Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Bruce sat at the head of the overly long dining room table. Whose idea was it to fill the room with such a ridiculous table? Had there ever been enough people in this house to justify it? And now, he was the only one left to sit at it. 

Alfred had come and gone, leaving a plate of food in front of Bruce, but he hadn’t touched it. The meal—whatever it was—had grown cold and unappetising. On the other hand, he had no appetite to begin with. With a fork, he listlessly pushed cold green beans and potatoes through the congealing sauce. 

He stared across the table to the foot where not long ago Jason had sat. Before him, Dick had filled the same spot. The boys were different in so many ways, and yet, they were both his sons. His gaze softened and he stared into the middle distance, not seeing the room as it was in the present, rather as it had been in the not too distant past. 

When Dick joined him at dinner, the room was never silent. He never had to scramble to find conversation. Before the boy, Bruce’s conversation skills were lacking due to the amount of time he’d spent alone lost in his own thoughts. But Dick filled the silence with his boyish joy. He regaled Bruce with stories of his day at school or his adventures with the Titans. He didn’t need Bruce to answer, but eventually Bruce learned how to engage the boy and encourage him with questions and prompts. It didn’t even matter if the stories were true or exaggerations told to make Bruce smile. When Dick was there, meals weren’t simply a duty he needed to perform in order to keep up his strength for the mission. They were times of connection and family. During those days, Bruce had actually looked forward to meals.

Then, there was Jason. In those first days, Bruce remembered how Jason would consume all the food on his plate before Bruce was even half finished. He would always have seconds, and if Alfred allowed it, thirds. When he thought Bruce and Alfred weren’t looking, Jason would sequester bits of food in his pockets to save for later. It wasn’t long after both adults had noticed this tendency, that, thanks to Alfred, tins of biscuits and bowls of fruit started appearing in rooms throughout the Manor. Bruce had made certain the boy would never go hungry again. Until...until...he never needed to eat again. 

Bruce slammed his fist against the bloody ridiculous table. The dishes jumped and clattered at the force of the blow. Before the dishes had settled, Alfred was at his side, clearing away the uneaten food. The butler didn’t bother to hide his disapproval at Bruce’s lack of appetite. 

“You need to eat, sir. I can bring you a fresh plate,” Alfred said, though he knew the suggestion would fall on deaf ears. 

“No,” Bruce snapped. “I’m not hungry.”

“Please sir, you cannot continue in this manner. If you do not want to eat in the dining room, I could set up a table in the kitchen, or,” Alfred sniffed in disapproval, but continued with the suggestion anyways, “...the Cave.”

“I said, I’m not hungry,” Bruce growled, sounding more like Batman than Bruce. He stood with such force that his chair crashed to the floor. Though Alfred started at the clatter, Bruce didn’t even notice the noise or the mess. He stormed from the dining room and towards the secret passage to the Cave. 

“Very well, sir, you shall go to bed hungry,” Alfred muttered to himself. That threat had never worked, not even when the boy had been a child. He had always been too stubborn, too headstrong. Now that the boy was a man it had even less of an impact. He’d only grown more stubborn and more headstrong.

Alone in the Manor proper, Alfred righted the chair Bruce had abandoned and sank into it. The Manor was too quiet these days without the presence of Master Dick or Master Jason or Miss Barbara. These days, the only sounds to echo throughout the Manor were Bruce’s outbursts as he attempted to push away the remnants of his family. 

Alfred closed his eyes and uttered a prayer. “Let him heal, Lord. If I cannot reach him, please bring someone else into his life who can. Amen.”

Chapter Text

Steph groaned as she opened her eyes and stared up at the burgeoning dawn. Something sharp and lumpy jabbed into her back and she couldn’t get comfortable. It definitely hadn’t been dawn the last time she remembered being conscious and this wasn’t her bed. Pushing herself up, Steph sat on what appeared to be a rooftop in Gotham. Where had the lightning storm gone? She massaged her temples trying to quell the throbbing pain that was making it hard to think.

“Who thought it was a good idea to beat me over the head with a jackhammer?” she moaned. 

“It’s a sledgehammer,” Damian quipped from somewhere behind her. 

She turned and forced a grin at the boy. They weren’t the only ones on the roof, Tim and Cass were there as well. 

“No, it’s definitely a rhythmic pounding, hence the jackhammer.” 

Cass had already found her feet and was helping Steph stand. Tim and Damian glared at each other and stood without help. 

“Jackhammer,” Cass said decidedly, agreeing with Steph. 

“Whatever it is, I wish it would stop.” Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, status report. What do we know?”

“Who put you in charge?” Damian demanded. The headache was making the boy even more snippy than usual. 

“Well, I know I wasn’t on a rooftop before waking up here.” Steph said, breaking in before Tim and Damian could start arguing about who had a better claim on leadership. “I was most definitely working on homework for Babs’ class. Do you think she’ll take mysterious abduction as an excuse for not finishing it on time?”

Cass nodded while Tim shook his head. Damian scoffed with his familiar “Tt.” 

“What were the rest of you doing” Steph asked. 

‘Sparring with Bruce.’ Cass signed. Her wrapped hands lent unneeded proof to her statement. 

“I was preparing to head out on patrol with Grayson,” Damian said.

Tim frowned. “That’s odd. I was checking up on Jason’s whereabouts.”

“That’s entirely too weird to be a coincidence. What do you think it means?” Steph asked. “And, anybody know which rooftop we’re on?”

Cass moved to the edge of the building and looked down into the street. Tim followed suit. 

‘Washington and 15.’ Cass’ forehead creased in puzzlement as she returned and reported to the others. ‘Wrong.’

“There’s something off with scene.” Tim added. “It looks familiar, but not how it appeared when I was last on patrol.” 

“A city doesn’t change overnight,” Damian challenged Tim’s assessment. 

Steph and Tim shared an eye roll over Damian’s head. In Gotham it wasn’t unusual for things to change over night, only those changes were usually not quite as subtle as the street below. 

