Chapter Text
Alfred
It was an ordinary evening at Wayne Manor, which was how Alfred knew something was going to go wrong. If he’d been a betting man, he would have put his money on Bruce coming home injured from the Justice League mission he’d embarked on a few hours earlier.
It was a safe bet. But he would have lost it.
He was in the kitchen preparing a quick meal for Bruce and Tim to eat before patrol when he heard laughter coming from the garage. This set off his own personal alarm bells. Only two people ever entered the Manor through the garage: Bruce, when he came home from work or a social function, and Dick, when he visited.
Bruce was, as previously mentioned, on a Justice League mission, and would surely enter through the Batcave when he returned. And Dick was already visiting, making use of the Batcave’s forensic laboratory last Alfred checked.
Alfred did not appreciate surprise visitors. Intruders were unlikely; the Manor’s defenses were heavily fortified and state-of-the-art, and besides, what sort of home invader made that much noise and tried to break into a house so early in the night? But that did not stop Alfred from worrying, because nothing on earth could stop Alfred from worrying. It was a trait he had (unfortunately) passed on to Bruce, who had (unfortunately) passed it onto his adopted children.
Ready to put up a fight if he needed to, Alfred made his way toward the garage door. He arrived just in time for it to open. He knew it had been locked; Dick had been the last person to open it, and he was reliable about locking doors behind him. Whoever had been laughing a moment ago either had a key to the Manor (Clark, Diana, Barbara, Stephanie, or Selina) or had picked the lock (see the aforementioned “home invader” theory, or Selina).
But it wasn’t a home invader. It was Bruce after all. And he had Clark with him. Alfred relaxed the tension in his back and shoulders and chided himself for his senseless paranoia.
“Good evening, Master Bruce,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “You’re home early. Master Clark, always a pleasure to see you.” Odd that Bruce had come home through the garage, and that he and Clark were dressed in their civilian clothes – dressed quite nicely, as a matter of fact – but if Alfred had to tolerate a surprise visitor that evening, he supposed Clark was a more than acceptable option.
“You as well, Alfred,” Clark said, positively beaming. The mission must have gone well. No injuries. Alfred let himself relax a little more. “How’s everything running around here?”
“As smoothly as can be expected, Master Clark.” Alfred led Bruce and Clark into the kitchen, and when he turned to face them—
A twinge of paranoia returned. Something was not right. Alfred couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first, and was about to once again dismiss his concerns as a result of too much exposure to vigilantism, but then he finally realized what it was.
Bruce and Clark looked different. Bruce was always an imposing presence, physically, and Clark was no different. But they looked… less so. It was such a subtle difference that Alfred almost wondered if he was imagining it.
And there was something else. Something in the way they looked at each other. Alfred knew Bruce was fond of Clark, but Bruce was not the type to let said fondness show on his face. And yet he was, and Clark was looking at him in much the same way. Almost as though—
Alfred decided abruptly that he would need to get a second opinion.
“Master Dick is visiting,” he told these strange approximations of Bruce and Clark, “If either of you wish to see him.”
“I’d love to say hi to Dick,” Clark said with a smile. There was nothing amiss about this. It was the same smile he always gave Alfred. The sort of smile that made people want to like and trust Clark. On this version of him, a version that was so close to what Alfred expected him to be but somehow not quite right, it struck Alfred as slightly insidious, and he understood for the first time how Bruce had held onto his initial mistrust of Clark for so long.
He went down to the Batcave and ushered Dick upstairs, not giving an explanation for his behavior. He had never before been so aware of Clark’s super senses, and the fact that Clark could hear anything anyone said in any room of the house.
Alfred had known something was bound to go wrong this evening, but he never in a million years would have guessed that it would be this. Whatever “this” turned out to be.
Dick
Dick was on the verge of a breakthrough when Alfred interrupted him. “Hold on, Al, I’ve almost figured this— Okay, I guess we’re going upstairs.”
Alfred practically dragged him out of the Cave and up the stairs to the main house. “Come on, Alfred, where’s the fire?” Dick joked, but one look from Alfred silenced him. Something was wrong, and Alfred didn’t feel safe enough to tell him what it was. In their own house.
