Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce tapped in the numbers. He had three left to complete the puzzle and he knew what they were so it took no thought to type them in. 

"Bruce."

Despite the way he coasted to victory, Bruce still felt the thrill of victory as his phone trilled at the completion of the sudoku puzzle.

"Really?"

He scrolled over to the next puzzle.

"You can't ignore me the entire time."

Bruce let out a noncommittal hum. This one was going to be challenging. Excellent.

"You're the one who agreed to therapy, Bruce."

"And you're the one who said I could do whatever I wanted while I was here," Bruce countered Dinah archly, jotting down the first number. They were in his room at the Manor, the large windows letting in the afternoon light and only the faintest sounds of construction. He was under a thin sheet, more because he liked the feel of it lying over his legs than for any real need for warmth.

The blanket also made it easier to justify being in his pyjamas. He could put on real clothes, had been in sweats and a t-shirt when the physiotherapist rolled by this morning, but he was exhausted enough when they were finished that he didn't want to dress only to have to change in a few hours, so pyjamas it was.

Besides, he liked wearing these. Dick had given them to him as a present.

With a roll of her eyes Dinah responded, "I said you could talk about whatever you wanted to and when you scheduled I assumed you wanted to talk about Clark."

Hands dropping into his lap Bruce clutched the phone tightly and straightened as best he could, which was difficult because he was still mostly bedridden and trapped in a brace. “Alfred is insisting I go over Wayne Enterprise holdings while I am ‘at loose ends’." He affected a grimace. As much as he knew this was Alfred dealing with his own anxiety, it was also a distraction from all the things he needed to be doing. Fixing Damian. Finding Cass 2.0. Or would she be the original? Helping his children work through the trauma of Superman beating the snot out of people in this family.

Not that Bruce had gotten the snot beaten out of him. He was just a little roughed up.  

Dinah gave him an unimpressed look that reminded Bruce of Dexter after the cat had been shooed from his spot. "You booked a therapy appointment to dodge work."

“Self-care.” Bruce looked back to the phone. "Lack of stress is crucial for physical recovery. This is for my mental health. You’re the one who taught me that."

Dinah sighed. "This is superficial. You are going to have to talk about Clark. The League needs your input."

Bruce’s phone groaned under the pressure. It wouldn’t crack. He’d made it for, well, him. It could take one hell of a beating before it cracked. "My input is I don't care. Give him to Lex, mail him to Oa, leave him in a box for all I care."

Dinah ran frustrated fingers through her golden hair. "You know we can't do any of that."

Tapping in a number, then another, Bruce drew in deep meditative breaths before continuing. "Clark threw a car that had both my father and son inside. He tore a patch of Cass's hair and Dami couldn't leave his bed for three days."

"And he broke your back."

Bruce waved the comment away. "I've been injured before. He went after my children. Twice. I can't offer a reasonable opinion here. I can’t be Batman in this, only Bruce.” Their gazes met and Bruce tried to will Dinah to understand. She was a good den mother but she didn’t have any children of her own. She and Roy, she and clone Roy, had never been close. 

"It sounds like you are angry."

"Dammit, Dinah. I can see what you are doing." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

She sat in a chair by the bed, looking utterly unrepentant. “I’m just making conversation.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, not fooled for a moment. “You’re trying to provoke me into discussing my feelings .” 

Dinah sighed. “The last time you were in therapy you were far more cooperative.” She adjusted her position on the chair. “I do have better things to do than shelter you from your job, the one that pays you a six figure salary,” she said sternly, heat beginning to flicker in her tone.

Seven figure, but Bruce assumed that was not the way to steer this conversation.“How is Garfield doing?”

Dinah glared. “Don’t try to flip this on me.”

With a sigh Bruce tapped the side of his phone, killing the screen, and set it beside him on the bed. “Why don’t we just talk?”

With narrowed eyes Dinah answered, “That’s what I’ve been trying to do!”

Bruce shook his head. “No, Dinah, not as a therapist and patient. As friends. I could use a friend right now.” He sank into the mountain of pillows Alfred had given him, not masking the exhaustion he’d been struggling with, both physical and emotional. This had been harder than he wanted to admit. He didn’t want to think about Clark. About the League having a mixed response. 

Maybe Alfred had the right idea, throwing paperwork at him. It kept his mind busy enough to not linger on such aggravating topics. 

“Bruce,” Dinah shifted forward, reaching for his hand. He let her take it. “You have plenty of friends.”

Bruce scoffed. “I have coworkers, Dinah. And even then the only people who are talking to me are my traumatized children and my physiotherapist,” and, for some god forsaken reason, Lex fucking Luthor. The man kept trying to secure a visit to Bruce’s house to come ‘check up on an old friend.’ Bruce knew there were ulterior motives. There always were. What he didn’t know was what they were but looking into what Lex could possibly want gave Dick something to do. “I imagine you could use one too.” 

Dinah’s mask fell away and she suddenly looked as tired as he felt. “So what do friends talk about?”

“Friends vent,” Bruce announced, like he was an authority on healthy friendships. The healthiest friendship he had right now probably was Dinah. Any civilian relationships were strained by lies and Diana was too angry at the League and at men in general to confide in. “So, how is Garfield?”

“Doing better,” she said, “which isn’t saying much. The person who would help him the most to get over this would be M’gann...”

“-But M’gann is off limits because she’s too dangerous,” Bruce finished. He didn’t know where J’onn had taken the girl but if he ever saw her again it would be too soon.

Dinah nodded and then leaned back, touching both her temples with one hand. “I didn’t see it, Bruce.”

“No one did,” Bruce argued, trying to soothe the guilt.

She scoffed without changing position. “I was there the most, after Red Tornado, and he’s a machine.” Apparently Bruce could assuage Dinah’s guilt as well as he could his own. “It was up to me to watch for these things, to notice them, and I didn’t. The damage she could have done.” Her hand shifted to cover her face.

“It was minor and J’onn has already repaired it.” Conner’s mind had mostly self repaired the holes she’d tried to leave and a few members of the Team had light suggestions for liking and trusting M’gann more than they naturally would, which might have even been subconsciously planted by the alien girl. Bruce suspected it was why no one looked too deeply at her and Conner’s sudden breakup.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” Dinah snapped, before dragging her hand down her face to leave it resting in her lap. “We pride ourselves on protecting the world and we can’t even keep our kids safe.” Her hair rippled as she shook her head in self disgust. “How many times have we failed them? Roy is dead. The only reason Kaldur and La’gaan are not is because apparently you can ignore the space/time continuum without consequence.” That was Tim. Bruce still wasn’t sure if he should be proud of Tim for his casual relationship with reality or if he should lock the boy away in a cell until he learned not to play with the building blocks of the universe. 

Bruce firmly squashed the voice that pointed out that he was a bit of a hypocrite. 

Dinah let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know where Roy, other Roy, the Roy I met, is.”

“He’s around. He called Dick the other day.” After Bruce had tracked him and Cheshire down for yet another job. He knew he wasn’t a bad client. He nagged Roy to call Dick and had difficult jobs but he paid well and half upfront. Plus Cheshire liked a challenge. This time they were looking into whether or not Cass existed here. Bruce was torn between needing to rescue her and hoping there was no one here to rescue.

Cass was still largely a mystery but one look at the scars on her body spoke of a childhood filled with abuse and suffering. 

“That’s good,” Dinah slumped. “That’s good. Thank you for knowing that. Oliver fucking doesn’t.”

“Are you two...speaking again?” Bruce asked hesitantly, poking carefully to see if there was a boundary there. He knew he was getting close to issues where Lois would cut off his nose.

“I wish I was gay.”

Bruce blinked at the non sequitur. “What?”

Dinah flipped her hair back once more. “Gay. A lesbian. Interested in women. It would save me the hassle of being in love with his dumb ass.” She huffed. “I’m so angry over him with that bullshit he pulled with the League and with how he’s treating Roy, but I get it and that makes it worse. ” Bruce was almost able to watch as the headache descended upon Dinah. “He looks at Roy and sees the face of a boy he got killed and didn’t even realize. I can’t imagine the guilt but it’s not Roy’s fault. ” She shook her head in disgust. “And I understand that he and Clark are founding members and have that whole ‘brothers in all things’ attitude, but Clark betrayed the League and Oliver needs to accept that, needed to accept that when it first happened. Maybe then we would have really been able to do something against Clark without the situation becoming this mess.” She waved a hand as though trying to encompass the enormity of the situation. “Our public relations team can’t decide whether to be thrilled with the hours they are clocking or to murder the League in our sleep.” With a thoughtful frown she studied Bruce. “How has the media been on your end? I haven’t been paying attention to the Gotham papers.”

“Unrelenting,” Bruce said bluntly. “It’s been a fun combination of questions from why Superman attacked us, to Tim’s sexuality. Someone sold the families’ numbers to a reporter so we’ve all been bombarded with phone calls. Tim’s pulled all the SIM cards until I can change phone companies and this time put the account under Alfred’s name so my eight year old son doesn’t have the opportunity to threaten to disembowel Vicky Vale again. Tim did a soundbite on how lucky he is to be accepted by his family to kill the story. Dick’s been a champion. He’s got a strong enough social media presence that he’s been able to mitigate some of the fallout by posting memes .” Bruce wrinkled his nose before he sighed. “You’re right. We aren’t doing enough to protect our children.”

“At least you got yours out of the game,” Dinah offered him. 

Bruce held his hand horizontal and tilted it from side to side, a gesture he had picked up from Jay. “I can’t stop Dick. The only reason he’s not out hopping rooftops right now is because he’s having an emotional crisis over Clark.”

“Just like you?”

“No.” Bruce was not having a breakdown over Clark. Not yet anyway and he had enough sudoku puzzles to hold off on that for a while and hopefully once the puzzles were done he would be back in his batsuit and otherwise occupied.

“You know you can’t just repress this by running around as Batman, right?”

Dammit Dinah. “Repress what?”

“Bruce.” Dinah’s exasperation was punctuated by a quirk of her lips but any response she could have was interrupted by a soft knock.

“Come in,” Bruce called, already knowing it was Alfred. Sure enough his butler walked through holding yet another thick sheaf of papers. Though, curiously enough, he was followed by Dick. 

Oh no. Distract. “Hello, Alfred. Dinah and I are in the middle of a very fruitful therapy session-”

“Which will have to be resumed at a later time,” Alfred said firmly. Drat. “I do apologize for the interruption, Miss Lance, but something has arisen that requires Master Bruce’s attention. Master Dick will escort you out.”

Bruce raised both his eyebrows in surprise at Alfred’s unusual abruptness. He didn’t just throw guests out willy nilly, especially not guests who he actually liked, and he definitely liked Dinah. He said she was a steadying influence on Bruce. Dinah cocked her head, obviously picking up on how out of character this was. Bruce just shrugged. “Thank you for that talk,” he said.

With a nod Dinah stood, accepting her cue to leave. “Anytime, Bruce. You have my number.” She stood and smiled at Dick. “So how have you been?” she asked, following him out of the room.

Bruce didn’t catch Dick’s response as Alfred closed the door. “I am dreadfully sorry for the interruption, Master Bruce, but I felt that this was a matter best brought to your attention immediately.” He held out the papers grimly.  

Bruce took them, finding himself sliding into being Batman. It wasn’t a newspaper, thank god, but that only meant Vale wasn’t involved. Was it gang related? Guns? Drugs? Or maybe a Rogue was up to something. 

He studied the page, noting that it was a list of phone numbers. It was a list of phone numbers on a bill. A bill with his name on it. “Alfred,” Bruce looked away from the bill back up to his father figure, “why am I looking at my phone bill?”

Alfred huffed in exasperation. “I thought it was your spine that was injured, not your eyes.”

Ow. That stung. Bruce frowned and looked back down. Oh. Okay, it wasn’t for his phone number; it was the landline. And...and one of his kids had made a phone call to England every five minutes for an entire hour. 

What on Earth? 

Bruce grabbed his own phone and searched up one of the numbers. Constantine, J. 

Oh no.

He searched up the next one. Constantine, Jon.

Constantine, John.

Constantine, Jonathan

Constantine, Johan

Bruce made a pained note in his throat before looking up at Alfred who looked entirely unsympathetic. “Ah, the things children get up to.” There was an undercurrent of satisfaction, as though Bruce had been such a hellion that he deserved this kind of karma as an adult. 

He hadn’t been. He had been an angel as a child. And hadn’t broken anything, well, much, in his journey to become a crime fighting machine.

Okay, maybe it was a little karma. 

Bruce slumped. “Please fetch my children.”

“Right away, Master Bruce.”

“And don’t be so smug!”

“Of course not, Master Bruce.”

-

Tim dragged a lazy finger along the silver scar in Conner’s thigh. “Does it hurt?” Bruce had warned them that the wound would likely scar but hearing and seeing a permanent mar in Kryptonian skin was throwing Tim for a loop. 

They sat curled together, Tim’s head against Conner’s chest and his body half wrapped around him, both of them in nothing but boxer shorts as they rested on Conner’s bed.

Conner snorted, the arm he had around Tim’s back giving the boy a tight squeeze before relaxing. “You know how scars feel.” Tim felt Conner trace his thumb against the scar from his surprise splenectomy. 

“That one pulls,” Tim admitted. The tissue was tight and while Tim rubbed in oils to try and loosen it there was only so much he could do without going in for professional treatment. Treatment where he would have to explain just how a Wayne heir had been shish kabobed. 

“I’m fine.” Conner shifted to place a kiss in Tim’s hair. “We’re fine.”

“Mm,” Tim hummed and shifted closer, revelling in the lavish luxury of skin on skin contact. He hadn’t been touched often as a child and could easily count the number of hugs his parents had given him on his fingers. Other Dick, for a while, had been a source of the tactile experience but those hugs had always been emotional; usually based in the fear of a near miss. Even when they weren’t everything about the hug had been dictated. How tight, how long, and what position they were in had always been set by Other Dick. This slotting together to find a natural balance was new.

New and amazing.

Everything about his relationship with Conner felt new and amazing.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Conner murmured.

Tim sniffed in mock offense. “I am thinking at the perfect volume.”

With a huff, Conner shifted and spun, his hands catching Tim’s wrists as he gently pinned him to the bed. “Then you were thinking about the wrong thing, because now you have been captured by your nemesis.” 

With a shift in balance and a bit of fancy knee work it only took seconds for their position to flip. “It looks like our positions have been reversed. It’s the hero’s turn to win today.” 

“Oh? Are you going to punish me?” Conner waggled his eyebrows as he spoke and Tim snickered before leaning down to capture Conner’s lips. It was a long kiss but as chaste as always. The pressure was still something Tim was getting used to, something he hoped he would one day find as normal as Conner seemed to, but the way Conner pushed into it was thrilling. 

“You two are being disgusting, again, ” came Bart’s disapproving voice. 

“Dammit, Bart!” Conner grumbled as Tim startled, rolling and nearly falling off the bed. 

“I know, I know,” Bart held his hands up by his chest, pushing against something invisible. “‘Romance isn’t weird,’” he quoted, his nose wrinkling to demonstrate that he really didn’t believe Conner when he said that. 

Tim kept silent during those talks because, well, it was a little weird. It just wasn’t bad weird. 

Tim sighed and reached for a shirt, knowing the mood had been utterly broken the moment their privacy had. 

“If you two just fucked you might get over this,” Bart advised. He dodged a pillow that was thrown with a bruising force.  

“This is why you got left in the past,” Conner snarled as he reached for his own shirt.

“First off, rude,” Bart sniffed. “Second, I am here to do you two a favor. Alfred is rounding everyone up for a family meeting.”

“Shit,” Tim slid into his jeans with a little more urgency. “Thanks, Bart.” Alfred wasn’t disapproving, at least not anymore, but Tim was only willing to push the old man so far and he figured half naked time under Alfred’s roof might be pushing it. 

Just as he slipped on his hoody there came a knock at the door and Bart raised his eyebrows at the pair as if to say see?

“Master Kent, are you in here?”

“Yes, Alfred,” Conner called, fixing his hair as he stumbled his way to the door. He’d been doing that a lot; stumbling. Tim wasn’t sure what was up. It happened too often for it to be just nerves.  

He opened the door quickly and Tim could see Alfred’s eyes narrow as his gaze flicked from Tim to Conner, but whatever suspicions he had bled away when he spotted Bart. “Master Bruce has requested a meeting in his room. I ask that you attend post haste.”

“Of course,” Tim said with a nod of his head. 

“Very good, sirs,” Alfred returned the head bob before closing the door to hunt down the rest of the family.

Conner put a hand over his heart. “I take back every bad thing I have ever said about you, Bart.”

“Alfred isn’t that scary,” Tim promised, giving Conner an awkward pat on the head. 

“He is,” Bart chimed in. “He has a shotgun full of kryptonite-” Conner let out a whimper- “and, hey! You say bad things about me? Mode, dude.”

“It’s an expression,” Tim waved Bart over and grabbed both Bart and Conner’s hands. “Come on you two. Let’s not keep Bruce waiting.”

“Aren’t you nervous?” Conner asked as Tim steered him through the doorway. 

Tim laughed. “No. I haven’t done anything stupid in weeks.”

“Are you sure?” Conner asked sceptically and that hurt. It really did.

“Yes!”

“Yeah!” Bart jumped to Tim’s defense. “Tim never does anything stupid.”

Conner looked at them both and snorted. 

-

Jason stood in front of the mirror, holding the dress under his chin. It was one of Cass’s, way too small to fit his broad shoulders but not so tiny that he couldn’t imagine himself in it. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel. 

Nothing clicked. There was no angel choir while light fell down from the heavens, but he also felt no need to toss the dress across the room and change into a camo wife beater and head to the gym to prove his testosterone levels were high. It was a nice dress, Jason could rock it, and if it fit he would probably be rocking it right now. 

But he wasn’t a girl. He knew that. And as much as he was trying to blame dying he’d always known he wasn’t a guy. Just, being non-binary sucked because it was all about crossing off answers instead of circling the correct one. Maybe he was genderfluid? But he never really felt pulled one way or another?

This was Tim’s fault. Jason had been doing a great job of just not really thinking about it until Tim came out and then Jason was all up in the Pride Centre and of course, like a dumbass, he had grabbed some pamphlets for himself and now he had to actually think about his identity.

Ugh. 

This not being cis thing was utterly exhausting . 

Wait. Did this also make him gay?

Fucking labels. 

There was a knock at the door and Jason crumpled the dress up and stuffed it under a couch pillow. “Coming!” he yelled, darting across the room to open the door. On the other side stood Cass. 

“Meeting,” she said gravely. “Bruce’s room.” Straight to the point. Jason liked that about her. 

“When?”

“Now.”

“Okay,” Jason agreed, but as he went to step out of the room Cass barred his path. “Hey Cass? What’s going on?”

Her eyes narrowed at him and flicked to the couch. Jason could feel pricks of sweat developing on his back? Did she know? Was she gonna kick his ass? As much as he hated to admit it, Cass could definitely kick his ass. 

“Dress” she snapped. Okay, she definitely fucking knew. Jason stayed frozen, waiting for the blow that never came. Instead Cass huffed and flicked Jason in the forehead. “Hang. Wrinkles.”

“Oh,” Jason said with a swallow. “Wrinkles.” 

Cass nodded. “Wrong colour. Later. Try more. Later.”

Well, that wasn’t the worst way to take it. Jason felt his chest loosen from tension he didn’t know he’d been holding.

So now he had two people who knew and two people who were on his side. This was good.

This was great.

-

“Move,” Dami demanded of the cat. 

I don’t think he’s going to move.

“He will move or I will make him move.” No one got in the way of the Son of the Bat.

That didn’t work last time. 

Dami snarled. He didn’t need the reminder of the cuts on his hands. “Last time I did not draw a blade.”

I am not stabbing a cat! 

“That cat ,” Dami said through gritted teeth, “is standing on my means of restoring you to flesh.”

The phone book isn’t going to make me human again.

Before he had learned that this knife was some enchanted child, Dami would have forgiven it for not having a brain. Now that he knew different it was all he could do to stop from scoffing scornfully. “The person I can contact in the phone book is who is going to make it so you can stop bothering me. ” 

He got the impression of the sword sighing. I appreciate you trying to help but I don’t think who you are looking for is in there. We have been at this for days and you haven’t found this great magician. Maybe he’s dead.

“He isn’t dead.”

Unlisted?

That...was a possibility Dami hadn’t considered. “Nevertheless, I shall pursue the matter to the best of my abilities. Now Cat, remove yourself from the phonebook.”

Dexter began to clean a paw. 

Dami was starting to reconsider his desire to have a pet for himself. Not even Timothy was so contrary as this beast had decided to be today. 

“Master Damian?” Pennyworth called as he glided into the room.

Dami popped up from where he had hidden himself from behind the couch. Had it been anyone other than Pennyworth he would not have revealed his location, but Pennyworth was uncanny and likely already knew Dami was there. 

Though, given the way his eyebrows pinched he was at a loss as to the why. Excellent. Dami did not need questions that he could not answer. 

Literally.

It was indeed the most frustrating part of the spell. Had he been able to, he would have likely requested help as he currently did not have the appropriate manner of tracking down a sorcerer. Going through the phone book was tedious and Dani was tired of peasants hanging up on him as though he would stoop to playing sick juvenile pranks.

"Yes, Pennyworth?" He said imperiously. He had no reason to feel guilty. He was being industrious with his time, not wasteful. 

"Your father has requested your presence. His room."

"Thank you, Pennyworth." In a moment of genius Dami picked up a hissing Dexter and kicked the phone book under the couch. The cat flexed his claws threateningly into Dami's shoulder but even if he escaped, Pennyworth being able to see the cat provided him with his necessary alibi. 

But after a moment of displeasure, Dexter settled into the boy’s arms, allowing Dami to carry him to Father's room. The conversation would likely be chastising, and Dami suspected the target would be Timothy for failing to take care of his own health again, or Grayson for wrecking yet another piece of antique furniture. He had stopped patrolling but he had not stopped his ridiculous flips.

They now just happened indoors.

Either way Dami was safe because he knew how to operate in the utmost secrecy.

Chapter Text

While Bruce did not move to his office, he did have a dark leather recliner in his suite that he had moved to in an effort to make himself appear more serious. Even he, as Bruce Wayne or Batman, could only exert so much authority while lying on his back and if Tim was involved in this in any way, shape, or form, Bruce was going to have to use every ounce of authority that he had to get the boy to step back from whatever madness had him turning to John Fucking Constantine, the man whose legacy was epically fucking up and making it someone else’s problem. 

Unless it wasn’t Tim looking for the man. Bruce didn’t know which he would prefer. Well, he did. He would have preferred that no one in his family was foolish enough to go looking for Constantine. It was moments like this that made him feel like he was a terrible father. Other parents didn’t have problems like this. 

Tim came in first, his hand eclipsed by Conner’s as they walked close enough to bump shoulders. It was disgustingly cute. Bart came in behind them with a look of childish disgust, sticking his tongue out at the clasped hands. Neither Tim nor Conner had particularly messy hair, there was no bruised skin, and their lips weren’t puffing in a way that was suspicious. Bruce felt fairly confident in his assessment that he had not interrupted them having sex under his roof. Not that Bruce would mind. Them having sex. Safe sex. The interrupting would be an issue. Bruce didn't want to think of Tim and sex, but Tim having sex in his house was better than Tim having sex in places that weren't his house. 

Bruce’s house was safe and sterile and had adults and first aid kits and an Alfred who was utterly unflappable because Tim having a sex accident might flap Bruce. But it was still better than Tim having this happen somewhere else. 

Cass glided in with Jason. She looked as fluid as he did tense. So Jason was definitely up to something. Of all his children his tells had always been the most obvious. But being up to something and calling Constantine were not the same thing and Bruce couldn’t think of a single reason for Jason to call Constantine. 

Unless he wanted to talk about coming back from the dead? 

Okay, so Jason had one very solid reason to talk to Constantine. Tim had none but Tim was not to be trusted. 

Dami puttered in, carrying Dexter and glaring as though Bruce had interrupted something of extreme importance, though Dami treated everything that he did as though it were life or death. 

“Hey, Dad,” Jason fidgeted, “What’s up?”

Bruce kept his face blank, an interrogation technique that had always worked well on his children. “We’re waiting for Dick.”

Jason relaxed infinitesimally. Everyone else tensed. 

Interesting. 

Dick entered the room a few minutes later –  he must have chatted a bit with Dinah as he showed her out – and flashed a shallow smile. Out of everyone, he was taking Clark’s betrayal the hardest. It was expected but Bruce didn’t know what to do. Dinah was unavailable to give Dick the type of support he would need. Given that Dick had been aware of Kaldur’s mission, this was his son’s first time dealing with betrayal by another member of the caped community, and for it to have been someone Dick was so close to? Bruce had the comfort of having gained distance from Clark throughout the years, the frustrations over Conner’s lack of parenting souring their relationship. It hadn’t ended it, but it had stripped away some of the shine. 

While Bruce was enraged, or he would be when he allowed himself to think about it, he wasn’t shocked. Surprised, yes. This had been unlikely. Extremely unlikely. But looking back the odds of Clark turning on the League had never been zero. 

The most disgusting part of it was that Luthor had been shouting that off of balconies for years. 

But Dick had grown up with Clark being the coolest uncle-like figure ever. He had basically lost another family member.

It made Bruce want to find Clark and punch him again, back brace be damned. 

But that was a thought for later. Right now his children were gathered and Bruce had questions.

“Can anyone tell me about this?” Bruce asked, keeping his face blank in a way that his boys hated, as he lifted the phone bill. 

There was a moment of confused silence before Tim quirked an eyebrow. “Well, you see, Bruce, when a tree is broken into pulp-"

"Tim," Bruce said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Why are you calling Constantine?" Why was it always Tim? 

“Whoa!” Tim held his hands up as though Bruce had drawn a knife on him. “I’m not.”

Bruce tapped the call log on his knee. “I have a stack of paper saying that someone is doing it.”

“And it’s not me,” Tim said with a dramatic eye roll, sounding every inch an offended teenager. “Trust me, if I wanted to get a hold of Constantine I wouldn’t waste time calling him. The man has a website.” 

Dami hissed and Bruce’s eyes snapped to his youngest. The boy straightened, which was impressive given Dami’s natural posture. “I have done nothing,” Dami declared like a guilty man. 

Bruce didn’t give any outward sign of his emotions except for the possible greying of a few hairs. “Dami, why are you calling Constantine?”

Dami clicked his tongue. “I have not spoken with this Constantine.”

“Dami.” Bruce was pleased to see his stern tone made his son squirm. Dexter took the extra movement as a sign to move, the cat jumping from his son’s arm, as Dami jutted out his chin. “Dami, why are you attempting to call Constantine?”

“You shut up,” Dami practically snarled. “If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Come here,” Bruce waved Dami over while once again cursing Clark. It would still be a few weeks before he could putter around without the brace. Dami approached him warily, his steps silent and his arms rigid at his side. He stopped just out of reach and Bruce motioned him to come closer. Dami hesitated before doing so. 

As soon as he was in range Bruce gently clasped Dami’s elbows, running his hands down Dami’s arms until his son’s hands rested in his. “Dami, I know you are scared right now –”

" – I am not,” Dami argued.  

Bruce gave their hands a little bounce. “You are. That’s fine. And I promise you we are doing everything we can to help. It’s going to take time as right now Dr. Fate is keeping Superman under control. And Dr. Fate will have Captain Marvel to help him. And if they need help they have all kinds of contacts who they can call upon. We aren’t going to Constantine.”

Dami pouted. “Timothy went to Constantine and he was immensely helpful.”

“Different fucking dimmension,” Bart muttered under his breath. 

Bruce ignored the swearing. “Bart is right. I don’t know the reputation of Tim’s Constantine, but I know the one in our world and he isn’t a man who I would turn to for help except under the most dire of circumstances. Our circumstances aren’t dire.”

“It means Father thinks you are annoying, not threatening. His opinion of you should be lower.” Dami bit his lip. He opened his mouth to say something, but given the way his eyes slid into blankness, the words that came out of Dami’s mouth were not those by his choice. “There is nothing to worry about, Father.”

There was plenty to worry about but as much as Bruce hated that Dami wasn’t the priority, Clark needed to be contained and Bruce hadn’t set up a dungeon to hold the Kryptonian. 

Bruce pulled Dami closer and kissed him on the forehead, feeling fond as his son wrinkled his nose in disdain. 

“Doing a consult with Constantine isn’t a bad idea,” Tim spoke up and Bruce pulled Dami closer as though he could protect him from his dumb ideas. 

“Tim, no.” Bruce practically growled. 

“Just a consult,” Tim spoke in his gala voice, a tone that was meant to placate people who were much stupider than Bruce. “We ask and if we don’t like the answer we do nothing. Ten minutes out of everyone’s day.”

“No,” Bruce snapped and everyone took a step back. “We will wait for Dr. Fate to be free and we will ask him and that is final. ”

Tim squared his shoulders and Bruce felt a muscle in his back spasm as he tightened his muscles, preparing for whatever fight he was about to have on his hands. “Didn’t he literally body snatch another League member? Do you really want to get his opinion on possession?” 

Bruce was not going to admit that Tim had landed a solid hit. “Constantine is incompetant and arrogant.”

“He’s still better than nothing.”

“Tim-”

“You said you’d listen when I had plans.”

“I think I have the right to ignore them when they are made from a place of utter ignorance.”

“Then let me research before you shut me down!”

“Dami is my son and we will be handling this my way!”

Bruce’s last words echoed into a stunned silence. It had been a long time since he had raised his voice at his children and he felt a twinge of something like regret. But it had needed to happen. Tim’s idea needed to be shut down before the boy could do actual harm. 

Still, Bruce didn’t like the way he was being stared at. 

“Just, everyone out.” They scrambled as a group, Dick dragging Tim by the wrist as Tim shot Bruce a betrayed look.  

This was such a mess.

-

“No.”

Tim had never led Bart astray. Oh, he’d lied to Bart plenty but Bart didn’t take it personally. Tim lied to everyone. The truth was a weapon and the rebellion couldn’t handle the weight of it, Bart couldn’t handle the weight of it. As fast as a speedster’s brain was, there were pieces that Bart couldn’t hold onto, pieces that he couldn’t make fit fast enough for them to be useful. 

But that was okay because Tim did the thinking for Bart and Bart trusted Tim with that. He’d never let Bart down, never abandoned him, and he’d never hurt him out of cruelty. 

Bart trusted Tim. 

This Tim was not that Tim. 

This Tim had tried to tell Bart that he was not future Tim and Bart knew that, knew that things had happened differently enough that the angry bitter man who had raised Bart to survive would never be this new, shinier version, but never had the difference been more apparent. 

Tim hummed, ignoring Bart as he created a profile, attaching a credit card to a fake name.

“We’re going to get caught,” Conner said in exasperation. Bart knew it wouldn’t be enough. 

Tim shook his head. “We’re fine. As far as Bruce is concerned my search history is and always has been fetish porn.” Bart knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“He’s insane,” Bart hissed, willing Tim to see reason. 

“Who, Bruce?”

“Tim!”

“Eh,” Tim shrugged as he hit submit. “He’s Constantine.”

“He murdered an entire city like he was stepping on ants.” Tim wasn’t an idiot but he didn’t have all the information. Even Future Tim has made mistakes when he didn’t have all the information. Everyone had suffered for it but those instances were rare because Tim was so fucking crash. 

Tim was currently not being crash because he wasn’t fucking listening. Constantine in Tim’s universe had been okay but Tim couldn’t walk into this situation with the same mindset. Constantine was a killer whose victims suffered even in death. He was a monster, not a man.

Bart would rather fight Superman while without his powers than be anywhere near Constantine. 

Tim waved a hand as he hit submit. “It’s not your problem, Bart. You’re not coming along.”

One of the things about being a speedster was that his body was constantly in motion. His very molecules vibrated incessantly as his brain fired off thoughts faster than his nerves could respond. He was constant movement contained within skin.

Tim’s words caused everything to freeze.

“Why?”

It wasn’t a question he usually asked Tim. It was Tim. He trusted Tim. But this wasn’t His Tim and he was leaving Bart behind. Did he think that Bart was a coward? That he wouldn’t follow because he was scared?

Had Bart given Tim a reason to think he wasn’t loyal?

Tim hummed as he opened up a message board. “I need you to coordinate with Clone Roy Harper to assist in the recovery of both this universe’s Cassandra Cain and the possible rescue of original Roy Harper.”

Bart almost let out a choked sob. Tim still trusted him. 

“Possible rescue?” Conner asked, sounding sceptical.

“Yeah,” Tim spun his chair away from the computer so he could look at them both. “The League is right in that Roy might not be alive, but they are wrong when they say he is dead. They have no body, no video. The Light didn’t even claim they killed Roy. They should have been helping Roy search this entire time. 

“He’s been working with Cheshire to try and find where they could be keeping Roy and I’ve been in contact. Luthor funnelled a bunch of money to ship equipment to the mountains but he himself has never been there, probably because it is one of Ra’s’s bases. Cheshire is sure that if he’s alive he’s there, but a two man team against assassins?” Tim shook his head. “They need a meta of some kind. You’d be perfect. You can run through walls and would be able to figure out if this was another false lead much faster than they could. 

“And they help you catch Cass. As long as you don’t approach her like you are threatening her she should be willing to come with, and if she stabs you, well, you’ll heal.” Tim winced as he said that, but Bart nodded along. It was sound logic. Bruce would also be more forgiving if they brought this world’s Cass home. 

“They’d need to find Cass first.” Conner argued, not sounding thrilled. 

Tim nodded. “They think they have but they haven’t approached because they don’t want to spook her. Bart will grab Cass first, and then, hopefully, rescue Roy.”

Bart smiled, feeling like the ground was even again. Tim was Tim. Tim was and would always be Tim. 

“Crash.”

-

John Constantine hissed as he set his laptop on his thighs, the cold machine unpleasant against his naked skin. It was a minor annoyance that faded quickly, aided by the drink in one hand and the cigarette between his lips.

“Alright my darling, let’s see what we’ve got for today.” So far he was liking New York. There was enough activity here to keep him in the good liquor and it wasn’t bloody England. Most of the jobs paid well and were small, John able to talk down demons and spirits he already knew instead of having to fight with overly ambitious idiots. It was a pretty sweet gig, which meant that John should have been growing suspicious, watching the sky for the other proverbial foot. 

Instead he was feeling pretty cheeky, so when a job came up for Gotham he only hesitated a few minutes before clicking for details. He didn’t like Gotham. No one did. John was fairly certain that not even Batman liked Gotham, but he liked money and this one promised a big payout. 

It looked like a simple request. Some kid’s brother had a haunted knife they needed to ditch. No one dead. Only reason family knew something was up was because the haunted kid was talking to himself, and not even the creepy ‘kill them all’ bullshit. The job was positively benign. 

But it was also Gotham.

It came with a paycheque that had a lot of zeroes. 

But it was also Gotham.

Though, if he was ever going to go to that hellhole of a city now would be the time to do it. All of the Bats were lying low ever since Big Blue lost his everloving mind on the Waynes. Given that the League had shown up to cart off Superman and not Bruce Wayne it was likely that the old Spooky was at Watchtower.

So if John wanted to line his pockets now would be the time to do it. 

Oh, what the hell. John had always been morbidly curious about the most violent city in America and someone was definitely making it worth his time to swing by. 