‘Need more information,’ Cass signed.

“There’s a safe house on 12th. We can regroup there and figure out what’s going on,” Tim suggested. 

Damian looked over the edge of the building. None of them were in uniform and the sides of the building had no convenient balconies or fire escapes for a free climb. “And how exactly do you propose we get there?”

Before Tim could bark out a biting retort, Cass held a hand between the boys. “Stop.”

“Cass is right. We can’t afford to be at each others’ throats right now. We need to figure this out together. Once we know the situation, the two of you can go back to business as usual.” Steph placed one hand on Tim’s shoulder and the other on Damian’s to keep them apart. 

The boys cast weary glances at each other before settling the issue with a pair of curt nods. 

“Okay. Good. Now, Damian does have a point. We can’t take the rooftops—no grapples—and the building appears to be all sheer surfaces. How are we going to get there?” 

Cass started towards a door on the roof. It swung open before she reached it. A couple of employees in coveralls and carrying cigarette packages exited onto the roof. They nodded to Cass without a break in their conversation. She caught the door with her foot and held it open for the others. 

Tim shrugged. “That solves the first problem, as for the second. We walk. It’s only a couple of blocks.” 

Once they made their way to the sidewalk, Steph shivered in her t-shirt and pyjama pants. She hoped she still had a change of clothes at the safe house. The sun was only just breaking over the horizon and the air was chill with the promise of fall. And Tim was right, she also recognised the city streets, but it was like someone had pulled it from a distant memory. 

Chapter Text

Bruce threw on his uniform in an almost haphazard manner. His uniform was becoming too loose. Just slightly, a little extra space where there shouldn’t be any. Theoretically, he knew this wasn’t a good thing, but he couldn’t make himself care. He wanted to be out of the Cave before Alfred followed him down and reminded him he was behaving like a child. He already knew that. 

Like every night, he tried to abstain from looking at the case containing Jason’s uniform. Like every night, his gaze was inexplicably drawn to it. Not long ago, Jason had been so full of life and passion. He had come to their mission with a perspective so different than the one that had drawn Bruce and Dick. For them, it had been a single traumatic instance that rewrote the course of their lives. For Jason, it was borne of a life lived on the streets they all fought to change. He had understood the violence and deprivation of the street in a way that Bruce never would. Never could. He had taken to his new life as a vigilante like he’d been born for it. When Bruce brought him into the family, he’d never imagined that it would have ended like this.

Jason had been hungry to learn. He soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Bruce had lost track of the number of times he turned a corner in the Manor and found Jason curled up with a book. Any free moment, was a moment to learn something new and he had learned quickly. For the first time in his short life, the boy had everything he needed to thrive—a full stomach, a loving home, and a safe environment. Only, the last one had been a pretence. Bruce had failed to keep his boy safe. 

And now, only his uniform remained. 

Bruce would never put another child in the line of fire. He wouldn’t allow another person to be the target of his foes. The bait used in the trap to draw out Batman. Everyone close to him got hurt. The uniform would remind him of that. 

He needed to get out of here. He needed to get away from all the memories that hung like the black cloths draped over mirrors during a period of mourning. A mourning that seemed to have no end. It didn’t matter if he was Bruce or Batman the mourning remained. 

Like every night since Jason’s death, he would go out and try to leave the memories behind. He would work out his rage and grief and guilt on the scum the filled the streets of Gotham. By dawn, he would leave a bloody swathe in his path. But, it was never enough. It never stopped hurting. 

Only after the roar of the Batomobile faded from the Cave did Alfred make his way down to the lower sanctum. The cavernous space echoed with Bruce’s lingering grief and guilt. Alfred stowed his own grief. He needed to remain strong for the others. Even if the others no longer spent their time at the Manor, he would remain there, waiting for them to come home. 

He had scarcely seen Miss Barbara or Master Dick since Jason’s funeral. Every night, as Bruce headed out to the city, Alfred wondered if he should call them. Let them know that their former mentor needed them. Every night, the calls went unmade. Bruce would only push them away, most likely in the most hurtful way possible. Their relationships were already on tenterhooks and Alfred wasn’t sure any of them would survive a brutal confrontation. 

Still, Bruce needed someone to remind him of why he did this. Without a Robin, Batman was little more than another lost soul that Gotham threatened to consume.

As he organised the mess Bruce left in his rush to leave, Alfred whispered a prayer. “Please, keep my boy safe. He shouldn’t be alone. Send him someone he cannot turn away. Amen.” 

Chapter Text

“Let me try.” Damian demanded, as the doorknob didn’t budge for Tim.

Tim resisted the urge to sigh heavily and once again aggravate his younger brother. “It’s not going to make a difference who tries. The biometric locks aren’t here.”

With the myriad of safe houses set up throughout the city and around the world, someone had decided that instead of carrying around a collection of keys, they ought to change the locks to a biometric sensor keyed for each member of the family. Tim knew Barbara had changed the lock on this safe house. He’d helped her. There was nothing here but an old fashion lock. Without his gear, Tim wasn’t sure how they were supposed to get in. 

“Move over,” Steph nudged Tim out of the way with her hip. “This is why you always carry a couple of these.” 

Steph pulled bobby pins from her hair and worked the lock. After a moment, the lock clicked and the door swung open. 

They froze in the doorway, shocked by the state of the apartment. For the oldest three vigilantes, it looked like something straight from their childhoods. For Damian, it was like looking at a museum display. The television and computer were bulky awkward devises that took up the entirety of an entertainment center and a desk, respectively. 

“What’s the date?” Steph asked the question they were all thinking. 

Tim entered the apartment and snatched a crumpled paper off the table. He paled as he found the date on the front page. “Oh.” 

It was enough to unfreeze the others and draw them into the room. The door shut behind them with a foreboding click. 

Steph read the paper over Tim’s shoulder. “Oh my....It’s after....”

“Before....” Tim stared at the paper unblinking. His hands trembled. 