Dick felt his anxiety spike. At the entrance to the kitchen, Alfred stopped, and motioned for Dick to go inside. Dick took several slow, calming breaths until his pulse returned to normal and stepped inside.
It was just Bruce and Clark.
Dick turned to ask Alfred what had gotten into him, but Alfred hadn’t followed him. Dick shrugged and turned back around.
Oh. Wait a second. He saw it now.
That wasn’t Bruce and Clark. Whoever these people were, Dick knew instinctively that they were not Bruce and Clark. They looked different, not obviously so, but Dick’s well-trained eyes noticed less muscle mass, and something in Bruce’s expression that was more open than Dick had seen him in a long time. He’d gotten used to interacting with the version of Bruce that was weighed down by grief and broken into jagged pieces, a part of him left behind in a warehouse in Ethiopia where his second son died, another part stuck in the ground where that son was buried. But this version of Bruce looked whole. He looked happy.
A series of questions with no answers flooded Dick’s mind. Who were these people, if not Bruce and Clark? Where were the real Bruce and Clark? And what was Dick going to do about it?
Not-Clark grinned in such a familiar way that Dick wanted to cringe away from him. He was starting to understand the meaning of the phrase “Uncanny Valley.” “Dick!” Not-Clark exclaimed, and held his arms out for a hug.
Oh, God.
Dick returned the hug in what he hoped was a convincing manner, though he withdrew faster than he otherwise would have. “Clark. Good to see you. What are you doing here?” He took in Bruce and Clark’s attire, not quite formal, not quite professional, not quite casual. “You’re looking nice today.”
“Clark and I just got back from a date,” Not-Bruce provided, and Dick’s thoughts screeched to a halt.
“Sorry, what?” he said, unable to conceal his shock. “Did you say a date?”
If these people were trying to pretend to be Bruce and Clark, they’d made a fatal error. The real Bruce and Clark were not dating, despite the general consensus among everyone who knew them that they should be, and clearly wanted to be, and if they could just get their heads out of their asses and talk to each other—
Dick’s train of thought derailed when he noticed one other detail he’d missed.
Were those wedding rings?
“No need to act surprised,” Not-Bruce said with a quirk of an eyebrow. “I know I’ve been busy lately, but I always make time for Clark.”
Okay, this was weird. Dick understood why Alfred had come to get him, and been so urgent about it. Dick was feeling much the same way. He needed backup. He smiled his friendly, disarming smile and asked, “Have you guys seen Tim yet?”
“No,” Clark said. “Just Alfred.”
Great. “Let me go get him. Wait here.”
Dick had to stop himself from running up the stairs to Tim’s room. Tim looked up at him when he burst through the door, immediately and obviously concerned. Dick opened his mouth to explain, then realized: Alfred hadn’t said anything to him about Not-Bruce and Not-Clark because he hadn’t wanted Not-Clark to hear. If this version of Clark was evil (they were always evil, weren’t they; why did they always have to be evil), Dick didn’t want him to know that they were onto him.
He took out his phone and motioned for Tim to do the same. Tim did, glancing up at Dick every few seconds to clearly communicate how oddly he thought Dick was behaving. Dick’s fingers flew across the touchscreen keyboard, tapping out a text.
DICK GRAYSON: You said B and C were on a mission today, right?
Tim looked down at his phone when it buzzed, read Dick’s message, looked at him strangely again, then tapped out a reply.
TIM DRAKE: they are
DICK GRAYSON: They just got back
TIM DRAKE: that was fast. why are we texting?
DICK GRAYSON: They said they were on a date
TIM DRAKE: lmao
TIM DRAKE: wait, you’re serious?
DICK GRAYSON: They just got back, dressed like they went out to dinner, and told me they were on a date
TIM DRAKE: it wasn’t a joke?
DICK GRAYSON: Yeah, one of B’s classic jokes
DICK GRAYSON: Tim
DICK GRAYSON: They're wearing rings Tim
TIM DRAKE: wdym?
DICK GRAYSON: Wedding rings
DICK GRAYSON: Or engagement rings, w/e
TIM DRAKE: that could be a coincidence
DICK GRAYSON: There’s something else about them
TIM DRAKE: i assume that’s why we’re texting while you’re standing right in front of me?
DICK GRAYSON: They look different
TIM DRAKE: different how?