He clicked “accept.”

-

 “Gotcha.”

-

Dick laid on the ground beside the balance beam that Bruce had installed in the Batcave for Dick on his tenth birthday. There had been a lot of other equipment purchased for that day, and more had been installed over the years. But right now it was the balance beam that Dick was focused on. Or focused off.

Because he’d fallen. He’d misstepped and hit the mat at a weird angle and instead of taking a deep breath and getting on again Dick had just…flopped. He’d let gravity carry him down and he was now on his back staring at stalactites and shadows as he tried to process all the crap that was his life right now and he just couldn’t handle it all at once. There was just so much and Dick was not aster. 

He was not aster at all. 

“The Team is gone.” It had been a thought circling inside his brain since the attack on the Mountain, one that he had been ducking from because he felt he wasn’t ready to face it. He felt like he’d never be ready to face it. 

But it was still there, still a cold hard truth gnawing on his psyche. He had hoped that saying it out loud would make it easier, like draining pus from a wound would relieve the mounting pressure.

It didn't.

The Team was gone. That night in the Mountain had destroyed that.

No one was dead anymore. Another thought Dick didn’t study too closely because he didn’t want to dwell on the emotional consequences of having resurrected friends, dead parents, and the expectations that was setting Dick up for in his life. It was really going to fuck with his ability to grieve and the next time someone died Dick was not going to be able to process it like a normal person. 

But even with everyone having heartbeats, M’gann’s actions had torn the Team apart. She’d been there from very near the start and the Team had all allowed her the intimacy of mental access and she had abused that trust. She’d basically attacked Conner because he saw what she was doing and tried to talk her into stopping. He hadn’t even gone after her physically and she had just immediately tried to burn his opinion from his mind. 

And Conner hadn’t felt supported enough to approach anyone with that information. 

Maybe that was when the Team died and the night in the Mountain was just a ripe corpse splitting open to let the gases out, firing them all into different places. 

La’gaan was back in Atlantis. Kaldur was staying at a safe house Arthur had set up. Garfield was with Dinah and the girls had all gone back to their respective homes. 

The Mountain was lost to them. Even though it still physically stood it had been violated so completely that Dick was certain that no one who had been there that night would ever be willing to set foot there again. Fear and violence were drenched into the very walls. 

“Clark is gone.” Not dead. Nothing that clean. But as far as Dick was concerned the man who had attacked his family wasn't the same man who used to take him flying. He couldn’t be. Dick couldn’t reconcile those two men, couldn’t superimpose the snarl over the smile. Dick’s Clark was gone and somehow that man had taken his place and Dick didn’t know when it happened, how it happened. 

“Nightwing is gone. ”

Dick drew a stuttering breath, a burn in his chest matching the one prickling at his eyes. He had thought that Nightwing was what Batman was to Bruce. The ultimate and final evolution of who he was as a vigilante. He’d spent weeks working the design, fitting the costume not just to his body and his fighting style, but also to Gotham. Dark but friendly. A Robin that has shed the bright plumage of youth for the seriousness of adulthood. 

Ashes.

How was Dick supposed to wear a name he’d learned from a man that had tried to kill his family?

He felt the warm trails trickling over his temples as tears leaked out the corner of his eyes as his chest hitched again. It was just too much and Dick had nowhere to go with it. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just dump this on Bruce; the man was injured and he’d just been betrayed by a friend. He also was in the midst of helping the Justice League figure out what to actually do with Clark. It wasn’t like they could just toss him in jail and be done with it. 

Dick wasn’t going to drop this in his siblings’ lap. 

Dinah was busy. 

Dick was alone. 

“Oof.” A warm weight stepped awkwardly on Dick’s chest, feet digging in with every step. Dick blinked up, watched as Dexter flicked his gaze at the boy before going back to ignoring Dick even though he was sitting right on top of him. With the utter lack of concern that only a cat could achieve Dexter started to knead his claws into Dick’s stomach, purring with the action.

Dick brought a hand up, slowly because Dexter was nothing if not temperamental, and gave the cat a soft pat on the head.

Dexter’s purring increased and Dick felt safe enough to turn the pat into scratches. Dexter took that as a signal that Dick would be catering to his whims and settled himself onto Dick’s stomach, one paw tucked underneath him and the other flexing lazily. Dick rubbed his fingers behind Dexter’s ears, allowing the cat’s rumbles to echo in his own chest.

It didn’t fix anything. Dick was no further along in his growth than when he first hit the mat but for a moment he did feel better. 

Huh. 

No wonder Tim wanted a cat. 

Dexter blinked lazily as he purred, pushing his head into Dick’s fingers whenever he thought the pressure was too gentle. It was repetitive, stroking Dexter, repetitive and mindless and almost meditative. 

Soft footsteps padded across the mat before Cass sat with a small thump. Dick knew she’d done that so she didn’t spook him. 

He appreciated it. 

“Brother.” Cass wasn’t one to waste words so Dick shifted so he could look at her. He’d never realized how dark her eyes were, how strongly her gaze pulled things in and then pulled them apart. Tim had once said that Cass saw everything. 

Right now Dick believed that might actually be true. 

With a steady hand, Cass reached out to Dick, gently patting the top of his head. “We all get lost.” The pat turned into a stroke. “Hurts now.” Her fingers pulled through a tangle delicately, the hairs parting under the pressure of her fingers. “Wounds. Heal.” Dick closed his eyes at the feeling of hands in his hair, memories of his mother dancing on his mind. “You’ll. Find way.”

Dick huffed and Dexter immediately dug his claws into Dick’s side with an implied threat. “It all fell apart.” He opened his eyes to peer at her face, his head twisting for a better view. Cass shifted to pet the side of his head. 

She shrugged. “Make something new.”

“I’m tired of making new things.” It wasn’t until the confession poured over Dick’s lips that he realized how true it was. He just wanted something steady, something constant, something he could hold onto in the hurricane that seemed to be his life. 

Cass hummed thoughtfully before she retracted her hand and pointed it at herself. “Me. Make something. For brother.” She rolled gracefully, silently, to her feet and strode over to the Batcomputer. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a tablet and stylus before coming to rest beside Dick again. 

He watched as she bit her tongue in concentration, stylus shakily gliding across the tablet as she worked. Dick craned his neck trying to see but every time he moved she had already pulled it out of his line of vision. 

He pushed himself up a little farther and Dexter hissed as he was jostled, claws digging hard enough to draw blood before he jumped off of Dick, digging his back paws into Dick’s hipbone as he leapt onto the mat. 

Cass huffed in laughter and she kept the tablet hidden. 

“Oh, come on,” Dick whined as he moved to sit up. “I’m injured, and now you insult? At least let me see.”

Cass looked at the tablet, at Dick, and then at the tablet before shyly passing it to him. 

On it was a monstrosity. It looked like a turkey Furry costume that had been barfed on by a christmas tree. Worse, Dick could see belts and pockets, with a poorly rendered grappling gun in one hand. He looked up at her, trying to keep his expression neutral even as dread settled in his bones.

“Robinman,” Cass said sagely. 

Dick could literally feel himself choking in absolute horror. 

She smirked and poked him in the chest with the pen before offering it for him to grab. “Can you do better?”

Dick smirked back.

Yeah. 

Yeah he could. 

-

Brushing Wolf, Conner watched his boyfriend in exasperated amusement as Tim fired off emails to an increasingly annoyed Roy, which was saying something because even at the best of times Roy’s default had always been mildly peeved. “You do know this is like two steps back in character development.”

“Hm?” Tim popped his head up from the laptop screen to fix Conner with a confused look. 

“This whole giant scheme without telling Bruce, especially after he already said ‘no’,” Conner clarified as he worked a mat. They were in the garden, Wolf and Sphere both tucked away on the property while the League found another base of operations for the Team, or what was left of it. 

Tim bit his lip. “It’s different this time.” Conner raised his eyebrows and Tim held up a hand. “No, it is! I actually tried to talk to Bruce.” Okay, that was a marked improvement even if that conversation had been an utter trainwreck. “It’s just that he’s stuck right now, you know? With Clark?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Conner replied sincerely. He was missing something that obviously hadn’t been covered in clone training or sitcoms. Wolf huffed, though Conner wasn’t sure if it was in judgement or agreement. 

“Hold up.” Tim bent down, his hands flying across the keyboard in a staccato of clicks before he shut the laptop, balancing it in his lap. “Okay, so, Bruce wants to use Dr. Fate, right?” Conner nodded. “But Dr. Fate is handling Superman and is unavailable until that’s dealt with.”

“I know all this.”

Tim must have picked up Conner’s growing impatience because his next words came out in a bit of a rush. “The League wants Bruce to tell them what to do about Superman and Bruce wants the League to figure it out on their own and until someone gives in Dr. Fate is going to be stuck with Superman on his hands.”

“That makes sense,” Conner admitted, “but you could just tell Bruce this and force him to deal with Clark.” Before he finished speaking Tim was already shaking his head. 

“That won’t work. The League has to make the decision or Bruce is never going to trust them again.”

“That’s dumb.” Wolf nodded. See? Even the wild animal thought that superhero politics were stupid. 

Tim shrugged. “I think the League might have fucked up with Superman more than we are aware. Bruce gets pretty quiet about the League and no matter what universe or how much therapy a Grunty Bruce Wayne is not a Happy Bruce Wayne.”

Conner set the brush down and Wolf took that as permission to bolt, tearing across the property with a speed that only an animal experiment could manage. “Going over his head is not going to make things better.”

Tim levelled Conner with a flat, serious stare that rivalled Batman’s after a botched mission. “Dami is my brother and I will be damned if I leave him in distress because Bruce has his head in his ass. Dr. Fate is just as bad of an option as Constantine; Bruce just wants him for familiarity, which is the same reason I want Constantine. The difference is Constantine isn’t busy right now and Dr. Fate is.”

Tim’s phone beeped and he opened the laptop again, leaving Conner to digest the information. Laid out like that, Conner didn’t think Tim sounded wrong. That being said, Tim was very good at sounding like he wasn’t wrong. 

But this time he had also tried to argue his point before trying anything. That was important. That counted as growth.

“Alright. We’re going to meet with Constantine on Thursday while Red Arrow and Cheshire coordinate with Bart to grab Cass 2.0. Then they’re going to hit up the mountain fortress where Roy likely is and we’ll be doing whatever based on Constantine’s feedback. Sound good?”

Conner shrugged. “As good as all of your other plans, and those have worked out fine.”

“Thank you for your enthusiasm,” Tim said with zero inflection.

Conner laughed and stood, brushing grass and hair off of his pants before offering a hand to Tim, but instead of Tim coming up, Conner tumbled and went down, landing in Tim’s lap and narrowly missing the laptop. 

“What the hell was that?” Tim squawked. 

“Gravity,” Conner answered while he wondered the exact same thing. 

Chapter Text

Alfred accepted the package with the grace demanded by his position. Once he had tipped the delivery driver and closed the door he whisked it down to the cave, taking the steps two at a time. He set it on the table for dangerous substances and scanned it under every piece of delicate equipment Bruce had procured, searching for poisons, bombs, or even simple listening devices. Test after test came up negative and even then Alfred was tempted to toss it in the incinerator and be done with it, but alas these decisions were not his to make.

So he did what the delivery man had expected him to do when he had first received the package and brought it up to Master Bruce, knocking so the man had enough time to hide those dratted puzzle books and pretend he was doing his actual job. When the shuffling noise stopped, Alfred opened the door and held out the package. 

Master Bruce blinked in surprise. “Who is sending me fruit baskets?”

Many people, but most were rerouted because it would not do for Master Bruce’s house to fill up with fruit and flowers, especially when there were people in Gotham who could use the food and cheering whereas here it would all rot. But this one made it through. 

Money made things happen. 

“Lex Luthor, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce eyed the basket like it was going to explode. “Is that honeydew?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Gross.”

“Indeed, Sir.”

Bruce sighed. “I will write a thank you note. I still don’t know why that man is suddenly so interested in me. I preferred it when he hated me.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “He did send you honeydew.”

Master Bruce pursed his lips and tapped on them with a pen. “Okay, so he still hates me. Well, that's a relief even if it doesn’t explain why he is sending me strawberries shaped like flowers.”

Years of maintaining a professional facade in spite of Master Bruce’s more outlandish escapades was all that kept Alfred from dropping his face into his hands in despair. For being a detective, Master Bruce could be very dense.  “I do believe this may have something to do with Master Timothy’s coming out.”

The pursed lips became a dedicated frown. “Make a note. When I am on my feet again we need  to invite Lex to a gala so I can spill red wine all over him.”

“Very good, Sir. And Master Timothy?”

“Tim’s smart enough to not correspond with old men who have suspect motives.”

-

“Constatine emailed me again. He wants to meet somewhere with an open space. I’m thinking the warehouse on 34th.”

“I know nothing about this city, Tim.”

“Well, now you know there is a warehouse on 34th.”

- 

Becoming Captain Marvel had been the best thing to ever happen to Billy Batson. It had gotten him off of the streets, given him a home, and gifted him with friends. It gave him a purpose and the ability to create a legacy his parents would have been proud of. Captain Marvel had saved Billy before Billy ever had the ability to use it to save someone else. 

But right now being Captain Marvel hurt. Being trapped with what little of the League was available as they went round in circles as they discussed what to do about Superman was like listening to a knife on a chalkboard and all Billy wanted to do was leave the room. But he couldn’t even do that because Solomon was whispering in his ear that someone needed to be there to prevent them from making a dumb decision. 

Too much was at stake. 

“I say we check for mind control again.”

“Oliver,” Diana snapped, “we have checked. We know that Superman’s actions were his own. We are not here to excuse him but to best decide how to punish him.”

“We should be figuring out how to help him,” Hal offered and Katar nodded. 

Oliver was quick to jump on that train. “Yeah! Superman needs our help! He’s done a lot and deserves a second chance.”

At the far end of the table Barry drummed his fingers so fast it sounded like a hum. “You all know how I feel about second chances.” There were nods all around. Everyone knew that the Flash treated his rogues gallery like naughty kids instead of hardened criminals and it somehow kept Central City’s crime down. “They’re great, but we aren’t talking about giving Superman a second chance. We are talking about giving him a pass. Second chances require personal accountability. They also require good faith.

“We don’t have that right now.”

Oliver frowned. “You’re just saying that because he attacked you.”

Barry did a good job of imitating Batman. “Captain Cold also attacked me. And I put him in jail. And when he gets out he’s going to attack me again.

“But he isn’t going to kill anyone because that is the deal.

“Can we say the same of Superman?”

Katar scoffed. “Superman isn’t some criminal. The man is a hero!”

“Which is worse,” Diana stood and slammed her hands on the table. “We took vows when we founded the Justice League and Superman has broken them. We promised to use our powers to protect and defend and Superman, unprovoked, attacked another team member’s family. He nearly killed Batman!”

“Hardly unprovoked,” Oliver muttered.

“Pretty fucking disproportionate,” Dinah muttered. 

J’onn frowned as he spoke up. “We already tried talking to Superman and he ignored us. We are going to have to follow through with some kind of action.”

Oliver went to open his mouth and Billy stood, cutting him off. “Enough,” he said quietly. 

Of course, that didn’t shut the archer up. “Captain Marvel, what are you-”

“I said ‘enough’.” Billy didn’t snap. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. He just waited the way Batman did, solid and serene, until held the undivided attention of the room. “Superman is dangerous. We are all, ” Billy paused to sweep his gaze over every present member, “dangerous. And we all swore to live up to the responsibility of being dangerous, just like Superman. 

“He failed in that responsibility.” He took a breath, hoping that his words were sinking in.  “While we all want to believe the best in a friend, Superman has failed us, has failed the League and it is our responsibility as the League, not as Superman’s friend but as the people who have self appointed ourselves heroes of the Earth, to set a precedent. 

“How are we going to handle our members who act no better than criminals? Are we going to make excuses for them and hypocrites of ourselves? Or are we going to do what we swore to do, what our name demands we do, and uphold justice? 

“That answer should be easy. If it is not then you should reconsider your membership to the League.”

Billy retook his seat in a silence so loud it was deafening. 

After a moment Barry spoke up. “So, any ideas on how to punish the strongest man on the planet?”

-

Jay laid face down on the bed, a pillow over his head as he pushed it against his ears. The contractors were being especially loud today and Jay could not fucking cope with it. One thing about the League of Assassins is at least they kept their bullshit quiet. The constant buzz of saws and smash of hammers as the wall was repaired echoed throughout Jay’s room in the height of the day. He shouldn’t be mad. It wasn’t like they were keeping the house up at weird hours, but he couldn’t fucking concentrate on anything but the sound of the stupid contractors and it was driving him mad. 

He didn’t want to be here.

Fuck it. He had a car. 

He pushed himself off the bed and grabbed his wallet, running his fingers through his hair to make it presentable as he left his suite. He hummed thinking about where he could go. He also didn’t really want to be alone, but Dami was currently too weird to be in public and Dick was too mopey. Jay loved his brother but he wanted to leave the house to cheer himself up, not spend the entire time trying to get Dick to smile. He could take Cass but the last time he’d seen her she’d marched right past him, on a warpath about something.

That left Tim and his posse. Where could he take those losers that would result in Jay having a good time? Movie theatre was out. Tim liked to guess the endings and Bart started yelling directions at the screen that usually suggested violent courses of action that Dami would approve. 

If they went to a bookstore Tim would demand one with a coffee bar instead of appreciating the fact that it was a book store. Conner would flip through a few magazines to make a good show of it but having knowledge programmed since birth didn’t really make the accumulation of more knowledge exciting. 

Bart only cared about books if they had pictures of fruit in them. 

Dami would kill them if they went to the museum or the zoo without him. 

Wait.

Maybe the park?

Jay pulled out his phone. The park was a pretty good idea. Ivy was in Arkham, last Jay had heard, so it was about as safe as things got with Tim. That kid was such a jinx and whoever had made the stupid days with last timcident sign -probably Dick- was an idiot who tempted fate. He was going to find that sign and burn it.  

Yo timmers, where you at 

He waited a minute for the reply. Conner’s room

Ugh. Gross. omw

His phone chimed again with Tim’s response. 

• . ◉

He snorted, amused despite himself. Tim’s stupid emojis. 

It didn’t take him long to make it to the Kryptonian’s room, where it was slightly quieter. A small mercy Jay would take. He made sure to knock on the door because while Tim was probably asexual he didn’t want to walk in on his brother testing that theory. He didn’t open the door until he got the go ahead. 

Everyone was clothed and unruffled with Tim on his laptop while Conner streamed, was that asmr videos? Bart wasn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Hey, Jay. What’s up?” Tim closed the laptop and spun to look at his brother, eyes full of concern. “You look stressed.”

Jay probably should have actually combed his hair in a mirror. “Wanna go somewhere?”

Tim blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah, unless you have plans.”

Tim shrugged. “I have somewhere to be at seven but I’m good until then. Where were you thinking?”

“Park.” Jay leaned against the door. 

Tim’s eyes narrowed but Jay could read a blooming excitement. “Skatepark?”

Oh. That could be fun. “Yeah. We’ll need to get boards.”

Conner looked up from the tablet screen and raised a sceptical eyebrow at both of them. “Have either of you ever tried to skateboard before?”

Jay shrugged. “Eh. Can’t be harder than train surfing.”

Jay could feel the mix of stress and exasperation pouring off of Conner. They both looked at Tim who merely smirked in reply. He heaved something that was a cross between a sigh and a growl. “Fine. I’ll bring the first aid kit.”

“Sweet. Tim?”

The boy was already on his feet, ready to push past Jay. “I need my camera. This is going to be great!”

It turned out Tim could say that because the little bastard had been to a skatepark before. And often, given the way he was popping off tricks. He hadn’t even noticed when Conner had gone from guarding Tim’s camera to using Tim’s camera, catching snapshots of the kid practically flying. 

Next to Tim, Jay definitely sucked. But Tim sucked at coming back from the dead so Jay figured that his skill set was more impressive than the twerp’s. Besides, he was still having a lot of fun, even if he was just wheeling from one side of the park to the other. Jay wasn’t the only one and everyone who wasn’t oogling Tim seemed pretty chill and ready to let Jay putter about. He even managed to snag a few new friends for his Discord. 

Jay counted it as a successful day and was only mildly annoyed when Tim called it quits.

“Jay? I need to head back to the Manor if I’m going to make my appointment.”

Jay stepped on the back of his board, kicking it up into his hand. See? He was getting there. “I can drop you off if you need me too.”

Tim was shaking his head before Jay finished speaking. “I need to pick something up.”

With a huff Jay tucked his board under his arm. “Fine. Be all independent.” A thought occurred to him. “Does Bruce know what you are up to?”

“No.” Conner said bluntly. “It’s private.”

Tim looked at his shoes while Conner tried to stare Jay down. Eventually Jay just shook his head. There were no major disasters on the horizon so what they were up to couldn’t be that bad. Tim was sixteen and Conner was….well…physically old enough to do whatever. If they wanted to get caught up in some minor teenage rebellion who was Jay to stand in the way. They were probably going to watch x-rated movies at the theatre or something. 

They would be fine. 

-

Red Arrow and Cheshire were waiting for Bart on the roof of an elegant restaurant in Athens, both of them in full costume. Cheshire had her mask pulled up as she munched on a spanakopita that smelled divine while Red Arrow kept tapping the edge of his bow against his leg. 

“You’re late,” he snapped out at Bart.

Bart was not. He did not do late. Late got people killed. Bart was exactly on time. The speedster raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Are you saying that the mission’s already compromised?” Tim was going to be pissed.

“No.” Cheshire licked pastry crumbs off of her fingers. “But our target started early. She’s already scouting out clients. If she picks one up for the night we’re going to have to try again and that’s going to be a pain.”

“She’s already made us.” Red Arrow scowled as he confessed. “She’ll be in the wind tomorrow if we don’t handle this tonight.”

Great. Pressure. Woo. “What type of clients?” Red Arrow’s lips twitched up but he said nothing.

This was why Bart hated working with other people. Tim didn’t always give out all the information but he wasn’t a dick about hiding stuff. He either admitted to it or, usually, hid it so well no one bothered to look for it. None of these condescending power games. 

Whatever. Bart, unlike some people, was a professional. He wasn’t here to screw around. 

Tim was counting on him.

“Just point her out.”

Cheshire strode over to the edge of the roof and pointed down onto the street. “There.”

It took Bart a moment to spot her. She was older than he expected. Cass was somewhere around seventeen and this woman was definitely in her mid twenties, but they moved the same, like the largest predator in the room. The fancy make-up, the updo, and the sultry outfit didn’t hide any of that. But there was something about this Cass that set Bart on edge. She didn’t look like she was stalking prey. 

She looked like she was luring it. 

Ruby lips kept pouting as men with fancy watches walked by, her hands tracing their elbows as her eyes made promises Bart couldn't begin to hope to understand. He had no idea what she was doing, what her ‘clients’ could be, but he had a mission and the sooner he got done the sooner he could go back to where he was supposed to be: at Tim’s side. 

With his superspeed he had her dragged into an alleyway in seconds. With his superspeed he was also able to dodge the knife that came flying towards a more sensitive part of his anatomy. “Whoa!” He held up his hands and waved them. “Wait, I just need to talk to you.”

Her hands moved, but it wasn’t to throw a knife. Her fingers practically danced in the air and Bart followed them until they stopped. It took the expectant look on her face for him to figure out what had just happened. 

Mode. She’d been talking to him. Bart only knew hand signs from the future, which was absolutely useless here. He was so underprepared for this mission. Why hadn’t Red Arrow and Cheshire warned him that she signed? 

“Wait!” He held up his hands again and hoped to hell she understood English. “I’ll be right back!”

The nearest library was closed but doors meant nothing when Bart could move faster than the molecules that made them. It took him a depressingly long minute to find the language section on account of not being able to read the shelves and then only another few seconds to realize that the books were all from Greek to English.

With a growl Bart zipped to England and found what he needed, flipping through the pages fast enough to create a breeze as he absorbed the knowledge. Once he had Greek down pat he went back to Athens, sorting through the books until he found the other one he needed.

Then he was back to the alley. 

The trip took him twenty minutes of work that he could have prepared in advance if the two people he was working with had bothered with better recon than pointing Cass out in a crowd. 

Fortunately this Cass must have been curious because she was still waiting for him when he arrived back in the alley. 

“Sorry,” he signed with clumsy fingers. Knowing the gestures wasn’t the same thing as having them down pat. “ I couldn’t understand you before.”

This Cass had a poker face that rivalled Tim’s. Her expression didn’t flicker. “I can hear you just fine.” She kept her pose deceptively relaxed. “Who are you? I hope it is someone interesting given that you have interrupted my evening.”

“I’m Impulse. I’m a superhero from the future.”

Cass gave a soft, delicate snort. “And you are here to what? Arrest me for the monster I will become?”

“What? No!” Tim was so much better at this than he was. No. Tim was trusting him with this. Bart could do it. “There is a version of you from an alternate universe which brought attention to the fact that you probably exist here and we thought that maybe you would need a little help.”

Bart could feel sweat trickle down his neck as she stared blankly at him, her eyes as flat as stones, giving nothing away. He didn’t know how long it was before she spoke again. “So you are here to save me? Is that it? Am I to be a charity case? Because I can assure you I have wealth.” She twisted a wrist so a tennis bracelet of diamonds caught the light. “And I have strength.” A knife appeared in her hand. “I do not need anything else.”

Wow. This version of Cass was super crash, which was saying something because Cass was already so crash. But that complicated things. The mission was to bring her home but Bart was pretty sure the assumption was a sad scared Cass, not this woman who was quickly becoming another one of Bart’s heroes. He was fairly certain that if he wanted her to come with him when she didn’t he would have to hurt her, which would be bad. “You’re so badass.” For the first time Cass looked surprised. “If you’re doing okay then I should probably leave you alone, but can I leave you a phone number or something so you can text if shit ever goes mode? Like, I’m supposed to have you come with me but I’m pretty sure the context right now is different so it’s probably cool if you don’t. As long as we rescue Roy I’m sure it will be fine.”

Cass frowned a little and Bart realized he might have been speaking a little quick. “Roy?”

Should he tell her? She didn’t seem League. Well, she did a little but given what Bart knew of Cass Cass then she likely didn’t like them. “He was kidnapped by the League of Assassins.”

That caused a reaction. “Like the bitch who has been following me?”

“Ah.” Bart scuffed the ground with his toe. “Kinda? I mean Cheshire was League but isn’t anymore, so she’s gonna help us bust out Roy. We just wanted to check on you first. I should probably get out of your hair so you can do…whatever you were doing.”

Her stare pressed against his skin. “ You,” her hands moved sharply, “are interesting. I cannot decide if you are more likely to kill or be killed.” She shook her head with something that bordered disgust. “I will come with you to save your friend. And then perhaps I will meet these people who would ‘save’ me. And when I tire of you all I will leave.”

Bart shrugged. “Crash. It’ll be cool to have you meet the other Cass.”

“My name,” her hands moved slowly so Bart could not miss what she said, “is L-A-R-A.” With that she sashayed out of the alley, her eyes immediately going to where Red Arrow and Cheshire hid. 

Mission accomplished. 

-

The thing that Tim had needed to pick up from the Manor was Dami and the boy followed without question the moment Tim had said Constantine. Apparently that made the knife unhappy, but Tim was all about making that stupid knife unhappy. The damn thing deserved to be melted down for what it was doing to his brother. 

He took Bruce’s minivan. It was inconspicuous and easily replaced if it got stolen, not that he thought it would. While they weren’t headed to a great part of town, they certainly weren’t headed to the Bowery. Still, there was no need to tempt fate or criminals with a Lexus. 

They arrived before Constantine. 

Conner took one step into the warehouse before lifting an arm to block Tim’s path. “It’s too clean.” 

“Well yea,” Tim looked over the arm with a critical eye. “It was only cleared out by the Dragons a week ago. They always scrub their stuff down pretty thoroughly so they don’t get caught. I imagine next week it will be taken up by some other gang unless Constantine needs to draw on the walls. The occult always freaks people in Gotham out for a solid month. 

Conner twisted to stare at Tim before shaking his head and walking off. “What?” Tim asked. “What did I say?”

Dami sniffed. “Gotham is far too complex for such a feeble mind as yourself to understand.”

Tim looked down at his brother. “Was that directed towards Conner?”

Dami’s eyes glazed. “I was talking to no one.”

There was a long whistle from behind and they all spun, Dami bringing up the dagger while Tim raised his fist. Conner was too far back for immediate support but it wouldn’t take him long to be where he could help. 

Except it wasn’t a threat, but John Constantine who stepped through the door. He closed it behind himself and shook his head. “I can see why you called. That’s a bit of a nasty one.”

“You have no nose.”

Constantine blinked down at Dami as he took a drag from his cigarette. “I can assure you I do,” he drawled. 

Dami huffed before he tone went flat. “I was talking to no one.”

“Ah,” Constantine said. “This is going to be fun.” He snub the cigarette out on the door before shooing them all towards the middle of the room. “I’m Constantine but you all know that. Quite frankly, I don’t care who you are.” Tim held back a smile. He wouldn’t admit it but he enjoyed how much of an asshole Constantine could be. “You’ve got my money?”

Tim held up his burner phone. “You should have it now.”

Constantine’s pocket beeped and the man smiled. He clapped his hands together. “Alright lovelies, here is what we are going to do. I’m going to draw a circle around our little friend here and it’s going to show us what’s going on. Then we’ll see about separating your little brother from the sharp object.”

Conner took a step forward, placing a hand on Tim’s shoulder as Constantine pulled out some chalk from his trench coat. Dami stood in the circle as instructed, making inane comments that were directed towards none of the humans in the room. Constantine worked efficiently, drawing perfect circles and sharp runes around Dami before placing two candles. One to the East, one to the West. 

He stood at the North compass point and instructed Dami to face him, the tip of the knife held pointed toward Constantine, before Latin started to roll of Constantine’s tongue. The circle began to glow, light starting at the outer edge and tracing it’s way inward as Constantine’s voice swelled with power. When the light reached the innermost circle Dami himself lit up before the light circled the knife. 

The cursed weapon exploded into the shape of a sabre, one that was long and deadly. Tim could see exactly how it would have appealed to Dami as the edge gleamed under the magic. 

The sabre spun until the tip faced Dami and Tim tense, ready to launch himself into the way of the blade if Constantine somehow fucked this up. 

But the blade didn’t move as Constantine stopped chanting. The magician tilted his head and began to walk around the circle, reading the runes that had shifted under the onslaught of magic. Once he had made a full circle he turned to Tim.

“Good news. Your brother isn’t cursed.”

“Of course everyone sees you as a curse.”

Conner squeezed Tim’s shoulder as Tim raised a sceptical eyebrow.

Constantine studied the sword, keeping to the edges of the rune work. “Well, not on purpose anyhow. All this,” he gestured at Dami and the blade, “is the work of a protective spell on the sword.”

“That’s a stupid spell,” Conner said, eying the weapon with disadain. 

“It would be if the sword was a sword.” Constantine grinned a little manically. “In this case it is obviously connected to a sentient creature of some kind, maybe a human or a demon. The sword hosts the spirit, keeping it safe. It anchors to a wielder who has met certain conditions, keeping it sane. That’s why your boy has to keep talking to it. Prevents the spirit from going mad and raising all kinds of hell. 

“This one here is particularly fascinating because it’s old, and these spells are usually used for a very short period of time. Even more curious is that it’s Zatara’s work and that man is not a thousand years old.”

Great. That was great. “Dami is cursed to be a magical babysitter.” 

“Basically,” Constantine admitted with a shrug. “Do you want to see what he’s watching?”

Before Tim could even answer Constantine had magic flowing off of his finger tips. The glowing outline of the blade spread, tracing the outline of something small and humanoid. Light flashed and Tim blinked. When his vision cleared another glowing person stood in the circle with Dami. 

A little boy with a sword through his heart. 

“Huh,” Constantine said. “Didn’t know they had trainers in the past.”

Tim recognized that outline. “Jon,” he whispered in horror. 

The ghostly figure turned to Tim, bright blue eyes highlighted by lights running across his face. “I don’t know you.” His voice echoed strangely in the space and he sounded small and lost. 

Constantine raised his eyebrow as he looked from Tim to Jon and back again. “How do you know a thousand year old child dressed in modern shoes despite the fact he is a thousand years old?”

Tim shook his head. “He’s- ah.”

“He looks like Clark,” Conner said, horror bleeding into his voice. 

Dami sniffed. “His last name is Kent.”

Jon lifted a hand and set it on the handle of the blade. “That’s my dad’s name. It wasn’t supposed to be so long. He promised he would come get me when it was safe.”

Constantine snapped his fingers, getting everyone’s attention. “That’s sweet but it explains fuck all. What’s going on?”

Why was everything always so complicated? “I’m from an alternate universe where I knew Jon, or at least a version of him. I assume it’s not this one because he’s younger than the Jon I knew.”

Constantine swore and spun, running his hands through his hair before turning back and pointing an accusatory finger at Tim. “You’re a fucking cape. Goddammit. Bloody fucking Gotham.” He threw his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Conner and Tim watched in silence, waiting for Constantine to compose himself. 

It took a minute and when he was ready to proceed, Constantine broke out another cigarette. “You owe me double,” he said after he lit it. 

Tim nodded. That was fair. 

“So what does this mean?” Conner asked as Constantine sucked back on the cigarette. 

The man shook his head. “Kid’s both new and old. No way he ain’t from another bleeding universe just like your friend here. So we either leave it, release his spirit, or hop to the other side to reunite him with his body.”

“We are not killing him,” Dami hissed, reaching out for Jon’s hand. 

“Reuniting him with his body does sound like the best idea.”

Constantine scoffed. “Course it does to you. You’re too ignorant to know how bloody reckless it is. It’s called the veil between worlds, not the duvet. You can’t just punch holes in it willy nilly. Things are likely to follow you back in the gaps you leave behind.” He thrust his hands into his trench coat pocket, but Tim didn’t miss the thoughtful gleam.

“You want to do it,” he accused Constantine. 

The magician shrugged. “But I can’t. I don’t have enough power to fuel that kind of spell-”

“-unless I get you an artefact.”

At that a grimace that was half smile stole across Constantine’s lips. “Sounds like you knew a me in your universe as well.” He took another drag from the cigarette. “Won’t work this time. That would be fine for a quick jaunt, or an extended trip to hell, but for something like this? I’d burn up before you ever found the kid.”

“But I wo~uldn’t,” came a singsong tone in a familiar voice. 

“Jesus fucking christ almighty.” Constantine stumbled back as his cigarette fell from his lips, looking ready to bolt. 

Conner stepped in front of Tim, arms half spread as his eyes focused on Teekl. Tim was fairly certain if Dami didn’t seem to be stuck in the spell circle, Conner would have grabbed them both and ran. 

Klarion took a graceful step, his familiar wrapped around his shoulders. “I could power a spell like that no parable.” He grinned, his teeth painfully white. 

“And ditch us while we are on the other side,” Conner snapped. Klarion’s smile widened as though he knew something they didn’t. He probably did. Being an immortal Chaos Lord did tend to give people an edge in that category. 

“I could,” Klarion agreed, petting Teekl lazily. “But I won’t. You’re all so much fun.” He twisted. “Even you, Constantine. I heard about all the trouble you’ve stirred up in Hell.”