“What?” Damian demanded, unable to see what all the fuss was about. 

Cass pointed at the date. “After Jason. Before Tim.”

“Before all of us.” Steph sat heavily in one of the chairs around the table. 

A beep sounded from near the door, drawing them all out of their reveries. 

“The security code.” Tim dashed for the control panel beside the door. In this time period, it wasn’t long before he started to train as Robin. He was the only one who knew how things worked back then. Back now? He hoped he could remember the codes that would reset the alarm. He hoped the ones he remembered would actually work. Or, they would all be seeing Batman soon. 

It took three tries before the beeping stopped. He wasn’t sure if that meant the code had worked, or if it had sent an alert to the Batcomputer. Either way, they would know for certain soon. 

When he returned to the others, Steph was scanning the paper for mentions of her dad while Cass surveyed the apartment and Damian was trying to figure out how to turn on the television. 

“We should stock up and be prepared to head out. I turned the alarm off, but I don’t know if it alerted the Cave or not.” Tim said.

This time Damian didn’t protest Tim’s attempt at leadership. He was the closest they had to an expert about this era. 

Steph pushed away from the table. “Hey Damian, give me a hand in the kitchen.”

“Why should I do that?” Despite his protest, Damian followed. 

“Because we should eat while we can and it’ll go faster if we work together.”

“Hmph.” 

Tim sighed and headed towards the bedroom where Cass was already exploring. It seemed like everyone got along better with Damian than he did. Then again, no one else had the same rocky start with the boy as he had. 

‘Look’ Cass signed as Tim came up beside her. She’d opened the secret compartment at the back of the closet. Besides the spare Batman and Nightwing uniforms, old Robin and Batgirl uniforms hung in the closet. Hidden behind the costumes was a stockpile of weapons and tools. 

“Help me grab tools for everyone. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to touch the uniforms, but I don’t want to leave here unarmed.” 

Cass nodded and started sorting through the weapons, setting aside the preferred implements for each of them. When they found what they needed, Tim sealed up the compartment as if it had never been open. 

“Breakfast,” Steph called from the other room. “Eat it while it’s edible.” 

Chapter Text

Bruce had been pushing his return to the Cave later and later, until this morning when he was almost caught in rush hour traffic. In the Batmobile he skirted the worse of the traffic. His head swam in the fog of sleep deprivation and hunger. Thankfully he didn’t need to focus on the road, the car’s autopilot took charge and manoeuvred him safely back to the Cave where he could hide until it was time to go out again. 

Alfred would remind him that this was exactly why he needed to eat and to sleep. Except, both appetite and rest had long since deserted him. He didn’t need a babysitter. Well, maybe he did, but he didn’t want one. He didn’t want to need anyone. It was better if he was alone. Then no one else could get hurt. 

The Batmobile pulled into the Cave and parked. Bruce limped from the car and peeled out of his uniform. He left the pieces of armour strewn in his wake as he made his way to the computer. Before he could go upstairs (Did he even want to go upstairs?), he needed to write the report about what he’d done that evening.

Someone—Alfred—had left a sandwich and tea beside the computer. The tea had gone cold due to his late arrival. He drank it anyway. Mindlessly, he ate the sandwich not tasting it as he swallowed. He stared sightlessly at the computer for a whole five minutes before he realised that there was an alert blinking on the screen. How long had it been there?

Slightly revived by the food and drink, Bruce pulled up the alert. One of his safe houses had been broken into. Whoever they were they had entered without a key, then had tried to enter the all-clear code into the security system. After the third failed attempt, an alert had been sent to the Batcomputer. 

Even though they weren’t really talking, he had made certain Barbara and Dick knew the alarm codes for all the safe houses. So, it probably wasn’t them. Had it been simply bad luck that the intruders had chosen his safe house to break into, or had they known it was Batman’s? Did it really matter? Either way he needed to figure out who they were. At least it gave him an excuse for not spending more time in the empty Manor. 

He glanced back at the pieces of his uniform strewn along the walkways. He didn’t have the energy or desire to put it all back on. Besides, he didn’t want to take the Batmobile out during the sunlit hours of the day. Surely the intruders were gone by now and it wouldn’t matter what he wore, so he changed into last nights clothing and headed for the garage and one of his more subtle civilian vehicles.

There wasn’t much in the apartment. The electronics were valuable, but even then the few pieces wouldn’t take long to move. If someone tried to access the computer without a proper password, the system would fry. And nothing would lead back to him. It would be more of a problem if they found the secret compartment at the back of the closet. But it was so cunningly hidden you had to know exactly what you were looking for to find it. 

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief that Bruce had actually eaten the sandwich he’d left. He couldn’t continue at this pace. He was running himself beyond ragged. If things didn’t change soon, Alfred feared something would happen that Bruce wouldn’t be able to live down. 

As grateful as he was that Bruce had finally eaten, he wished he would rest as well. Instead, he had gone out again. Though this time, as Bruce. It worried Alfred that he didn’t know where his boy was going. It couldn’t be to the office, not in the state he was in. He wasn’t meeting with friends. Bruce didn’t really have any good friends as Bruce. Batman had friends and colleagues, while Bruce merely had acquaintances.

Much quicker on the uptake than Bruce, he noticed the alert still blinking on the screen. Apparently Bruce had forgotten about the security camera. That wasn’t a good sign. Alfred pulled up the camera feed. He blinked at the image that filled the screen. No, that didn’t make sense. He refreshed the feed. The image didn’t change.

Four children lingered around the table, eating blurry bowls of something he couldn’t quite make out. That wasn’t quite correct. Three of the intruders were adults, just barely. The fourth was a child. It was an unusual grouping. They didn’t appear to be related, though they moved as a team—as a family. 

Could they be the answer to his prayers?

Chapter Text

“Eat it while it’s edible.” Ringing endorsement. Steph sighed as she placed bowls of lumpy oatmeal around the table. Practically all the food in the kitchen was either canned or boxed. Nothing was fresh, unless you counted the small assortment of condiments in the fridge. It wasn’t much of a meal, but it would tide them over until they found a better option. 