DICK GRAYSON: Smaller
TIM DRAKE: like they shrank?
DICK GRAYSON: Not exactly. Like they haven’t been working out as much. Except C doesn’t need to work out and B looked the same as he always does last I saw him. No way he could lose muscle mass that quickly.
TIM DRAKE: you think something happened to them?
DICK GRAYSON: I think it might not be them at all
Tim made eye contact with Dick and nodded. He understood, now, why they were texting. They both pocketed their phones and Dick led Tim downstairs.
Tim
Tim saw what Dick meant as soon as he set foot in the kitchen. The two men waiting there for them could have passed as Bruce and Clark to anyone who didn’t know them as well as their own family, but they didn’t fool Tim for a second. They still had plenty of muscle on them, but not Batman and Superman levels of muscle. And the wedding – or engagement – rings were another notable difference.
“Hi, Bruce. Hi, Clark,” Tim said with a smile like he didn’t suspect a thing.
“Hey, Tim.” Not-Clark smiled back at him. “How’s school?”
“It’s good,” Tim answered vaguely. He wasn’t giving these probably-murderous facsimiles of Bruce and Clark any detail. Not even innocuous details about his Physics test. He would, however, try to get details out of them. “How was your… date?”
“It was great,” Not-Clark said. Damn. No details there either.
“You guys have been out all evening?”
Not-Bruce frowned. “You didn’t notice we were gone?”
“Guess I was too busy with homework,” Tim said. He was about to ask another follow-up question when Not-Clark beat him to the punch.
“Is Jason around?”
Tim felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He instinctively turned to Dick – Dick, who was older and wiser and always knew what to do – but he looked just as caught off guard as Tim felt, and that only made Tim panic even more. He realized his hands had started shaking and he stuffed them in his pockets so Not-Bruce wouldn’t notice. There was nothing he could do about his heart rate; Not-Clark could surely hear it from across the room, because Tim could hear it pounding in his own ears.
“What?” he managed, his voice coming out a croak.
“Jason,” Not-Clark repeated, and that name hit Tim again, like a sledgehammer. The dead boy everyone saw when they looked at him. The dead boy whose legacy Tim had spent every day for the past nearly-three years trying to live up to. The dead boy who taunted Tim in his dreams, called him an imposter, a fraud, a replacement. “Is he upstairs, or did he go out with his friends?”
“He…” Tim stammered. “I…”
Dick recovered first. Mentions of Jason surely must have affected him even more than they affected Tim – Jason had been Dick’s brother, where all he’d been to Tim was a role model, and then a ghost, and then the once-living embodiment of every one of Tim’s shortcomings – but he was better than Tim at putting on a brave face, at smiling through the pain. “We’ll go check,” he told Not-Clark, and pulled Tim out of the room.
Dick didn’t give Tim (or himself, probably) time to spiral. He got out his phone again, and Tim followed his lead.
DICK GRAYSON: Calm down. You ok?
TIM DRAKE: i’m ok. you?
DICK GRAYSON: LOL no
TIM DRAKE: ok good me neither
DICK GRAYSON: AU. It has to be
TIM DRAKE: ok. ok. we can handle this
DICK GRAYSON: Did B give you a timeline for when he’d be back?
TIM DRAKE: he said “late”
TIM DRAKE: didn’t say anything about disrupting patrol tho, so not that late
DICK GRAYSON: 1-2hrs maybe? We just have to keep them occupied. Let’s get Alfred.
TIM DRAKE liked a message.
Dick went into the “family minus Bruce” group chat (they needed one so they could discuss the sort of things that Bruce had no interest in, and also sometimes complain about Bruce behind his back).
DICK GRAYSON: Tim and I did recon. We think they’re from an AU. Haven’t confirmed with them yet. Don’t think they’ve noticed anything is wrong.
TIM DRAKE: it won’t take long. this is B we’re talking about
DICK GRAYSON: We don’t know that he’s anything like our B
ALFRED PENNYWORTH: I knew something was amiss. Shall I try to contact the real Master Bruce?
DICK GRAYSON: As long as he gets back soon I don’t think we should interrupt the mission. Can you help us stall with the other B and C while we wait?
ALFRED PENNYWORTH: Of course.