“Man’s gotta have a hobby.” The magician’s blasé tone was at odds with the sweat that had started to gather on his brow. 

“You’ll help me find my dad?” Jon’s voice sounded painfully hopeful and Klarion’s smile took on a vicious edge. 

Tim didn’t have to be a genius to put things together. No way Clark left his son behind to suffer. Whatever they would find on the other side would not be pretty. But it would be better than leaving a child trapped as a knife for another thousand years. 

“I’ll help you cross,” Klarion promised, “and I won’t even strand you. Guaranteed fat trip.”

“And what do you want in return?” Tim asked. Things like this were never free. 

Klarion gave the underside of Teekl’s chin a scratch and a nose boop before answering the question. “The same thing I’ve always wanted from you, Tim. To watch the world in the wake of your footsteps.”

“Fucking ominous,” Constantine muttered. 

Klarion ignored him. “I’ll drop you off as close as I can to your new friend, but you’ll need to find him on your own. I can keep the portal open for a few hours, so don’t waste too much time.” With a snap of his fingers Constantine’s circle was gone, though Jon still stood. Another set of runes began to burn themselves into the floor, blood red against the cement. “All aboard,” Klarion cackled. 

“Dami, you stay.”

The boy opened his mouth to object but Klarion beat him to it. “The knife goes where he goes. Having him stay would defeat the point. Isn’t that right, Teekl?”

Conner reached back for Tim’s hand, knowing that there was only one way for this to play out. They stepped into the circle together where Tim immediately grabbed onto Dami’s free hand. 

“Fuck,” Constantine griped even as he set foot in the circle.

“You don’t have to come.” Tim tilted his head as the magician grabbed Conner’s hand. “This isn't what you are getting paid for.”

“And how the hell are you going to stuff the boy back into his body? You learn magic in the last three minutes?” He scoffed. “I’m bloody coming. Don’t need Batman up my arse.”

Tim nodded, giving Dami’s hand a squeeze as light burned around them.

So much for just a consult.

Chapter Text

Coming here unprepared had been a stupid idea. It was miserable. The sky cast light and shadow in equal measure, making it nearly impossible for his eyes to adjust to the strange gloom. Everything had a fuzzy edge, making his every step a risk for stumbling. And the cold was practically alive, a biting thing that tried to tear the heat off of his very bones. He twisted to glance at his companions, who looked fine with this development.

This was all Tim’s fault. Speedsters weren’t made for colder climates. 

“Are we ready to go yet?” Bart asked through chattering teeth, rubbing his arms vigorously as Red Arrow watched the base with binoculars. It was a stupid building and whoever built it was an obvious asshole. It had a Tibetan style architecture with white walls that would have camouflaged it into the mountain side, which would have been a great idea for a secret base, but then someone, probably Ra’s Al Ghul, had gone and given it red highlights, making it stand out like blood against snow. 

It would have been perfect for a temple or a tourist trap but not the ninja hideout that it was and according to Cheshire, Ra’s wasn’t even going to be there for Bart to punch in the face which was so mode.   

“You should have brought warmer clothing,” Cheshire drawled. 

“ You should have brought warmer clothing,” Bart mocked under his breath. Loud enough for everyone to hear he said, “Speedster,” pointing at himself. “Other clothing catches on fire.”

Lara cocked her head, pulling her gloves off to sign, “ Really? You aren’t exactly hot.”

Rude. “Friction,” Bart grumbled, rubbing his arms faster. 

“Shut up,” Red Arrow snarled. “We have a literal baby with us and she’s handling this better than you.”

This was not hot. Uncool? Whatever it was fucking mode and everyone here was an asshole, including Lian. Bart had gotten used to working with this Tim and Conner and the rest of the Bats, who were actually kinda fun. They would be sympathetic to Bart’s plight.

“Should be soon,” Cheshire said, striding up to Red Arrow so she could put a hand on his shoulder. She pulled the binoculars from his hand and shifted angles, looking at what Bart could only guess at because ‘speedsters can’t be trusted with sensitive equipment.’

Pricks. 

“Now!” Cheshire commanded and everyone burst into action. Red Arrow fired a shot at the bell on one of the turrets and, given the sudden purple colour, it exploded into gas. As a group they ran towards the building, Bart sliding around in the snow. Lara must have had some level of compassion because she grabbed his arm and painfully pulled him along, helping him keep his feet on the sheer snow. She climbed the rope Red Arrow had lowered down.

Bart grabbed the end to do the same but his fingers would barely curl around it.

“For fuck’s sake, make a loop and I will pull you up,” Roy growled from up top. Bart did as instructed but it was still a struggle to hold on while he was hauled up. He was the last one through the trap door, practically falling into the nice, warm, enemy-filled fortress.

By the time he pulled himself off of the ground the guards were dead. Given the red splatters and the knife in her hand, Lara was responsible. Bart could respect that.

“Let’s move!” Cheshire ordered, waving them over. “We’ll sneak this way.”

Nope. That was not why Bart had been brought. He stamped his feet on the ground, getting the blood flowing before he began to vibrate in place, heat spreading across his limbs. It wasn’t real heat, just the perception of it, but inside it was effective enough to loosen Bart’s muscles. “I’m scouting ahead. I’ll let you know if Roy’s here.”

“Don’t you-”

Bart didn’t wait for Red Arrow to tell him what it was he wasn’t supposed to do. He launched his body at max speed into the nearest wall, passing through it and scanning to see if there was anything of interest. Just gaudy gold ornamentation and a table full of papers. They could be valuable but intel wasn’t Bart’s mission. 

Strictly search and rescue. 

He zipped into the next room, clotheslining a guard before she could register she wasn’t alone. Another office-like space. Another bust. 

This floor was probably all going to be like that. Plotters tended to have a dedicated floor so they could brainstorm, Bart had found. Or Tim had found. Either way, the cool shit almost always happened to be in the basement. If Bart was wrong he could work his way up. 

Seconds later Bart was staring at what used to be a heavily guarded door, the solid steel a departure from the asian aesthetic. “Bingo,” he muttered, hitting a button to open it up. Fog spilled out of the room and over his feet as cold air hit warm. It wasn’t as bad as it was outside, but Bart still wanted nothing more than to go lay on the sun for heat so he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “So mode,” he grumbled as he stepped inside, careful of the icy floor. 

Sure enough there was a line of cryostasis containers, though only one had lights indicating it was in use. A few hits on the keypad and it slid open. Almost immediately a body flopped out. Bart caught it and lowered it to the floor. 

In his arms was Roy Harper the Original, sans one arm. It was bandaged and looked like an old injury, so Bart wasn’t concerned. Now all he needed to do was regroup. Roy was thin. Not starved but definitely lacking muscle tone which was expected considering he’d probably been on ice for years. Bart doubted the Light had bothered to wake him up for daily walks, which sucked for Roy because healing was going to be a bitch, but was great for Bart because he’d probably be able to carry Roy for a bit. He wouldn’t be able to get to the speed he needed to vibrate through solid objects, though, and he had no idea what the floor plan of this place was. 

Maybe he should leave Roy here? Lead everyone else this direction?

No. They were all assholes. Bart was going to take Roy and set up camp by the unconscious guards so he didn’t freeze his ass off any further and they could come find him.

He dragged Roy out into the hallway, sealing the door behind him so he didn’t have to deal with a chill. Roy was probably cold too. And the guards were dicks. If Bart was cold they should be cold. He stripped them down with practised hands, stuffing an emaciated Roy into one outfit while he stole the other for himself. It was already prewarmed, which was great. 

He shifted the guard onto his side so Bart could lean against him, absorbing more body heat as he settled on the floor. The guard let out a small moan but an elbow cut the sound off. 

Perfect.

-

The Manor was quiet.

Too quiet.

Bruce called Alfred. “Where are my children?” 

Alfred hung up and Bruce waited four minutes and thirty nine seconds before his phone rang. “Yes, Alfred?”

“The ones you are concerned about are apparently unaccounted for.”

Fuck. 

-

“Well, we’re scuppered.” 

Tim glanced up and couldn’t help but agree with Constantine.

The sky was a bruise, a mix of indigo, navy, and black, interrupted by bursts of green lightning. There were no clouds, no stars, no planets, or anything to mark it as the night sky as Tim knew it. Just the cuts of jade light that existed for an instant before being swallowed into the darkness. 

And the sun. 

The sun.

It was black. There was no relief, no ring of light like an eclipse. It was as though someone had painted the orb obsidian and left it hanging in the nightmarish sky. Around it smaller suns burned a familiar yellow as they circled it lazily like a baby's mobile. Definitely magic. 

Conner let out a low whistle.  

“Timothy,” Dami said, taking a step closer and squeezing Tim’s hand. A shriek cut through the sky and a fucking dragon flew across the sun before twisting to head off into the distance. 

Well, now Tim knew why no one had come back for Jon. 

“Jon.” The boy didn’t respond, staring up at the sky. “Jon, we need to go. Which way?”

“I-” Tears fell down his face, leaving glowing blue lines. 

Tim vowed to hug the boy, but later, when he didn’t have a sword through his chest, when they weren’t standing open in the middle of a hellscape. Survival came before hugs.

Constantine took a knee in front of Jon, setting his hands on the boy’s shoulder. “I know you’re scared, Jon, but I also know you are very brave. Can you tell me which way we need to go?” Jon started to shake his head so Constantine gave him a light shake, the sword bouncing gruesomely. “Don’t think about it. Just follow where your gut is leading you.”

Slowly, Jon raised his free hand and pointed. Constantine stood and patted him on the head. “That’s a good lad. Let’s crack on it then.” He offered Jon his hand. 

With a moment’s hesitation the boy wrapped his ghostly fingers around the magician’s while holding Dami’s in his other hand tightly. Tim pried his own hand loose from his little brother, ruffling Dami’s hair at the concerned look. As much as he wanted to scoop Dami up tight, it was wiser to have both his hands free.  

It was probably for the same reason that Conner let go of Tim’s hand. Necessary, but he missed the comfort of connection.  

They had arrived in the middle of the street of a city that, even as destroyed as this one was, had a familiar skyline. The Daily Planet still stood, though its signature globe was a burning ball of azure flame. It was enough of a reference for Tim to recognize the block he was on, a broken facade once belonging to Kon’s favourite ice cream joint. Klarion’s portal didn’t glow but was instead marked by the same dark lines that had brought them here. Tim could find it again. He was sure of that. 

“Let’s go.” They slowly began to inch their way through this hell. 

-

Lara was used to being judged. It was inevitable with her career, just as it had been inevitable under her ‘father’s’ tutelage. Even when she’d buried her knife in his throat she could see that David had found her lacking. At least some of the people who paid her for sex respected her as a human being. 

Her current companions did not fall into that category. She could see the way judgement settled under their skin and in their bones, as though they had a right to an opinion of her. She was only here because of Impulse and the ridiculous story he had told her with one hundred percent belief in its truth. She was either following a child who was crazy, or a child that lived in a crazy world. Given the things that were known to exist, either were equally likely.  

At least he hadn’t brought the fucking baby.  

She stabbed an assassin in the eye as he rounded the corner while Red Arrow chose to take a less lethal approach, leaving another enemy for them to fight another time. She read it in Cheshire’s hips that the other woman found his reluctance cute, and it was probably that insipid opinion that had her pulling her own punches.

They may have judged her but she judged them back just as hard. Refusing lethal kills while carrying a child was a foolish move that was going to get them or the baby killed. If they died here the child would survive as Lara would flee with it herself instead of allowing Ra’s’ people to raise it to be another assassin. 

Impulse would be fine. 

A slash had hot blood spraying into Lara’s face, making her grimace. She’d have to wash her face before she could reapply her lipstick. “You don’t need to kill them all,” snapped Red Arrow and it was only years of dealing with clients that kept Lara from rolling her eyes. She wanted to tell him where he could stick that opinion but her hands were too full for her to sign. Not that he was likely to understand but there was something cathartic about being able to say it anyway. 

They took a left turn. Lara wasn’t sure if it was because Cheshire knew this place or if they were randomly exploring, but given the way the hall filled with ninjas they were probably going in the right direction. 

Red Arrow and Cheshire dove right in, throwing punches and firing arrows at record speeds. Honestly it was painful to watch. A bow was a long distance weapon and the tricks he was pulling were laughably easy to see through. Both sides of this fight should have been taught better and Lara was hesitant to step in because she didn’t want to catch the stupidity. 

When the last ninja fell, Cheshire turned to look at Lara, her expression hidden by her ridiculous mask, though Lara could guess what it was by her body language. “Thank you for the help.”

Lara smirked. She was a volunteer here and she was in control of exactly how much effort she had to put into this and these people were not worth breaking a nail for. 

Red Arrow shook his head. “We’ve got to be close.” He headed down the hall, not bothering to see if they were following. Cheshire stared at Lara, who made the universal ‘after you’ gesture. With a huff the assassin followed her lover around the corner, not waiting to see if Lara followed. It was only a few more turns before a familiar voice echoed down the walls. 

“I’m ah- at the museum. Yes. With Tim. Tim and I are at the museum. Looking at, uh, dinosaurs. And rocks.” She turned the corner to see Impulse on his cell phone. He held a hand up in a demand for silence before turning to focus on his conversation. “Tibet? Why would you think I was in Tibet? Tracking? Super mode. That’s a huge violation of privacy. Oh. Yeah. Tim is definitely with me. Oh. You want to talk to him. Ah. I.” He hung up the call. “Mode,” he grumbled before turning his attention back to them with a scowl. “You took too long. Batman knows we’re here.”

“And this is my problem because?” Cheshire asked as Red Arrow kneeled to examine a black wrapped bundle on the floor with very familiar red hair.  Twins? Or did the story of alternates from other universes have merit? Interesting.

Impulse didn’t respond but his body grumbled with a low anger Lara hadn’t seen a glimpse of before. The phone began to ring and the anger coiled into shame and failure. Maybe this hadn’t been Impulse’s only mission. Given the poisonous look he shot at Red Arrow’s back, this might not have even been the important one.

She hadn’t expected that kind of duplicity from the boy. 

Interesting. 

-

Constantine had expected magic and he had expected bad, but this was a bit ridiculous. The whole bloody place was a lovecraftian stereotype and he wouldn’t be surprised to find big old Cthulhu shambling down the streets. The roadways were full only of abandoned cars and wind strewn trash, at least as far as the normal eye could see. It had been a long time since Constantine’s eyes had been the same as the average bloke’s.

Ghosts filled the street, floating about in shock. Some of them were screaming in horror, some of them were missing pieces, alluding to the magic that had caused the end of their life. Something still stalked these streets, but given that so far everyone was being a fair hand at being quiet, he felt no need to bring it up. 

The muscle head was freaking out. Oh, he was being subtle about it, but he kept twisting his head around, as though he had heard something, or was expecting to hear something that he hadn’t. Tim and his cursed brother were doing a better job of keeping their cool, the wee one bumping into the spirit whenever his sniffling got too loud. Constantine was pleased to see that both Tim and his jock friend had managed to find weapons. Constantine wasn’t sure if a pipe would be any good against what they were going to be up against but it was good to see that the boys were taking initiative. 

“This way,” Jon tugged Constantine’s hand to the right. 

If Constantine was where he thought he was then he had a pretty good idea of where they were going, but he didn't want to rush to get there. Last thing they needed was to run into some new friends, or be followed home.

He should have said no to the job the moment Klarion appeared. Nothing good ever came from hanging out with the Chaos Lord. No, he should have said no the moment he saw the money came from bloody Gotham. But he was a soft touch. A cursed child or two and now look at him, wandering around alternate universes on babysitting duty with a bunch of kids who couldn’t tell a demon from a hole in the ground. 

“Well, well, well.” Speak of the devil. A demon rasped as it emerged from the shadows of a nearby alley. It was an ugly thing with grey skin and a sagging face. It was shit at hygiene too, given the meat that was still stuck in its teeth. “Look what we have here. Ssssssnacks.”

Constantine did a quick look about. No, the damn thing was using the Royal We. Good. The less of these ugly beasties he had to deal with the less likely it was that one of his clients would get eaten. Still. Maybe Constatine should try some diplomacy first. “Sod off.” Well, his brand of diplomacy.

The demon blinked before it made a wheezing chuckle. “Dinner and a sssshow,” it hissed. “And ssssssnacks for later,” it said, eyeing up the children behind Constantine’s shoulder. 

Alright. Fuck this. 

Constantine stuffed his free hand into his pocket, grabbing the crystals there and whipping them at the demon. It shrieked and writhed under the salt. Pathetic. How had anyone been eaten by this thing? It had the pain tolerance of a baby deer. Still, Constantine chanted one of the first spells he’d memorised when he’d learned that demons were real and watched with no small part of satisfaction as the damn thing exploded into ashes.

Given the sensation of static up his left side Constantine could assume that the spirit boy was pressing against his leg. Right. Children. He needed to keep them from panicking. 

“Took care of that beastie, easy peasy.” He gave the kid a tug to break his inertia. “Now which way were we headed?”

-

Conner hated everything about this place. It was decidedly inhuman while here he decidedly was. His super hearing was gone, and he assumed with it his super strength and invulnerability. He knew that Superman derived his powers from a yellow sun but that had always been a fact that Conner had taken for granted, as where would he go but Earth?  

Apparently here. 

Lightning split the sky again in vertical lines and Conner shuddered as the shadows bounced. That thing Constantine had killed had been terrifying and the way it had writhed and exploded under the magician’s onslaught had brought him no comfort. Sure, Constantine had found something to toss at it but Conner was certain that Constantine’s pockets weren’t deep enough to fight off an entire hoard of those monsters if their luck didn’t hold. 

Tim, for his part, looked grim but not shaken and Conner had the sinking feeling that he had probably dealt with something similar in his world. 

Because of course he had. 

“This way,” Jon’s whisper might as well have been a screech in the way that it broke the haunted silence. 

Constantine asked for no clarification, leading them into a derelict alley where he stopped at a wall. “Need my hand back,” he told Jon apologetically. With deft fingers he traced an invisible outline along the bricks as he muttered something lilting under his breath.

The outline of a wooden door appeared.

Constantine knocked twice before he opened it and stepped inside. 

“Bugger me!” A sword embedded itself in the doorframe at what was neck level for Constantine. Conner rushed forward, pulling Dami and Jon clear as he raised the pipe he’d found, swinging it down towards the arm connected to the sword. The man holding it released his grip on the weapon and instead caught Conner’s pipe. With a shift of weight Conner went flying into the building, skittering across the floor on his back. 

A metal stool slammed down over his head, the footbar resting against his neck. He wrapped both hands around it and pushed with what human strength he had, but whoever held it was firm. Given the grey legs he could see it was another one of those creatures that Constantine had fought off. 

Metal clanged on metal as the swordsman swung at Constantine again, who was scrambling across the floor, only to have Tim deflect the blow. He spun his pipe like it was an extension of himself and slammed it into their attacker’s nose, blood spurting accompanied by a crunch. 

“Ezeerf!” blasted a painfully familiar voice and ice exploded across the room, encasing Conner. He could see that Tim shared his fate, blocks of ice bursting from the wall to capture his arms. Even Constantine was caught at the knees. 

The sword plunged down into Constantine’s back.

The magician hit the floor, dead from a single hit. The blade was pulled from his back with a squelching noise and the swordsman readied himself for another swing, Tim his next target. 

He grunted as Dami threw himself forward, burying a blade he’d procured from somewhere into the man’s thigh. He grabbed the child by the hair and tossed him the way he’d tossed Conner. There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh as someone grabbed the boy. 

“Dami!” Jon screamed from his place at the door, throwing himself forward, but he might have been little more than a breeze for the effect he had. 

The swordsman raised the blade again. Conner twisted, desperately trying to break out of the ice so he could do something, do anything besides watch his boyfriend get murdered. 

“Jason, wait!” Tim ordered. The swordsman froze and tilted his head before turning to someone else Conner couldn’t see. There was a pause before the man turned his attention onto Tim.

“Who are you?” the man asked, a light British accent painting his voice. 

“Tim Drake.”

Jason scoffed. “Tim Drake died with the rest of Batman’s brood.”

“Fuck.” Everyone started as Constantine rolled onto his back with a moan, his fingers playing with the bloody hole in his shirt. “You fucked up my jacket, mate.”

“John.” That snarl definitely came from Zatanna. “Neat trick. How many souls did you sell for it?” Jason raised his sword again. 

Constantine put his hands up in surrender. “Easy, Blood. I’ll survive it but it will bloody well hurt and I am not in the mood.” He craned his neck over to look where Conner couldn’t see. “I take it the me in this universe joined the wrong side?”

“Oh, this is gonna be great,” said another woman, this one coming from behind. Conner twisted his neck so he could see her boots. “Ow!” Dami’s trainers landed beside hers, the boy backing away until he was aligned with Jon. 

“You will release us and I will spare you my wrath!”

“Calm down, Dami,” Tim ordered softly. “We’re just going to talk it out, okay?” 

Another door opened and heavy boot steps reverberated through the floor. “I heard a fight. What’s the situation?” That was a voice Conner would recognize even in his sleep. Even though it was a different universe, even though he knew how night and day people could be, he felt a little bit of stress eke away. “Tim? Damian? ” Another footstep. “Constantine. What have you done ?” The growling tone was animalistic. 

“He’s helping, Mr. Batman!” 

Conner could feel the air get sucked out of the room as Jon spoke up and he desperately wished that whoever had him pinned would remove the stool so he could at least see what was going on. 

“Oh, Jon.” Heels clicked as they approached the ghostly boy and Zatanna kneeled down so she could touch his shoulder. “Can you tell me what’s going on, sweetie?”

Jon sniffed and rubbed his eyes, the sword bouncing gruesomely. “Dad never came for me but Mr. Constantine promised he’d help me so I wouldn’t have to be a knife anymore. I’ve been a knife for a long time and I want to be normal again. So we came here but the sky’s all different and you’re being mean to Mr. Constantine and to Dami and Tim and Conner and I want my mom.” 

“I know things are pretty scary right now,” Zatanna soothed. “Why don’t you come with me, okay? We’ll find somewhere to sit and I’ll tell you a story, just like I used to.”

“Dami can come too?” 

Conner could just see the acidic glare on the youngest Wayne’s face but whatever hesitation Zatanna may have been feeling was undercut by Batman. “She’ll take you both into the next room.”

“If you harm Timothy I will kill you,” Dami promised, knife still in hand. “I do not care if you bear my Father’s face.” 

“No one is killing anyone,” Batman promised. Jason made a face that clearly indicated that he disagreed. Dami must have missed that expression because his footsteps followed Jon and disappeared behind a closing door.

“Now,” Batman’s tone was diamond sharp. “Constantine, you will explain and I swear to god if you dug up my children’s souls for one of your sick schemes there will be no deal in hell that can save you from what I am planning to do to you.”

“Not your Constantine,” the man said as he pushed himself up. He stood and rolled his shoulders to work out any kinks. “From the alternate universe where Jon’s soul ended up and we decided to come put it back.” He looked down at his shirt again. “Though I might have passed that up had I known you were all such pricks.”

“What’s with the party trick?” asked the creature pinning Conner’s neck. 

Constantine shrugged. “That’s between me and God.”

Jason scoffed. “Are you trying to tell me where you are from you serve as some kind of holy knight?”

Constantine scoffed. “Hardly. Just put the big guy in a bit of a bind and that’s what I got out of it.”

“You blackmailed God for immortality?” This came from the woman who had grabbed Dami.

“Blackmail is such a dirty word.”

“Red Robin?” Batman asked and Conner knew he stiffened where he was trapped in the ice, his spine instinctively trying to become straighter.

“I have no idea if god exists, nevermind if Constantine is blackmailing him. We just came to fix Jon.”

The stool echoed as someone drummed their fingers on it. “The type of power needed for you to be in this universe would be extreme.”

“Klarion,” Tim offered. 

“The Witch Boy?” Batman asked sceptically.

Conner rolled his eyes. “The Chaos Lord.”

There was a moment of silence before the stool was lifted off of Conner’s neck, giving the Kryptonian his first clear view of Batman.

Gone was his sleek polymer costume. Instead he wore leathers that were obviously hand stitched with thick, white threads. His blue eyes were clear through the mask and Conner could see how troubled he felt by the way the skin pulled at them. A frown cut across his face as he stared down at Conner. “Clark had another son in your universe?”

Tim remained silent, giving Conner the freedom of his narrative. “I’m a clone.” 

“That could be useful,” the grey creature tapped her chin thoughtfully. “His powerset could help turn everything around.” 

An asian woman hummed as she kneeled beside Conner, the ice holding him melting under her hand. 

“Nope.” Constantine said firmly. “We’re on a time limit. We’re slapping the lad back into his body and taking off.” 

“He won’t live long with the world as it is,” argued the woman at Conner’s side. “If word gets around that Superman’s son is alive there will be no place on earth that we can hide him.”

“Big Blue too busy to take care of his own?” Constantine grumbled judgmentally.

“Superman’s dead,” Batman said flatly. 

“Ah.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette and sighed when his pack came out bloody.

As the last of the ice melted away the grey woman offered Conner her hand, pulling the boy up with a hidden strength that made him feel bitter. There was no doubt she could kill him in seconds. He hated magic. He’d been less than useless. A liability. If the situation changed he was little more than canon fodder and he knew it.

“I’d offer you ours but apparently he went mad and tried to murder the Waynes.” 

“As fascinating as all this is,” Jason drawled sarcastically, “it doesn’t help us in the least. What we haven’t been telling you is that we need Jon if we are going to have any chance of saving this world. Only Superman has the power to banish the more powerful demons and until Jon’s grown up to replace him we are scraping by on the skin of our teeth.”

Constantine snorted. “That’s your plan as of five seconds ago. Five minutes ago you had a body that would never age for as long as that spell held with a soul that was impossible to retrieve because Zatara keyed it to blood, didn’t he? It was designed to have Superman recall it. No Superman, no replacement kiddo.”

“You have no right to judge.” Tim fell free of the ice he’d been in and immediately took a step away from Jason. “Your counterpart helped cast the spell that blotted out the sun. He led the demon armies that killed millions of people. He’s a monster of the worst kind.”

Constantine shrugged. “And I’m not. Just another arsehole.”

“Enough,” Batman commanded. “The fact is that we can’t leave Jon as he is. He’s too vulnerable in this form. We can decide what to do once we’ve restored him.” 

“Sounds like a party,” Constantine said with fake cheer. 

Batman snorted, though Conner couldn’t tell if it was in amusement or exasperation. “Come. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team.”

The door Batman opened definitely led to a room that was bigger on the inside than the outside. 

Conner hated magic.

Chapter Text

Billy should not have felt relief when he got Batman’s call. After all, children being in magical danger was no problem to be taken lightly because there were consequences that reached far further than just simple death. But being able to leave the Watchtower while not shirking responsibility was something that Billy needed. The League was coming closer to a decision but he was still sick of the naysayers. Billy wasn’t prone to violence first solutions but he was beginning to agree with Diana that Oliver had a very punchable face. 

The moment he stepped into Gotham all of that relief evaporated. 

Someone was fuelling a spell that burned bright enough that Billy was able to follow it to its source with his eyes closed. It took him to a warehouse on the outer edge of the outer edge of the city.

He opened the door, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He needn’t have bothered. There was no sneaking up on Klarion. 

By the Gods what a mess. He was supposed to be finding Constantine.

“Captain Marvel!” Klarion crowed in delight. “Have you come to keep me country?”

“Where are they?” Billy asked with a confidence he didn’t feel. He was Magic’s Champion but Klarion was made of Magic herself. One on one Billy would always be at a disadvantage. Sometimes, when luck held, he could drive the Chaos Lord off but that was very different than being able to beat him, or rescue people from his grasp. 

He also had the sneaking suspicion that the glowing spell diagram had something to do with the missing teenagers. 

Klarion waved a hand. “They’ll be back. At least, as long as nobody breaks my concentration.” Darn. Klarion might have been lying but he probably wasn’t, leaving Billy with little choice. The Chaos Lord must have read defeat in Billy’s body language because he grinned wildly. “I’m getting bored. How about a game? I’ve always liked twenty questions. 

“I’ll go first.”

-

The doorway had definitely been a portal to somewhere, because if Tim was not mistaken they were now in the Hall of Doom, which was one hell of a place for the heroes to set up headquarters. It was either a power move or desperation, and given the empty feeling of the building Tim was fairly certain he knew which. 

Especially since their entourage was still on guard, though only Jason Blood was focused on Constantine. Everyone else kept their eyes out towards the shadows. It was only when they hit a centre room that had runes etched in the doorway that they relaxed. Tim did as well, spotting Dami with his arm wrapped around Jon as he listened raptly to whatever Zatanna was saying. 

New Bruce pulled down his hood. His hair was longer, curling a little at the tips and graying at the temples. Time and stress had taken a toll on his face, leaving wrinkles deep enough that they could have been carved. But when he caught Tim staring his eyes lit up, just a little, and Tim could almost see his Bruce in this stranger’s eyes. 

“Introductions, as promised.” New Bruce led them into the middle of the room. 

“Why did you bring Constantine here?” hissed a man who had to be Arthur Curry, though he looked as though he were seconds away from death. 

“Alternate universe Constantine,” New Bruce corrected easily. “Along with that universe’s counterparts of my sons Tim,” he gestured, “and Damian,” he pointed to where the boy sat watching them back, whatever Zatanna was saying forgotten.

“This here is Conner, a Superman clone.”

Tim didn’t like the way everyone was eyeing up his boyfriend and it was only years of training that prevented him from stepping over and possessively grabbing Conner’s hand.  

“They’ve also returned Jon’s soul to us.” The same weight of expectations fell upon the ghostly little boy.

Tim wanted to grab him too. 

“These,” New Bruce said, turning towards the group, “Are Arthur Curry,” so Tim had called that one, “Jason Blood,” also called, “Nina, known as Scream Queen,” the grey woman dipped into a bow, “Traci 13,” that was the asian woman, “And Stanley Dover and his Monster.” Tim had been trying to ignore the man and the fifteen foot purple fur ball that had horns growing from its face. “And that’s Zatanna.”

He didn’t need to look to see that Conner was glaring at Zatanna. Tim was half tempted to intervene, to talk Conner down, but he also knew that this was the first time the Kryptonian had been without his powers. Zatanna could survive a little glaring. 

“Timothy,” Dami announced, pulling Jon along. “Tell this woman that I am not a child and that when I request tales of battle I am not after the sanitized renditions that the weak feed upon to soothe their fears.”

“He’s definitely Damian,” Zatanna said with a sad smile. “Just short.”

Tim steadfastly ignored the implications of what had happened to his family here. “We need to find Jon,” Tim stated. “We are here on a timer and I don’t know how long it’s good for.”

The glances shot over Tim’s head were neither comforting nor subtle. “Stay,” Arthur ordered and that was not good. “Help me avenge my people. Help us save this world!”

Tim was suddenly very glad he brought his pipe.

“Arthur,” New Bruce snapped, “they have their own world.”

“They could leave the clone,” Nina said as she took a step forward to examine Conner. “We aren’t going to get anywhere without a Superman and this is practically having one land in our lap.” Conner took a step back towards Tim.

“The clone belongs to Timothy,” Dami snarled, another knife in his hand. 

“That’s right, luv,” Constantine said with a smile. “We ain’t leaving anyone behind. Good luck with your apocalypse though. Seems like a nasty one.” He took a step forward, completely unconcerned with the growing tension. “Now let’s go put Jon to rights. We can’t leave while he’s still tethered to our dimension.”

“This way,” Traci 13 waved them over, taking them to a table in the centre of the room. With a wave of her hand the table pulled back and a body rose out of it, floating in a blue field.  There was Jon, hands crossed over his chest, placed so they didn’t interfere with the sword in his heart. 

“Wow,” Jon whispered, eyes wide at the sight of his own floating mortal coil. 

“My Father did the spell,” Zatanna said softly, blue light reflecting off of her eyes, “but I don’t know how to undo it.” 

“That’s simple enough.” Constantine shed his coat and passed it to Tim. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the sword that was sticking out of ghost Jon’s chest. The moment his hand hit the hilt the boy vanished, though the blade continued to glow. He began to chant in Latin, as he stepped up, balancing his feet on either side of Jon’s body. Soon the glow spread from one sword to the other and once both blades were glowing Constantine thrust down. 

The crowd rushed forth with denials pouring from their lips, spellwork bursting off of where Constantine stood. The man ignored them as he pulled the blade free.

It fell through his fingertips as ashes.

“What did you do!?” demanded Nina. 

Constantine’s answer came in the form of Jon’s moan. The boy’s lashes fluttered before revealing sky blue eyes and looked around the room fuzzily. “Mom?” Jon called.

“Hey, Little Buddy,” New Bruce said, edging Constantine out of the way so he could pull Jon into a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“‘M hungry, Uncle B. And sleepy.”

“Then let’s get you a snack,” New Bruce hooked an arm under Jon’s knees and the other behind his back, lifting the boy with ease. Jon laid still in his arms for a moment before bursting into movement. 

“Wait! Wait! Where’s Dami? Dami? Dami? ”

“Cease your racket!” Dami grumbled, grabbing Jon by the ankle. “I am here.”

“Okay,” Jon said, calming down slowly. “Okay.”

There were more tossed looks that Tim did not like. 

“Why don’t we find you all something to eat,” Blood suggested. 

Constantine reached out and grabbed Dami by the sleeve. “We really ought to be going. Really can’t stay.”

Nina took a step forward. “It won’t be long.” Tim hefted his pipe. 

New Bruce lowered Jon onto his feet, steading the boy as he wobbled like a newborn colt. “Enough. We’re letting them leave.” The tone was all Batman and left no room for argument. “Traci, stay here with Jon. Nina, you’re with me.” He pulled his cowl back on and nodded at Constantine. “We’ll escort you back to where you need to go.”

“NO!” Jon lunged towards Dami only to be caught by Tracii 13. “No, you can’t go! You need to stay!”

“Jon, it’s okay!”

“DAMI!” Jon screamed, fighting in her arms. 

New Bruce titled his head and Traci nodded. She lifted Jon off his feet and carried him out of the room. 

He screamed for Dami the entire time. 

Tim’s little brother watched as Jon was hauled off, looking disturbed. Tim really didn’t blame him. He was disturbed too and the last thing he wanted to do was leave Jon in that state in this world.  

Tim started as Constantine set his hand on Tim’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “Nothing to do about it. We’ll be lucky if we get ourselves out of here without a fight. ‘Sides, boy belongs here.” Tim belonged somewhere else but Bruce had grabbed him and brought him home. Had given him a family.

But Constantine was right. As much as he yearned to take Jon and run it just wasn’t possible. 

He couldn’t even grab Dami, needing his hands free for a fight in case it really did come down to that. Conner, who was absolutely the best boyfriend ever, pulled Dami into his arms, lifting the boy so he balanced on his hip. Conner may have not had his Kryptonian strength but he was still made of pure muscle and Tim was confident that he could provide Dami with some safety. 

New Bruce turned away from where Jon had been pulled away, heading back to the door they’d come through. “This way,” he said as he led.

Nina took up the rear. 

New Bruce brought them back through the bar into the same alleyway that Jon had showed them. Tim rested his pipe against his shoulder, eyes scanning the shadows. He’d dealt with demons and hellscapes before but he’d always done so as Robin, not as Tim. He’d had weapons and backup he knew well. Conner was obviously not used to working without his powers at all, given how quickly he’d been taken down at the bar, and Tim had no idea what Constaintine was capable of.