Tim and Cass returned to the dining area with armfuls of weapons and tools.

“If anyone wants to change, there are some clothes in the bedroom dresser. I suggest not touching anything that was Jason’s, but I don’t think they’ll miss the rest at least for a bit,” Tim said. 

“I suppose that’s meant for me.” Steph plucked at the hem of her t-shirt. Cass didn’t seem to mind going around in her workout clothes, though she had added a sweatshirt. Easier to hide her weapons that way. Both of the boys were dressed in sweats and hoodies. She’d been in her pjs when she’d been scooped back in time. It really wasn’t fair. 

Tim shrugged. “It was meant for any of us. It’s not like any of us are dressed for the era.”

Steph rolled her eyes and headed for the bedroom. “Right. Well, if it wasn’t freezing outside, I’d be tempted to not change.” 

She sorted through drawers while Tim and Damian argued about the proper method for making instant coffee in voices loud enough to be heard throughout the apartment. Finally, Steph found the drawer where Babs had kept spare clothes. She wondered how long it would be before Babs would miss these clothes? Would she even notice they're missing by the time she returned? Snagging a pair of jeans and sweater that looked like they’d fit, she quickly changed and returned to the dining room. 

Cass had passed out the weapons and Tim had placed mugs of black coffee by each of the table settings. 

Steph stuck her spoon into the oatmeal and it stuck straight up. She made a face at the rogue utensil as she ate a spoonful of sticky oatmeal. “So, we know when and where we are. Do we know the why or how?”

Tim shook his head. “We also need to figure out what type of time travel we experienced.” 

“Are you saying there are multiple versions of time travel?” Damian sprinkled lumps of brown sugar over his oatmeal. 

“Yes.” Cass, Tim, and Steph chimed in unison. 

“Geeks.” Damian muttered. 

Steph scooped a lump of brown sugar from the top of Damian’s bowl and stirred it into hers. He thumped her knuckles with his spoon and she stuck her tongue out at him. “No really, it’s important to know if you’re involved with static or dynamic time travel. With one, you can’t change your present no matter what you do, or your actions in the past have already caused your present to exist. While the other you have to be careful about everything you do or you’ll end up living in a new timeline. And paradoxes, you don’t want those.” 

“A bit of a simplistic explanation, but covers the basics.” Tim forwent his oatmeal and made a disgusted face as he sipped his coffee. “If we want to return to our present they way we left it, we have to be careful we don’t change this present with our knowledge of the past.” 

‘Confusing.’ Cass signed. She tucked into her oatmeal, consuming it lumps and all.

“Agreed,” Damian said. “How do you determine which time travel you’re experiencing?” 

Tim shrugged. “By being very careful and hoping we don’t disappear before we can figure out how to get home.” 

‘Before I woke up here,’ Cass signed. ‘Air was filled with red and yellow lightning.’

“The lightning storm,” Steph gasped. She remembered the odd red and yellow flashes of light that had illuminated the night sky outside her bedroom window. She had just started to wonder about them when she woken up here. 

Tim gnawed his lip and frowned. Steph could sense he had an idea about what had happened, but he wasn’t ready to discuss it yet. That left a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Whatever he knew, it wasn’t good news. He shook his head like that could dispel his doubts. Then he met each of their gazes in turn. He spoke slowly and solemnly. “A while ago, I had access to a Lazarus Pit. I wanted to bring my dad back. Dick was there and he said he knew I’d make the right decision. He trusted me. So, I need to trust all of you to make the right decisions too. A lot has happened to us and Gotham and even the world since this moment. We’ll be tempted to change it, to warn someone. But we can’t. We need to keep each other accountable.” 

Cass nodded with the same solemnity that Tim had demonstrated. Steph pressed a hand to her abdomen. An overwhelming weight settled on her shoulders at the very personal reminder that any changes to her life in the past could affect her daughter as well. 

Damian frowned. “We could change things for the better. We could prevent Father from being lost in time.” 

“If Bruce wasn’t lost, Dick wouldn’t have been Batman. You wouldn’t have been his Robin. Actions have consequences.” The skin around Tim’s eyes was pinched like he was still experiencing the jackhammer headache. 

“But...”

Tim tried another tactic. “Damian. How old were you? Right now, in this present.”

Damian opened his mouth to respond, but snapped it shut as they all heard the soft click of the living room window being jimmied open. 

The conversation ceased and they reached for the weapons Cass had provided. Without a word, they had all stood and shifted into fighting positions. By the time the dark silhouette pushed past the blinds, they were all ready to attack or defend as the situation called. 

All but Tim stared agog at the figure standing at the far side of the living room.

“Bruce,” Tim said loudly over Damian’s whispered, “Father.” 

Tim had told Steph the story of how he had become Robin. He had told her how Bruce had spiralled after Jason’s death. She’d known the facts but she had never considered the reality. Bruce wasn’t the Bruce they had all come to know. He was so young. But his relative youth was negated by his gaunt and ragged appearance. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His clothes were rumpled and disheveled. If this was how he handled grief, Steph hoped he would never lose another Robin. She wondered if he had been this upset at her reported death. 

As surprised as they were by Bruce’s appearance, Bruce appeared even more surprised by their presence in his safe house. 

Chapter Text

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded. 

Who were these strangers who knew his name and made themselves at home in his safe house? They’d helped themselves to his food and his weapons. They had found the secret compartment in the closer. How? And the weapons they’d chosen were an odd selection. They held them with the comfortable familiarity borne of long practice and frequent use. 

The older boy had chosen a bo staff, while the younger held one of Cavalier’s rapiers. Bruce had been meaning to take the rapier back to the Cave but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Now, this boy held it steady with a practiced arm. The girls had foregone any of the traditional weapons. The blonde had chosen a handful of Batarangs. She gripped them in a way that told Bruce she’d thrown them before. Which didn’t make any sense. Batarangs were his creation and they weren’t an easy weapon to use well without consistent practice. It was the other girl who was the real threat in the room. Though she carried no weapons, her stance was that of a lethal and experienced martial artist. Her wrapped hands were raised in a defensive position that would quickly become offensive if she decided to attack. 