TIM DRAKE: they think J’s alive
The lengthy pause while Dick and Tim waited for Alfred’s response had them trading anxious glances. Finally, Alfred’s text came.
ALFRED PENNYWORTH: I see.
DICK GRAYSON: And they’re in a relationship. Engaged or married. Those are the only differences we’ve noticed so far. Other than how they look.
ALFRED PENNYWORTH: Thank you for informing me. We should get back out there before either of them begins to suspect something.
Alfred appeared. Dick smoothed his features into an unbothered smile. Tim tried his best to do the same, but he was still feeling shaken.
Bruce and Clark, from an alternate universe where they were in a relationship. Bruce and Clark, from an alternate universe where Jason was alive.
What else was different in their world? At least they knew who Tim was, and didn’t seem surprised to see him in the Manor. Somehow Tim had managed to find his way into Bruce’s life even when his life didn’t have a Jason-shaped hole in it. This was some small comfort.
“Can I get either of you anything to drink?” Alfred asked Not-Bruce and Not-Clark as he reentered the kitchen.
“I think we’ll both have a glass of whiskey,” Not-Clark said. Alfred hid his surprise well. The real Clark never wanted to drink Bruce’s expensive liquor; he considered it a waste since he couldn’t get drunk. (Bruce always made him drink some anyway, and usually said something along the lines of, “I shouldn’t drink alone,” a sentiment Dick, Tim, and Alfred all strongly agreed with. No, Bruce shouldn’t drink alone.)
“You read my mind,” Not-Bruce said. “I take it Jason isn’t here?”
Alfred used pouring the whiskey as an excuse not to look at these men who were intruding in their home and making them all think about a fifteen-year-old boy who’d died. “No, Master Bruce. Master Jason is not home.”
Bruce
The mission was a success. An unmitigated success, in fact. Bruce hadn’t even suffered any injuries. Alfred was going to be so pleased with him.
After a quick debrief in the Watchtower, Bruce checked his messages from home. There was only one, and a short one at that, but it settled into his stomach like a stone: BRING SUPERMAN TO GOTHAM AFTER YOUR MISSION. ASAP. MEET IN THE CAVE. – NW
“Superman,” Bruce said, not raising his voice anywhere above a conversational volume even though Clark was no longer in the same room. He knew Clark would hear him. And Clark did; he was at Bruce’s side before Bruce had finished rereading Dick’s vague message. “I’ve got a message from Nightwing. He needs both of us in Gotham.”
“Does it sound urgent?” Clark asked.
Bruce couldn’t tell. That was what he didn’t like about it. The “ASAP” sounded urgent, but the “after your mission” indicated that whatever it was didn’t take precedence over Justice League business. “He just says to meet him in the Cave,” Bruce said.
They left their colleagues behind and went to Gotham, arriving in the Batcave in record time. Dick was waiting for them there. He wasn’t suited up, and he was alone. Bruce didn’t know what to make of that.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Dick chewed on his lip for a second, like he didn’t know how to answer that. Bruce’s anxiety only grew. “Upstairs,” Dick finally said, and his voice was nearly a whisper. “Alfred and Tim are talking to… Well, they’re talking to you two.”
Bruce followed Dick’s lead and hissed his response: “What?”
“We think they’re from an alternate universe.”
Bruce momentarily closed his eyes. He’d been so ready for a quiet evening after that mission. So much for that.
Clark whispered too, even though he knew his own abilities better than anyone, and so he knew that if there was an alternate version of himself in the house, whispering would not make a difference. “Do they seem… normal?”
“Mostly,” Dick said. “Neither one has tried to kill us. I don’t think they’ve realized they’re not in their own world. But they look a little different, and their timeline seems to have diverged from ours in at least two ways.”
“What are they?” Bruce asked.
“First of all,” Dick looked between Bruce and Clark almost apologetically, “The two of them are dating. Each other. Engaged, actually. The wedding is next March.”
Years of rigid control over his own breathing and heart rate – a necessity, working with Clark – was all that kept Bruce from revealing, right then and there, how he felt about the prospect of him and Clark dating. “What else?” he asked dispassionately.
Dick seemed even more reluctant to share what he had to say next. He couldn’t meet Bruce’s eyes. “In their world… Jason is alive.”