At least he knew Dami’s instinct would be to stab it until it died. 

Not useful, but predictable. 

“So,” Constantine started off conversationally, looking up as another beast screamed in the sky, “what happened here?”

“You murdered the sun,” snapped Nina.

“Oops,” Constantine said, not sounding guilty at all. And why would he? He wasn’t even in this universe when everything went down. 

“Our Constantine joined the Coven,” New Bruce explained matter of fact, as though discussing the weather and not the end of the world. “We don’t know why but the suspicion is that he dug himself too deep and made a deal to keep himself out of hell.” He glanced at Constantine out of the corner of his eye. “They destroyed the sun and released armies that swept across the Earth. We had a plan to stop it but Superman…” New Bruce trailed off, haunted. “Well, he was always one to do what he thought was right.”

“So he died and left you in a twist,” Constantine finished. “Jon’s mum?” 

“She’s dead. It’s why Superman went off book, isn’t it?” It was more of a statement than a guess. Tim knew Lois and he knew how irrational Clark was over her. That appeared to be a universal constant. 

New Bruce nodded. 

“What a fool,” Dami spat with all the conviction of someone who still believed girls had cooties.

“But it worked in our favor.” Oh, look. Another demon. Joy. He was a shaggy thing, green hair hanging in front of his face with a single eye revealed. His fingers were tapered with long claws and behind him, because of course he wasn’t alone, was an army of Solomon Grundys. 

Just perfect. 

“And here you are,” the thing gave a crazed grin as it looked over the group, “finally out in the open and ready to die.”

Batman held up his cape as though the leather could block an incoming attack. “Run,” he ordered. 

It was far too late for that. The Grundys surged around them, filling the street and blocking the way. Constantine launched into a spell, chanting with the speed that would impress a rapper. Tim, for his part, swung his pipe at the nearest kneecap. 

He was rewarded with the sound of crunching. 

Nina shrieked, launching herself at the demon that was directing the army. Her teeth elongated and claws burst from the ends of her fingers, cluing Tim into what she actually was. 

Vampire. Nice. Very useful. Far more so than his stupid fucking pipe. 

A grunt of pain came from Conner’s direction. The boy still had Dami in his arms and he must have wrested a knife off of the child as he had one in his hand that he was swinging at the monsters. He wasn’t doing enough damage to help cut their way through but he was definitely making the Grundys hesitate as they reached for him. 

Nina’s opponent laughed as she clawed at him. “Do something!” she screamed at Conner. 

“Like what?” Conner snarled back, cutting off a few fingers. 

The rest of the exchange was lost as a fist met with Tim’s head, sending him sliding across the asphalt, tearing his shirt to shreds.

Thank god he’d worn jeans. 

No. Pipe. He needed his pipe. 

He blinked, seeing his weapon in the hands of an enemy. An enemy who was approaching him with a determined lumber. 

Move move move. 

Tim rolled, ignoring the blood that was dripping down his arm, ignoring the way the world spun. He was not getting coup de grace’d by Solomun Grundy. If he was going to die he was going to do it on his motherfucking feet. 

“Timothy!”

Nope. No dying in front of his little brother. Bruce would kill him for that. 

Tim stumbled backwards, holding his fists out, ready for a punch. He could dodge and grab another weapon. There had to be another weapon. He just needed to dodge. He had this. 

He had this. 

Grundy lifted up his arm.

“TIM!” 

Blue light burst forth and the Grundys screamed as one as they burned away. Tim blinked away the spots filling his vision as strong hands grabbed onto him, anchoring him on his feet. 

“Tim,” Bruce said urgently. “Where are you hurt?” 

“Just road rash,” he answered, holding out his arm. “Adrenaline keeping the pain at bay.”

Constantine whistled and Tim looked at the magician before following the man’s gaze to Conner. “I suppose that is why you need a Superman?”

Conner, for his part, was staring at the glowing knife in his hand with absolute confusion. “What the fuck?” The Kryptonian muttered. 

Bruce, no, New Bruce, kept an arm around Tim. “Kryptonians get their power from the sun. Magic sun, magic powers.”

Conner snorted. “That’s stupid,” he growled, scowling at the knife. 

“That’s magic,” Constantine said with a shrug. “Now let’s get out of here before we get any more company.” He turned and walked away without waiting for the rest of the group to get their shit together. 

Tim could respect that, even as he staggered to keep up, New Bruce keeping a hand under his arm to steady him as he went. “So what’s your story?” New Bruce asked Constantine. “Besides blackmailing god?” He sounded sceptical. Tim himself wasn’t sure how much of Constantine’s story he believed.

“Sold my soul twice,” the magician explained. “When I die there is going to be a big hoopla in hell. Convinced God that it was best to let me live to avoid all that nonsense, so I get to kick around until I get sick of it.”

“Was it worth it?”

Constantine paused for a moment to look at Dami. “Yeah. I think it was.” 

They moved as quickly as they could, hoping to avoid anyone else. Either there had been no one else around to hear their fight, or whatever witnesses present didn’t want to risk themselves against Conner’s newfound ability, as they made it to their destination unmolested. 

Tim felt himself relax at the sight of the crimson runes. He pushed himself away from New Bruce and staggered over to the circle, relieved to see it pulsing with power. “We made i-” Tim’s words cut off as a clawed hand wrapped itself tightly around his throat, nails slicing skin as the fingers cut off blood flow. 

Tim instinctively kicked back, only able to land a glancing blow before he was shook hard enough for his vision to spin.

“Nina, stop,” New Bruce ordered softly. 

“Let the lad go,” Constantine added. Of the two he sounded the most dangerous. 

“I will.” The silky promise came right by Tim’s ear. “You can take the boys and head home but you will be leaving the Kryptonian.”

“Nina-”

“Don’t ‘Nina’ me, Bruce. We have a chance. For the first time since he died we have a chance, an actual chance to do something more than die one at a time. You and I both know that we need a solution now, not when Jon comes into his powers. This is it. This is our solution.” Her hand flexed around Tim’s throat. He could feel the blood getting trapped, the way his head seemed to swell and his vision spotted. “The Kryptonian is staying and whether or not his friends are okay is entirely up to him.”

“Have you considered this?” Constantine tilted his head. “If you don’t let the boy go I will kill you.” 

“Nobody is killing anybody.”

“Shut up, Spooky.” Constantine’s tone was glacial. “I’m not part of your boy band and I couldn’t give a shit about your world. Your apocalypse is your problem and my payment is mine. I get them back. I get my money. I like my money, it keeps me in booze and cigarettes, so you are going to let the boy go, step back, and let us pass. Or you are going to have a fight on your hands and I think we’ve already seen that I am very hard to kill.”

Nina snarled in Tim’s ear, relaxing her grip and releasing enough pressure for him to think. He was still firmly trapped but the chances of him fainting had just reduced dramatically. 

“Nina, let them go.” 

“No.” Tim’s head was pulled back painfully. 

New Bruce sighed before, as quick as a whip, he threw something their direction. Nina dragged Tim into a dodge but whatever New Bruce had tossed hadn’t been aimed at them. It hit the wall behind them and exploded into runes. 

Tim twisted, getting a better angle, and slammed an elbow into Nina’s arm. The bone held but he must have hit a nerve as it was enough for her to loosen her grip. Constantine grabbed Tim by the shoulder and pulled him back, nails cutting the sides of Tim’s neck as he was hauled out of her grip.

Where the runes hit the wall the city began to twist, bricks splitting and buildings parting as a new road formed from nothing. Green energy painted the street, buzzing even as two figures ran towards them.

“Batman!” Called Traci 13. Behind her followed Jon. 

“Dami!” He cried, scrambling over the torn street until he threw himself at Conner, reaching towards the boy in his arm. “Dami, I found you!”

Bewildered at the new developments, Dami awkwardly patted Jon’s head.

“What’s this?” Nina hissed, her gaze flicking from Jon to New Bruce to Traci. “What are you doing?”

“You said yourself,” New Bruce said gruffly, “we don’t have time to wait for Jon to grow. We just don’t have time, period. We’ve lost, Nina, and I’m not condemning a child to die on a false hope.”

“No!” The vampire shouted in denial. 

Traci circled over to New Bruce. “There is no one left,” she explained. “I can feel all the life in the city and there is no one but us. Even if we could fix the sky, humanity is gone, Nina. There is nothing to save. We can fight out of spite, out of rage for being the last ones standing, but we’ve lost. We lost when Clark died.”

“You’re just soft!” Nina howled with rage. “Soft and giving up when we finally have a chance. I won’t let you!”

“Go,” New Bruce whispered to Constantine. 

The Brit raised an eyebrow. “You look like you could use a hand.”

“This is our problem,” New Bruce said firmly. “They are yours.” He nodded at Tim and the rest.   

Constantine nodded and Tim felt him grab him by the arm as the magician dragged him to the circle. Conner had abandoned the knife and was carrying Jon like a piece of luggage tucked under one arm. Behind them Nina screamed but no one paused as they stumbled into the circle.

Constantine raised his arms and the world flared white.  

-

“You cheated!” Klarion accused, staring at his losing hand with frustration. 

Billy might have. Maybe? Does using the Wisdom of Solomon to play poker count as cheating? Well, it’s not like the stakes were high. Billy collected the pennies into the tidy pile he had sitting on the floor. Klarion’s were spread across the floor like a dragon’s hoard of small copper coins.

They had grown tired of twenty questions and I spy, and Billy didn’t follow any of the bands Klarion did, so they had settled on cards. Billy always kept a pack because a huge part of missions was just waiting around and cards helped him focus on something other than fidgeting. Batman had actually made the suggestion. 

“This time I’ll pounce you!” Klarion declared with a smile before he whipped his head around. He hopped to his feet and clapped his hands in giddy excitement. “The~ey’re back,” he sang, hopping from foot to foot. 

Sure enough the rune circle exploded into light, crimson flames licking up from the lines before exploding into a blinding white, forcing Billy to look away. When the warehouse cleared, five people sat on the floor. 

Constantine stood first, dried blood clinging to the front of his shirt. He didn’t move as though he was injured though, dusting off his slacks as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Conner was the next on his feet, pulling up two boys. One who was familiar and one who was decidedly not. The stranger wrapped himself around Dami, burying his head into the crook of the small boy’s neck as he sobbed out unintelligibly. 

Next Conner pulled up Tim who definitely looked like he’d seen better days. The one side of his shirt was shredded, blood tacking fabric into the wounds. A bruise was forming around his neck and once side had what appeared to be claw marks tracing horizontally. Billy hid his sigh. This was going to make Batman so cranky. At least with him grounded Billy wasn’t going to have to put up with a snappish Batman in person, only on video calls. 

“Oh, you brought a guest ,” Klarion said with genuine delight. “How exciting!”

“Yes, yes,” Constantine grumbled. “It’s all well and good. You all alive?” He waited for all of the gaggle of kids to nod. “Good. I’m leaving. I never want to talk to you ever again.” He immediately spun to march towards the nearest door.

“Thanks, Constantine!” Tim called out. “I’ll call you again the next time I need you, okay?”

The magician flipped the bird over his shoulder. Billy barely caught the gesture, his eyes glued to the bloody spot on the back of the jacket that matched the front. He had heard rumors about Constantine but to see that? 

That was terrifying. 

“I think I’ll go too,” Klarion said, picking up Teekl. “You have so much to do. Wouldn’t want me getting in the way.” His smile had too many teeth. With a wave he was swallowed by his own black portal. 

“Please tell me you brought a car,” Billy asked. He couldn’t ferry them all at once and Batman would kill him if he let even one of them out of his sight for a moment.

“Yeah. I borrowed Bruce’s minivan.”

Batman had a minivan.

Huh. 

“Conner’s driving,” Billy ordered. He knew for a fact the Kryptonian had his licence, unlike Billy, and Tim seemed to be swaying a bit. 

“I shall drive,” Dami announced, trying to disentangle himself from the other boy who had immediately begun shaking his head. 

“No. We’re sitting together in the back seat.”

Dami huffed. “Fine. I shall pick the music.”

Billy looked at Tim to see if any protests were going to come from that corner but Tim just shrugged. “As long as I can sit,” he muttered, as close as a Bat ever got to confessing that they hurt. 

Billy grabbed Tim by the shoulder just to steady him as they walked towards where they had parked the van. Given that it was nearly four a.m. in Gotham, the fact that it was still there was impressive. They all piled in, Tim in shotgun so he could recline his chair. Dami and his friend claimed the very back, sitting shoulder to shoulder as they buckled in. Billy gave them ten minutes before they were both asleep.

Billy claimed the bucket seat behind Conner, settling in for the drive to Bristol. 

-

Lara had expected relief after rescuing the boy but the tension had only mounted. Cheshire and Red Arrow kept debating about trying to get in touch with an Oliver or a Dinah, all the while trying to feed their baby. Impulse was constantly silencing phone calls that were coming at decreasing intervals. Both parties were beginning to grate on each other’s nerves but it was no surprise that Red Arrow broke first. 

“Answer your fucking phone or turn it to silent.” As though summoned, the phone began to ring again. 

Impulse stared at the device for a moment before tossing it to Red Arrow. “You answer it.”

With a scowl, the archer did. 

Everything about him changed in that second, his body language shrinking as though Red Arrow could vanish into space. Gone was the arrogant tip of his head, the angry step and the guilty hands. Instead of a self righteous man there was a little boy who knew he was in trouble. 

“Batman. We were retrieving Roy, sir. Yes, the mission was a success. We’re on our way stateside now. No sir, none of your sons are with us. The other mission was completed as well. She’s coming along.” So they’d been hired to find her on behalf of a man who scared him? Interesting. No matter. Whoever this man was, he would not scare her. She was not a tool and she would not be cowed. “We’re about ten hours out. No injuries to the rescuing party though Roy is missing an arm. It’s also likely that they kept him in cryostasis this entire time. Yes sir. Of course sir. We’ll call you when we land.”

The phone call ended and the arrogance rushed back in like an incoming tide. “You’re a fucking asshole,” he snapped at Impulse, throwing the phone no where near the boy. It hardly mattered, with Impulse blurring until the device was in his hand. 

“Right back at you,” Impulse muttered, fiddling with his phone. He did not want to be here. He was waiting for something that he would not find this plane ride and frustration poured off of him in waves. Lara was certain that the only thing that had brought him aboard this plane was her presence. If he was trying to keep her safe he was sweet but stupid. If he was here to prevent her from running then he was just stupid. 

But, despite the company he kept, he didn’t seem stupid. 

Lara snapped her fingers, getting Bart’s attention. “Whose call are you waiting for? It is certainly not this B-A-T-M-A-N-S.”  

Bart glanced at his companions, disgust filling his shoulders. He waved his hands clumsily. “T-I-M,” he spelled out on rebellious fingers. “I think you’ll like him.”

Lara raised an eyebrow and cast her eyes around the cramped plane, her displeasure at her current company obvious. Impulse smiled sincerely. “T-I-M is much cooler than these people.” He added as he watched Cheshire at the cockpit. “Way less of an asshole too.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. That was a low bar. Impulse pursed his lips and then nodded, obviously picking up her thoughts. 

He signed to her again. “I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me up if you need anything, even if it is just a distraction from those two.”

He flopped over and a mere minute after he announced his intentions his body had slipped off into sleep, his limbs loose and his breathing even.

She envied him the ease of that. Sleep was not something she got a lot of. It left her too vulnerable to attack, both from clients and from further assassination attempts. She had never had anyone she trusted well enough to watch her back while she rested and, even if she had, the assassin and her lover would never count among that number.

It was going to be a long, aggravating flight.

Chapter Text

Bruce was freaking the fuck out and it was starting to scare Jay. He’d had Alfred haul them all out of bed and gather them in the Cave with no explanations, Bruce’s ability to speak having been reduced to anxious grunts and worried glares as his eyes constantly swept over his children as though they could vanish at any particular moment.

Given that half of them were missing, Bruce’s fear was contagious. 

Jay had thought that Tim and Conner had been going to a fucking movie, and yeah, Bart might have tagged along for that but they wouldn’t have brought Dami. Not now. Not with that fucking curse hanging over his head. Tim was reckless but he was reckless with his own safety, not that of his family.

And Tim wouldn’t have kept the gremlin out until four a.m. 

Had Superman gotten loose? Was it Ra’s again? Had the assholes from Tim’s universe found a way to pop back to this side? There were just so many things in Tim’s life that were fucked up, so many potential dangers that Jay’s little brother faced, and this not knowing was terrifying. 

Worse, Bart wasn’t even with them. Bruce had confirmed that he was with Roy and not Tim before he’d gone nonverbal. 

It was frightening everyone. Dick was still. Cass was fidgety. Alfred hadn’t even offered to make tea. Even Dexter seemed stressed, whipping his tail from side to side as his ears flicked back and forth. 

Jay was never having kids if this was what Bruce felt every time they went missing. Hell, Jay might swear off having brothers. He was already gray, thanks to dying, and if Tim kept this bullshit up that white streak was going to take over his whole hairdo by the time he was eighteen.  

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an engine echoing in the Cave. The vehicle was civilian, given the lack of growl, and moving fairly slow. Jay didn’t bother to relax until it had finally pulled up on an empty platform and Captain Marvel spilled out. 

Bruce pushed himself up so that he was standing. 

“They’re fine,” Captain Marvel assured. Conner opened up the driver’s door and stepped out, as though an unharmed Kryptonian was somehow proof that the situation hadn’t gone tits up. “You were right about them seeing Constantine,” Jesus Fucking Christ Almighty Tim had taken Dami to see motherfucking Constantine? “But Klarion was also there.”

“I need to see them,” Bruce said as he stumbled forward, Captain Marvel catching his arm for support. Jay did too. 

“They’re okay,” Captain Marvel reassured, “just asleep.” He lowered Bruce back into his wheelchair as Jay and the others descended on the van. “Bruises only.”

Conner was already pulling Tim out of the shotgun seat by the time Jay arrived and his brother was definitely not alright. There was a bruise the shape of a handprint across his neck with scratches peppering the one side. “I’ll kill him,” Jay swore. He wasn’t sure if he was killing Constantine or Klarion but either way he was going to figure it out.

“Wasn’t anybody from this world,” Conner said as he braced Tim, who was sleepily rubbing at his eyes. 

Whatever lecture Jay was working his way up to was cut off by Dick’s urgent call. “Jay.”

“What?” He piled into the passenger door behind Dick, stomach clenching. If Captain Marvel’s definition of fine included Tim looking like he did, what did that mean for Dami?

He didn’t see any bruises or cuts, Dami’s naturally dark skin the shade it was supposed to be. His breathing was smooth and regular, his face relaxed. Just a kid sleeping. It should have been no big deal except he was wrapped in the arms of another child doing the exact same thing.

He and Dick shared a look. Get them out of the van and then make this Bruce’s problem. It might cut off the lecture the man had launched into, his gravelly voice bouncing throughout the Cave. 

Dick began to pull on Dami, easing the new child’s arms off as Dick worked their brother free. It was surprisingly difficult, as every time Dami was shifted the strange kid adjusted his grasp to grip something else. The kiddo whined when Dami was pried free. 

He opened a clear blue eye, before blinking awake. “Dick?” he asked, before his eyes filled up with tears. “Where are you taking Dami?”

Okay. This had to be more multiverse shit. “We’re just unloading you from the van, okay?” Dick assured. “You’re next.”

“Okay,” the kid agreed easily, reaching his arms up. Jay didn’t hesitate in switching spots with Dick and scooped the kid up before hauling him out. The kid was like a barnacle, wrapping his arms around Jay’s neck and his legs around Jay’s hips with a bruising strength. 

Jay pulled on the arms. “Loosen up,” he gasped. Instantly the hold relaxed, letting Jay breathe like a normal person as they crawled out. 

“-put Dami in danger! I don’t care if you thought you were just going to talk. Constantine doesn’t do ‘just talking’. The man is a menace, especially towards League affiliates, and you have absolutely no justification for what you-”

“Please don’t yell, Uncle Bruce,” asked Jay’s new friend. “It was my fault.” 

Bruce stopped dead in his tracks as he caught Jay and Dick, both laden with black haired bundles. His eyes flicked to Tim, silently demanding an explanation. 

Tim sighed as Alfred pressed a bandage to his neck. “We really were going just to talk.” The butler began to cut away Tim’s shirt, tutting at the long scrape. “But then Klarion showed up and it turned out that the knife was a person and our options were killing him or fixing him, but only Klarion was strong enough to fuel the spell to take us there. We fixed Jon but it was a hellscape so the Bruce there sent him back with us and congratulations, it’s a boy.”

“You’re still grounded,” Bruce said, utterly transfixed by the boy. Jay, sensing where this was going, carried his burden closer to Bruce even as the man wheeled in their direction. “Hey,” he said softly in his comforting-victims voice, “can you tell me your name?”

“Jon Kent,” the boy mumbled into Jay’s neck before he loosened his grip and slid down to the floor. He kept one hand on Jay’s arm. “I want my dad.”

“Nice to meet you Jon. Can you tell me what your dad’s name is?” Bruce asked, keeping his voice low as he tried to tease out answers. 

Jon shrugged. “Clark, but he’s evil here. He tried to kill Dami.”

What. The. Fuck. Tim. Just, how? How the fuck do these things even happen? Screw gray, Jason was going to be bald by the time he was eighteen. 

Bruce nodded. “Yes, Clark did a bad thing so you can’t go stay with him.” Damn straight. Everyone had seen how Clark had treated his clone. How the hell would he handle a kid from an alternate dimension? One who was likely packing a lot more trauma. “But that’s alright because tonight you’re going to stay here, okay?”

“With Dami?” Jon practically begged.

Bruce looked at his sleeping son and Jay figured that the kid wasn’t getting a vote because he was asleep. “Yeah, with Dami. Come, Conner will help get you settled.”

“Come on, Squirt.” The Kryptonian lifted the boy who wrapped himself around Conner the same way he had Jay. 

“Sorry I stabbed you,” Jon said as Conner carried the kid out of the Cave, Dick following behind with a still resting Dami. 

Bruce watched them leave before turning to Tim and pinching his nose. “You just went to ask Constantine questions?” 

“Yes,” Tim answered, flinching as Alfred pulled gravel out of a particularly deep cut. 

“And you were ambushed by Klarion.”

Tim nodded. “And it was either kill Jon eventually or save him then.”

“Marvel?”

Captain Marvel set down the batarang he’d been examining guiltily. “Sorry,” he winced before straightening up and rubbing his chin in thought. “Tim’s right, though. Whatever spell Klarion was fuelling wouldn’t have been something anyone else would have been able to handle, except maybe Doctor Fate. If the kid’s soul was bound to Dami and bound in an object, the only way to release the hold on Dami was to either restore the spirit to its original body or destroy the object.”

“Which is what Constantine said before saying he couldn’t help anymore,” Tim explained. “Then Klarion showed up and Constantine tagged along to protect us, which he did.” Tim lifted his arm so Alfred could apply a topical antibiotic. “I know he’s an asshole but he’s a good man.”

“Tim,” Bruce said as though he could will the boy to understand. “Constantine traded something for immortality, and it wasn’t his own soul. Demons don’t make deals like that and good men don’t bargain with what isn’t theirs. Constantine is a monster.”

“Oh, that’s what that’s about?” Tim asked, eyebrows high. “He did trade his soul, apparently a couple of times, but then he blackmailed a higher power for immortality. He says God but I’m an atheist.”

Blackmailing God. 

Christ. 

Constantine wasn’t allowed to hang around Tim because he was liable to give him fucking ideas. 

“Of course,” Bruce said, as though the bomb Tim just dropped wasn’t primed to blow minds. “Fine. We’re going to bed. We are all ,” he shot Tim a heavy look, “going to sleep and when we are all feeling more rational we will discuss this in the morning. Bart should be back by then.”

“Where the fuck is he?” Jay asked. 

“Language,” Alfred tutted as he wrapped Tim up like half a mummy. 

Tim shrugged. “Europe. Fetching Roy. I figured he’d be back by now.”

“He decided to fly back with them and this universe’s Cass.”

“Found me?” Jay started, having forgotten that she was even there. 

Bruce nodded, exhaustion seeping into his frame now that the adrenaline crash was hitting. Jay could feel the same fatigue seeping into his own bones. “Yes, though I don’t have any details. They’ll be landing in Metropolis early in the morning, which is why we are all going to sleep now. Billy, you are welcome to stay.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Wayne. I’m going to go outside and change. I’ll be back in a minute.” He launched himself into the air. 

Bruce gave them all hard frowns. “Everyone else to bed.” Tim and Cass both dipped their heads in submission. Jay on the other hand, thought it was cute that Bruce believed everyone was going to just nod off. Jay’s brain, between Jon, new Cass, and the fact that someone was actively blackmailing God, was whirring on all cylinders. He was probably never going to sleep again. 

-

Lois’s lifestyle came with a lot of sacrifices. She was always on the job, always willing to cut and run to chase the newest story. She’d sacrificed money, relationships, and even organs to get the truth to the people.

Losing sleep was not exactly unexpected. It happened often enough that she didn’t even sound tired when she was woken from a dead sleep at- four thirty in the morning?- by her phone. 

“Lane here.”

“Lois.” Bruce sounded rough, his voice scratchy and exhausted. 

She sat up and flicked her light on, the dregs of sleep and shadows both chased away. “What’s wrong? Did Clark escape?” Lois wasn’t afraid of Clark, not really. She knew she should be, that something in him had broken instead of bent and that she couldn’t rely on his past feelings for her to keep her safe. She knew the rates for women being murdered by the men they were divorcing and she knew for a fact that someone on the League had already given Clark the papers she’d gotten from her lawyer if their midnight phonecall hadn’t been enough to drive the point home.

But she also had friends at S.T.A.R. lab and they had given her a nifty little sedative with green flecks in it. If Clark showed up she was taking him down. Still, a heads up would always be nice. 

“Nothing like that,” Bruce assured her, but that left Lois with more questions. She flicked her phone to speaker and set it on her bed, standing so she could put on real clothes. This conversation was likely going to end with a car ride.

“Is everyone okay?” No, it was four in the morning. People didn’t call at four in the morning because everything was fine. Had Bruce been up and about he might have been trying to get info for a case, but he could barely stand so that wasn’t it. Yet as far as Lois knew he wasn’t letting his kids run around in spandex anymore. But here Bruce was, calling her at four in the goddamn morning. 

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes.” No. She could handle whatever Bruce was going to throw at her. 

“Your son from an alternate universe is in my house.” Lois tripped and hit the floor, banging her wrist on the hardwood. She heard Bruce snort. “You weren’t sitting down.”

Lois clambered back onto the bed, cradling her wrist to her chest as she picked up the phone. “What do you mean ‘son’?” No, that was a stupid question. She was a reporter , she could do better than that. “What’s his name? How old is he? How long is he staying?”

“Jon,” Bruce answered, sounding disgustingly amused. “Eight or nine and that depends on whether or not you want him to come live with you?”

“Bullshit,” Lois said, setting her phone on the night table to make a second attempt at getting dressed. “If my son was in an alternate universe I would move heaven and hell to come get him. So would Clark. I assume Clark’s the father?” The boy had to be named after Clark’s dad. 

“You’re both dead.” Way to break that gently, Bruce. 

She pulled on a t-shirt, careful of her wrist. “How badly is me showing up going to confuse him?” 

“He understands that he’s in a different universe. Meeting Clark cleared that up. He may-”

Lois cut him off like a knife through butter. “What do you mean ‘meeting Clark’? Why the fuck did you introduce my kid to Clark before you called me?” 

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the phone before Bruce sighed. “You son was trapped as a knife that cursed Dami and when Clark showed up to my house Dami tried to use Jon to stab Clark.”

Lois had thought that getting Clark out of her life would make it less weird, but apparently Bruce had taken it upon himself to fill that void. “Is he still a knife?” 

“No.” 

Okay. She could handle this. “I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“I was actually hoping you could wait.”

“Wait.” Lois said flatly, hoping that Bruce could feel her judgement from here. She took the pregnant silence to mean that he could and that he was feeling embarrassed about that stupid request. 

“My daughter Cass is from an alternate dimension and we recently found her counterpart. Her flight is due to land in two hours. It would make sense for you to give her a ride into Gotham as well.”

Alternate dimension. There was that word again. “Bruce, how many children do you currently have in your house that aren’t from this dimension?”

“Three,” he said instantly, confidently, like that number should be higher than zero. 

It took Lois mere seconds to integrate this knowledge into her world view. After marrying an alien with super powers and befriending a man who dressed as a bat and went out late at night to beat on criminals, her ability to handle the weird had dramatically increased. “Jason?” she guessed. It made more sense than him being held prisoner for months. 

“Tim,” Bruce corrected. “Jay came back from the dead.”

Of course he did. “I am not waiting, Bruce. You can afford to have her cab it.”

“Lois-”

“Do not use your Batman voice on me.”

Bruce sighed and started again. “Lois,” he said in a far more appropriate tone, “he’s asleep. He’s had a rough day and he just went to bed. It doesn’t matter if you are here in two hours or four; he’s still going to be out. Meanwhile Cass is going to be getting off of an airplane to meet strange people under strange circumstances and I can’t go pick her up because I have a broken back and I need Alfred’s help here. So either I do as you suggest and try to find a driver at this time of night, or I trust a very good friend to bring her here. 

“Which am I going to have to do?”

Lois glared at her phone. “There are days when I hate you, Wayne.”

“That’s fair.”

Lois sighed. “Fine. I’ll pick up your newest kid but you owe me something expensive.”

“Done.” Bruce still sounded exhausted but his tone was somehow lighter. Lois was glad that he’d found the conversation relieving because it was weighing on her. At least she had time to get a coffee so she could really let this sink in. She frowned as a thought occurred to her. 

“No adopting my kid, Bruce.”

He disconnected the line without making any promises. 

Bastard. 

-

The downside of being a speedster is when things moved slowly they moved agonizingly so. It felt like the descent of the plane took hours, that the baby screamed for days, that it had been years since Tim’s last text. People moved like molasses as they transferred Roy to a gurney, slurring out medical terms that Bart couldn’t be bothered to parse.

They found Roy. They rescued Roy. That ended Bart’s responsibility. He didn’t need to make a report on his medical condition above and beyond ‘he was alive when we landed’. 

He walked across the tarmac, looking back every once in a while to make sure Lara was still with him. It was hard to see her expression in the twilight, but in the short time that Bart had known her he could assume it was that flat look with a hint of a smirk that she liked to wear. It was frustrating because she was deliberately staying behind him and she knew it bothered him, that Bart wanted her in his sightline. 

But at the end of the day the important thing was that she came with him. 

“Wait here,” Bart said as they stepped into the terminal. He popped into a supply closet before dashing off, snagging some clothes from the nearest big brand store and doing a quick change. When he emerged from the supply closet he did so as a civilian. 

“I-M-P-U-L-S-E?” Lara signed, studying him carefully. 

Bart gave her a salute. “Bart Allen, at your service.” He craned his head, studying the airport as he tried to figure out which way to go. 

Lara snapped her fingers to get his attention. “This way,” she signed, leading him through some doors that, now that they had been pointed out, were clearly marked, not that it made sense. This place was more of a maze than the stupid snow fortress, which wouldn’t have been a big deal if he could still speed his way through it but with Lara in tow he was stuck doing this the same way everyone else had to.

“You don’t use airports much, do you?” She smirked as she signed. 

There weren’t many people here, the odd employee milling about and the occasional commuter drooling in a chair as they grabbed a nap on their layover. Bart felt comfortable enough being candid without getting busted. “Why fly when I can run and get there in no time?”

“How fast can you run?” There was genuine curiosity. 

Bart shrugged. He’d never actually tested. “Fast,” he offered, knowing it was barely an answer. 

She didn’t press him on it, instead twisting down another hall. This one had a gate that seemed to lead back to the real world, given the way it was guarded from the otherside. Behind it stood a familiar figure holding a sign.

Cass, read the text that Lois Lane was waving lazily. He’d been expecting Conner or Tim, but given the radio silence on their end he’d been preparing to… procure their own transportation. 

Lois being here was awesome .

“Ms. Lane!” Bart waved enthusiastically. 

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Bart? Bruce never said that you’d be here.”

That was a weird thing to forget to mention. Bart felt his skin start to buzz with anxiety. Did that have anything to do with Tim’s silence? “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

“Last I checked.” Given that she was here to pick them up, that couldn’t have been too long ago. Bart opened his mouth but Lois cut him off. “I am in a hurry, so save your questions for the car.” She turned to Lara and studied her up and down. “So you’re the Cass duplicate?”

“Her name is Lara,” Bart said stiffly. 

“Well, that will save on confusion,” Lois said with an approving nod before she waved them on, leading them out of the airport. “I’m Lois Lane,” she introduced herself on the walk. 

Lara waved her hands and Bart translated. “I know who you are. I do read the news.” 

“So you know who Bruce is, too?”

“ B-R-U-C-E?”

“Ah,” Bart scratched the back of his neck. “I may not have mentioned that detail.”

Lois sighed in frustration. “We’ll figure it out in the car.” 

Lois’s car was like her. Practical. There were no stickers, no modifications, to really make it stand out and go “ah yes, so and so owns this car.” A four door that was a factory blue with a popular tire brand, it was made to go to and from places.

“I thought you’d drive something fancier,” Bart commented, a little disappointed. He expected a badass woman like Lois to have a badass car like Bruce. 

“This helps cut down on car bombs,” she said matter of factly as she checked underneath her door. “It’s easier to follow people and insurance is cheaper. I think we’re in the clear.”

With a raised eyebrow, Lara slipped into the back seat. Bart joined her so he didn’t have to keep twisting his neck to play translator. “So, Bruce,” she signed as they pulled away. 

“Bruce Wayne,” Lois filled in. 

“The millionaire?” There was the slightest tremor in that sign, showing that Lois’s answer had actually taken her off guard. “If this is some strange scheme to traffic me I will kill you both.”

Lois scoffed. “Strange is Bruce’s middle name, but don’t worry, you don’t have anything to fear from him except being motherhenned.”

“Definitely motherhenned,” Bart confirmed. “He really likes kids.” At Lara’s flat stare he held up his hands defensively. “Not in a weird way but he just really-likes-adopting-and-that-somehow-sounds-worse-”

“Bruce is an orphan,” Lois said, saving Bart from himself. “He doesn’t want other children to share his trauma so he has a habit of adopting kids in bad situations.”

Lara was obviously unimpressed. “I’m twenty-four.”

“I don’t think that matters. Either of you kids want breakfast? I’m starving and I’m not making any other stops.”

“Food!” Bart pumped an arm into the air. He’d run out of snacks while waiting with Roy and Red Arrow had been a dick when he’d asked for more. Lois was so crash!

He was practically vibrating when his phone began to ring and the caller ID flashed Conner. Why was he calling instead of texting?

“Conner, what’s wrong? Is Tim okay? Did you fix Dami? What-happened ?” Is everyone alive?

Conner sighed and Bart knew he was pinching his nose. “Everyone’s fine. The knife was actually a cursed child and we had to rescue him. I’ll give you more details later but the basics are that we were successful, and broke the curse to save Dami and the kid. Tim was injured-”

“How bad?” Bart gripped the phone a bit desperately. It had to have been bad if Conner was calling. Bart should have been there. He could have prevented this. 