“Friends,” the oldest boy spoke at last. He lowered his staff, and the others followed suit. Though they held their weapons at ease, they were ready to wield them at a moment’s notice. They were warriors. 

“That’s not good enough,” Bruce growled, Batman echoed in his words. None of them flinched or shied away from the growl. They weren’t intimidated by Batman. 

Though he was wary of them, they were familiar to him. He would swear that he had never seen them before, yet he knew them. Was it strange that their presence tugged at his heart in the same way it did when he thought of Dick or Barbara or Jason? Not in those moments when he tried to push everyone away for their own safety, rather in those quiet moments as he laid down for another sleepless night and he recalled the sense of family his protégés’ presence had brought into his lonely life. He placed his hand over his heart like that could stop the ache that pierced to the very core of his being. It was that same metaphysical pain that had been plaguing him since Jason’s death and that no amount of Batman-ing could soothe. 

But, that was ridiculous. These children were strangers. They were trespassers and thieves. Weren’t they? He asked again, “Who are you?”

The group looked to the older of the two boys. The older boy reminded Bruce of one of his business associates. Which one? Travis? Davis?  No. Drake. But, Drake didn't have a son this old. He didn’t know Drake well and he knew even less about the rest of his family. From what he could recall, the Drake boy—Titus? Timothy? Tommy?—was still a child. The young man in front of him straddled the line between being a child and an adult. 

When he locked eyes with the young man, Bruce inhaled sharply and stepped back. His eyes. The boy had seen too much too soon. He'd lost too much. Bruce knew that look. It was the one that stared back at him in the mirror every night as he put on the cowl. 

"That's difficult to explain," the young man said at last. 

"Ti—Alvin, can't we..." The blonde young woman touched Alvin's arm in a way that spoke of long friendship and affinity. Possibly more. 

She too had an air of familiarity. But not of someone he had met as Bruce. No, she had a connection to his other life. Was she related to someone in his rogues gallery? To someone he’d sent to Arkham or Blackgate. Was she out for vengeance? Had she recruited this group to take him down? 

No. Not with the way she was interacting with the others. While the intruders had been facing off with Bruce, she’d been keeping a concerned eye on the others (particularly the younger boy), much like a big sister. When she looked at Bruce it was with compassion, not revenge or hate. 

Alvin shook his head. His eyes were sad, he was seeing something Bruce wasn't. "We talked about this. We shouldn't even be here."

Bruce’s head swam and he wanted to sit down. But he couldn’t, not with the mystery before him. So, he tried again. “Who are you?” 

“Erm....” The blonde hesitated. “Crystal...uh...Smith.”

It was obviously a false name and no help at figuring out her identity, but at least he had something to call her besides ‘the blonde.’

The other girl stepped forward so she stood in front of Bruce. She cupped her hand against his cheek and studied his face. Her hand was cool against his flushed and fevered skin. He wanted to look away from her all-seeing gaze, but he refused to back down from the challenge. Was it possible that she was seeing through all his lies and masks? It felt as though her gaze pierced through his recent loss and pain and traveled all the way back to that first loss and pain that had broke and transformed him. He thought he might drown in the mingled grief.  

After what felt like an eternity she stepped away, but didn’t drop her gaze. With space between them again, he could start to order his thoughts. Like the other two, he could almost swear he knew her. Something in the efficient way she moved reminded him of the teachers he had sought out while training to become Batman.

Cain. The name came unbidden to his mind. He shuddered at the thought of the master assassin having a child of his own. Though she moved like one who had studied under Cain’s tutelage, her eyes didn’t possess the hard edge of a professional killer. When she’d touched his face, it had been like she was trying to communicate with him, to tell him all the things for which she had no words. To comfort him.

Surely he was imagining things. He hadn’t been taking care of himself and it must be catching up to him. The only reason he was seeing a pattern, was because he desperately needed to find a reasonable explanation. He needed to find a way to rationalise the existence of the final member of the group. To explain the boy with Wayne eyes.  

Ever since Bruce had broken into his own safe house, the youngest boy hadn’t stopped staring at him. The boy’s lips were pressed into a tight line and he refused to speak. Once Bruce made eye contact with the boy, he couldn't look away. He knew those eyes as well as he knew his own. He looked up at them everyday hoping his father would be proud. Now they stared back at him, proud and defiant and lost.

“Who are you?” Bruce asked in a hoarse whisper. His head spun. He wanted to—needed to—lie down. His arm throbbed.

The young woman with the all-seeing gaze, moved her hands. She was communicating in sign language. 

“Again?” He fumbled through his limited sign vocabulary. Up to this point in his life, he hadn’t put much of an effort into learning to sign and only had a rudimentary knowledge. Maybe he ought to change that... 

She repeated the sign and at last his brain grasped onto the meaning. 

“Family,” he translated. 

She nodded and moved her hand in a gesture that seemed to encompass everyone in the room, even him. Then, she repeated the same sign, family. 

If they were family, what did that make them to him? 

He shook his head. Nothing, of course. There was no connection, there couldn’t be. They were strangers who only sort-of, kind-of resembled people from both halves of his life, people from his past and future. 

No, that was too literary. Too symbolic. This kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Surely they weren’t really here. This must be a vision. A dream. A symptom of his overworked and over exhausted body and brain. 

Alfred’s advice was finally beginning to make sense. If he’d eaten and slept, maybe his brain would be working more clearly. Maybe he’d be able to piece this puzzle together. He was pretty certain those figments of his imagination were beginning to question him. Concerned for his well-being. How polite for intruders. 

The light-headedness was definitely catching up with him and it was making it hard for him to plan. He needed to return home. No, not home, to the Cave. Neither the Cave nor the Manor truly felt like home anymore. They were simply the places he occupied between his nights on the street. 

