satisfied by this exchange, Richard returned to his breakfast.
Damian was about to sit down when he noticed someone else at the table.
A young man he had not seen the previous day looked up from his orange juice and stared openly for a moment before offering an easy smile.
Damian paused.
Interesting.
He mentally reviewed the list of people he had already met in this universe. Bruce. Alfred. Richard. Timothy. Jason. The younger Damian.
This one was new.
"Duke got home late last night," Richard explained, noticing the look. "Study group."
"Study session," the stranger corrected. "Study group sounds less tragic."
"Same difference."
"Duke Thomas," he introduced himself.
Damian nodded.
"Damian Wayne."
Duke snorted.
"Yeah, I gathered that part."
The conversation flowed more naturally after that. Breakfast in this universe seemed less structured than in his own. People drifted in and out of topics without apparent purpose, abandoning one discussion halfway through to start another.
It was oddly familiar.
Questions about his world began appearing almost immediately, mostly from Richard, though Duke proved nearly as curious.
His younger self remained focused on his breakfast throughout most of it. Every now and then, however, Damian would catch him pausing briefly before continuing whatever he had been doing. Listening, perhaps. Not obviously enough to draw attention to it, but enough for Damian to notice.
"You said you were the only vigilante available when all this happened," Richard said eventually. "Doesn't Signal exist in your world?"
"Signal?"
Damian glanced toward Duke.
Understanding dawned immediately.
"Oh. Yes."
Duke looked pleased.
Then Damian continued.
"He's been with the Justice League for several years."
Duke immediately choked on his orange juice.
Alfred appeared beside him so quickly it was honestly impressive.
"The Justice League?" Duke managed.
"Yes."
"The actual Justice League?"
Damian frowned.
"I was unaware there was another."
Across the table, Richard lowered his fork.
"They approached me first," Damian added.
Silence.
Duke stared.
Richard stared.
Even the younger Damian looked up.
"They what?" Duke asked.
"They invited me to join several years ago."
"And?"
"I declined."
The silence somehow deepened.
"You declined the Justice League?" Duke repeated.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Damian looked genuinely confused by the question.
"They required someone capable of coordinating large-scale metahuman operations while maintaining positive public relations. Duke was objectively the better candidate."
Duke stared at him.
Richard stared at him.
Alfred looked suspiciously amused.
Eventually Duke pointed at himself.
"You recommended me?"
"Yes."
"You turned down the Justice League and recommended me."
"Correct."
"...I don't know if that's flattering or terrifying."
"It can be both," Alfred supplied.
The conversation gradually recovered after that.
"What about Cassandra?" Richard asked.
"Cassandra exists."
That immediately drew everyone's attention.
"She is Batgirl."
The younger Damian's posture straightened ever so slightly.
"Cassandra eventually trained several Batgirls of her own," Damian continued. "Stephanie Brown was the first. Barbara Gordon became Batgirl more recently."
Richard immediately looked horrified.
"That order feels deeply wrong."
The younger Damian appeared to consider this carefully before returning his attention to breakfast.
"Cassandra is like a sister to me," Damian continued. "Though not in the same way Mara or Maya are."
The younger Damian nearly looked up before catching himself.
Richard smiled.
"Right. Mara. Your cousin."
"Yes."
Duke frowned.
"Who's Maya?"
A brief silence followed.
"...She's nobody," the younger Damian said.
Across the table, Damian nodded solemnly.
"Indeed. She is nobody."
Richard laughed.
Duke looked between both of them.
"You two are weird."
Neither Damian disagreed.
—
Breakfast eventually came to an end.
Not all at once, but gradually.
Duke was the first to leave after Alfred reminded him that "weekend" did not mean "abandoning all academic responsibilities." Richard disappeared shortly afterward, claiming he had plans before refusing to elaborate further. The younger Damian announced that he had training to complete and his pets to take care of, and departed with the air of someone pretending he had not spent most of breakfast listening to every detail of his older alternative counterpart's life.
Soon enough, the dining room emptied.
The manor grew quiet once more.
Damian found that he hated it.
Back home, an empty manor was almost impossible. If Richard was not racing through the hallways, then Jason was arguing with someone. If neither of them were causing problems, Timothy was usually buried somewhere in the house working on three projects simultaneously.
There was always noise.
Always movement.
Always someone nearby.
Here, every quiet room simply reminded him that they were elsewhere.