“Minor,” Conner soothed, as though Bart needed to be handled. “He’d scraped up his side and has some bruising on his throat. He’s even asleep. I just managed to sneak my way out of the room or I would have contacted you earlier.”

Bart took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down as the panic abated and was replaced by heat. “Why the fuck did you call me instead of just texting? I thought someone had died!”

“I hate texting,” Conner snapped. 

“I have literally watched you text Tim with a dopey grin,” Bart snapped back. 

“That’s different,” Conner said mulishly. “He uses kaomojis.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?!”

“Whatever,” Conner dismissed. “I’m going to sleep.” The call cut out.

Bart held out his phone, glaring at the device with the hopes that Conner could feel his displeasure at how stupid the Kryptonian was. Who didn’t like to text? Was this something Cadmus had programmed? He knew Lex was a psycho but this was definitely taking it too far . Someone really needed to kill that man. 

“So,” Lois broke the silence as she pulled into the drive through,”what do you want for breakfast?”

-

Conner turned his phone off, grumbling internally. He didn’t know what Bart’s fucking problem was. They were cell phones , not cell texts . They were supposed to be used to call people!

He set his phone on the end table and lifted the blanket, his skin buzzing. It had started doing that in the Hell Dimension™, but it had felt a little bit like fire, more of a rolling boil that hissed and popped. This was like gripping the handlebars of his motorcycle, the roar of the engine vibrating pleasantly throughout his body. 

It was weird. 

“Mm. Conner?” Tim asked dopily, rolling towards the Kryptonian. 

Conner leaned forward and planted a kiss on Tim’s cheek before settling into the bed. With a little manoeuvring he managed to scoop Tim against his body, tucking the very fragile human body against his. “Sleep,” he ordered softly. 

Tim’s breathing evened out into true rest and Conner felt his muscles relax. He pushed one more kiss into Tim’s hair before allowing himself to drift off.

Chapter Text

Lex had won. 

The public had finally lost faith in its great hero. Oh, the Justice League had tried to claim that the attack on beloved philanthropist Brucie Wayne and his children was the result of mind control. It was a tired excuse, one that might have been successful if it wasn’t for the resounding silence. The Justice League had plenty to say, apologies and assurances, PR stunts that completely redirected conversation, the usual media circus that comes with the fallout of a major scandal. 

But there was no Superman, no mention of Superman. 

He hadn’t appeared on television to apologize to the Waynes and the world. The Justice League did not speak about him healing or about him returning. There was no deeper explanation as to why someone would mind control Superman to take out Brucie Wayne, of all people. Gotham adored the man, a true favoured son, and he poured money back into the city like rain into a well. For a man who made as much as he did he was shockingly ethical and the enemies he made tended to be those with legal problems that were far more pressing than a dislike of Brucie. All his money was clearly going to go to his children and that old butler of his and Batman liked him enough that his children were practically kidnap proofed. 

Despite being a fool he wasn’t a man someone could get money out of and he certainly wasn’t worth hiring someone to kill him. The amount of effort it would have taken to mind control Superman just to kill Bruce was extremely disproportionate and the average Gothamite knew it. 

It hadn’t taken long for the conspiracy theories to start up and now that they had there was no controlling the narrative. Oh, most of them were absurd, Lex’s favourite being that Brucie and Superman were a couple having a lover’s tiff gone out of control, but they all agreed on one thing. 

It hadn’t been mind control. 

So Superman had lost. Even if he came back now with the most cohesive explanation in the world, too few would fully believe. There would always be a cynicism behind the praise, a suspicion behind the excitement. Superman’s media team had, quite frankly, dropped the ball. 

Lex had won.  

He should have felt satisfied, elated even. He had been after this since the moment the word Superman had been splashed across the headline of the Daily Planet. Superman had fallen and Lex would go on. It was supposed to be his victory to revel in. 

Instead he was left with a vague sense of having been cheated. 

Superman’s fall had nothing to do with Lex. He hadn’t mind controlled Superman. He hadn’t funded anybody who would. He hadn’t framed Brucie at all, nevermind in a way that would stir up Superman’s wrath. Lex hadn’t even been the one to start up the conspiracy theories. That had come from some influencer on tiktok. Apparently in between eyeshadow looks she did media analysis, switching from killer looks to killing Superman’s reputation. 

Lex had literally nothing to do with the downfall of his arch nemesis and it rankled. 

It was part of why he was being so insistent about gaining Brucie’s attention. Lex needed to know the truth about what happened if he was going to find any closure on this issue. Wayne had to know something about why Superman attacked him. Surely the Justice League wouldn’t have been able to keep his nose out of it completely. After all, his children had been involved and if there was one fact that people knew about Brucie it was that he was a doting father. The man would have needed to know why his children were in danger. 

The contractors fixing his wall had probably made the place Superman proof. 

Lex also wanted better access to Timothy. Getting a foot into Wayne Manor would help him keep a dialogue with the boy open. Bruce’s recovery must have been taking so much focus off of the boy that he was likely just stewing in feelings of isolation. 

A ripe target.

So far Lex had been rebuffed with polite thank yous that were probably written by his secretary. He hoped that it was simply because the man was hurt that bad and not that he was dismissing Lex.

Lex was not a man to dismiss. Even Brucie wasn’t that stupid. 

“Mr. Luthor,” Mercy interrupted his thoughts. He trusted that it was important. She was usually so good at holding her tongue. “Roy Harper was retrieved by Cheshire and Red Arrow. Harper is currently at Metropolis General. Orders, sir?”

“Be diligent about guarding my person, as you always have been.” They had missed their chance to kill the boy years ago, with that fool Ra’s thinking that he could squeeze further use out of the boy. Of course, now that Ra’s had practically vanished it fell to Lex to contain the situation. 

Hopefully a trade would work. Lex’s guaranteed safety for an upgraded version of Mercy’s arm. Boys did so like their toys. 

-

Lara was not impressed by Wayne Manor. She had stayed at bigger and more luxurious mansions, at old castles with more character.

The construction equipment was also off putting. Nothing said wealth like a scaffolding and a tarp covered wall, though she supposed that it would take time and finesse to restore that type of damage to a building like this and maintain its historical integrity. 

Admittedly, the blue roses were nice. 

“Here we are,” Lois announced as she aggressively parked the car. 

So far the woman amused Lara greatly. All she had really known about Lois before today was that she was the type of reporter who made headlines and enemies with a singular ease. Honestly, Lara had been expecting Lois to be an unbearable bitch.

Instead the woman was pragmatic, which was useful considering that Bart’s understanding of significant details was extremely different from Lara’s. She wouldn’t have come if she had known that the end of this journey would take her to Bruce Wayne. From all reports, the man had a heart of gold, but Lara had been raised to see deeper. She was not looking forward to meeting another rich pig, at least when she wasn’t doing so on her terms. 

Lois’s tone said she carried some fondness for the man but her body language stayed coiled and stressed. Apparently the multidimension story that Bart had fed Lara had also been given to Lois and the woman believed it wholeheartedly. She didn’t seem like an idiot and she spoke of Bruce with an implied level of connection, as though she knew him on a personal level. She was able to fill Lara in on some of what to expect from Bruce and his children, with Bart translating and occasionally providing useful commentary. There were no immediate red flags.

So Lara would wait and she would watch. 

For now she got out of the car onto the paved path, stretching out her muscles. It had been a long car ride after a longer flight and it was probably going to continue to be a long day.

Lois walked up the door, moving to ring the bell when Bart blurred and vanished. The door opened from the other side, the boy beaming like a puppy. “Tim’s asleep,” he said. He spoke of Tim often enough that Lara was beginning to think they were romantically entangled. 

“Thanks, kid.” If Bart had a tail he would have been wagging it. He was ridiculously earnest, though with a powerset like his he could afford to be. “I’m going to go raid Bruce’s kitchen for the good coffee.” 

Bart was shaking his head before she finished that sentence. “Tim’s coffee is better and I know where he hides his beans. I’ll be right back.” He seemed to blur as a line of colour before solidifying, a bag of beans in his hands. “Tim doesn’t share but I’m sure he’d make an exception for you, Ms. Lane.”

She took the bag and opened it up, taking a deep whiff. Lara could see her muscles curl with satisfaction. Lois offered the bag for Lara to smell. 

It was the familiar bitter scent of coffee, musky and earthy and clearly something that was never meant to be put in one’s mouth without first being doctored with sugar and cream, which was the only way Lara was drinking that. 

Lois seemed like the type to drink it black. 

“This way,” Lois motioned Lara to follow, guiding them through the house in the growing morning light. There were a lot of pictures. Some were historical portraits of the family that had been done up centuries ago. Some were shaky selfies that had squashed as many people into the background as it could possibly hold. Most of the pictures were of children, likely Bruce’s sons, though there was one that made her pause. 

Cass. 

Bart’s honesty and Lois’s easy acceptance had gone a long way towards convincing Lara that the multiverse and having counterparts was real, but the photo snapped Lara’s tentative understanding into something hard and real. Had Cass not obviously been years younger they would have been seen as twins. 

Oh, there were differences. Cass was in her late teens, still carrying just a touch of baby fat. She kept her hair shorter and Lara could see a scar poking out from under Cass’s sleeve that Lara certainly didn’t have but other spots were smooth where Lara had silver lines. 

But their eyes were the exact same. Haunted. Knowing. The mischievous smile and frilly T-shirt didn’t change the fact that Cass had the eyes of a weapon. 

“Lara, this way!” Bart called, beckoning her into another room dotted with photos. Even the kitchen, when they got to it, had a giant picture of the family along one wall, though some of the people must have been just friends. Bart was in it and he had made no mention of a paternal relationship with Bruce. 

The lights flicked on and Lara turned to glare at Bart for the lack of warning, but the speedster was pulling out the coffee machine, looking just as surprised as she did. 

Bruce Wayne sat tucked in a wheelchair, a back brace firmly visible, as he studied the room and all of Lara’s assumptions about the man flew out the window. He was not a ditzy millionaire. He was not a naive father of too many children. 

No. Bruce Wayne was dangerous. 

“Lois,” he said in a deep voice that was smooth like caramel over the tongue. “Thank you for coming.”

She let out a delicate snort. “You’re the one with my kid.” Lois relaxed in Bruce’s presence, like a wolf meeting back up with her pack. There was no doubt she knew what kind of beast Bruce was and she appreciated him for it. 

Bart, on the other hand, began to shift, back and forth, back and forth, the guilt of the self righteous with justifications ready to explode out of him. Instead of going in for a kill though, Bruce sagged. Exhaustion and relief poured off of the man like condensation on a cup. There was anger but it was low, unimportant and easily dismissed. “Are you hurt?” A flash of small concern, but no true fear. Bruce’s worry was reflexive, not active. 

“I’m fine.” Feet planted. Defensive. Unsure. But a glance and Lara knew that this was about to become her problem. Sure enough. “We found Cass but her name is Lara.”

Being called Cass was starting to grate. 

Bruce turned to her and studied. He saw a lot, more than she expected. There was anger but it was distant. For her. Not at. Sadness, but no pity. Respect. 

No lust. 

“Hello, Lara,” he said as though her presence here was the simplest thing in the world.

“Nice to meet you,” she signed. 

Bruce frowned, confused. Another difference. Cass could probably talk. How young was she when someone swooped in and rescued her from David? How much had Lara had to endure that Cass had not, saved by a family and brought somewhere to be loved?

How much was he going to judge her for not discovering her voice? How deep was the disgust going to curl when he discovered she was a grown woman who was nothing like his perfect daughter. 

“She said ‘nice to meet you’,” said Bart, fulfilling his role as a dedicated translator. 

“Nice to meet you too,” Bruce responded, still frowning. “I don’t recognize the language. What are you using?”

She levelled a flat look that she knew unnerved people.

It didn’t affect Bruce.

“Sign language, Bruce,” Lois spoke slowly, as though talking to someone with a head injury. Lara didn’t think that was at play. He was tired, it was in his shoulders, but it was his back that ached, not his head. 

“I am fluent,” he signed as he spoke, “ in ASL. That was not ASL.”

Well look at that. 

“It’s Greek,” she responded in the American equivalent.

Bruce cocked his head. “Do you want me to learn it?” he asked, sincerity pouring from his fingertips. 

What a strange man. “No.” She had the sense that he probably would anyway, if Lois and Bart’s warnings about being motherhenned were to be believed. “But I would like a room. Also, you do not need to sign when you speak to me. I can hear fine.”

“The rest of the family needs to learn.”

Lara raised an eyebrow. “Who said I will be here long enough for them to do so?”

The man shrugged carelessly. There was a pang of sadness, but a solid foundation of determination. “It is still good for my children to know. Bart can take you to your room. I imagine you wish to rest.” She nodded. “Do you want to be woken up when the rest of the household rises, or in your own time?”

It was a genuine offer. “When everyone else awakens.” She did not want to be asleep in a house full of strangers. She would probably wake up before anyone could make it into her room but it was easier to be awake. 

And she did wish to meet Cass sooner rather than later.

-

Dami was too hot. 

Unsurprising, considering someone was laying across his chest, though he was unsure which of his brothers it was. They were all liable to force him into ‘cuddles’ if he fell asleep in a public space and his threats on the matter had not reduced its frequency. Worse, the Clone and the Interloper had started joining them on this venture, like he was a child’s doll and not a great warrior.

No, this was not something Dami would stand for. With a great kick of his legs he knocked the other person off of him. 

“Ow!” came a cry that was more of surprise than pain. “What was that for?”

That…was not his brother. 

Dami rolled over, reaching for the knife that was bound to him but his hand came up empty, the knife missing. His backup blade was missing as well. He continued his roll, landing on his feet even as he pulled a batarang from underneath his knifestand. 

The boy who stared back at Dami was familiar. Yes, Jon. Who used to be his blade. Who they had traversed the planes of reality to restore to humanity. Or alienity? Dami would need to investigate proper verbage for restoring an alien to its corporeal form. In the meantime,  “What are you doing in my bed?”

“Having a sleepover,” Jon said as he rubbed his eye sleepily. 

Dami’s eyes narrowed. He had heard of sleepovers but he had never had one, as he had met no one worth his time. He was unsure of the proper etiquette, if he was supposed to truly share his bed or if this was a scheme, but he was loath to reveal his ignorance.

He would ask Father later. 

“Well, neither of us are asleep now,” Dami pointed out coldly. 

Jon kicked off the blankets, revealing that he was in one of Dami’s pyjama sets. “Yeah, we should probably go downstairs. Do you think Mr. Alfred made breakfast? I’m really hungry. Miss. Traci gave me a granola bar, only it wasn’t granola and it didn’t taste very good. She said they didn’t have a lot of food and since I was leaving it wouldn’t make sense to feed me a bunch of it,” he explained as he fiddled with the hem of Dami’s shirt. 

Poor hosts, but Dami supposed that the basics of hospitality were set aside during cataclysms. However, there was nothing so pressing in Dami’s world that he could not at least see Jon fed. And dressed. “Shirts are in the top drawer, pants in the bottom. We should be near enough in size. Once you are done you shall join me in the sitting room.”

“You aren’t going to wait here?” Jon’s voice trembled. 

“Tt.” Dami wrinkled his nose. “I have no desire to watch you change and wish to clean my face.”

“But you aren’t going to go anywhere, right?”

The only thing that prevented Dami from indulging in an eyeroll was the way that Jon was hunched, looking almost haunted. It reminded Dami of Timothy, when Father had first brought him home. Very well, it would be up to Dami to once again see the person healed. “I will not go far.” This seemed to provide Jon with little comfort, but Dami had read about this form of attachment issues. Not deeply, as Timothy’s problems bent the opposite way, but he had gleaned some of the basics. He still had the book. He could study it more later. “I will speak the entire time, so that you may keep track of me. Does this suit you?”

Jon smiled. It was small and dimpled, making him look entirely too vulnerable. “Thank you, Dami! You’re the best!”

He was, but that was an easy title to achieve when his rival was Todd. 

So he spoke of how he had single handedly saved Timothy from robbers in a restaurant, defeating them with bare hands. He did not mention Timothy’s injury, not because he did not want to relieve that failure but because he felt that it was crucial that Jon trust Dami’s judgement. 

He was only halfway through the story when Jon emerged from the bedroom and looped his hand into Dami’s. He allowed it. It made it easier to escort Jon down to the kitchen without having him get lost due to distraction. Even when he was a knife he had been easily distracted.

Dami could not imagine being human – alien? – had improved that. 

He could smell the kitchen before he arrived, the scent of baked goods and simmering fruit in the air. Dami hoped for french toast but was already resigning himself to Pennyworth’s waffles. It was the one dish that was beyond the butler’s skills. 

He pushed open the door and scowled immediately, hoping his Father could pick up his radiating displeasure. The man, sitting on one end of the table with a cup of coffee wrapped in one hand, sat across the table from a conventionally attractive female. Of all the times to seek out companionship of the opposite sex, now was especially inappropriate. 

“Mom!” Jon called, dropping Dami’s hand to rush the woman. She looked shaken, her face pale and her body language all wrong, but she dutifully kneeled down in time to catch Jon in a hug. 

Ah. This world’s Mrs. Kent. It made sense to have her here and Father was not actually showing exceptionally poor judgement. 

Perhaps Dami had been a little hasty in his observations. 

“Mom mom mom,” Jon chanted through tears as the woman rocked him back and forth as though they had known each other for years. Father had been the same with Timothy, though it had taken the boy time to accept his situation. 

Finally, Jon pushed back away from the woman. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I know you aren’t my mom but…” he trailed off.

“But I’d like to be,” she reached out with a well manicured hand and brushed his hair off his face as Jon stared at her with stupidly wide eyes. “If you’re okay with that.”

“Really?” he whispered desperately. “Can I call you Mom?” 

She leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. “I would be honoured.”

Well, that resolved that situation. It would make sense that Father knew who Superman’s paramour was in this universe and it was wise to expedite the meeting between her and her future son. They would probably leave soon and it would be fine. Dami would meet with Jon again at some point. Perhaps they could email each other?

Dami was not going to just lose Jon. 

“Dami, this is Lois Lane,” the woman petting Jon’s hair gave a tight smile. “We found this world’s Cass, but her name is Lara. Please inform your brothers if you see them before I do.”

“Yes, Father,” Dami said, his eyes still on Jon. He had heard of Lane. The Interloper had gone about her for days after he had returned through time. Considering she had been romantically entangled with the Alien, Dami was not sure how much he trusted her judgement. 

“Are we going to go live in Kansas with Grandma and Grandpa?”

“No, Kiddo.” She ruffled his hair before she smoothed it down again. “We’ll stay at my place in Metropolis. 

“So cool.” Jon pulled out of her touch, reaching out for Dami. “You’ll love Metropolis, Dami. There is so much to do and it’s so pretty!”

Dami blinked even as he took Jon’s hand. He opened his mouth but no words poured out. He couldn’t just leave. Timothy was here. 

“Hey,” Lane came over, placing her hands on Jon’s shoulders. “Dami’s not coming with us. He’s staying with his own family.”

Dami bit back a wince as the grip on his hand tightened, trained too well to show signs of pain. “But-” Jon looked at Dami, then to Lane, then to Dami again. 

He stopped breathing. 

-

Bruce had a lot of experience dealing with traumatized children. One might argue that Bruce only had experience dealing with traumatized children. All of his children came from places of tragedy and they were all at different places in their healing journeys. 

Which meant that Bruce realized what was happening the moment Jon slipped into a panic attack. He was already pulling the boy into lap while Lois was still processing that her son had stopped breathing. It meant that Dami had bolted for one of the many weighted blankets Bruce had stored around the place from when Dick had first arrived. It meant that Alfred materialized with a warm child appropriate beverage for Jon to sip on once his breathing had returned to normal and the storm of tears had passed. 

The boy was not alright, which should hardly be surprising. Until a few hours ago he’d been a knife that only Dami could hear with a history of however long. Honestly, his attachment to Dami was surprising only in its severity, but it did leave them with a number of problems. 

First, how were they going to separate the boys? Even if Bruce were comfortable with it,  Dami wouldn’t go to Metropolis with Jon without Tim, who was basically never going to be allowed to leave the house again. Bruce was going to have to chain him to the bannister and implant a GPS tracker for when he inevitably escaped. He’d need to invent one that could track through universes because this was the third time Tim had left this one. 

Second, Lois was not ready. She was a strong and capable woman and Bruce had no doubt that she would make a fantastic mother, but it would take time to adjust to having a kid and were Jon in a semi-healthy state Bruce would have every faith in her capabilities. 

The boy having severe panic attacks in the kitchen that very obviously stemmed from separation anxiety was clearly not ready to live in an environment where the primary caregiver worked out of the house. In order to get Jon through this with the least amount of trauma, Lois would need to have the skills that Bruce had scraped together over the years and she would need them yesterday.  

She would also need access to a Justice League approved therapist. There were two that were still undergoing background checks and Bruce was confident they would pass, but it was going to take time and the need was immediate. 

Third, what to do about Clark? The man had been disinterested in Conner before he’d become obsessed with Tim’s moral compass. How would he handle yet another child that wasn’t truly his? Jon had some awareness that Clark was not the man his father had been but he was a child. How thoroughly could he separate the two? A loving dead father with an alive man who shared his face and hated his existence?

Worse, what if Clark wanted to be involved? It wouldn’t be half-hearted. Clark had always been black or white. If he did claim Jon he would be vicious about it, controlling and insisting he knew best when he couldn’t even be bothered to be a good man, nevermind a good parent.

It would be damaging to the child.

“Dami, why don’t you and Jon take some food and go and eat in the entertainment room. Maybe show Jon a movie?”

Dami eyed Jon warily, the way he did Tim when he suspected the older boy wasn’t eating again. “Fine. I will show you my favorite.” Alfred carefully served them and dutifully carried their drinks as they left the room, leaving Bruce and Lois to talk. 

“So,” Lois let out a huff of air that blew hair off of her face. “That just happened.”

“Yes, it did,” Bruce said bluntly.

She fell back into her chair, grabbing her half empty cup of coffee to fiddle with. “I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Fantastic,” she took a sip, frowning at the flavour of the drink that had been left to cool for too long. “I don’t think you are going to let me steal your kid.”

Bruce couldn’t help the small chuckle. “Even if I would, Dami wouldn’t let himself be stolen. He has very firm ideas about where he belongs.” By Tim’s side with a thermos of soup, though it had been ages since that had been necessary.  

Lois tossed the rest of her coffee back before thumping the cup on the coaster. “Want more?” she offered, motioning at the coffee pot. 

“I’m fine.”

Lois shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She stood up, taking her cup with her to the counter. While she fixed herself another cup Bruce frowned, leaning his chin against his hands as his mind turned the problem over. There had to be a solution. 

By the time Lois sat down Bruce had a proposal. He waited until the cup was down and there was nothing in her mouth before asking. “Move in with me.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Lois frowned at him, eyes shrewd as she studied his profile. “You’re serious.” 

“It keeps Dami and Jon together until we can wean them apart and it is easier to move you here than my family into your apartment.” 

Lois scoffed. “We tried dating, Bruce. It would never work.” 

“Lois,” Bruce leaned forward with a frown, “it never worked because you didn’t want to date Batman, not because we had irreconcilable differences as roommates, which is what I am proposing. The house is large enough that we could go for weeks without seeing each other if that was your preference.” They’d need to do a timeshare with the kitchen but it was possible. 

“People would think that we are dating.” 

Bruce just shrugged. The press thought he was dating a lot of people, often all at once, which was strange because he stopped bringing strangers home after adopting Dick. “I can handle that kind of media attention. Can you?” he challenged. 

Bruce could practically see Lois’s individual hairs raiseas she bristled. “Don’t bait me, Bruce. You know I can handle the press.” She took another sip, buying herself a moment to think. She set the cup down and gave him a challenging glare. “People will think he’s yours.”

“It will keep Clark out of the picture,” he admitted. 

Her eyes narrowed. “He’s the same age as Dami.”

“And I will take any and all blame for that. People will see you as a gold digger.”

“Ha!” Lois laughed. “Just wait until I dig up the real dirt. Can you imagine how Lex is going to react to this? I think he hates Brucie more than he hates me. At the end of the day he has an ounce of respect for me, but I think you? He just wants to toss in Gotham Bay and be done with it.” She sighed. “We’re doing this, aren’t we?”

Bruce hummed. “I’ll need to talk to my children. I think they’ll understand but this isn’t a change I can make without their input.”

“Make it clear it isn’t permanent. I’m not binding myself to you in any way,” she commanded.  

“Except claiming that your son is mine.”

“Oh my god,” Lois said with a fond eye roll. “You totally just adopted my kid.”

Chapter Text

Cass watched.

Lara watched. 

Cass shifted.

Lara shifted.

Same eyes. Dark, knowing. 

But different hurts. Bruce was safe, his body screamed safe safe safe, love love love, but Lara was not watching for that. She looked for danger danger danger. 

But she was cautious. Knife stayed hidden, out of hand. Cass was certain she was reactionary, not actionary, and she was safe enough. 

And if she attacked Cass would fight. 

Cass would win.

-

Lara sat across the table from Cass, keeping her eyes on the other girl’s relaxed form. So far she hadn’t said a word, kissing Bruce on the cheek and taking a cup of tea from the old man known as Alfred. 

Cass studied her back. 

She didn’t look afraid, didn’t even look concerned, by Lara’s presence. It was perturbing and made Lara feel as though there was something she was missing. She should be able to defeat Cass with ease, having years more experience, but there were parts of Cass that Lara didn’t see and it was unsettling. The girl was so self assured, so confident, and in another opponent Lara would have passed it off as ignorance and cut them down. 

But not with Cass. 

She saw too much. 

-

Dick walked into the kitchen and took a single look around. 

“Nope.”

Bruce frowned at Dick. “No one has said a thing.”

And they didn’t need to. Cass and who had to be Cass senior were having a staring contest that was also a secret conversation. Bart was glaring at Jay, who had managed to steal his place at Tim’s side while Conner was drinking from Tim’s cup as the boy tried to mediate between his brother and his friend. Billy ignored it all, stuffing as much food into his mouth as he could fit into a single bite. Dami and the curse boy, Jon, were nowhere to be seen but Dick didn't think it was the source of Bruce’s concern. 

Dick accepted the cup of tea Alfred gave him with a polite thanks, the old man having doctored it to be perfect, no matter what Jay said. Dick was not a tea heathen and there was no such thing as too much sugar. 

He took his usual seat at the table. “You’re not allowed to steal Lois’s kid.”

Lois raised an eyebrow. “He’s got your number.”

Darn right Dick did. 

“I am not ‘stealing’ Lois’s son,” Bruce said petulantly, but Dick was no idiot. Bruce had a vibe whenever he was on an adopting binge and while Cass senior might be old enough to escape, Jon was a blue-eyed brunette. If it wasn’t for the fact that Billy could and had proven that he had a loving guardian Bruce would probably be getting him a permanent room too.   

“Seriously?” Jay gave Bruce a look that dripped with judgement. “You spent all morning convincing Lois to give you her kid when you could have been finding ways to lock Tim in the house?” 

“Hey!” Tim snapped. As much as Dick wanted to be on Jay’s side for this, the fact was that he had no leg to stand on. He’d basically snuck out of the house in his homemade Robin costume until Bruce had given up and given him body armor.

Punishments were not Bruce’s strong suit. 

Jay glared at his brother. “If you quit sneakin’ off…”

“I said I was going to be out! You never asked what I would be doing,” Tim argued like a lawyer. Unfortunately for him this was not a court of law and Jay was not an impartial jury. 

“Well, now I know to assume it’s always going to be something stupid!”

“Right,” Tim rolled his eyes. “Stupid like stealing Lois’s son?”

Jay gaped for a moment before moving to poke Tim in the arm.

“Injured!” barked Cass, causing Jay to freeze. Underl Cass’s watchful glare he pulled his hand back. Once it was away from Tim, Cass resumed her staring contest. 

“You’re lucky,” Jay grumbled at Tim. “Now, old man, explain your kid snatching ways.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not stealing . Jon is just showing some-” he paused for a delicate word, “attachment issues,” he settled on and Dick had a feeling it was an understatement. “So Lois and I were thinking that it might be best for her to stay here for a while.”

Jay stood up fast enough his chair fell back. “You are stealing Lois Lane and her kid? What the hell, Bruce?”

Alfred tutted. “Language, Master Jason.”

“Sorry Alf. Let me rephrase. What the fuck , Bruce?” 

“Listen, kid,” Lois said with a raised eyebrow, “we’re in a bind. I suggested moving to Metropolis and Jon flipped, so unless you have any brilliant solutions, this is what we are stuck with.”

“Clark will kill someone over this,” Dick felt the need to point out and the words were ash on his tongue. He never thought those words would scrape across his teeth. “And this time Barry won’t be on hand to save us.”

Jay righted his chair and took a seat, though Dick could tell that he was itching to dramatically stand again.

“The ‘euge sn’t onna et im ust ooo,” Billy said through a mouthful of food. At Alfred’s stern look he swallowed sheepishly and tried again. “The League isn’t just going to let him go. It’s slow going but we are working on a means of punishing him. It’s just hard to find a humane solution that is also effective.”

“Which is why I will be getting involved in the matter,” Bruce added and for the first time since waking Dick found himself genuinely surprised. He knew that Bruce had been doing whatever he could to stay out of Clark’s punishment. Then again, he probably shouldn’t be. Bruce was a sucker when it came to kids, Dick was proof of that, and he was willing to set aside his own bullshit to make sure they got the care they needed. 

“Will they let you?” Tim asked. Everyone but the Casses focused their gazes on him. Tim shifted a little. “They just seem like they don’t really want you involved.”

It was Batman who spoke next. “They can accept my involvement or they can find a new donor.”

Elder Cass broke her gaze away, hands waving in precise movements. 

Bruce signed back. “ I’m Batman,” he said. He turned to the rest of the table. “Everyone, this is Lara. She can hear you just fine but her primary form of communication is ASL. Who here knows it?”

Jay, Tim, Bart, and, surprisingly enough, Conner, all raised their hands. Jay had gone to school with a deaf/mute classmate, Bart could learn by speed reading, and Tim just knew stuff.  Conner, on the other hand, had never indicated that he was fluent in anything other than English. He shrugged at Dick’s look. “CADMUS.”

Of course, but that raised the question. How many languages did Conner know?

Bart scoffed, interrupting Dick’s train of thought. “They taught you sign language but they didn’t teach you how to text.”

Tim grabbed Conner’s elbow as the Kryptonian scowled. “Whatever.”

“Are we just ignoring the fact that Bruce just handed out his identity like it was a christmas card?”

Bruce sighed. “Jay, I’m Jewish.”

“And you’re an idiot.” 

Dick could practically see Bruce asking a higher power for strength. It was a look he used to get all the time from dealing with Jay, though these days it seemed more reserved for Tim. “Bart took her on a rescue mission with Roy and Jade and we have a distressed Kryptonian in the house. By this point it is far easier to admit it than lie about it.”

“Wait-” Dick leaned forward, “who did they rescue?” 

Bruce looked Dick flat in the eye and Dick knew. He knew. “They found Roy? Alive?” They found Roy alive. Dick had only met the Original Roy once or twice, but he was a hero like all of them. Dick didn’t need a deep personal attachment to be thrilled by the news. He himself had been captured and almost cloned, saved from Roy’s fate by Conner’s desire to trust. 

Bruce nodded. “He’s at Metropolis General. Oliver is already there so he won’t wake up alone.”

Alive. 

Conner looked equally stunned. “He’s okay?”

“Pft, no,” Bart added, shaking his head. “Dude looks like he’s been in cryo for years, and he’s missing an arm.”

“He’s got a long road to recovery,” Bruce said, raising his voice to speak over Bart, “but he will pull through.”

“So,” Tim began to summarize on his fingers, “Jon’s been saved and is moving in with Lois, Lara is staying for a while, Roy’s been found, and you probably have half an idea on what to do with Superman. All's well that ends well, right?”

“You’re still grounded.”

-

Being grounded consisted of no leaving the house, no electronics, and no hero work until Bruce felt better. Bart had taken to running laps around the yard in an attempt to blow off steam while Tim put on wounded airs, silently suffering in that way that made everyone know he was hurting. He kept reaching for his phone in his pocket and staring at his empty hand in shock – Conner wasn’t sure if it was real or feigned –  as he ghosted his way around the house. Both of them were unpleasantly mopey and Conner had decided, as much as he loved Tim, he was never getting stranded on a deserted island with him. 

Conner wasn’t pleased with his loss of electronics, No Signal, the ASMR videos Tim had introduced him to, helped him focus his hearing when he was having issues, when he just needed to tune the world away and shut his brain off, or when the constant buzzing under his skin became too much, but he would live until Bruce ended the punishment. 

The exact date was ‘until lessons have been learned’ but Conner really didn’t think Bruce could keep them grounded forever. 

In the meantime he did have other hobbies to keep him occupied while he avoided Bart and Tim. His motorbike could always use an upgrade and he hadn’t been spending enough time with Wolf or Sphere, so now was an opportunity to catch up. When Tim was in between whining sessions the boy would break out his camera, snapping shots of the grounds in the summer sun, with Wolf lying on his back and his tongue lolling playfully, or Sphere spinning in the pond to scatter birds. 

Honestly it was a little relaxing. 

Except for one glaring thing. 

“Dami says you’re my big brother?” Jon asked, crawling into Conner’s lap and pushing the mechanic magazine away. Conner frowned as the boy settled himself across Conner’s legs, acting like a smaller version of Wolf while Dami took a seat on the edge of the couch. It hadn’t taken long to see what Bruce meant by attachment, the two children rarely out of sight of each other, and there were always hysterics when they were. 

Dami wasn’t the one crying but he was visibly uncomfortable when he couldn’t see Jon while the Kryptonian had a tendency of dropping into spectacular panic attacks. It was a good thing the household was familiar with Tim’s issues or it would have been a steep learning curve. 

But Conner, for his part, had been trying to avoid the small boy. He didn’t resent Jon, far from it. The boy was absolutely adorable, bubbly in all the best ways. But Lois had clearly placed a stake on Jon, a familial ownership that no one had ever bothered to give Conner so he wasn’t quite sure how it worked. He liked Lois and appreciated the way she had come to his and Tim’s side so easily, but they had literally only met once before Jon had brought her to the Manor, so he had no idea how she would react if he inserted himself into Jon’s life. 

“Did he?” Conner asked, turning to stare at Dami.

The boy looked back imperiously, the only hint of emotion being the ways his ears turned pink. “Brothers are important,” he snapped. “Jon is lucky to have one, even one as mediocre as you.” Better than a death threat, Conner supposed. And at its very essence it was actually a sweet sentiment, though it was, in this exact moment, complicating his life. 

Jon rolled, twisting so his back was against Conner’s thighs and he could look up at Conner. From this angle there was no doubting that they had some form of shared parentage, with eyes that were inhumanely blue. It was part of what made Clark’s glasses such a great costume. Ugly frames took away from the intense colour behind them.

And right now they were staring up at Conner with a desperate need that Conner had felt for years before he’d finally had to admit that Superman would never like him. But this wasn’t about Conner rejecting Jon, this was about Conner interfering with Lois and Jon’s relationship. He couldn’t do that.

But he couldn’t for a moment let Jon think he was unwanted. Conner might be Superman’s clone but he was not Clark Kent. 