Once he was back at the Manor, food then sleep. Or, maybe the other way around. But first...first....he was going to collapse. 

“Catch him.” Tim said, as Bruce fell forward and drifted into unconsciousness. 

Chapter Text

“Steph, help me get him to the bedroom.” Tim grunted. He had caught Bruce before he collapsed to the floor, but Bruce was a big man and as heavy as he appeared.

“Should we be using our names? Maybe he’s pretending. That’s totally a Batman-thing he’d do.” Steph stepped to Bruce’s other side and wrapped her arm around him, taking half his weight from Tim. 

“Not pretending,” Cass said. “Unconscious.” 

Cass’ affirmation was good enough for the rest of them to relax as they set about seeing to the welfare of their once and future mentor. Damian proceeded to the apartment’s single bedroom and prepared the bed so it was ready by the time Steph and Tim had managed to manhandle Bruce into the room and onto the bed.

“What is wrong with him?” Damian demanded. Though he tried to sound tough, his lips trembled before the boy managed to pull them into a tight scowl. 

Cass stood in the doorway. Even though she couldn’t see Bruce through the others gathered around the bed, she closed her eyes and mentally reviewed their encounter from moments earlier. “Exhausted. Arm injured.” 

Tim had noticed the exhaustion, but had missed the injured arm. Then again, this was Bruce and Cass had an advantage when it came to interpreting people’s movements. Though he would have tried to hide his injury from the intruders, this Bruce wouldn’t have known the extent to which he needed to act if he wanted to fool Cass. 

It didn’t take long for Tim to examine Bruce’s arm and find where blood was discolouring the dark fabric of his shirt. Steph handed him one of the Batarangs she still held and he cut away the sleeve. A jagged red gash slashed across Bruce’s upper arm. It needed to be cleaned and stitched. It didn’t look infected—yet—but if it wasn’t cared for soon it would be bad. 

Damian hissed. Tim couldn’t interpret the sound. But, apparently Steph could. She wrapped an arm around Damian’s shoulder and the boy didn’t push her away. Tim wondered if he’d ever come to understand the younger boy. 

“What should we do?” Steph asked. “Dr. Thompkins? The Cave? Call Alfred?”

Tim frowned. While it wasn’t uncommon for Bruce to push himself to the edges of his physical and mental limitations, his collapse worried Tim more than it did the others. During his early days training as Robin he’d read through every action report—both physical and digital—ever recorded by Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Dick, and Jason. As he had followed Batman from a distance, he’d recognised things were bad, but hadn’t realised how bad they were until he’d read the reports. 

In a report from right before Tim had cajoled Dick into checking in on Bruce, Alfred had mentioned that Bruce had worn himself to the point of collapse. A part of Tim feared that their time travel had already made a mess of things and changed to course of history. Then again, it might not matter. The newspaper had been dated a month and a half before that incident and had clearly not been new. And that was the problem. He didn’t know how long the paper had been there. Maybe there was a Tim out in the world already training to be Robin or maybe past Tim hadn’t yet set out with his bike and camera to gather the evidence needed to prove Batman needed a Robin. 

“Well?” Damian demanded. 

It almost surprised Tim that Damian hadn’t tried to take immediate control while Tim had hesitated. Maybe the boy understood the seriousness of the situation. Or, maybe they were all depending on Tim’s knowledge of the post-Jason/pre-Tim era to keep them from irrevocably changing their timelines. That was a lot to put on his shoulders, but he could do this. Right? He just needed to think through the situation step by step. 

“All right,” Tim said with more confidence than he felt, “Steph, grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. Cass, turn on the television and try to find a news program.” 

As they left the room to follow his instructions, Tim searched Bruce’s pockets. He found a set a keys and Bruce’s wallet. 

He tossed the keys to Damian. “Look for the car. If we have to take him back to the Cave, we’ll need it.”

“Where should I look? It’s unlikely he left the—“ Damian squinted at the keys “—Mercedes in this neighbourhood.” 

“Well, in the first place it won’t be the Mercedes you’re used to seeing at the Manor. Though it’s also black. As for where he parked it, you know the usual places as well as the rest of us. If you don’t think you’re capable...”

“Tt. I never said I was not capable.” Damian hesitated in the doorway. “Take care of Father. I am depending on you.” 

“I will.” For a brief moment, Tim felt a flicker of kinship with his younger brother. This was something shared. 

As Damian headed from the room and out through the same window which Bruce had entered, Cass figured out how to turn on the television. With the volume loud enough for Tim to hear even from the bedroom, he listened in as she found a news station. 

“It’s been another bloody evening for Gotham’s criminal element as Batman...” the overly chipper voice of the news reporter relayed the information about Bruce’s evening activities. Tim remembered following these reports. During these days, the news stories were all so similar that he couldn’t pinpoint the exact date other than this was before he found Dick. 

“Here it is.” Steph set the first aid kit beside Tim and began rummaging through the contents. “Oh my, this is positively sparse compared to the kits we have in our present. What did he do, purchase a basic kit from the pharmacy? I swear, when we get home, I will never complain about supply duty again.” 

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Tim grinned despite the situation. Steph was right. The first aid kit barely had what they needed. He slipped on a pair of gloves and began to clean the wound. “We need to take him back to the Cave. We can’t leave him here. Not in this shape.” 

“Ugh...I am not looking forward to dragging him down all those stairs. Next safe house...”

“Wait. Shh...” Tim paused as the same cheery voiced reporter continued onto the next story. 

“Join us after the break,” she chirruped, “when we interview rock and roll legends ‘Danny and Dawn.’ With tickets for this evening’s concert already sold out, this may be your only chance to see this brother-sister act as they pass through Gotham on their...”

The antiseptic fell from his hands and spilled on the floor. Now Tim knew exactly when they were. The turning point in his life was four weeks away....