Damian found himself drifting toward the Batcave almost automatically. If he could not return home yet, he could at least train. The familiar routine helped. Sparring drills, conditioning exercises, weapons forms. His body knew what to do even when his mind refused to settle.
Unfortunately, his mind refused to settle.
No matter how familiar the routine was, his thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.
Was his family safe ? had the magician hurt them ? Did they fight ? Was Bruce taking care of them during his absence ? were they even aware that he was missing ?
Damian tightened his grip on his sword.
They were probably searching for him.
The thought should have been reassuring.
Instead, it only made the distance between them feel more real.
His next strike landed harder than intended, sending the training dummy rocking backward. Damian immediately corrected his stance and continued the sequence, but his concentration was gone. Every movement felt mechanical. His body followed years of training while his mind remained somewhere else entirely.
Eventually, he lowered the sword.
The cave suddenly felt too empty.
Back home, someone was almost always present. If Richard was not using the training area, then Jason was cleaning weapons or looking for someone to spar with. Timothy frequently occupied one of the workstations, surviving on caffeine and stubbornness. Even when Damian trained alone, there was usually evidence that someone else had been there recently.
Here, there was nothing.
Just silence.
After another few minutes, he abandoned the exercise entirely and headed back upstairs.
He found Alfred in the middle of reorganizing a linen closet.
The older man glanced up as Damian approached and immediately seemed to understand why he was there.
"Master Damian."
"Alfred."
A brief silence followed.
Then Damian asked, "Do you require assistance?"
The corner of Alfred's mouth twitched slightly.
"That depends. Are you volunteering because you genuinely wish to help, or because you are attempting to occupy your thoughts?"
Damian considered lying.
Then decided Alfred would see through it immediately.
"The latter."
"An admirable level of honesty."
Five minutes later, Damian found himself carrying boxes of supplies across the manor.
The tasks themselves were simple enough. Alfred had him reorganize storage rooms, sort inventory records, repair a loose cabinet hinge, and assist with various household chores that Damian suspected had been waiting specifically for someone to volunteer.
The man appeared to possess an endless supply of work. It was honestly impressive. For a while, the distraction succeeded. Focusing on practical tasks occupied enough of his attention that the constant worry faded into the background. Not completely, but enough that he could ignore it.
Unfortunately, thoughts had a habit of returning.
By mid-afternoon, Damian found himself standing near a window folding towels while staring absently at the rain outside.
Alfred noticed immediately. Of course he did.
"You are thinking about them again."
Damian continued folding.
"Yes."
There seemed little point denying it. Alfred hummed thoughtfully as he arranged another stack of linens.
"I imagine they are doing much the same."
The image appeared immediately in Damian's mind. He could picture them anyway.
Timothy would already have taken charge of the situation, coordinating searches and contingency plans while pretending not to be exhausted. Jason would be arguing with him about something, most likely because worrying quietly had never been one of his talents. And Richard… Richard was probably driving both of them insane while demanding constant updates every fifteen minutes.
The thought should have comforted him.
Instead, it made him miss them more.
Alfred seemed to recognize this.
"You know," he said casually, "Master Richard once attempted to convince Master Bruce that a flamingo could be trained as a crime-fighting partner."
Damian blinked.
"What?"
"He had charts."
Damian stared.
"Charts."
"Several."
Alfred continued organizing shelves as though discussing perfectly ordinary events.
"He spent approximately three weeks researching flamingos."
"Why?"
"The answer changed every time someone asked."
Despite himself, Damian felt a small laugh escape.
Alfred's expression softened slightly. Encouraged, he continued.
"Master Jason once became trapped inside a carnival claw machine."
Damian slowly lowered the towel he was holding.
"A claw machine."
"Indeed."
"How?"
"To this day, nobody knows."
"Surely there was an explanation."
"There were several explanations."
Alfred paused.
"Unfortunately, none of them agreed with each other."
Another reluctant smile appeared.
"And Master Timothy once remained awake for seventy-two consecutive hours attempting to prove that a pigeon was spying on him."
Damian frowned.
"Was it?"
"Yes."
Damian nodded.
"Reasonable."
"Quite."
For the first time all day, the weight in Damian's chest eased slightly.
Not gone, never gone. But lighter.
Alfred noticed that too.
"You miss them."
The statement was gentle. Damian looked down at the folded towel in his hands.