“It’s complicated,” he started slowly, trying to put his words together to walk down a too small aisle of crystal. It would be so easy to go too far in either direction and shatter everything. Everything being a small child’s heart. 

Jon huffed. “That’s what adults say when they don’t want to explain.”

Despite himself, Conner let out a small laugh. “That’s true.” The League only tried that on the Team once before their resident hacker had uncomplicated it. He put a hand on Jon’s forehead and tapped on the skin as he thought. The boy muttered in indignation but allowed Conner to strategize. 

Start with the basics. “Do you know what a clone is?”

Jon nodded. “Yeah! It’s when you grow a sheep out of a sheep!” 

“Fool,” Dami snapped. “That is not what a clone is at all. It is when you take the DNA of another creature and-”

“It’s close enough,” Conner cut in, ignoring Dami’s enraged huff. He was certain the cantankerous boy would give Jon the full scientific rundown later. “Well, I’m Clark’s clone.”

“Duh,” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “I figured that out when Dami said you were a clone. You look a lot like Dad…” For a moment the boy’s eyes clouded and he rubbed his eye. Conner shifted him so Jon was still in his lap but leaning against his chest so he could hide his tears. It was a short cry compared to Jon’s other breakdowns. Conner wasn’t an expert on emotions but considering Jon had been evacuated from a doomed world where both his parents were dead it wasn’t surprising that he kept having moments like this. 

Conner had carried a brief hope that Jon’s outburst would end the conversation, but apparently the boy was not to be distracted. “So, Dad made you?”

Conner shook his head. “No. A bad guy made me to do bad things, and Clark didn’t like that.”

“So he rescued you.”

Conner could recall his first moment outside of CADMUS perfectly, the smell of smoke and dust in the air. The feeling of a light breeze against his skin. The moon, bright and full. And Superman, floating down from in front of it. Superman, coming to check on them all. 

Superman, turning away in disgust. 

“Dick rescued me. Superman never really liked me.”

Jon gripped Conner’s shoulders tighter. “Why?”

Why? Why why why? That question used to haunt Conner, used to keep him awake when he was alone in the mountain. Why was he not good enough? What did he need to be?

“Because Clark’s an ass.” Conner’s head spun so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. 

Lois stood in the doorway. “Sorry, Jon. Going to steal Conner for a bit. Movers are here and I know exactly how good at lifting stuff Kryptonians are.”

“But Mooom,” Jon whined, “I’m trying to bond with my brother.”

Conner had been encased in ice before but never had he been so entirely frozen. He waited, unable to move, for Lois to reprimand him for not immediately squashing the lie. 

“Come on, kiddo. You can bond with him while he carries my couch.” 

Jon grumbled as he extricated himself from Conner’s lap. “Okay,” he huffed, before peeking up curiously. “I get to help carry stuff too, right? I’m really strong! Not enough to carry your couch but I can feed the cows by myself!”

“Oh, that’s very impressive.” She grabbed Jon by the hand and began to lead him out of the room, Dami following almost instinctively. By the time Conner could blink she was out of sight. 

Lois was going to let him be a big brother. 

He had family . Not borrowed or stolen, but family that he had been given permission to be a part of.

Was this what it would have felt like if Superman had only smiled at him? This warm ache? 

“Hey, Conner! My couch isn’t going to move itself!”

“Coming!” Conner called, racing out of the room to catch up.

Which wouldn’t have been a big deal if Jay hadn’t been walking down the hall, nose in a book. Which still wouldn’t have been a big deal, if a young Dick Grayson hadn’t broken the railing years ago and listened to Wally’s suggestion of superglue as a repair option. 

Conner slammed into Jay, both of them stumbling into a bannister that was held together with glue and wishes, and everything gave way. 

“Shii-” Jay yelled as he tilted over, book falling from his hand. Conner reached out to grab him, his fingers skimming Jay’s wrist, just out of reach.

Not that it would have done anything as Conner’s feet were on the wrong side of the railing to be of any use. 

So not only was hitting the ground inevitable, but landing on Jay looked likely and the Wayne boy was not the one with invulnerable skin. There was no way he’d escape taking Conner’s full weight without breaking something.

This was bad. 

Really bad. 

He needed to stop them. Superman could have stopped them. Conner wasn’t Superman. 

The buzzing under his skin exploded outward.

“What the fuck?” Jay yelled. Conner blinked, Jay floating inches from the floor with Conner still positioned to land on him.

“Language, Master Ja-” Alfred froze as he came around the corner, a small box in his hand that he quickly set off to the side. “Oh dear. Master Bruce!” Alfred yelled. Conner didn’t know the man could yell. 

Bruce came tearing around the corner – apparently his wheelchair was optional today – and stared at the two boys, clearly stunned. It took him a mere moment to come up with a plan of action. “Jay, I’m going to grab you and I’m going to pull you, okay? Conner, if you can, try to keep floating?”

Yes. Great advice. Just keep floating, as though that was actually one of his powers. He wasn’t flying. He knew, thanks to Luthor’s schemes, what that felt like and it certainly wasn’t this! No. He could do it. Just. Keep. Floating. 

Bruce grabbed Jay’s free arm and gave it a tug. He frowned, meeting some resistance, and Connerr really hoped that whatever was sticking them together would go away because he really didn’t want Jay to die a second time. 

As if by his very thought Jay fell away and landed with a soft ‘humph’. Bruce wasted no time dragging him to safety and leaving Conner hanging. 

Literally. 

While Alfred checked over Jay for injuries, Bruce studied Conner with a heavy frown. He grabbed Conner by the wrist and tried to pull him down as well.

Conner didn’t even budge. 

Dick and Tim ran into the room with Alfred and both of them took in the scene with a critical eye. Conner could see by the way Dick stared at the railing and shuffled to the side that this was somehow his fault and when he got down he was going to shake him until he felt better. 

Tim also had a knowing look, but it was definitely equal measures surprised. “Hey, Bruce?” Conner’s boyfriend called tentatively, “can I try?”

Bruce looked between the floating boy and his most trouble-adjacent son before he let out a sigh. It still blew Conner’s mind just how done Bruce sounded when Batman always sounded ready for anything and everything. “Just…don’t let him land on you.”

Tim nodded and took a couple of steps closer, his hand closing over Conner’s wrist. “Hey, Conner. You hanging in there?” He glared at Tim for mocking his pain. “Alright. Can you do me a favor? I need you to imagine an outline around your body.” Conner closed his eyes. Outline. Outline. Basic visualization. Simple task. “Now I want you to imagine that outline slowly sinking inside your body.” 

Conner hit wood, Tim following him down as he failed to let go of Conner’s wrist in time. “Oof,” Tim snorted. “I said slowly.”

Dick pulled Tim off of Conner while Jay helped the Kryptonian up. 

“Conner,” Batman ordered, “go down to the cave. I need to inform Lois we are having an emergency so she can coordinate with the movers. I’ll run some tests to see what is going on. It’s possible it's a symptom from Jon’s dimension so I will contact Doctor Fate to see if it's residual magic.” 

“It’s tactile telekinesis.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “Like Kon? Why would I get Kon’s powers?”

Tim looked at Conner like he was an idiot before he mimed drinking something. 

Oh. 

OH!

Bruce pinched his nose. “Tim, what did you do to Conner?”

“Nothing!” He held up his hands. “I mean, I made a hormone compound to treat the whole not aging thing but I didn’t trick him into drinking it or anything. In fact I would have preferred if he’d told me so I could have monitored him for side effects.”

Bruce gave Conner a flat stare. “And you drank it.”

Conner nodded. 

“Fine. Down to the Cave.”

“Why?” Conner crossed his arms. “We already know what the cause is.” 

“And now we need to study to see how much of an effect this has had on your body. Basic statistics like your height will need to be retaken, and we’ll need to clear your bloodwork.” Bruce scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I can’t even ground them further. Why do I have children?” he whispered under his breath, quietly enough that it was only Conner’s Kryptonian hearing that allowed him to catch it. 

“I would have done all this if he’d told me. ” Tim shot Conner a betrayed look. 

“Cave! Now!”

They scattered.

-

Diana leaned forward, pleased to see that Bruce was sitting with little issue. She had thought it would take him longer to heal, but the man had the habit of overcoming insurmountable odds. He also went to extremes to act tough in front of his peers, so really it could have been either or. 

Honestly, it was likely the second option. Bruce had been the one to call this meeting, something that hadn’t happened since Clark had attacked him. He’d attended the infrequent meetings and paid the bare minimum amount of attention, leaving them to squabble like bossy children with no clear leader. 

Too many cooks in the kitchen, as the Americans liked to say. 

But now Bruce was back. 

“We’re going to use Red Kryptonite on Superman.”

Disbelief fell across the room like a fog. Barry was the first to disturb it. “Him wanting to kill everyone is the problem. How is giving him a rock that pisses him off going to help at all ?”

Batman, despite being a million miles away, filled the room with his disapproving presence. “Red Kryptonite comes in varying shades that have multiple effects, one of which is suppressing Superman’s powers. I have a sample. We will work it into a cuff that Superman cannot remove and monitors his vitals. If the cuff is removed the League will receive an instant notification, allowing us to deal with Superman before his powers return.”

Diana nodded. A very clever idea. 

“So, that’s it?” Oliver asked from his own screen. He was still in Metropolis, though Roy oscillated between wanting Oliver there and wishing the man was on the other side of the planet. Dinah had confided that Oliver giving up on Roy had damaged the boy badly. Diana felt no small amount of shame for that. They should not have given up until they had a body. Bruce’s son they had buried and the boy had risen from the dirt.

They needed to stop being so quick to label their youth as lost. 

“We’re just going to take away Superman’s powers and dump him to fend for himself? He can’t live in a fortress if he can’t access it, and a normal guy is not getting into the Fortress of Solitude.”  

“He will go live with his parents. They have already been made aware of the arrangement and find it acceptable.”

“He’ll still have to get a job. He doesn’t know how to be normal.”

Diana choked back a laugh. Oliver glared down at her and she smiled sweetly. “Superman is more familiar with working for a living than you are, Green Arrow. He already has a career above and beyond his work as a superhero.”

“Any other objections?” Bruce asked in a tone that said there had better not be. 

Some people couldn’t read the room. “It can’t be safe for him to be left weakened. What if someone who knows his identity comes after him?” asked Hal. 

“So we give him a communicator,” pointed out Captain Marvel. “We aren’t dropping him off on the moon to die. We’ll be ready to assist him.”

“Given that we can’t hold him in a civilian prison because we can’t try him as a civilian, house arrest at his parent’s place sounds like a pretty sweet gig. If anything, it's lenient.” 

“This is not about punishment,” Bruce added. “It’s about containment. Our options are leaving Superman in complete isolation or reducing the harm he can do. I have no interest in torturing the man. I just want my family safe. 

“This is how we will proceed with the matter.”

His screen winked out. 

-

There was a strange sort of peace in Bruce’s house, one he didn’t trust. Conner, who had indeed grown half an inch, was finding himself drawn into Lois and Jon’s orbit, which seemed good for the boy. It was also helping with Jon’s clinginess to Dami, allowing him to be within shouting distance instead of touching at least some of the time. 

Lara was staying, which was more than Bruce thought she would. She was cautious but not easily spooked, and while she and Cass couldn’t communicate, with Lara being able to hear and not speak, and Cass being able to speak but not sign, they were spending time together. Bart was often with them to act as a translator, and they alternated between teaching Cass ASL and working on her literacy. 

Frankly it was good to see the boy talking to someone who wasn’t Tim. Tim was obeying both the terms and the spirit of his grounding, but seemed more at ease than he had in a while, as though he’d had a check list and had finally ticked off the last box, allowing himself to just be for a while. 

Who knew, maybe he had?

Jay was up to something, but Bruce didn’t think it was bad. He was out of the house at least once a week but never looked out of sorts when he came back. As much as Bruce wanted to slip a tracker in his shoes, Jay was actually fairly responsible. Bruce would trust him.

For now.

Alfred had made Dick help him fix the railing before they had scoured the house for any more things that Dick had secretly trashed in his youth and jerry-rigged a repair for. It ended up being a despairingly long list. 

It felt fragile.

It was fragile. 

It fell apart on the last day of construction on Bruce’s Manor. With the wall complete one of the men had sung about everything he’d seen, including Bruce’s ‘newest conquest.’ Pieces had been put together and a picture of the puzzle was released the following day.

It was not front page news. 

No.

That headline belonged to the murder of the Joker.

Chapter Text

“No, Bruce,” Dick said as though he were chastising a dog. “Sit down.”

Bruce grumbled as he staggered across the Cave, reaching for the Batsuit. “This needs my immediate attention, Dick. I can’t not go.” It wasn’t an unexpected response.

Still, Bruce was such an idiot. “Need I remind you that your back is broken? How are you going to grapple across rooftops when you can barely walk?”

There was a pained grunt as Bruce made it close enough to lean against the case. “I’ll manage.”

“Oh, I’ll manage, ” mocked Dick. Did other sidekicks have to deal with this kind of bullcrap? Wally always said that Barry was great about knowing his limits, though Roy said that Oliver was an idiot. Then again, Oliver was an idiot. Just a very different kind than Bruce. “You will not. You will fall, die, and then Lois will steal your company.”

Bruce paused, his brow wrinkled in deep thought and Dick held out the small hope that he had gotten through to the man. “I should update my will.”

Or not.

“Bruce, you literally cannot go.” Dick would rather he didn’t try but he was certain that Bruce would collapse halfway through putting on the costume and Dick was not going to give him a hand up. He’d leave Bruce lying in a puddle of pain for Alfred to find.

Fiddling with the door of the case, Bruce gave Dick an exhausted answer. “I have to, Dick. The Joker is dead. It will cause panic if Batman doesn’t show up for this: panic and suspicion.” He turned to his son with heavy eyes. “I know I am in no shape for this, but I promise not to fight. I’ll talk to Gordon and come straight back.”

Dick shook his head. “No.” This was ridiculous. “I’ll go.”

It was Bruce’s turn to look sceptical. “You don’t have a costume.”

“God, Bruce,” Dick rolled his eyes, “I’m having an emotional crisis over my superhero identity. My costume didn’t suddenly stop fitting. I’ll go.”

His father flashed him a stricken look. “Look, Dick. It’s fine. I can make it and I promise I will be fast.”

“Nope!” Dick said chipperly, grabbing the wheelchair and ramming it into the back of Bruce’s knees, forcing the man to fall into it. “Nightwing is going out again.” He wheeled Bruce out of the way before making his way to his costume. 

“Dick,” Bruce called out, making him pause. “You could alway go out as Batman.”

Dick turned to look at Bruce, noting the way the man was strung tight. Dick barked a laugh. “No, Bruce. Absolutely not.” It was absurd. Dick was not meeting up with Commissioner Gordon wearing his father’s clothes. Plus Batman was just so…not him. There was no way Dick could pull off the ‘I am the Night’ aesthetic that Bruce had going on. 

He grabbed his Nightwing costume, ready for the onslaught of emotions. The deep sense of betrayal was there, but so were the positive ones he’d always held. The feeling of freedom, of power, the love of soaring through the sky. 

It didn’t feel as bad as Dick had feared to have the costume on, hugging him in all the right places, like coming back to someone he’d been fighting with and could possibly find it in his heart to forgive. 

Things he’d have to meditate on later. 

“Oh, cool! Are we going?” Bart asked, hopping from foot to foot. 

“No,” Dick and Bruce said simultaneously. 

“But you can’t just send Nightwing out alone.”

“Bart,” Dick said in his Team Leader voice, “this is my city. I’ve been alone in it plenty of times.”

“But what if you need backup?” the speedster whined. 

“Then he’ll call Batgirl.” Bruce said with a glare. “You are still grounded.”

Bart kicked a rock. “Fine. Be stupid. But I’m gonna be here the entire time if you need help.”

Dick sighed. “Why don’t you go hang out with Conner and Tim?”

Bart went perfectly still and Dick scented blood in the water. Bruce caught it too. “Bart,” Bruce asked, channelling Batman, “is Tim working on the Joker case?”

“No.”

Yes. Darnit, Tim. 

“Fetch him,” Bruce ordered. “Get Conner too.”

Bart blasted off in a puff of air while Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m redirecting,” Bruce explained. “There is no way that Tim is going to stay out of this so it is best that his involvement be supervised. I’ll put him on sifting through camera footage.”

That sounded like a quote. “You’ve been reading Dami’s parenting books again.”

The wheelchair creaked as Bruce shifted. “I, ah,” he coughed, “actually got my own. The consensus is that Tim is bored and I need to find more ways to stimulate him to reduce bad behaviours.”

That made a disgusting amount of sense even though it was very messed up that Tim was always trying to find ways to get involved in cape business. Dick just hit the uneven bars when he was bored. He shook his head. It was a problem. “Good luck!” Better Bruce’s than Dick’s. 

He grabbed his motorcycle and blasted out of the Cave, into the warm evening air. It didn’t take long to get into Gotham, to have the city swallow him. The usual sense of fear that brought Gotham to its knees at night was gone, people drunkenly celebrating on every corner. The popping filling the streets was fireworks, not gunfire, and food vendors that would normally be packed up were making a killing off the crowds.

The city was in full celebration mode, Gotham lighter than Dick had ever seen her. 

In between the fireworks the Batsignal hung high. Dick was not surprised to find Gordon smoking by the light.

“You know those things will kill you,” Dick bouncily said as he stepped out of the shadows. 

The man didn’t even flinch. Rats. “Nightwing,” he greeted, exhaustion clinging to him like shadows. “No Batman?”

“He couldn’t make it.” Gordon sighed, looking rough for a man whose city had just had its greatest threat die. Dick figured this was a lot more complicated than someone taking down the Joker. “What happened?”

A folder of pictures was passed over and Dick started to flick through them before Gordon had even started explaining, instantly recognizing his concern. 

“It wasn’t just the Joker who died,” Gordon explained. “As far as we can tell not a single one of his henchmen made it out. Only Harley. Most wounds were inflicted by a gun, though there was definitely some knife work involved. Joker was, well…”

The Joker had been sliced to ribbons, disembowelled and dismantled with his body parts strung across the room. His lips, like all of his henchmen’s, had been carved up his cheeks, widening his already grotesque smile.

Honestly it looked like something the Joker would do. 

“You said Harley made it out?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said with a head shake. “She heard some screams, thought it was Batman so she went to grab her mallet. Next thing she knows she’s waking up in police custody. Not exactly useful testimony.”

He could see why Gordon wasn’t joining the festivities. This wasn’t just someone with a grudge getting lucky, this was a full scale purging that had been meticulously planned and executed. 

This was a takeover. 

“Any signatures?”

“Last photo,” Gordon said grimly. 

‘Smile,’ was painted in large bloody letters across the funhouse wall. “We’ve got nothing else. No witnesses, and nothing on camera. We’re trying to pull forensics but the scene is a mess. We’re really hoping you can dig something up before this escalates.”

Dick was too. The chances of it being a one off were slim. There was too much rage here for there not to be an escalation. The killers were making a point, a very messy one, and it could lead in several directions. 

Either a new criminal who was claiming their territory by being the biggest and baddest in town, or a new vigilante who believed in permanent solutions.

Either way, there were going to be more corpses.  

-

Lex was getting, dare he say it, bored. 

He had completed the arm for young Mr. Harper, but apparently cryosleep was not conductive to one’s health. It could be weeks, if not months, before the boy was out of rehab and ready to seek vengeance on Lex. The arm was already complete, leaving Lex with little to do but run his company. 

Of course he had his schemes, selling experimental weapons to unscrupulous people, but some of the magic had gone out of it. It was child’s play to transport even the largest of his armaments and no one was watching his cash flow. He was disgusted to admit that without Superman as an opponent the game had become…stale. 

Even Lane had abandoned him to go live with Brucie, which was as unforeseen as it was unwelcome. She was a smart woman and for her to tap out of their little game to move in with that idiot , because somehow, right under Lex’s nose, they had bred, was offensive. Lane and Brucie had dated very briefly and while Lex was not overly surprised that Lane had taken him to bed, he was shocked that she’d opted to keep the baby. That there was one in the first place was well aligned with man’s character. He was as careless with his lovers as he was with his money and he seemed to enjoy fatherhood. But Lois was not motherly material and she was most definitely pro choice. 

How she had hidden this from Bruce was astounding, though he was willing to bet she’d hidden it from Kent as well.

It would explain why their marriage suddenly fell apart. 

Pity.

Lex had bet that it was Kent who’d made that particular mess.

Unfortunately, the timelines even matched up so Lex couldn’t accuse Lane of infidelity just to watch her squirm. Though brief, she and Brucie had had a very public, very torrid affair before she and Kent had ever become an item.

Bruce had released a statement about Lois and their child, some drivel about the boy being happy with an adopted family that unexpectedly passed away, and that he and Lane had decided that a platonic coparenting structure was needed. He kept it drama free, saying that Lois had hidden the child from him as he had just taken in Richard Grayson, not wanting to sabotage Bruce’s relationship with his new child. 

He’d been made aware of the boy, but hadn’t felt comfortable tearing him from the arms of a family who clearly loved him because, as someone with an adopted child, he knew that the family bonds of adoption were no different than blood. They’d had a distant relationship marked by letters and phone calls and, despite the tragedy that opened the opportunity, Bruce looked forward to a closer relationship with his son.  

It was enough to make Lex gag. 

It was also enough to turn his mind over to Gotham.

Oh, it was a cesspool of a city, but with the clown gone it opened up some lucrative business opportunities. Batman sightings had been few and far between, theories ranging from the man being injured, dead, or having been exorcised back to hell. The last one was Lex’s favorite, though he hoped it wasn’t true, else he was going to find Gotham just as boring as Metropolis. 

Still, even if the bat proved to be a disappointment, Lois was there and she was also good at spicing up Lex’s life. 

“Mercy,” he called. “Pack up. We’re going to explore some new opportunities in Gotham.” 

-

Conner had watched as Tim studied the crime scene photos with a single minded intensity that should no longer surprise the Kryptonian. He’d made grabby hands the moment Dick had pulled them out, snatching them and scurrying off to the Batcomputer to scan the files in. Bart had leaned over Tim’s shoulder, oohing and awing in impressed tones as they flipped through the vicious murder photos together. Conner knew Tim had been bored and this was a great way for him to refocus his attention.

He was pretty certain Bart just liked the gore. Conner, for his part, attempted to distract Tim away under the guise of training. He was definitely getting better with his tactile telekinesis but was still nowhere near the point where he could rely on it, and nagging Tim to help had been his best shot at shifting Tim’s attention. He had tried his best. 

The key part of the phrase was ‘had tried.’ Conner was fairly certain the only reason Tim even slept was because Dami was blackmailing him with cuteness. It was successful and Conner would have appreciated it more if it hadn’t been for Jon’s growing interest in Dami’s techniques.

As it stood, it had taken Tim two days before he’d had enough information to give Bruce a report and, judging by his grim face, no one was going to like what he had to say. 

Lois was watching Dami and Jon, both too young despite their counter claims, and Lara was keeping Alfred company. Bruce may have trusted the woman but not enough to let her into the Cave, even if she had shown any interest at all. So far she seemed content to aggressively ignore that they were vigilantes. 

Everyone else had gathered around the Batcomputer.

“It was one person,” Tim announced.

Conner didn’t need to be from Gotham to know that was bad. A single person was not supposed to be able to cut a swath through to a supervillain. Life wasn’t a video game. They were dealing with either a meta or someone scarily well trained. 

“Explain,” Bruce ordered in full Batman mode. 

The pictures that Conner had been trying to dodge seeing appeared blown up on the screen. It was a mess, like something one would see in an over the top horror film. There was more blood than there was wall or floor, the brown sheen looking like paint that had been tossed by the bucketful. Bodies were slumped, some of them slashed, some bleeding from giant gaping chest wounds that had to have been made by something that was both fired close-range and high calibre. 

And every corpses’ face was carved into a grotesque smile. 

Jay stood up. “Nope. Dibs out. See you folks later.” 

“You okay?” Dick asked as Tim flicked the image to a happy penguin. 

Jay waved him off. “Peachy, but not in the mood.” He didn’t sound good at all, his heartbeat racing and his legs shaking. 

He walked out of the Cave like a whisper and the resulting silence was broken by Bruce’s sigh. “I’ll talk to him after we get this sorted out.”

The penguin was replaced by a fresh set of corpses that looked the same as the last. “One person,” Tim started again, and paused as though waiting for someone else to walk out. When they didn’t he clicked and blue circles began to highlight smudges.

Boot tracks. 

“One size, one tread. Same with the handprints.” The slide changed, with blue circles along the wall. “There was only one size and they were definitely wearing gloves. The hands on the person are on the smaller side, so the police may not be wrong when they theorised that it was a woman.”

“Chemically knocked out?” Bruce asked. Conner hoped the answer was yes. It would take far less energy to kill a warehouse full of sleeping people. It would be far less intimidating to have an opponent that clever instead of that strong. Meta opponents were always a pain to deal with but Conner had no doubt that whatever ones Gotham produced would be monstrous. The same city had created Batman, after all, and he was just a dad in a homemade suit. 

“Nope. Toxicology reports are clean and there was no residue on the walls.” Not great news. 

Dick tapped a finger to his lips as he leaned against a uniform case. “So a woman cuts her way through the warehouse, leaving signatures as she goes along. She subdues Harley and offs the Joker, leaves a wonderful note for us on the wall and just walks off into the night?”

“The Joker was alive when they cut up his face,” Tim explained. “Everyone else was done post mortem.”

“So it was, on some level, personal.”

“Oh wow,” Dick said sarcastically, reminding Conner of when he was thirteen. “Someone with a grudge against the Joker. You really cracked the case there, Bruce.”

“Going by blood trails they made their escape through the sewer,” Tim continued, flashing another photo. “The police aren’t sure where the entry point is and I can’t blame them. It’s too much of a mess to figure out where was hit first.”

Bruce pinched his nose. “The theory that they are a woman might explain why they spared Harley, but that’s really all we were able to come up with?”

Tim shrugged. “Sorry, Bruce, but whoever it was knew what they were doing and what we’d be looking for.” 

“I hate Gotham,” Conner grumbled. 

Dick smirked. “It does take a special breed.” Conner’s only response to that was to shrug uncomfortably. 

“Alright,” Bruce said, wheeling over to Conner. “Break for the night and we’ll come back with fresh eyes tomorrow. Conner, I have something to discuss with you.”

“Yessir.” Conner clamped down on his nervousness, ignoring the questioning look Tim shot at him as he left the Cave.

Bruce waited until everyone was gone, waited until Conner was looking him in the eye. Even as Bruce Wayne he commanded every room he wanted to. “You wanted to talk to me?” Conner asked first.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” At Conner’s blank look Bruce waved a hand, motioning towards Conner. When that failed to produce an answer, Bruce sighed. “You’re growing, Conner, which means that your civilian identity no longer has an expiration date.” Conner hadn’t thought of that. “You can have relationships outside of the League and the Team, get a job, go back to school. A lot of avenues have opened up for you and I just want to make sure you are considering them all.”

Conner hadn’t been considering any.  

“I don’t have my powers under control,” he admitted, and that rankled. He’d been released from the pod knowing how to use his abilities. 

Bruce patted his knee. “You’ll learn,” he said encouragingly. 

A job. Did Conner want a job? He probably needed one. “I’d need to be able to pay rent,” he realized. He was going to become an actual adult and have to do actual adult things. The thought was more sobering than believing Kaldur had betrayed them was, despite that being a farce. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Only if you want. I’m not going to suddenly abandon you, Conner, and money is something I have plenty of. You will never find yourself without food or shelter, no matter what turns your life takes. 

“This is about what you want, ” Bruce continued, as though Conner wasn’t bursting with warm feelings. “What steps do you want to take next? You are under no obligation to take them now. Honestly I’d prefer, as would Lois, that you didn’t. But,” Icy eyes demanded Conner’s full attention, “your choices in life have broadened significantly and it would be healthy for you to think about what to do next.”

Conner hummed before scowling. “I don’t want to be a superhero in Gotham.” Gotham was creepy and horrifying.

Bruce nodded approvingly. “Good. That’s a start. Lucky for us I heard that a spot in Metropolis has become available. With Luthor still operating, the city could use another guardian. It's even close enough for you to fly to and from on the daily.”

“I’m not going by Superman.”

“No one expects you to,”

“And I’m not sure I want Metropolis.”

“It’s your choice,” affirmed Bruce. 

And it really, really was. 

-

There was a child curled up in Lara’s lap. It was strange, as Lara’s clients never let her near their brood and why would they? Escorts and children were not things to mix. The last time she’d spent any amount of time around a child was when she had been one, and even then she had been older than Lara and their relationship had been hidden. They had met when Lara had been training with the League of Assassins to both show her off and round out her skills. It had been a quiet friendship, a risky one. David had killed the girl for teaching Lara to sign in the shadows of twilight.

It had taken a few years for Lara to get her revenge, driving a blade into David’s neck so he could choke on silence, spend his last moments living what he’d tried to do to her. 

It had been supremely satisfying. 

So yes, children were not a big part of her life but Jon seemed to cling to whomever was close. Usually it was Dami, hands clasped as they played, but anyone was fair game. Lara supposed it was only a matter of time before it became her turn. Given that Lois had started taking pictures on her phone, Lara was fairly certain no one minded. 

“And this person is Dami’s dog, not that he has one but Uncle Bruce promised that he was going to get him one and Dami promised that I could name him so we’re going to share him. That makes him part of the family now,” the boy chattered on excitedly, holding up a crayon drawing that he had been working on. “Dami, show her yours.”

The boy sniffed disdainfully but Lara could read his body. He was eager to please and hoping for genuine praise. 

He lifted up his drawing. It was of her and easily identifiable as so. He’d used pencil, drawing in grayscale to capture the details. It wasn’t as good as a professional’s, not yet, but he was young and only had time to improve. If he kept with it his work would be marketable in a few years. 

She smiled and held a thumb up and Dami preened under the silent praise. “Pennyworth believes both our drawings are good enough for a place of honour on the fridge, even though mine is clearly superior.”

Jon giggled. “He didn’t even use colour.”

“Now now,” Lois said, cutting off what could grow into a fight. The boys had a few quick bursts of temper with each other that were quickly forgiven. Bruce had told Lara he would be more concerned if there had been none. It was a sign of both the boys retaining individuality despite the obsessive amount of time they spent together. “Each picture is good in a different way and they both deserve to go on the fridge.”

Dami glowered but deep inside there was a fleck of shame. He was such a strange boy, such a mess of contradictions. He squawked as Cass appeared out of nearly nowhere and swooped the boy up into her arms, pressing her cheek against his and cooing. “Brother,” she declared, before falling onto the couch on top of the boy. 

“Cassandra! Remove yourself from my person.”

She wouldn’t. Stubbornness was one of the few things that they had in common and Cass had a surprisingly childish sense of humor. She’d escaped David earlier than Lara had, but, unlike what Lara had assumed, she’d been alone for just as long. There had been no one to teach Cass to sign and she’d learned what limited speech she had through a combination of luck and magic. 

They liked different foods, different colors, and different people. Cass adored Tim, who Lara would never trust because he could lie with his body. Bart annoyed the younger girl if she had to spend too much time with him whereas Lara thought that he was especially fascinating. Cass enjoyed ballet, Lara preferred a tango. Sweet versus spicy. Silence versus hustle and bustle. 

Very different people indeed. 

The household did seem to accept that easily enough. All but Lois and Jon knew Cass well enough to know her preferences, and they all asked for Lara’s.

It was interesting. 

“Cass, don’t sit on your brother,” Lois ordered, though Lara could see that the order wasn’t overly serious. 

“No brother,” Cass denied. “Squirming pillow.” 

Jon looked up at Lara, eyes wide. “Are you going to sit on me?” She pinched the fingers of one to sign no and Jon slumped, looking disappointed. The look disappeared quickly as Lara began to run her hands through his hair. 

Lois snapped another picture just as Jon twisted, his eyes focused on the grey blue animal that had entered the room. “Kitty!” he called, propelling himself up with enough force to bob in the air. Jon floated wobbly towards the cat, though Lara used the term loosely. It looked like a cat but it did not walk like a cat.

Lara was already starting to get used to the casual use of super powers. Bart did everything at top speed and while she knew that Conner had strength she rarely saw him use it. Apparently the stumbling into air was new but not entirely unexpected. Jon could fly and he was strong for his age were he normal, but Lois and Bruce were in a debate as to whether or not he was strong for his people or if that was something he would grow into. 

Overall this place was interesting. 

It was not home. 

The mother henning came from all angles, with food shoved into her hand when she wasn’t looking and her bed made by someone else. If she wanted something she merely had to think about it and it would materialize as if by magic. She wanted for nothing. 

It was suffocating.

These people were interesting and they were kind but Lara did not want to be a part of their family. She enjoyed her life, apart from the odd assassination attempt. If she lived here she would grow soft where she enjoyed being hard and cold as polished metal. 

The question was would they let her go?

Chapter Text

Jay didn’t know how to feel. The Joker was dead. He was dead. And he was killed by someone who was just as much of a psychopath as he had been. 

He hadn’t been able to look at the photos, those grotesque smiles, without hearing the shrieking laughter. Which hurts more? A or B? He could feel the phantom pain of bones breaking, the sensation of choking on his own blood. 

The monster who had done that was gone and in enough pieces that not even the Lazarus Pit could bring him back. He’d already been cremated by the city and Dick had gone out to make sure there was a body – well, a pile of gore – in the box as it went into the furnace. He was gone and it was over. 

A tap on his door had Jay almost jumping. “Hey, you in there, Jaylad?”

He approached the door, opening it cautiously to see a concerned looking Bruce parked outside the door in his wheelchair. “I’m fine, Bruce,” Jay snapped before Bruce could ask any questions. Bruce didn’t bother with a rebuttal, just making a stupid face until Jay’s shoulders sagged. “I’m not fine.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Fuck no.” He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to have to deal with it. He was alive, the Joker was dead. He’d won and that's what was important. The Joker would never kill another person again. He could never hurt Jay again. He would never kill another Robin.

Maybe the nightmares would stop.  

“Do you want to get ice cream?”

Jay hummed in consideration. Ice cream was nice but… “with everyone?” He couldn’t do people asking stupid questions right now. 

Bruce shook his head. “No. Just you and me.”

That actually sounded pretty good. “As long as you don’t talk about it.”

“I won’t.”

“I am dead serious,” and Jay was. “If you try to bring it up I will jump out of the car no matter how fast it's moving because I am not having this conversation.” 

“Well, we can’t have that.” Bruce pulled out a set of his keys from his pocket before tossing them lightly towards Jay. “Especially since you’re driving.”

“Are these the keys to the Mercedes-Benz? I thought I was only allowed to drive the Corolla.” Dick had paved the way as older children did and made some things a lot easier for Jay. He’d also totalled three cars before Bruce had hidden the keys on any model that wasn’t second hand. There was no thrill trying to race a speedster with a car that was older than the driver. 

“You’ll be supervised by the most responsible member of this house.”

Jay blinked in genuine surprise. “Alfred is coming too?” Jay did the occasional day trip with the butler but the man was not one for sweets. He preferred tea with Jay over some of the more stereotypical hangout spots of the youth. Plus Jay was fairly certain he was at a book club for the next few hours.

It wasn’t until mock offence crossed Bruce’s face that Jay clued in. “I’ll have you know that I am plenty responsible.” 