Chapter Text

After Bruce had left the Manor, Alfred found his way back upstairs. He had settled into one of the parlours with a cup of tea and a book as he waited for Bruce to return. It hadn’t been more than fifteen minutes before he had fallen into a restless sleep with the book still in his hand and the tea mostly untouched. 

With a start, he woke as the car returned to the Batcave. He knew all the rattles and groans of the Manor and what each combination of sounds meant. It allowed him to materialise where he was needed without being summoned and it leant him the air of being everywhere at once. So, it didn’t come as a surprise when the subtle shifts in the Manor woke him. 

There was a certain low almost imperceptible rumble that preceded the return of the Batmobile to the Cave. Which, when he thought about it, didn’t make any sense in this case. Bruce hadn’t taken the Batmobile when he left to investigate the safe house, yet there was the rumble. Why had he brought a civilian car into the Cave?

Blinking back the last vestiges of weariness, Alfred forced himself to his feet and towards the hidden passage that lead to the cave. He moved more slowly, more stiffly these days. His own lack of sleep and grief was catching up with him in a way that made him feel old. Older than he actually was. 

Over the years he had developed the practice of remaining awake whenever Master Bruce was awake. That way he would always be ready when his boy needed him. But, Bruce’s reluctance to sleep meant Alfred also didn’t sleep. He didn’t have the younger man’s training to help him power through the bone deep weariness. It was his love and concern for his boy that allowed him to continue day after day even after he thought he couldn’t go another step.

Though it was cold, Alfred finished the last of his tea in hopes that it would sustain him until he had the opportunity to brew a fresh pot. Bruce needed him and it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting. Maybe he could persuade Bruce to get some rest now that he was home. 

As Alfred reached the top of the stairs that led down to the Cave, he froze in place. Too many voices echoed around the cavernous space. The voices were too young to be anyone with access to Batman’s sanctum. Silently he edged down the steps, he bypassed the ones that creaked. Remaining in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs, he could observe the majority of the Cave without being seen. He’d found his way to this spot almost every night since Bruce had first made the Cave the headquarters of his mission. From here he could watch over the others, ready to step in when needed. This morning it allowed him to spy on the intruders. 

He didn’t know how they had found the entrance to the Cave, or how they had bypassed the security measures that Bruce had installed, but they had. By the time Alfred had made his way down, they had placed Bruce on the bed in the infirmary. They were the same children from the safe house. Again he marvelled at how they moved and worked together. They anticipated each other’s movements. They fell into tasks without needing to discus who would do what. It was almost like watching Master Bruce and Master Dick work together again. 

If he wasn’t mistaken, if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, they moved like they had been trained by Batman himself. As if they had studied under Robin—no, it was Nightwing now. Had Master Dick started a new team without telling anyone? It was the only explanation that made sense. Right? 

“I cannot find anything? Does Pennyworth not know how to organise anything in this era?” The younger boy scoffed at the older one in an imperious tone that reminded Alfred of a young Master Bruce as the boy had attempted to fill the role of head of the household before he was ready. Both tried so hard to appear more in control than they actually were. 

At the mention of his name, Alfred inhaled sharply, the sound lost in the cavernous space. How had the boy known? Though it probably wasn’t any stranger than the children having knowledge of the Cave in the first place. Still, he hesitated, wanting to understand these children better before facing them.

They ignored the computers and the assortment of Bat-memorabilia and had gone directly to the infirmary. If they had gone to the computers, he would have thought they were spies. If they had been distracted by Batman’s collections, he’d have assumed they were superhero enthusiasts. But they passed all the distractions and tended to Bruce’s injuries. 

Even from this distance, Alfred could tell the wound was inflamed and feverish. It wasn’t good, but they were competent in their ministrations. Besides their presence in the Cave, the only thing that separated them from general Good Samaritans caring for an injured man was the fact that they were all armed. Their weapons were sheathed, but kept within easy reach. 

“Shh.” The older boy headed directly for the cabinet where the medical supplies were kept. He sorted through the shelves, quickly finding the supplies needed to suture the gash on Bruce’s arm. “It’s before the quake. We needed to reorganise everything after the Cave was rebuilt.” 

“Tt.” The boy dismissed the enormous task of rebuilding as he returned with the supplies to the place where Bruce laid. 

The dark haired woman sat by Bruce’s side. She placed a cool compress on his feverish forehead and stroked his hair. Her movements reminded Alfred of a parent comforting a small child. 

Meanwhile, the blonde had scrubbed up before returning to the infirmary. She smiled at the boy. “Thanks.”

The blonde began the work of cleaning then stitching  the wound, while the older boy assisted her. With his arms crossed and a permanent scowl on his face, the younger boy paced the area. Though the boy had made a concerted effort to appear unaffected by Master Bruce’s fate, his eyes brimmed with worry and concern—like Master Bruce’s eyes every time he brought the boys home injured. His gaze consistently darted between Bruce lying on the bed and his three older companions.

“He’ll be all right. He’s had worse,” the blonde said, trying to comfort the boy without looking up from her work. “He’s mostly exhausted and it looks like he hasn’t been taking care of himself lately.” 

The younger boy pivoted early in his pace and noticed Alfred for the first time. He snapped, “Pennyworth, stop skulking.” 

If any of them were surprised by his presence, they didn’t show it. They didn’t reach for their weapons. Instead they continued with their self-appointed tasks. With his presence revealed, Alfred made his way into the infirmary at a steady pace like this was what he had intended the entire time. 

“And what do you think you are doing, young man?” Alfred addressed the boy as if it was perfectly natural for him to be there. Which, surprisingly enough, felt as though that might be the case. 

At Alfred’s tone, the four intruders started for the first time. Every head snapped up and their eyes focused on him. 

“Alfred, don’t do that. I’m working,” the blonde spluttered at the same moment the older boy asked, “You know who we are?”

“No, I do not. Nor do I know how you managed to find your way into the Cave. What are you doing to Master Bruce?” Alfred met their gazes with a steely stare. Each of them cowered slightly like children caught in the act of disobedience. He marched across the infirmary and stood behind the blonde as she resumed stitching.