"Yes."
It felt strange admitting it aloud.
"I keep thinking about what they are doing."
"I imagine they are thinking about what you are doing as well."
The thought lingered.
Somewhere in another universe, his brothers were likely worrying themselves sick. The realization was oddly comforting because it meant he was not the only one missing someone.
Alfred placed another stack of linens onto the shelf.
"You will return home, Master Damian."
Damian was silent for several moments.
Then he nodded.
"I know."
And he almost believed it.
—
By evening, Damian had almost settled into a routine.
Almost.
The distraction Alfred had provided throughout the afternoon had helped more than Damian cared to admit. Keeping busy left less room for worrying, and worrying, unfortunately, was proving remarkably difficult to stop.
He had just finished helping Alfred carry several boxes into storage when Bruce returned. The man found him in one of the hallways and, after a brief exchange with Alfred that Damian did not quite catch, turned toward him.
"We're heading out on patrol tonight."
Damian blinked.
Bruce continued before he could respond.
"If you'd like to come."
The invitation caught him slightly off guard, not because he wanted to refuse, quite the opposite. Something that wasn't anxiety stirred in his chest.
Patrol.
Something familiar.
Something useful, a purpose.
Damian nodded immediately.
"I would."
Bruce simply inclined his head.
"Good."
An hour later, they were suited up and standing in the Batcave. The patrol roster was surprisingly similar to what Damian was accustomed to at home.
Batman.
Nightwing.
Red Hood.
Red Robin.
Robin.
And himself.
Only there were two main differences.
The first issue, unfortunately, was that his usual codename was already taken.
After a surprisingly lengthy discussion that Damian was convinced everyone else had enjoyed far too much, they had settled on a temporary solution for the evening.
‘Twowings.’
It was an objectively terrible name. The alternative had somehow been "Eagle Two," which was arguably worse. Damian had accepted "Twowings" solely because it reduced the likelihood of Richard attempting to call him "Eagle Two" for the remainder of his stay.
The second issue was that the ages were wrong.
Every time Damian looked at Richard, part of his brain still expected to see a ten-year-old attempting to sneak extra gadgets into his utility belt or hanging off Jason's shoulders despite being far too old for it.
Instead, he found an experienced vigilante adjusting his escrima sticks while discussing patrol routes with Batman.
The sensation remained deeply unsettling.
It became even stranger when the younger Damian arrived.
Robin dropped down from one of the upper platforms with the casual confidence of someone entirely accustomed to moving through the Cave. He landed beside Batman, exchanged a brief look with his father, then glanced toward his older counterpart.
Only briefly, as though he wasn't particularly interested.
Damian almost rolled his eyes.
The patrol itself began quietly. Gotham appeared determined to cooperate for once. They stopped a robbery in progress near Robinson Park, interrupted a small drug exchange in the Narrows, and prevented an attempted mugging that ended before it truly began. Nothing particularly unusual. Nothing that required more than routine intervention.
And despite himself, Damian began relaxing.
The rhythm was familiar.
Comforting, even.
Move. Observe. Intervene. Disappear.
The same routine he had followed for years.
The others settled into it just as naturally. Watching them work together was strange in a way Damian struggled to define. Their movements were familiar, but not quite. Similar enough to remind him of home, different enough to constantly pull him out of the illusion.
Robin was perhaps the strangest part of all.
The younger Damian fought exactly as Damian remembered fighting at that age: efficient, aggressive, and entirely convinced he was the most competent person present. Watching it from the outside was a mildly horrifying experience.
At one point, after a particularly brief confrontation with a group of armed thieves, Damian caught both Red Robin and Robin looking at him.
"What?" he asked.
Tim blinked.
"Nothing."
"You are staring."
"I was observing."
"You were staring."
Beside him, Robin scoffed.
"You disarmed four people in twelve seconds."
Damian turned toward him.
"That is not especially impressive."
Robin's expression immediately suggested he disagreed.
The evening continued.
Gradually, Damian became aware that they were evaluating him.
Not constantly nor obviously.
But enough.
Nightwing paid attention to how he moved through crowded areas and coordinated around civilians. Batman seemed interested in his threat assessments and decision-making. Red Hood watched his fighting style whenever they engaged opponents directly.
Robin was subtler.
The younger boy never openly stared. Instead, Damian would occasionally notice him adjusting his own approach after watching something Damian had done, or lingering nearby during an investigation before moving away again.