“Sure you are, old man,” Jay said, swinging the keys. “Now let’s mosey before someone tries to invite themselves along.”  

-

It was a madhouse. 

The Daily Planet was never quiet, with loud personalities and the sound of typing filling the space. Lois had never minded but it was far different from living in a house with eleven other people. 

Not that she regretted staying. Jon had ended up having multiple panic attacks and while Bruce was teaching her how to help coax the kid through them it was slow going. She was much better at threats than she was at comfort. She’d always been more of a stick compared to Clark’s carrot. 

Still, dinners were crazy so Alfred had created a schedule to loop various people into helping with meals. Jay and Conner had both volunteered while Bruce and Bart were banned from the kitchen. As far as Lois could tell Dick somehow managed to add sugar to everything he made which had exposed her to some bizarre tasting dishes. Tim tended to burn things, though not badly, and Dami was always the one to help cook whenever there was a soup on the menu. 

Functional chaos. 

It was no surprise that things were getting missed. “Hey, Bart.”

The speedster perked up like a plant given water. “Hey, Ms. Lane! Did you do anything exciting today? I hear you were going to the city to meet up with your old photographer. Is he cool? Are you going to try and get him to come to Gotham? It must be weird being here.” The kid shot words out of his mouth the way an assault rifle fired bullets, both one at a time and extraordinarily fast. 

“I’m leaving in a few minutes. What about you? What are you up to?”

“I’m waiting for Tim to get done with the crime scene photos.”

That was a fairly standard answer with Bart. Tim this. Tim that. The poor kid had a bit of an obsession. Bruce had half explained that the boy was from an apocalyptic future where he’d only known Tim and Lois had gone up one side and down the other when she’d discovered that no one had stuffed the boy into therapy the moment they’d found this out. 

The excuse had been no one was the kid’s parent.

Lois had reached across the table and slapped Bruce in the head before slowly explaining that having no parents was exactly why Bruce had gone into therapy in the first place. 

So the kid didn’t know it but he had an appointment pending. 

“Sounds boring,” Lois said, inspiration striking her. “Want to come with me and meet Jimmy?” 

The kid’s eyes practically sparkled before he deflated. “I can’t.” He started to rub his knuckles together. “I’m grounded.”

“Pft.” Lois threw her hair back. “Bruce only thinks he’s in charge. You and me, kid, are going to hit the town.”

-

“You. Trapped,” Cass said with a frown. Lara was like a bee. In a jar. A flower to land on but wanting to leave. 

She tried to hide from Cass. Both knew she couldn’t. Her Cain had come closer to making the perfect weapon than Lara’s. Didn’t compare which was worse, but they were different. Lara could speak. Full thoughts. Wasn’t hard, like trying to catch pollen on the breeze. She hurt different ways. Blood on her hands. 

Lots of blood. 

But good heart. 

“I haven’t left the grounds since I arrived,” Conner translated. He had found Bruce’s number books. The book of puzzles that Bruce hid. Conner had already finished one. 

“We go.” Cass stood with determination. “Get snacks. Cafe.”

Lara’s shoulders agreed but Conner’s did not. “I can’t come,” he gritted out. “I’m still grounded.”

“Giving you job,” Cass said with a nod. “No fun for you. It’s fine.”

Lara’s chest shook as she chuckled quietly. She made her hands dance in a way that Cass wished she could make hers. The gestures and the words didn’t connect. There was a canyon. 

He rolled his eyes and set the book down, offering Lara his hand. She ignored it. Standing on own two feet. Steady. Like mountain. 

“You drive.” She poked Conner in the chest. He was annoyed exasperated relieved. So many things written in his arms. So many emotions. 

But he just sighed.  

-

Dick was the best big brother ever. 

“Dami!” He yelled, searching around the house. “ Dami Dami Dami!” 

“Be silent, Grayson!” Came the echo back. Dick followed it with a wide grin. 

It took him to a toy room where Jon and Dami were playing with Legos. Given the amount of paper surrounding Dami and the carefully curated pile of bricks, Dami probably had something architectural in mind. Jon, for his part, had a very colorful house filled with some robots that seemed to be raising horses. 

“Dami!” The boy growled but that was fine. “The museum is having a dinosaur exhibit! Grab your shoes so we can go!”

“Dinosaurs?!” Jon said with a gasp. “I love dinosaurs!”

“Tt. Of course you do.” Dami wrinkled his nose. “We have a dinosaur in the Cave. It is unnecessary for me to further my understanding of them.”

“But they’re dinosaurs, ” Jon explained succinctly.

“Yeah, Dami. Dinosaurs!” Dick echoed. 

“Then go see them,” the boy said imperiously. “Perhaps by the time you are back I will have completed my masterpiece.”

“Oh,” Jon deflated like a balloon. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to see them anyhow.”

Dami paled, looking stricken. He looked at Dick for answers though Dick knew his brother was no fool. There were only two real outcomes of this situation and so, with grace, Dami gave in. “I suppose I can take time to look at these foolish beasts with you.”

“Woo hoo!” Jon said, launching himself into the air to do a fist pump. 

Dick grabbed him by the edge of the shirt and pulled him to the floor. “Down, Jon! No flying!” he said with a laugh.

“But dinosaurs!” Jon said, settling onto his feet.

Dami grumbled but he’d get over it. His assassin’s rearing liked to raise its ugly head and get in between him and being a kid and there was nothing that was more like being a kid than going to a dinosaur exhibit!   

Dick was so excited!

-

They ate the ice cream in the car and it was Bruce, not Jay, who ended up dripping on the seat.

“You don’t look concerned,” Jay pointed out as rich dark chocolate slid down the white leather seats. 

Bruce took another lick of ice cream, desperately trying to catch the liquid before it melted and dribbled over his hands. It was kinda pathetic to watch.

“Do you need a hand with that?” Jay asked, unable to hide his amusement. He knew Bruce always got it in a cup but he’d thought it was because the man was boring, not because he was bad at eating ice cream.  

Bruce scowled, chocolate on his nose. Jay surreptitiously snapped a photo. “I’ve got it,” the man snapped. More ice cream dribbled down his wrist. 

Jay should feel bad. And maybe he did. Just a tiny bit. Maybe. He’d basically peer pressured Bruce into getting a cone this time instead of his usual cup so while he should feel bad, this was fucking hilarious.  

Jay took another bite of his cone that was held in his perfectly clean hands, watching as Bruce got ice cream on his pants. It was great. 

“Jason,” Oooh, full name. “I am injured here. Go get me a bowl.”

Jay laughed and did so, but not before showing the girl at the counter a picture of his father being a hot mess covered in chocolate. And, because he was a dutiful son, he also grabbed extra napkins. 

Bruce immediately dumped his cone ice cream first into the bowl, glaring as Jay insisted on cleaning his hands with napkins the way his mother used to, going even so far as to lick one and wipe at Bruce’s nose. The millionaire barely tolerated it and while Jay was certain this was going to be the last time for a long time he got to drive anything but the Corolla, it was totally worth it. 

Getting back into the car, he finished his ice cream, while Bruce stirred his in a moody silence. It really brought home that Dami had inherited some traits from Bruce through blood. “You doing okay there, Champ?” Jay asked. Bruce glowered at Jay’s bright grin. 

“Just drive.” Bruce ordered. 

Jay twisted the key, hearing the sweet purr of the engine fire up. “To the Manor?”

“If you want.” There was a loaded ‘or’ there. Jay could feel it in his bones. “You could also show me where you’ve been going.”

Yup. There it was. “Or I could not,” Jay countered. 

Bruce sighed. “Is it a girl?”

“No.” Maybe? No. But then. Agh.

Options. Jay could tell Bruce it was none of his business, therefore making Bruce feel like it was definitely his business. Jay could lie, thus giving Bruce heart palpitations as he lumped Jay in with Tim. He could tell Bruce the truth, which Bruce would be cool with because he was a cool guy. 

He’d better be fucking cool with it. 

“Fine,” Jay bit out. “But don’t you embarrass me or I’m leaking scandalous photos of you on to Twitter.”

“You don’t have any scandalous photos of me,” Bruce said even as he nodded in a promise to behave. 

Jay just kept his silence as he threw the car into gear. Blackmail worked best when the person couldn’t get a hold of the blackmail. Jay did indeed have photos of Bruce that the man would not want the public to see, including how he couldn’t eat ice cream, but to reveal what he had would be tipping his hand.  

They drove without speaking, the Gotham radio playing low in the car. Between every song were callers' opinions about what happened to the Joker and who did it. Harley had called a few times with raving theories and laments about the fate of ‘poor Mister J’ but the call after hers always made listening to Harley’s pathetic mumbles worth it. The real question was how was she getting so much phone access in Arkham?

It was another one of Harley’s calls that got cut off when Jay killed the engine. Bruce waited but Jay was finding it hard to muster words. They were here. It was probably best if he got it off his chest before Bruce started asking questions.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” came the surprising response. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to. We can leave now if you want.”

Jay let out a gust of breath. “Nah. We’re here. Might as well make it worth the gas.” He got out of the car and helped Bruce into his wheelchair. It took a bit of manoeuvring to get it into the Pride Centre. 

“Jay!” The familiar voice of Gail cried out, sounding excited. “I thought you stuck to Tuesdays and Thursdays! Who did you bring-” She cut herself off, immediately folding into a far more jittery human being. “Mr. Wayne. I didn’t realize you were coming in today. Let me go grab Maddy!”

“Don’t bother, Gail,” Jay said with a roguish smile. “I just decided to come out to my dad and I figured the Pride Centre was the place to do it.”

“If you’re sure…” She shot Bruce a nervous look as she ducked behind the counter to do receptionist type things.

He pushed Bruce over to where they kept the pamphlets and started grabbing the ones he’d been cycling through, dumping them all in Bruce’s lap. “There,” Jay proclaimed proudly. “I’ve come out.”

Bruce flipped through them with the same meticulousness that he handled evidence. “You’re not a boy,” he summarized. Jay nodded. “And you’re not a girl?” Bruce held up one of the nonbinary pamphlets. 

“You’re good at this game,” Jay said with a bit of mischievousness in his voice. Bruce looked a little lost but not judging and since Jay had to have worked through this Bruce could do the same.”

“What are your pronouns?” Wow. Bruce really was good at this.

“You’ve been researching.” 

“Of course,” and this time Bruce sounded actually offended. “I donate to the Pride Centre. I better be able to support the cause.”

That was very Bruce. He put his mouth where his money was. “He/him.” They didn’t piss Jay off so he was going to stick with them until that changed. 

Bruce nodded. “Is there a label you want me to use?”

“Nope,” Jay popped the p. “Not a boy, not a girl. Gender is weird and other people’s problems. I’m gonna do what I want and one of these days I’m going to buy a pretty dress and you will say nothing about it.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “Can I tell you that you look good in it?”

Jay scoffed. “I don’t need you to tell me what I already know.”

Maddy popped out of the back, looking ready to take names and kick ass. “Hello, Jay. Mister Wayne. Do we have a problem?”

“No, Director Mendez,” Bruce said immediately and respectfully. “Jay just wanted to tell me something – though now that I’m here, is there anything you need from me?”

“A suicide hotline. The city run one hung up on one of my kids. Luckily she called me but I don’t want this to happen again.”

Bruce nodded, taking orders from this woman half his height. Jay knew that Maddy was a badass but she’d only ever been nice to the kids that hung out here. Fuck Batman, he wanted to be Maddy when he grew up.

“I’ll get my people on it,” Bruce promised. “Anything else?”

Fuck. Bruce slipped into Boardroom Wayne, talking numbers and logistics. Coming out was supposed to be this big emotional deal and Bruce was talking about buying a bigger building for the Pride Centre. He wanted it in a better part of town but Maddy had the solid argument of this being where the kids most at risk could access it. Jay stared out the window as they hammered out details. 

A familiar flash of red and black caught his eye. 

“Hey, Bruce?” he said, hoping the man would catch his tone. 

He did, thank god. “Yes, Jason?”

“I promised Dami I’d be back soon. We need to go.” Jay watched as Red Robin tried to open the lock from outside the car. With an eye roll Jay used the fob. The kid ducked inside the vehicle, tucking himself down so he couldn’t be seen. 

Bruce made a quick goodbye. Jay was significantly less careful pulling Bruce down the stairs than he was up, in his rush to get to the car. 

The idiot was still lying on the backseat floor as though he hadn’t been sneaking out in costume in the middle of daylight. Jay opened the door. “What the fuck?” he snarled. Tim was not supposed to a) be out, b) be in his suit, and c) both of those things in broad fucking daylight.

“Listen,” Tim said urgently, keeping his quiet. “My name is Red Robin and in my universe I work with Batman-”

Jay slammed the door shut. He and Bruce shared a look before Bruce sighed. “Looks like I’m leaving the wheelchair here.” Jay opened Bruce’s door and helped get the man in. Tim, or alternate Tim, watched in silence as they got Bruce settled. He didn’t try to speak again until Jay fired up the car. 

“I take it you’ve dealt with the multiverse.”

“Yes, Tim. We have dealt with the multiverse,” Bruce said, hiding his exhaustion at sheer and utter bullshit better than Jay did. But it made sense. If their Tim kept universe hopping, of course other Tims did it as well.   

“You’ve met other mes?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “According to my research there is no Tim Drake in this universe.”

“Look,” Jay said, “it’s complicated. Why don’t you tell us your story and we’ll fill you in back at the Cave.”

Tim the second nodded. “We had an arms manufacturer trying something new. It hit me and it turned out that it was a portal gun. In the universe I landed in, Lex Luthor was a hero who helped me build a way home.” He shook his head. “It should have worked, I ran the calculations myself, but I ended up here instead.”

“We’ll get you home,” Bruce promised. 

“Unless he adopts you,” Jay muttered under his breath.

Tim the second didn’t seem to hear. “And your Tim?”

There was an embarrassed silence in the car until Jay prodded. “Look, old man. Either you tell him how we got Tim or I will,” and Jay would be sure to make Bruce look like an idiot.

With a sigh, Bruce launched into the story. 

-


Clark glared at the metal band wrapped around his wrist. Whatever metal it was made of was too tough for bolt cutters.

Clark had tried and now he owed Pa another set. Or he would when the man was talking to him again. 

The League had dumped him back in Kansas with his parents as though he was some misbehaving child that a time out could fix, like he was the only one at fault. It made him so angry, thinking about Bruce and Tim. It was just proof that Clark was right and no one seemed to be able to see it. It was like Lex all over again, the city fawning over the man despite the fact that he was responsible for most of its problems. 

Tim was dangerous. 

And now Lois was living with him. 

Clark had received the divorce papers, but he hadn’t signed them. He wasn’t going to sign them. Lois was smart; she would come to her senses and hopefully she’d expose what Tim really was and exonerate Clark. Then they could be a family again. Lois would even be able to claim custody of whatever child she’d ‘had’ with Bruce Wayne and everything would be okay. Better than okay. They’d have a child and they’d have each other. 

It was just going to take time. 

“Clark!” 

“In here, Ma!” he called from his place inside the barn. 

The door slid open. “There you are!” She huffed. “I miss when you could hear me clear across the field. That had been convenient.” It was like a bolt of bitterness cut through his chest. “None of that now,” Ma scolded, always having been able to see the worst parts of him. “I’ve got lemonade in the house.”

“Pa?” Clark was basically living in the barn. He was fairly certain that Pa would have him off the property if it was up to him, but the League had made it clear that they expected Clark to stay here.

“He’s over at the Ross’s, helping with a fence. Now come on,” She swatted him with the tea towel. “Get it while it’s still cold.”

Despite the overwhelmingly hopeless circumstances, Clark felt himself smile. “Coming.” Ma was still on his side. Ma was always going to be on his side. She might not agree. She’d said she thought he was a little bent these days, but she loved him.

And Clark needed that.   

-

Lara sipped her frappuccino, enjoying how the sweet creams drowned out the taste of coffee. 

The place Cass has directed them to had a locals only vibe with mismatched furniture and local art of varying degrees of talent hanging from the walls with price tags. There were everything from elegant watercolors to pen doodled comics arranged with no particular care for feng shui. The one barista was a white man wearing a poor imitation of dreadlocks while the other had maroon pants that bulged at the thigh and tapered at the ankle.  

It was a strange place, not the type Lara would have stopped in had she been on her own, but the food was good. She’d grabbed a muffin to go with her drink and it had the magic that only something homemade held. 

It was a nice escape out of the house and hammered home how claustrophobic the place made her feel. 

Lara took another sip. 

“You’re leaving,” Cass said as though it was a fact. 

Lara hummed thoughtfully before she responded. “ I do think I am.”

“Why?” asked Conner. He sounded adorably confused, but then again, everything he wanted was kept under that roof. 

The Waynes were… nice. Kind. They were generous and caring and welcomed her into their family with welcome arms. 

She did not want a family. She did not like the noise generated by a dozen people. She did not like walking through the same garden over and over again. She did not like the way children were constantly there, looking for attention at a moment’s notice. 

She was fairly certain she was allergic to the cat. 

Lara wanted to be free to roam, to choose which nights she spent wrapped in someone’s embrace and which ones she spent alone. She wanted to be able to walk down the streets, completely anonymous, instead of sitting in the back booth with a hat just in case someone snapped a picture to slap on the front page of the paper. 

Bruce offered her a good life but it was not one she wanted. 

And that was without the vigilantism. Lara could kill, would kill when necessary, but it wasn’t the centre of her life. She had her game with Ra’s, though he had been silent for a while, and if anyone but Bart had approached her she would have told them to go fuck themselves.

She invested too much time in surviving to risk it for other people’s sake, whereas the Waynes would throw themselves on the nearest grenade. She didn’t need that in her life. 

She shrugged, not knowing how to put this into words. 

But Cass did. Cass, who saw everything. 

“Her heart. Not home. Still looking.”

Lara didn’t think she was actually looking for a home. She just knew that if there was ever anything she hoped to find it wasn't here.

-

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit!

Tim pushed away from the computer, absolutely stunned. Fortunately, stunned meant different things as a vigilante so by the time he was really comprehending what he’d just read he was already out of the clock.

“Bruce!” He yelled. 

He was met with silence. “Dick?” Nothing. 

“Alfred!” He wandered into the kitchen. “Conner?” It was empty as well. 

“Where the fuck is everyone?” God, he didn’t even know where Bruce had hidden his phone so he could call. This was absolute bullshit. He needed to talk to Bruce now. He’d have to email him from the Batcomputer.

He grumbled as he took the stairs two at a time. He did enough working out that he didn’t need the extra cardio simply because Bruce’s stupid punishments involved cutting Tim off from the outside world and everyone else had just fucking left. 

Tim was settling into the Batcomputer chair when a voice drawled from the darkness. “Well, who is this handsome fellow?”

Tim whirled around, grabbing a batarang. A whip cracked through the air, catching Tim’s wrist. “Uh uh,” the figure tisked. “There’s no need to be naughty. Kitties respond better to treats.”

Alright. Tim could handle this. There was an unexpected Catwoman knockoff in the Cave, complete with the tight leather and cat ears. Younger than Catwoman by decades—in fact Tim would hazard a guess and say they were his age—and probably male. That outfit didn’t hide anything and there was definitely not a pair of breasts tucked away. 

Wisps of black curls broke out from the headpiece, and their eyes were masked by ridiculously orange goggles. And, of course, there were the claws. Couldn’t be Catwoman without claws. 

“I already have a cat,” Tim blurted.

It surprised the figure enough for Tim to drop the batarang into his other hand and toss it. They managed to duck but released the whip, giving Tim a chance to grab his bo staff. He grabbed at the weapons locker when a whip wrapped around his feet, dragging him across the Cave. 

“Cute.” The tone implied it was anything but. “Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Tim twisted and grabbed the whip, pulling it hard. His opponent stumbled enough for Tim to get a bit of slack and slip the whip again. They snarled. 

This time when the whip cracked it was not to restrain. Tim’s sleeve broke with skin where the whip kissed it. He hissed, twisting away from the blow. “How’d you get in here?” he demanded. Get the intruder talking. 

The whip snapped and Tim barely dodged it. “I should be asking you that. What are you, some kind of clone?”

Wait. Clone?

“Hold up!” Tim made a T with his hands. “Why would I be a clone?”

“Tch,” came the pity laden reply. “You don’t even realize.” 

“No,” Tim waved his hand. “I mean, even if I was a clone, which I am not ,” he emphasized very clearly, “how would you know? And why are you in the Cave?”

He could feel the incredulous stare of his attacker before they slowly, very slowly, removed the headpiece. 

Tim Drake found himself staring in a mirror. He had longer hair and was definitely wearing makeup, but that was Tim’s face. 

“Fuck!” he swore. He didn’t know who was in the wrong universe. Upstairs was empty and he didn’t have his cell phone to check. Wait. “You,” Tim pointed. “Check your phone. If you have coverage I’m the intruder. If you don’t you’re the intruder.”

Other Tim frowned suspiciously and pulled out a sleek phone. He flicked it open and glared at the screen before staring at Tim like he was willing him to die. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Tim held up his hands. “You’re just from an alternate universe.”

“Bullshit.”

-

Dami grudgingly admitted, internally so Grayson would not crow at him, that dinosaurs were, at the very least, interesting. He’d expected to see the models and diagrams of the beasts from that insipid movie franchise Todd enjoyed so much, but new research indicated the creatures had feathers. 

That was more aesthetically interesting than a giant lizard and the replicas’ bright plumage made Dami wish that he’d brought his art supplies. 

“Look at this one!” Jon said, tugging Dami’s sleeve. “It is a Pachycephalosaurus!” He pointed at one of the more lizard looking ones. “Do you see how it has ridges around its head and thick bond scalp? Scientists used to think they head butted each other like boosh,” Jon mimed the action with his hands, “but now they think it was just so they could recognize each other! Like, giant bone hats!”

Jon’s enthusiasm was also….enjoyable. The boy knew much about dinosaurs and was quick to supplement Dami’s education with facts that the tour guide and the display plaques did not provide. Even Grayson lacked the factual breadth that Jon had. 

So far the trip had been acceptable, though Dami would bite his tongue and bleed to death before admitting it to Grayson lest he try to come up with other childish forms of entertainment for Dami to be dragged along to. 

“Oh! Come look at this one!”

-

Conner pulled the car into the garage and knew immediately that they had a problem. 

The first sign that something was wrong was that Conner could hear Tim arguing with himself. The second sign was that sometimes Tim replied while he was also still speaking.

He bent the door, rushing to exit the vehicle and leaving behind a handprint that would be impossible to explain. He cut through the house in record time to get to the clock. He took the stairs in a single bound, landing beside his Tim. A whip came streaking towards his face and he caught it, yanking the other person forward into his grip. 

“Kon-El, you get your fucking hands off me this instant.”

Conner caught this new Tim’s wrists and held him far enough away that he could study him. The catboy hissed, twisting in Conner’s unbreakable grip. The alien frowned grimly. “Multiverse stuff?”

Tim nodded. “Multiverse stuff.”

Cat Tim blinked before he scowled. “You’re not Kon-El and, are there two Casses?” He craned his neck to look beyond Conner’s shoulder, staring at the two girls who had followed Conner. “What the fuck is happening?”

“Multiverse stuff,” Tim reiterated. “Apparently he hasn’t had to deal with that yet,” Tim told the room while Cat Tim continued to glare. “He’s having a hard time adjusting.”

“Let me go!” Cat Tim demanded. Conner looked at him, studying the sharp claws, and looked over at Tim who had a bloody patch coming from his upper arm. 

“No,” said Conner. Cat Tim hissed again. 

“Can I borrow someone’s cell phone?” Tim almost begged in genuine distress. “On top of this Catwoman cosplay-”

“My name is Stray!”

“-our killer struck again.”

Conner ignored Stray as he tried to kick Conner in very unforgiving places on a human. “Who?”

“They took out Bane this time.”

Cass looked as disturbed as Conner felt. 

“I’m going upstairs,” Lara said, her face made of stone. “I want no part.” No one moved to stop her as she made her way back to the upper level of the Manor. 

“I don’t want any part of it either,” Stray said coyly, changing tactics entirely. He began to rub his ankle up and down Conner’s calf. “You could always let me go, farm boy.”

Conner gave him a small shake to get him to cut that out while Cass passed Tim her phone. “Scared,” she said, patting Stray on the head. “Safe. No hurt.” She grabbed Conner’s fingers, gently prying at them to release the intruder. He let her, knowing that Cass could take care of herself if the situation escalated. “We’ll fix,” she promised, clasping her hand with the boy. 

That seemed to reassure him somewhat. He kept glowering at Conner but he was no longer wound up to take a swing. 

“Bruce!” Tim barked into the phone.

“You sound stressed. Is everything alright?” Bruce himself didn’t sound like he was doing well, either. Something had happened. 

“No, everything is not all right! There is another version of me in the Cave and our killer took out Bane .” There was an edge to Tim’s voice that bordered on Tim’s version of hysteria and Conner was feeling it right along beside him

Conner had very clear memories of eating dirt while fighting Bane. The man was insanely tough, strong even when he wasn’t on Venom. The idea of someone taking him out was not comforting, especially when they seemed to be on a rampage. 

“It’s okay, Tim. Deep breaths. I’ll handle it.” That was a Batman promise. They were rarely made and Conner had yet to see the man fail to follow through. It helped him relax despite the fact that this situation was going to dissolve into a clusterfuck.  

Tim scoffed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Oh, you’ll handle it?” Conner winced. Tim wasn’t good with promises, neither making them or believing them when they were offered. It made Conner severely regret not having the opportunity to punch the Batman who’d raised him in the face, full strength. 

Tim continued on, his voice picking up steam. “Which one are you going to handle? A serial killer who took out Bane with your broken back? Are you just going to walk up to her and ask her nicely to stop?”

“Tim, I know this is a lot but I need you calm-”

“I am calm.” Tim was not calm. Conner could hear his chest pounding. 

“You’re not, but I can work with that. Jay and I also encountered another Tim. We are bringing him back to the Cave.”  

“Wait, what? You have another Tim with you?” Conner winced as Tim’s body language went flat, falling into processing mode as their problems hit the tipping point of being serious into being ridiculous. 

“Yes. He’s another Red Robin.”

Tim hung up the phone.

Chapter Text

Bruce left Dick in charge. The boy had bucked and fought but Bruce couldn’t be in two places at once and this was a job only he could do. Given the two targets and the likelihood of the killer being female, Bruce had an idea of who it could be but he wasn’t willing to confront her with a broken back. He very much had every intention of returning to his children, which is why he planned on stopping in New York first. It was also why he’d grabbed his emergency cash. 

Lara was waiting for him by the clock. She had a suitcase propped up by her feet and was wrapped in a light summer jacket. 

He didn’t need to read people like Cass to understand what was happening here. 

“You’re leaving.”

“Yes.”

“And nothing I can say will make you stay.”

“No.” She nodded in agreement. “I’ve already said goodbye to the others. They are waiting at the door to watch me go.” Lara tilted her head. “I like you, Bruce. You are a good man and you have a large house, but it is not one that I fit into.”

“There is plenty of room for you,” Bruce argued and Lara just shook her head.

“Then it is not one that fits me. Make no mistake,” she smiled. It was small and possibly genuine. “I am glad I came, but I have no desire to live in your world. I do not want the media attention. I do not want to have to worry about superheroes, serial killers, and saving the world.

“The only person I want to worry about is myself.” 

“You don’t have to be involved. Lois isn’t.”

“Don’t lie. Not to me and not to yourself. She is very much involved and very aware of it.” Lara snapped with jerky movements. She huffed. “You are trying to keep me safe, whereas I wish to be free. That is not something I will find with you.”

Considering the only way Bruce could make her stay would be trying to lock her in the Cave, he had to concede the point. “You’ll video call?” he asked. 

She nodded. “I actually think I will.” 

-

The things Dick did for this family. There hadn’t been tears when Lara left. Well, Jon had cried, but Jon had cried when Dami went to grab groceries from the car. So there were mostly no tears, but it did not contribute to the stability of the situation. Of course Bruce had needed to run off to do whatever the heck it was he thought he could do with a broken back. He assured Dick it wouldn’t be a problem but Dick didn’t trust Bruce as far as he could throw him, at least not with his physical health, and especially when it came to putting his health before his children.

The issue with the Tims was weird, but hardly time sensitive. They’d get the boys sorted out in no time. 

“No, Jay, over beside Conner.” Provided he could get them to actually settle. “Stray, on the left side of Bart.” Jay tossed Stray a hunted look before dropping down by the Kryptonian, trying to use Conner’s mass to hide his own. Stray, on the other hand, pouted, the lights of the Cave catching his cherry lip gloss. And everyone knew it was cherry. They’d all found out when he had asked Jay if he’d wanted to taste it. 

Apparently Stray and Jay were not brothers in Stray’s universe and apparently Stray was a bit of a sadist, taking the opportunity to flirt with an increasingly disturbed Jay every time he could. 

Red, as they had taken to calling the Tim Bruce and Jay had found, handled everything with a fraying temper. 

“Okay!” Dick clapped his hands to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “First we need to make a timeline. Red, when did you first leave your universe?” 

“Nine days and seven hours ago.” 

Okay. Oddly specific, but useful. “And when did you arrive here?”

“Two days and twenty-one hours ago.” 

Dick nodded and drew a big line on the whiteboard and began jotting down the times. 

“And Stray, when did you arrive?”

Stray hummed consideringly. “I think your ass might be nicer than my Dick’s.” Dick choked on air, heat bursting across his face. “I’ll have to let him know that.”

“You know we can fucking gag you?” Jay threatened. Conner put a restraining arm on the boy to keep him from lunging across the Cave to strangle the horny furry.

Stray gave a coy shrug. “Babe, I’m dressed head to toe in leather. What on Earth gave you the idea that I wouldn’t enjoy that?” He gave a lazy stretch and winked at Jay. 

“Enough!” barked Red. “I have been missing for over a week. My family might think I am dead. I do not want to remain here any longer than I have to so answer the fucking questions or I am going to start breaking your fingers.”

Stray rolled his eyes. “Okay, Princess. Unlike Mister Down to The Decimal here, I don’t know how long it's been for me. Less than twenty four hours, as Jason and I were-”

“Skip it,” Dick ordered. He was sending Stray back with a book about sexual harrassment. 

“-on patrol,” he said with a lazy smile. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“Stray,” Tim stepped in. “The longer you keep fucking with us the longer it’s going to be until you can see Jason. He probably thinks you are dead. Now focus. When did you arrive?”

“Fine!” the boy snarled and all the strange trappings of sensuality fell away, leaving a fidgeting young man. “I don’t know. I was in the warehouse district, checking out a disturbance. Everything looked fine so I radioed in but my comm was down. I came to the Cave, ran into your Tim, and you all know the rest.”

Red cocked his head and Dick really hoped he’d unravelled something. “I arrived in a warehouse. Which ones were you investigating?”

Stray rolled his eyes. “I spent all night doing it. Do you really want me to list them all out?”

“Did you cover the one on 34th?” he asked urgently. Given by the way Tim and Conner straightened that meant something. 

Stray rubbed his chin in consideration. “Yeah, actually.” Tim bit his lip. 

Red swore. “That’s where I arrived.”

“That’s where we opened the portal to get Jon,” Tim confessed, fidgeting with his fingers. 

Of course it was. 

“Please tell me you still have the technology that created the portal,” Red half begged, half demanded. 

Conner, Bart, and Tim all shifted uncomfortably while Dick really wished that Bruce was here because he was better at controlling chaos than Dick. Dick really preferred to cause chaos. It was a Robin thing. Adding a dash of random into predictable interactions. 

“They created it through magic,” Dick said. 

Stray leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Magic can do that?”

“It can and it shouldn’t,” Red snapped. “Unnatural things happen when you fiddle with cosmic forces, like when you punch a hole in reality in a goddamn warehouse.” 

“Now now,” Dick tried, “simmer down.”

“Listen, it was to save the life of a small child.”

Red stood, taking a step towards Tim before Bart blurred and placed himself firmly in the way. Red turned in his path and started to pace. “You must have done the spell wrong and weakened the veil, creating a small hole that people passing by can slip through.” He scrubbed at his hair as his muttering increased in speed. “We’re going to need Zatanna to patch it up. Will I need magic to send me home, or will the coordinates still work?” His mumbles turned quiet as he froze in place, tugging at his hair. 

Dick sighed. “Zatanna’s unavailable,” he hedged, unsure if Bruce had filled Tim in. 

“Raven?” Red asked. 

“No idea who that is,” Dick said enthusiastically. 

“Traci 13?” asked Stray.

“Still a no.”

Red sighed. “Zatarra?”

“Permanently possessed, though we might be able to go to Doctor Fate,” Dick said thoughtfully. Fixing holes in the universe did sound like a thing he would do. 

“No!” Red waved his hands the way Tim so often did. “He’s just as likely to wipe us from reality as he is to try and get us back home. He might patch up your hole but quite frankly I enjoy my life and really want to get back to it.”

“Yeah,” Stray agreed. “Dude’s an ass. Speaking of asses-”

“No!” the room shouted as one. 

Stray bristled. “I was going to suggest Constantine, you prudes.”

Conner groaned. “He’s going to be so pissed.”

“Constantine was there when the portal was created,” Tim explained. 

Red scoffed and threw up his arms in defeat. “Having the idiot who fucked up the portal in the first place is the last person we want trying to fix it.”

Tim looked at Dick in a way that bled guilt. “Actually.” Nope, Dick was not prepared to hear this sentence, “Klarion was who made the portal.”

Even the bats went silent. 

“No,” Red said, stumbling back. “You were stupid enough to use a portal that Klarion created?”

“We didn’t have much of a choice!” Conner snarled, rising to his feet. “A kid’s life was on the line!”

“Then you should have let him die!” screamed Red. 

Conner reached out and poked him in the middle of the chest. Red froze instantly, even his chest stopping. “Conner,” Dick cautioned, having no idea what the Kryptonian was up to. 

“You do not,” He growled deep enough that he sounded like Wolf, “talk about my brother that way.”

Tim grabbed Conner’s arm and pulled at it. Crap. Judging by the color of his face, Red wasn’t breathing. “Superboy! Let him go!” 

Conner jabbed the finger forward, pushing Red hard enough he hit the ground with a gasp. 

“Holy shit,” whispered Stray, looking at Conner while entirely freaked out. 

This was going wonderfully.

“Look,” Dick said, trying to take control. He really wished Kaldur was here. Kaldur was good at these kinds of situations. “We have a timeline and we have a location. We’ve had contact with Constantine before so we’ll arrange a consult with him. In the meantime, everyone don’t panic. No one’s dying and we aren’t having any cataclysms on our end. It’s just a matter of time before you both go home, okay?”

“Fine,” Red spat. “Batman will probably find me before you send me back anyway.”

Stray gave another one of his languid stretches, bending down to touch his toes before rolling his spine back up slowly. “I don’t mind staying. There are so many exciting people to meet,” he said, sending Conner a flirty smile. 

The things Dick did for Batman. 

-

The rule of the game was that Constantine went to his clients. They asked for help, he reached back to give it. He was choosy with his jobs, especially now the caped brat had given him more money than he’d seen for a single job in his life. It was a good system. It kept him entertained and out of trouble.