“We’re tending to his wounds,” the older boy stated matter-of-factly. 

“I can see that. What qualifies you to do so?” Only, it was more than obvious what qualified them. Though he’d never seen the young woman before in his life, she stitched up the wound as if she learned to do so under Alfred’s tutelage. The stitches were the proper distance apart, the thread was kept at the correct tension, and the closure was neat and straight. 

“Er, well, my mom’s a nurse,” she said at last as though that explained everything. 

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I didn’t realise nursing skills were hereditary.”

“Alfred, please....” the older boy pled with him to allow them to help. 

“Very well, though only under my supervision. As that you know my name, but I do not know yours, would you be ever so kind to introduce yourselves? I cannot go on calling you the young and old one.” He resisted the urge to massage his temples. Being near the strangers made his head hurt like someone was attacking it with a jackhammer. 

At the same time, their presence also made his heart ache in a way reminiscent of how it ached when he thought on the others—Master Dick and Master Jason and Miss Barbara. He had hoped for one person to come into Master Bruce’s life that the man couldn’t ignore and now there were four.

He must have dozed off during his reverie, because the next thing he remembered was the older boy returning to the infirmary with a freshly brewed cup of tea. He handed it to Alfred.  “I’m Alvin.” He gestured over at the blonde who had already tied off the stitches and was bandaging the wound. “And she’s, um...”

“Er, right. I told him...Crystal.” She cut the gauze and pointed with the scissors in the general direction of Bruce. 

“And you?” Alfred looked at the silent young woman who now held Master Bruce’s hand and rubbed the back of it with her thumb. 

She formed her right hand into a ‘C’ and tapped it over her heart. What little he knew of sign language was mostly of the British variety (apparently, something told him, he should consider learning American sign language soon), but he didn’t need to be an expert to recognise a fairly basic name sign. It wasn’t likely that she would give him more of a name than that.  

“And you, young man? What’s your name?” Alfred turned to the final member of the small group. He hadn’t yet been able to figure out why the child was traveling in company of these young adults. 

While he had scoffed and commanded before he was aware of the butler’s presence in the Cave, the boy hadn’t said a word since he’d spied Alfred. He stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze never left Bruce’s face. The haughtiness of his imperious expression was tempered by the genuine fear and concern haunting his eyes. 

“Well?” Alfred prompted. 

The boy crossed his arms and shook his head, refusing even to come up with a false name as the first two had. 

Very well, the Boy, it is, Alfred decided. He sipped the tea, the warm infusion reviving him slightly. 

Crystal peeled out of her gloves and placed an arm around the Boy in an awkward one-armed hug. “Hey, it will be okay. We’ll get through this. Your...he’s going to be fine.” 

“Now that we all know each other, would one of you consider telling me how you knew about the Cave?”

“Would you believe us, if we told you he told us?” Alvin gestured at Master Bruce.

“I’m not sure I would believe any other answer.” As he watched the steady breathing of the unconscious man, Alfred only had one problem accepting Alvin’s story. He didn’t entirely believe that this Bruce was the one to tell them about the Cave. The look in their eyes, told him that they held the utter conviction that it was Bruce—Batman—who had revealed the Cave’s presence to them. As he contemplated the possibility of both being true, the almost impossible realisation dawned on him. “You’re not from around now, are you?”

There was a collective gasp from the strangers who would not always be strangers. Their reaction told Alfred all he needed to know. 

“We should go.” The Boy’s gaze darted to all the exits from the Cave, trying to determine which was the quickest escape. ‘C’ left Bruce’s side and placed a hand on the Boy’s shoulder. Something in her touch seemed to still the Boy and the frantic expression left him. 

Alvin studied Alfred as though he knew he could trust the long serving butler with their secret. “Please. Don’t tell him.”

Alfred nodded. He was the keeper of many secrets and theirs would be one more. In time, he may be able to reveal this one, until then he needed to be patient. It was a good thing he had a great deal of practice when it came to being patient. “You have my word.”

“Thank you, ” Alvin said. The taut muscles in his shoulders relaxed. The simple release removed at least one of the many burdens that bowed his shoulders. “Though, he’s right. We should leave before Bruce wakes up.” 

The tension that had been buzzing between the four strangers eased when he had promised to keep their secret. While there was so much he wanted to know, he didn’t dare ask them. They needed to remain strangers with false names for now. He didn’t even know if they had a place to go or a way home.  They couldn’t stay at the Manor, not with Bruce in the state he was in. But, that didn’t mean he had to turn them out immediately. 

“Please, come upstairs. The very least I can do is offer you some lunch.” 

They turned to Alvin and waited for him to give an almost imperceptible nod. ‘C’ grinned at Alfred with a smile that seemed to light up the Cave. She signed, ‘Thank you.’ While the Boy’s eyes were still clouded with concern, a brief smile flickered across his face. Alfred recognised that expression; it was an echo of Martha’s smiles.

“We’d appreciate that, thank you.” Crystal began to gather the detritus left from suturing the wound. 

“Leave it,” he said. “I assume you know your way up to the Manor?”

“Yes,” they said in more or less unison. An awkward half-stifled laugh broke the last vestiges of tension.

“Then, you may head up and I will join you shortly.” 

While they climbed the stairs to the Manor, Alfred approached Bruce. He clasped the unconscious man’s hand and waited until they were alone. “Don’t lose heart, my lad. There is hope for the future. I have seen it.” 

This indeed was a miracle—as in something truly extraordinary and inexplicable had happened. He had thought he was asking for a miracle for Master Bruce, but he’d been wrong. The younger man wasn’t ready. Soon, but not yet. There was a different miracle in store for him.

No, this miracle was meant for Alfred. He’d been given a sign of hope for the future. With this knowledge, he could endure as long as it was necessary.  Master Bruce would pass through this dark valley, if not for his own sake, than for that of the four children who would one day depend on him.