The result was mildly irritating.
Eventually, reports of suspected trafficking activity near Gotham's industrial district reached them.
That immediately changed the tone of the patrol.
The operation was larger than anything they had dealt with earlier that night. Several vehicles were involved, along with multiple armed suspects and a number of potential victims.
The family spread out automatically.
Damian found himself working alongside Red Robin and Robin while Nightwing and Red Hood moved to secure possible escape routes. Batman coordinated from above, directing them toward key positions.
The first several minutes proceeded smoothly.
Then something went wrong.
Damian never figured out exactly what. One moment Red Robin was advancing toward cover while tracking two suspects. The next, a trafficker hidden beneath a parked truck emerged with a handgun and fired. Everything happened instantly.
The angle was wrong.
Red Robin hadn't seen him.
Damian reacted before conscious thought could catch up. He lunged. The impact sent both of them crashing behind a concrete barrier as the shot struck the pavement where Tim had been standing less than a second earlier.
For a brief moment, neither moved.
Then Damian grabbed Red Robin's shoulder.
"Are you injured?"
Tim blinked.
"...I don't think so?"
Damian was already checking.
No gunshot wound or serious injury, just bruising from the fall.
Across the alley, Robin had frozen for half a second before immediately returning to the fight. Even so, Damian caught the brief glance he threw in their direction once the immediate threat had passed.
Relief arrived so quickly it immediately transformed into irritation.
Tim was fine. Mostly.
A few bruises. Nothing serious.
Still…
The rest of the operation concluded shortly afterward. Nobody escaped. The victims were secured. An anonymous tip was delivered to the GCPD.
By the time they returned to the Batcave, everything should have been over.Instead, Damian's irritation had only grown.
Red Robin removed his mask as they descended the stairs.
He looked tired.
Slightly bruised.
Entirely too unconcerned.
Robin was already there, pulling off his gloves while pretending not to pay attention.
Damian finally snapped.
"What were you thinking?"
The entire cave went quiet.
Tim blinked.
"What?"
"You exposed yourself to an unknown firing angle."
"I didn't see him."
"Exactly."
Tim looked increasingly confused.
"I got surprised."
"You should not have."
Jason stopped halfway through removing his helmet. Dick slowly lowered one escrima stick. Robin looked up immediately. Even Bruce glanced away from the computer. Damian continued before anyone could interrupt.
"You entered the area without fully clearing your surroundings. You advanced before confirming all threats. If I had reacted even one second later–"
His voice cut off abruptly.
The silence that followed felt much louder than anything he had said.
Tim stared.
Jason stared.
Dick stared.
The younger Damian stared.
And Damian, breathing slightly harder than he should have been, suddenly realized he sounded far more upset than anything that had actually happened.
Or rather–
Far more upset than this situation justified, because for one terrible second, all he had seen was Timothy lying injured. And his mind had not cared which universe he was in.
The silence stretched for several uncomfortable seconds. Damian could feel everyone looking at him.
Wonderful.
He had lost control of himself.
Not completely, not enough to be embarrassing by normal standards, but enough that he knew exactly what had happened.
For a brief moment he had not seen Red Robin.
He had seen Timothy.
His Timothy.
And the memory of being trapped in another universe while his family dealt with a magical threat alone had done the rest.
Damian closed his eyes briefly.
"...My apologies."
That seemed to surprise everyone.
Jason nearly dropped his helmet.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
Dick elbowed him immediately.
"What?" Jason whispered. "He apologized."
Damian ignored them.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked directly at Tim.
"You were not seriously injured."
"No," Tim agreed.
"Then my reaction was disproportionate."
"A little."
Damian exhaled slowly through his nose. Tim, to his credit, did not look offended. Mostly confused. Perhaps a little concerned.
Before either of them could say anything else, Dick clapped his hands together.
"Okay!"
Everyone turned toward him.
"We are all going to pretend this never happened."
"That's not healthy," Jason said.
"It's healthier than whatever this is."
"Fair."
Dick pointed toward the elevator.
"Come on. Let's leave the emotionally constipated siblings alone."
Tim groaned.
"Goodnight, Master Damian," Alfred added from where he had somehow appeared carrying a medical kit.
Then everyone left. Even Bruce, though not before giving Tim a look Damian could not quite decipher.