Bruce let his heart do what it wanted in response to that. He didn’t care if Clark heard.
“Bruce,” Clark said, and for a terrible moment Bruce thought Clark was going to try to comfort him, but thank God he didn’t, because Bruce couldn’t handle that now. There were versions of themselves upstairs, from an alternate universe, where they were dating – worse, engaged – and where Jason was alive. He did not have the luxury of emotions right now. Those would have to wait until later.
“Do you mind if I…?” Clark asked, glancing meaningfully at the ceiling of the Cave, toward the Manor above them. He was asking if he could use his x-ray vision. Normally he wouldn’t ask permission, but they were in Bruce’s house, and Clark was nothing if not polite.
“Do it,” Bruce said.
“They’re in the kitchen,” Dick provided.
“I see them.” Clark frowned. “They do look different. Still in shape, but not to the degree that we are.”
“They told Tim and I that we look like we’ve been working out,” Dick said. “So I guess we’re like that in their world too.”
Bruce could come up with any number of reasons for that, but he would wait until he learned more to dwell too long on any of them.
“Have they mentioned anything about their superhero work?” Clark asked.
“No,” Dick told him. “Neither have we. We had to consider the possibility, as unlikely as it is, that they haven’t shared their secret identities with each other.”
Bruce approved. Dick had less experience with alternate universes than he or Clark did, but he knew the protocols. “Smart thinking.”
“So we should change into civilian clothes before meeting them,” Clark surmised.
“That’s what I was going to suggest,” Dick said.
“They don’t seem volatile?” Bruce asked. “Likely to react in a violent way if we reveal ourselves?”
Dick shook his head. “They don’t seem like it. But it’s not completely off the table. They’ve only been here about an hour and a half. Tim and I have kept them talking about work. Clark still works at the Daily Planet, although it seems like he mostly works from home – here, he lives here – and Bruce is still head of W.E. and the Foundation.”
Clark turned to Bruce. “I’ll be prepared to fend off the other Clark if he attacks, but I don’t want to do any damage to your house. You should have some Kryptonite at the ready.”
At this point in his friendship with Clark, Bruce dreaded having to use the Kryptonite, although it was occasionally unavoidable. It would be slightly easier to use it on an alternate version of Clark, but only slightly. “I’ll get some after I change.”
Clark changed in a flash, and Bruce almost as quickly, after as many years of practice as he had. He went to the lead-lined safe on the far side of the Cave, input the code, unlocked the biometric seal, and withdrew a small shard of Kryptonite.
“Just enough to weaken you,” he told Clark when he returned. “Unless his threshold is significantly higher than yours.”
“I didn’t even consider that,” Clark said. Of course he hadn’t. But Bruce had. Bruce always considered everything. “We’ll have to hope that’s not the case. You ready?”
“Not the first time we’ve done this,” Bruce said, trying to muster something in his tone that vaguely resembled humor. Trying not to sound like all he could think was Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason— “And this time they haven’t even tried to kill us yet.”
Clark smirked. “There’s that optimism I like to see.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I never could.”
Bruce and Clark followed Dick upstairs, staying a few steps behind him. When Dick reached the kitchen, he motioned for Bruce and Clark to stay behind and he went on without them.
“Hey, Bruce and Clark?” Bruce heard Dick say to, presumably, their alternate versions. “There’s something I need to tell you guys. You might not believe it, but just bear with me.”
“What is it?” That was Bruce’s own voice. It was like listening to a recording of himself; it didn’t sound quite right.
“We’re not who you think we are. This place isn’t what you think it is,” Dick continued, ripping off the bandaid. There was no point in beating around the bush. Either the other versions of Bruce and Clark were going to lash out, or they weren’t. “Somehow, you both ended up in an alternate universe.”
A long pause, and then a voice that sounded like Clark’s. Just like Clark’s. “Is this a joke?”
Bruce’s voice: “Dick. Are you feeling well?”
“I’m fine.” Dick drew a breath. “Maybe you don’t believe me about the alternate universe thing now, but I think you will when you see this.” He raised his voice slightly. “Come in.”
Clark looked at Bruce, and gave a reassuring smile. And then they walked into the room, side-by-side.