There was a knock at the door. Constantine was half tempted to answer it as is, but he shimmied into a pair of pants just in case it was that nice neighbour girl from three units down. She’d left him a plate of pie to introduce herself and while he wasn’t there to grab it from her personally, he was holding onto the dish until he had an opportunity to return it so he could get a face to face.

Maybe he’d get more pie out of the deal. She was a fantastic cook.

“Coming,” he yelled, combing his hair down so it wasn’t such a mess. With a cocksure grin that ladies loved, he answered the door. 

Huh. There was no one there. Damn kids playing pranks, probably. There was a perfectly good park four blocks away. No need at all to go knocking on his door. 

He turned to go back to his couch when a shadow moved in the dark. “I’m warning you!” Constantine said in his deepest tone, “I am a master of the mystic arts.”

“Which is why I’ve come to you.” Bloody Batman stepped into the light. 

Fucking hell. “Nope. I don’t do capes.” Constantine went into his galley kitchen, pulling out a bottle of brandy from the fridge.

Batman followed him, though far slower than Constantine thought the man would. In his hand was a giant black duffle bag. 

Damn Constantine and his curiosity. He set the brandy on the counter. “What do you need?”

“Healing.”

Constantine raised an eyebrow. “Then see a bloody doctor.” He wasn’t a fucking nurse. He exorcised demons like a professional. None of the hedge witch bullshit. 

There was something about Batman’s silence that implied that he had, and he hadn’t liked the answer.  “That bag had better contain money.”

Batman set it on the counter, allowing Constantine to unzip it and flip through the stacks. “Why me? I thought I was persona non grata with the League.” They were in twenties, making them easy to spend, and they were in fat piles. A serious amount of cash for a relatively simple spell. 

Batman grunted. “I was told I could trust you.”

That damn kid, ruining Constantine’s reputation. The entire point of having the League hate him was so the League didn’t end up on his doorstep with their booboos. “No, mate. I don’t work with capes. I’ve got a reputation to maintain and I am not about to ruin it for you. I can give you a few recommendations to see for something like this, but I ain’t it.”

“I’m in a time crunch,” Batman growled. 

Constantine had dreams that were scarier than Batman. “Then move quickly.”

The shadows in Constantine’s apartment seemed to swell for a moment and he gripped the brandy, prepared to swing it if he had to. He could afford more. Then Batman sagged and looked entirely too human. 

“John,” the voice was still deep but sounded a little haggard. “I am off to confront a woman who probably murdered the Joker-”

“Sounds like you should give her a medal,” he said under his breath.

“-and Bane.”

That got Constantine’s attention. “Bane? You’re sure?”

“You can understand my rush.”

Constantine clicked his tongue. “You don’t think she’s done.”

“I don’t.”

The magician cocked his head. “Can you at least predict the next target?”

“I can’t.”

Fucking capes. “Fine. I’ll fix you up right as rain but you never fucking call upon me again. Get Doctor Fate to patch you up next time.”

“Deal,” Batman nodded. Constantine felt like he was getting the short end of the stick. 

“Now, healing spells aren’t as simple as waving my hands and having it be done. They take energy. Sometimes from the person, if it ain’t too bad an injury. Heal them up and leave them knackered for the day. Other times it has to be from something external, something that we can sacrifice. What’s wrong with you?”

“I have a broken back.”

And here he was, standing in Constantine’s kitchen like all was well in the world. “Living room floor, now.” Constantine wasn’t a doctor but he knew you didn’t go a wandering with a broken back.

“It’s partially healed.”

“That’s loads better, mate. Huge difference.” Idiot. “I’m going to need a sacrifice. Something of emotional value. Please tell me you brought something good because I am not helping you off my floor.” Worst case scenario, he’d put a rug over the Bat and sweep around him.  

There was a set of pearls in the man’s hand and Constantine had no idea where he’d grabbed them from. “These.”

They were nice. Expensive. “Emotion has to be stronger than the regret you felt buying them.”

Batman grunted. “They were my Mother’s.”

Ah. That would do. “Stay still. I’ve got to draw a spell circle, there'll be some chanting and then Bob’s your uncle.”

Batman, it turned out, was an excellent patient. Man didn’t bitch and he didn’t twitch. The pearls he brought were more than enough to fuel the spell and he left Constantine with the bag as well as the cash. 

“Now promise you won’t call on me again. I don’t help capes.”

“You have my word,” the man said before launching himself out of Constantine’s fucking window.

Fuc. King. Capes.  

He grabbed his brandy from the counter, ready to fall into the bottle when his phone lit up with an unknown number. It was probably a scammer. Everyone got those calls. Right?

But what if it wasn’t a scammer? The type of people who had his number were the type of people to have burner phones. It could very well be a legit phone call. 

“John here,” he answered.

“Constantine.”

OH, fuck him. It was that little bastard from the warehouse. “Whatever it is you want I’m not doing. I told you not to contact me.”

“We punched a hole in the wall of reality and now there are two versions of me that shouldn’t be here and they popped up in that warehouse.” And Constantine was there and might be able to fix it because he watched it break. 

FUCK. 

“This is the last time I help you out. I fucking mean it.”

“Thanks, Constantine.”

He hung up the phone and took a good swig of brandy before letting his head snag in between his knees before talking to the empty apartment.

“Bloody capes.” 

-

Jon clutched at a long suffering Dexter. The cat was not hissing but his tail flicked back and forth in annoyance. Dami had little doubt that the moment the Kryptonian set the cat down he would be gone.

The boy had been moping ever since Lara had left, though Dami could think of little reason why. They had hardly had time to cultivate much of a friendship, with the woman seeking emotional intimacy from Cassandra and the Interloper, of all people. She clearly had poor taste in companionship and it was of little surprise that she had chosen to leave a house that was clearly full of superior humans so she could go back to doing whatever it was before Father had dug her up.

It was a small loss and the greatest impact it was having on Dami’s life was that Jon seemed unable to emotionally recover from the change. 

“Come,” Dami announced. “We shall go swimming.”

Jon shook his head and buried it into Dexter’s fur. The cat narrowed his eyes in displeasure, his tail moving sharply at all the unwanted attention. “No. Dexter doesn’t want to go.”

Likely true, as the cat did not seem particularly fond of water, but it was still a poor excuse. “Then we shall go without him.”

“Dun wanna,” Jon said with a ridiculous pout. 

Dami curled his lip, unsure how to further proceed. Timothy would have capitulated by now and allowed his mind to be distracted by other things. Jon’s single minded focus was frustrating.

An unlikely solution presented itself in the form of the Clone. “Hey, squirt,” he said as he entered the room, ruffling Jon’s hair. It was enough to elicit a brief smile. “Dami,” the Clone nodded respectfully. Excellent. He still remembered the knife wound Dami had inflicted. “What are you two kids up to?”

Jon shrugged but Dami narrowed his eyes. “You are here to keep us away from Timothy’s inferior copies.”

The Clone, mindful of Dami’s keen intellect, nodded. “They’re pretty boring, anyway.”

“Tt.” Dami lifted his nose at the obviousness of the statement. “Of course they are. They are not truly Timothy.”

“Right.” The Clone gave a serious nod, in clear agreement. “So are you guys just hanging out in here?”

“We are going swimming,” Dami announced. 

Jon shook his head hard enough that his body rocked from side to side. “I don’t want to go.”

“Is it because Dexter won’t come?” The Clone asked, kneeling in front of Jon so that they were eye level. Jon nodded. “What if Wolf came?”

Dami stilled. Wolf was a glorious creature and intelligent enough to participate in games that escaped Todd’s understanding. 

“Wolf’s not allowed in the pool,” Jon muttered. “Dogs can’t come. It says so on all the signs.”

Dami scoffed and rolled his eyes. “We would not be going into the city to swim with the peasants. Father has a pool.”

That caused Jon to perk up. “Really? And we can use it?” Dexter yowled in displeasure and Jon loosened his grip out of surprise, allowing the cat to break free. He bolted out of the room quick enough to rival the Interloper. “Dexter!” Jon called. 

The Clone wrapped his hands around the boy and lifted Jon into his arms. “Cats don’t like water so it’s best to let him go. We’ll go grab Wolf instead, okay?”

“And you’re sure it's okay to have him come swim with us?” Jon asked, radiating uncertainty. 

“It will be fine,” Dami answered. “Father will see no problem with it.”

-

Bruce had problems, Gotham had problems, and right now all he could do was triage. The Tim situation was unpleasant but not a primary concern. Bruce had dealt with the multiverse often enough that he felt that it wouldn’t be overly difficult to repair the issue. Even if it was more complicated than Bruce first suspected, they would have time. 

His other problem couldn’t wait. The Joker had been murdered by someone who had signed it like a love letter to the man. Bane’s death, while equally vicious, had lacked the themed flair. Still a bloody massacre that had left a damaged path of dead, but there were no signature smiles. The police weren’t willing to connect the two deaths at this point, instead focusing on why Bane was in the city with the hopes that his dealings would reveal who killed him, but Bruce knew better. There were few people on the planet who could take Bane out and walk away from the encounter. 

“Talia.” She was more beautiful every time he saw her. What-ifs haunted Bruce and they always whispered loudest when she was in the room. Logically he knew they could never be. Differing philosophies set on moral fault lines where they would always be on the opposite side of the divide.

And the fact that she had hidden his child, that she had kept him from Dami and had stolen Jay were unforgivable trespasses. 

“Beloved,” she said in her smooth, smokey voice that always filled him with a mix of nostalgia and regret. She wasn’t dressed as an assassin right now, in a cream dress with a hip slit. From how she was sprawled on the couch Bruce could see the knife strapped around her thigh. Oh how he longed to just have a conversation with her about something small, poetry or flavors of wine, but that wasn’t why he was here.

“Why are you killing people in Gotham?” 

She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Do you truly think this of me? I have my honor, Beloved. Breaking our deal is beneath me.” 

Bruce took a step forward. Anyone else would feel threatened but Talia had always been cut from a different cloth. “Stealing my children wasn’t.”

“Tt,” she clicked her tongue, pushing herself into a proper sitting position. “Are you still on about that? Have you not realized the truth?” Bruce said nothing, allowing his silence to speak. She rose to her feet. “If I had wanted to keep your children I would have and you would have never known. You found them because I wanted them found. Maybe not so soon. I would have preferred if Jason had been stronger, ready to kill before he allowed death to take him again, but I had always planned on giving them to you.”

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “I am no fool, Beloved, and I know the type of man my father was. He had plans for Damian that would have lost me my son.” She leaned forward. “I protected our son. I love our son.” Bryce was beginning to think that might actually be true

“You said ‘was’.”

Talia took a step back. “The Demon Head is dead, far beyond the Lazarus Pit’s help, even if we had access to a working one.”

“How?”

She shrugged. “I went to retrieve Damian when the news broke that Father had captured him along with Jason and your Timothy. When I arrived the base was full of nothing but dead. Father was in pieces and the Pit had been buried under rubble.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“But not that he is dead,” she said shrewdly. 

Bruce didn’t bother to reply. They both knew it was truth. 

“I am not here to kill,” she said, placing a perfectly manicured finger against his armor. “The League is broken and I wish to restore it. Many of Father’s allies will not deal with a woman, so I am forced to seek resources elsewhere.”

“A weapons deal.” She raised an eyebrow, daring Bruce to call her on it. He reached up and grabbed her hand. “You need to leave, Talia. Gotham isn’t safe right now.”

She laughed, a small thing that was barely a breath of air. “When is Gotham ever safe? Besides, the man I am dealing with is not the kind to embarrass. The deal is set.” She shook her head. “Leave, Beloved. We have no further business.” She broke his grip and turned away. 

“Bane’s dead.” That caused her to freeze. “The same person who killed the Joker.”

“You had thought it was me,” she stated, now starkly aware of what he had subtly been accusing her of.  

“And now I think you’re in danger.”

She turned back to Bruce, her emerald eyes cold. “Bane was my contact.”

Bruce forced his heart to remain calm. “Then you have no reason to stay.” Please Talia. Just leave. 

She nodded and Bruce nearly sagged with relief. “Tell our son I love him and that he can come home at any time.”

“He’s happy where he is,” Bruce grunted as he made his way to the balcony.

“As long as he remains that way.” The threat was clear in her voice. 

Instead of responding, of being cowed or saying goodbye, Bruce left the way he always did when Talia was involved. 

He jumped into the darkness. 

-

Lex threw his glass of scotch across the room, shattering it against the wall. When that didn’t make him feel any better he threw the whole bottle. It left a dent where it shattered and had it been his wall that might have further incited his wrath. As it stood he was in the penthouse of Gotham’s finest hotel and he knew that once he left the wall be fixed without a word.

So it wasn’t Lex’s problem.

No, Lex’s problems were much more expensive than the condition of a penthouse wall. He’d hired Bane, had given the man good money, to come be Lex’s hand on the street while he tested out the gun market in Gotham. Intergang had their lasers but Gothamites had stuck to bullets. There was an opportunity there for upgrades.

Bane had taken his money with a laugh and an agreement that he would report back to Lex in the morning. The morning had come and gone and the next thing that Lex had heard was that Bane was dead. This meant that the man had set up an arms deal in Lex’s good name, had failed to report in at the right time and location, and Lex had spent money that he was never going to get back. 

It wasn’t irrecoverable, but it was definitely a frustration. When he came to this city he’d thought that he’d be dealing with Batman, not the psycho who had killed the Joker. It made him wonder if he should go home until the entire thing passed through. If all his money was going to be wasted on dead men then he could stand to be bored for a while.

“Mr. Luthor.” He spun with a start, relaxing only when he saw his guest. 

“Ah,” Lex said with his best smile. “Timothy! I’m surprised to see you here! I did intend to invite you but I haven’t been in the city long enough to have properly entertained anyone.”

Eyes strayed over to the dent in the wall. “I understand, Mr. Luthor. It took me a while to settle into Gotham as well.”

Lex chuckled. “I can only imagine, what with having to move in with Brucie. It must have been quite the adjustment.” He motioned towards the chair. “Come, sit.”

“I’d rather stand, Mr. Luthor.”

“Please, call me Lex.” He walked over to the minibar. “What’s your poison?”

Tim chuckled.

Lex’s smile became strained. There was something wrong here. Tim’s expression looked more like a mask, one that pulled too tightly at the corners. His chuckles continued to grow, turning into a deranged laugh that shattered the air, screechy and haunting. “That’s funny.”

Lex took a step back, grabbing the nearest bottle. “Mercy!” He yelled. 

A knife appeared in Tim’s hand, already dripping blood. “Do you want to hear my joke? You’ll die laughing.”

Chapter Text

Lois was normally a mimosa in the morning, wine in the evening kinda gal. Oh, she could hold her liquor with the best of the boys, it came in handy for getting details on a story, but it didn’t mean that she was prone to having brandy for breakfast. She thought she was entitled to it on this particular morning. Alfred had taken Dami and Jon to the zoo to get them out of the house while the extra Tims popped up to get some sunlight. Apparently they were all meeting up with Constantine at lunch. 

One took coffee to match his soul – emo – and the other was a slut. It was actually pretty hilarious once Lois got over the fact that she was being hit on by an underage mini Selina. Kid could dish it out but he couldn’t take it back and Lois had practice blowing off men. It had only taken a few of her favorite back off lines before the kid had scampered off to lick his wounds. 

A fun five minute reprieve from the new reality they faced. 

Luthor was dead and had been for days. 

Bruce, who had somehow magically fixed his back, was taking it very calmly, working with the police as Batman and having Dick run data that the police might not have access to, but so far they had dug nothing up. No one had seen anyone strange in the lobby and the murderer had taken the stairs down, going through a maintenance room to once again access the sewers. The cameras had cut out, catching absolutely nothing, and the penthouse was soundproofed, as they tended to be in Gotham so the rich could do their dirty business. 

The killer had left a Do Not Disturb sign on the door but Gotham Heights required that rooms be cleaned every three days. Housekeeping had definitely not been prepared for that mess. 

Lois took a sip of amber liquid, letting the burn wake her up. “I didn’t think Lex would ever die.”

“No one’s untouchable,” Bruce said, flipping through crime scene photos on his tablet so Lois could see them as well. Bruce welcomed the second pair of eyes. So far it was a lot of gore and not a lot of clues. 

“Luthor was about as close as you could get. He was cockroach-level hard to kill,” she pointed out, swirling her glass. “Any theories?”

“No.” Whoa. Sorry for asking.

She shook her head. “I should be working the case from my end. If I can figure out why Lex was in town it might give us a clue as to who is doing this.”

“Bane was here to make a weapons’ deal with the League of Assassins. Lex was the likely supplier.”

“That makes no sense,” Lois said, holding her cup level with her chin as she rested both elbows on the table. “There is a solid connection between Bane and Luthor, but not between them and the Joker. This is a ninja free city so while the deal was happening in Gotham it wasn’t going to cause any trouble here.” She frowned into her glass. “Was the Joker planning something we don’t know about?”

Bruce shook his head. “The Joker was personal, emotional. The killer has to have been a victim at one point, though that doesn’t explain while they let Harley live, especially not when they’d killed Mercy.” 

Mercy’s death brought up further questions. She’d obviously been taken off guard, a knife driven into the side of her throat before she could draw a weapon. She had some defensive wounds but not nearly as many as a woman like Mercy should have. “She knew the attacker.”

“So,” Bruce zoomed in on an image, “who do we know that hates the Joker but is trusted enough to get close to Mercy Graves with a weapon?”

“Well, not housekeeping.” Lois took a sip, making a face. “You aren’t going to solve this without me.”

Bruce looked away from the computer, giving her his best Dad look. “I can and I will. I am more than willing to work in concert with you once Jon is settled. Right now he needs one of our undivided attentions and unless you’ve discovered how to make portals to alternate universes you’re on parent duty.”

“Fine,” she threw back her brandy and set the glass down heavily on the table. “I’m not turning into a stay at home mom for you, Bruce.”

“Just until Jon gets better,” the man promised. 

Lois glared before giving a nod. She reached for the brandy bottle to pour herself another finger. Jon really did need her. He was still dragging Dami into his room to sleep every other night. She would eventually go back to work, it was just going to take time, and if Bruce tried to stop her she’d kick his ass.

-

Timothy was fairly certain that he hated this universe. The one with Lex had been unpleasant, a nihilistic Owlman running an evil equivalent of the Justice League, but in some ways that made it easier. He didn’t know what expectations to have of a heroic Lex Luthor so the man never failed to rise to meet them. It was like meeting a complete stranger and finding them impressive. 

This place was like being in a twisted funhouse where everything reflected well enough to be recognizable while also being completely alien. 

Kon was an introvert and a growly one at that, making no effort to get to know the duplicates. He was affectionate enough with Wayne for Timothy to pick up on that relationship, which was still less disturbing than the fact that Stray knew his Jason in a biblical sense. It was going to take weeks before Timothy could look at either Kon or Jason without blushing. 

When he got back.

Because he was getting back. He had promised to take Bernard out to a musical and, if time was running at the same speed, it should be in town for another week. He needed to return to his universe. 

But apparently these people ‘wanted to try something’ first. Bart, who couldn’t keep his mouth shut in any universe, had revealed the existence of a man made portal, but because magic had caused this they wanted to try and use magic to fix it first. It made sense, save for the part where Batman was so quick to turn to magic.

The other Tims were weird too. The less said about Stray the better, but Wayne was odd. He had the skills and the knowledge, had obviously trained, and there was a Red Robin costume hanging in the Cave but apparently he had allowed Bruce to ground him until he was eighteen. Considering that Timothy had become Robin precisely because he had refused to let Bruce ground him at twelve, he didn’t understand how his alternate self took the order so easily. 

The only reason Timothy wasn’t out there patrolling right now was because he didn’t want to slip through a magic crack and end up in yet another alternate universe. He was on a time limit and had a family waiting. 

Which was why he bore the indignity of sitting in a fucking minivan while in gear. Everyone had dressed up, except for Cass, who was staying to protect Dami and Jon if things somehow got worse, and Jason, who had stopped being a vigilante . He’d still died, dodged the murderous stage, and was going back to school in the fall. 

God, this place was fucking weird.

He spent most of the trip studying the city, cataloguing differences and similarities. A lot of buildings stood here that Tim knew had been reduced to rubble in his own time and he wasn’t sure if it was because the disasters that had torn them down had been averted or if they were just waiting to happen. Given that the Joker was dead there was a good chance they were going to remain for a while. 

“So,” Timothy shuddered as Stray leaned in close. “You and me. Would it be twincest or masturbation?” He breathily whispered in Timothy’s ear. “Either way I bet it would be mind blowing.”

“Stray!” Batman’s voice cracked through the van and the other boy sat up ramrod straight. “If I need to talk to you about bodily consent one more time you will be cleaning the Cave with a toothbrush. Now, apologize to Red.”

“Sorry, Red,” came the cowed reply. Good. Timothy was safe from sexual harassament for another five minutes. Yay. Maybe next time Stray would lean the other way and bother Wayne. 

“This one,” Conner pointed out from the front seat. In the middle row Bart hopped out of the van and pulled the door open and let them park inside.

Constantine was already waiting. 

“I’m half done, luvs,” he announced, not looking up from where he was drawing a complicated diagram on the wall. 

“Constantine,” Batman greeted and that caught the magician’s attention. 

“Of course they’re yours,” he said with a snort, turning his attention back to the spell circle. “Given the headlines I take it you didn’t catch your murderer.”

Batman grunted. At least some things were universal. 

“You lot,” Constantine scribbled in a complicated looking rune, “go stand by your car. I’ll let you know when you can come close.” Dick grabbed Bart by the collar and hauled him over while Batman snagged Stray by the scruff of his neck. 

“Are you going to choke me, Daddy?” he asked with a wicked little grin. 

Batman’s sigh sounded like his soul escaping his body and Constantine scoffed. “I can see why you were in a hurry if that’s what you’ve been having to put up with.”  

Stray opened his mouth, probably to say something lewd to Constantine, but Batman covered it with his hand. The boy whined but Batman didn’t shift, thank god, keeping Stray from speaking. It was the most peace anyone had gotten since meeting the leatherboy. 

There was some quiet conversation that mostly consisted of nervous mumbles from Bart. Apparently he had beef with Constantine and attachment issues with Wayne. It had been interesting watching the speedster pick which instinct to obey but Timothy wasn’t really surprised. Bart was good people and always came through in a pinch. 

As long as no one let him drive. 

“There!” Constantine said, tucking the chalk away and brushing his fingers off on his trenchcoat. “Now I need our triplets here to stand in the middle. “ Constantine pointed at a circle he’d done up in the middle of the floor, in between the two he’d drawn on the walls. “I want the original in the middle and one to each side. If there is a crack you’ll both slip right through, back to where you belong, so make sure you aren’t touching. I don’t want to have to try and summon anyone here back.”

Timothy nodded and put as much distance between him and Wayne as possible while remaining in the circle. Stray, for his part, didn’t capitalize on any of the possible dirty jokes, instead taking his place silently. With a deep breath, Timothy closed his eyes to fight back his nerves. He didn’t mind magic when the caster was someone he trusted. Constantine had always been a man invested in his own motives. 

It made Timothy nervous. 

Chanting filled the room, echoing in a way it shouldn’t in this small of a space. Constantine’s voice boomed with power and light flared up, Timothy’s eyes barely protected by his lids. There was a clap of thunder in Timothy’s chest and he hit the ground, breathless.

He gasped on the floor before looking up.

Constantine stared down at him with a grim face. 

-

“It’s not a tear,” Constantine said before taking a long drag. “If it was that spell would have sent them back and sealed the whole thing.”

“Maybe you did it wrong,” Bruce accused. The spell had failed spectacularly, blowing the windows out of the warehouse and the van. Red was sitting with his back against the vehicle, ignoring the piles of glass while Stray was gushing about the big finish. Bruce could tell that both boys were far closer to panicking than they wanted to admit. 

Tim, for his part, just looked stressed. 

Constantine jabbed him in the armour. “I don’t come and tell you how to do your job. You don’t tell me how to do mine. The spell was fine. Your problem isn’t a tear.”

“I still have two extra sidekicks.”

“I belong to Catwoman,” Stray called, in case anyone had forgotten. 

Constantine and Bruce both ignored him. “Can you determine the cause? It didn’t start occurring until after Jon was retrieved.”

Constantine snubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe, saving half for later. “Bad news for you, Bats. I’m going to need to see that kid. He might be the problem.”

“We’re not sending him back.”

Constantine shrugged. “You might not have a choice. If he’s drawing other people here then you are going to have to decide between him or the longest game of interdimensional whack-a-mole. Though you might get lucky.” Constantine stuffed his hands in his pockets. “If the kid is where the leak is coming from I should be able to tie it all up without sending him off.”

Bruce didn’t like it. Not just because the situation made him uncomfortable – the idea of sacrificing Jon made his skin crawl – but because they were both missing something that was fairly obvious and Bruce didn’t know what it was. “Should I bring him here?”

“Nah,” Constantine shook his head. “Take me to your lair. This place is burnt. Too many spells in too short a time. Anything else I try to do here will either explode or fizzle out.”

“We’ll find a new location.” Bruce was not letting a magic user wreak havoc in the Cave. He had too many sensitive instruments that could break and a house that could end up vanished. He’d find them somewhere more appropriate. 

The League Communicator buzzed to life. “Batman here,” Bruce said, putting his finger to his ear.

There was a gurgling noise at the end of the radio. “I,” Clark coughed wetly. “Was right.” 

“Superman, status!”

Just rasping breaths. 

Bruce flipped channels. “All available members of the Justice League, report to Superman’s location. Bring medical.” 

“Flash here. I’m on my way.” Thank goodness Barry was free. He had the best chance of reaching Clark before the situation escalated. 

Bruce switched back to Clark’s line. “Superman, help is on the way.”

It wasn’t Clark who spoke. “Dad?” It was Tim’s voice but sounded so wrong, twisted and jagged. “Dad, I didn’t mean to. He was a good man.”

“Tim, what did you do?” Everyone’s gazes snapped to Bruce. Red pushed himself off of the ground and even Stray looked serious.  

The high pitched laughter of a dead man cut through Bruce’s ears. “It’s Junior, Dad. You know that. You left me there, ” Tim hissed. Then he shrieked as though he’d just told the funniest joke in the world that no one else got, just like the Joker used to. “That’s okay. It wasn’t you. You’re a good Dad.”

What had happened to this Tim? What had the boy done?

“He was a good Dad, too. I’m sorry. I didn’t wa-” The radio cut off for a moment. 

“Flash here.” The speedster sounded shaken. Barry might be laid back but he was tough and could handle anything the world threw at him. “Switching to all channels.”

Bruce switched over his comm. “What the hell is going on?” Asked Oliver. Everyone else was smart enough to brace themselves for the report. 

“I have two confirmed dead and custody of Timothy Wayne.”

Bruce lowered his head in grief, allowing it to pass over him like a cloud before getting back to business. “Any injured?”

There was a pained silence. “No.”

“Who?” Diana asked in her unbreakable tone, being strong where many of them were not ready to be. 

“Clark, I mean Superman, and Jonathan Kent.” Barry’s breathing was noticeably shaky. “Tim killed them.”

“He told us Tim was dangerous,” Hal snapped. “And he’d be alive if we’d just listened. ”

Bruce was not having that. “The Tim with you is not my son.”

“Denial is not-”

Bruce cut Oliver off. The man had no room to talk about children and what variations of them might be up to. “I am currently in a room with my son and two variations of him from across the multiverse.” No one on the radio said anything. “I am working with Constantine to resolve the situation.”

“Does this sound like it’s being fucking handled?” snarled Hal. “Superman is dead -”

“We need to secure the scene,” Diana cut in, taking charge where Bruce couldn’t. No one would be willing to listen to him right now. “Martha shouldn’t have to see this.” God, Martha. “Once that’s done I want everyone to report to Watchtower. It sounds like we have much to discuss.”

“Do not relax your guard around the prisoner,” Bruce cautioned. “I believe he is responsible for the deaths of the Joker, Lex Luthor, and Bane.”

“Holy shit,” Barry whispered. 

Bruce signed off. He had nothing else to contribute to the conversation and his presence would only cause further distractions.

“Batman, what’s Superman’s status?” Dick asked, still wearing his Nightwing costume, still wearing his tribute to a man who had fallen so far.  

“At the Cave,” Bruce grunted. Not here. Not now. He would tell his children when they were somewhere they could feel safe, though judging by Conner’s shaking the boy already knew. Of course he did. Kryptonian hearing. 

Tim reached out to his boyfriend, wrapping his body around the Kryptonian as though the more they touched the more comfort he could provide. 

“One of us killed Superman,” Red deduced. 

Constantine whistled, low and sharp. “That’s a big fucking problem.”

Conner pushed his forehead against Tim’s cowl. “Pa’s dead too.” Tear tracks ran down his cheeks. He knew that Conner had some contact with the Kents but he didn’t know how extensive it had been. Tim brushed a hand through the Kryptonian’s hair.

“Jesus,” Dick stumbled back as though he’d been punched. “No,” he shook his head. “How did this happen? What motive could someone have for killing Pa Kent?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Bruce grunted. 

With the van destroyed, Bruce had little choice but to lead them down one the Cave’s emergency exits, speeding through one of the winding tunnels that peppered Gotham’s underground that lead to the Cave. He’d dragged Constantine along, certain that man’s presence would be required by the League if they wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on. 

They made the journey in silence, save for Conner’s occasional hitched breaths. Even Stray had nothing to say. When they arrived at the Cave Bruce hugged them all, giving Conner an extra squeeze, before firing up the Zeta beam he’d installed after Zatanna had nearly killed Tim. 

Constantine followed, for once not bitching despite how uncomfortable Bruce knew he had to be. 

Then Tim stepped onto the platform. Bruce gave him the Batglare. “There is no place for you in this.” He was not throwing Tim before a League that would be baying for his blood despite his obvious innocence. Tim needed to stay home with everyone else. Bruce and Constantine could handle it.

“We need to get information out of this other Tim. Who do you think he’ll answer to?”

“Tim,” Bruce fought the urge to push the boy off of the platform. “I don’t want you there for this.”

“Batman.” Tim gave him his coldest, most professional look, one Bruce hadn’t seen since after the situation with Ra’s and Batman Tim had been dealt with. “We don't have a choice.”

- 

Tim didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be in the Watchtower again, Zatanna’s voice echoing in the halls. He didn’t want to be under the League’s glares as they stared at him as though he could have somehow predicted this, prevented it . 

He didn't want to be here but Jonathan Kent deserved Justice, even if all they would ever know is why he had to die. 

Diana, who had silently declared herself leader, concluded that the first order of business was to speak to the alternate, to discern his motives and find out how many victims there were. There had been a brief argument, many of the Leaguers wanting to haul him up into the conference room and wrap him in the Lasso of Truth. Common sense won out. Letting the person who had killed Superman out of a cage was asking for trouble. 

So Tim stood before the shielded door, Bruce, Billy, and Diana at his side. He took a deep breath and pulled down his cowl. “Tim?” he called out.

“Tim Tim Tim,” echoed the double, his eyes manic but aware. He turned to face Tim.

He was in what had once been a white dress shirt – the same color as his skin – with a vest the shade of green that Gothamites had grown to fear. His plum tie, which matched his slacks, was done up in a complicated knot.

He was absolutely covered in blood. 

“Tim went away. I’m Junior.” Captain Marvel shifted and Tim felt validated to know he wasn’t the only one who was unnerved. “I killed Daddy because he wanted me to kill my Dad and I didn’t because I was a good son and Dad locked me away. ”

Jesus fucking Chrst. “Hi, Junior,” he said softly, as though speaking to a small child. “Can you tell me about Superman?”

“He used to take Tim flying,” Junior said, his eyes focusing on something far away. “Up above the clouds and we would see so much.” His gaze snapped to Tim, perfectly clear. “He used to come visit Junior, after Dad sent us away. I love Superman.”

“Junior,” Tim said gently, both wishing he could touch the crazed boy and glad of the shield between them, “you killed Superman.”

Laughter like twisted metal echoed down the hall. “You’re funny,” Junior said, wiping a tear from his eye. “That’s what Daddy liked about me. I’m funny too.” He grinned and Tim had no doubt who ‘Daddy’ had been. “He wasn’t Super here. No, he was just Man. And he threatened Timmy. We can’t have that. Not here.”

Tim could feel a cold sweat run down his neck. He didn't want to ask. He had to. “‘Not here?’”

Junior hummed a few bars of a lullaby that one of Tim’s old nannies used to sing. He didn’t remember the lyrics, didn’t remember the nanny’s name, but the tune he knew. “Junior likes to travel. We go places to say hi to Timmy, to make sure he is happy and safe.” He threw his arms wide, as though trying to hold the world. “This Timmy is the best.”

Tim felt Bruce place his hand on Tim’s shoulders, inviting him to stop, to leave. 

But they needed answers. 

Junior burst out into his haunting laugh again. “Timmy has the chance to be happy here! Dad loves you,” he looked at Bruce with wonder and adoration. “Jay loves you and Damian loves you and everyone loves you, Timmy. No one here would throw you away.” Junior moved forward, leaning his head against the force field. “So Junior made this place safe so you could be happy!”

“Why Mr. Kent?” Tim whispered. 

“He wouldn’t move, ” Junior hissed. “He kept getting in the way. ‘Run, Clark! Get to the truck!’ I needed to get to Man. Man needed to die. He made me kill Pa.” Junior whimpered. “Don’t you see? I didn’t want to but he made me!”

With that Junior burst into tears and began sobbing into his bloody hands. 

Tim should ask more, he thought dully. He should get details, like when he arrived, how he arrived, but he just felt…

Empty.

“Come on.” Bruce pulled Tim by the arm, leading down the hallway until he could push Tim into an empty room. The moment the door snapped shut Bruce wrapped Tim in a hug. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“He did it because of me,” Tim whispered into Bruce’s shoulder. 

“He did it because of him,” Bruce corrected gently. “He’s deeply unwell and it sounds like no one helped him. That’s not on you.”

“Dad,” Bruce tightened his grip and Tim let out a soft, choked sob. “Dad,” he said again, pulling as much comfort from the word as he could.

“I’ve got you, son,” Bruce promised. 

-

Dami had been trained by the best, so he was always armed and always ready, which was why when the shadow began to form he’d already tossed his knife.

His timing had been premature, the knife embedding itself into the wall before the figure solidified into a very familiar looking boy. He was in cargo shorts and a practical T-shirt, with paint on the tip of his nose. 

The newest brunette straightened, glancing around the toy room with clear disdain before snapping his focus onto Dami. “Tt,” he clicked his tongue in disgust, as though he had any right to judge Dami in Dami’s own house. “Why has Drake summoned me to the universe he has chosen to hide in like the cowardly cur he is?” this Damian demanded, his eyes broiling with something vicious. “Tell me where he is so I can end him, once and for all!”

“Conner!” Jon screamed at the top of his lungs, taking a step so that he was between Dami and his attacker. It was an excellent opportunity to rearm himself, so Dami grabbed the nearest picture frame.

“I will kill you before you set your eyes on Timothy!” he hissed, meaning every word. Father would be displeased but Dami could live with that if it meant Timothy’s safety. 

Damian lunged. He was older than Dami and Jon, and bulkier as well. It was easy for him to slap the Kryptonian out of the way as he lunged forward. Dami tossed the picture frame, catching his counterpart in the forehead. As Damian shook his head to clear away the stars Dami lunged and grabbed the handle of his knife, pulling it free from the wall. 

Damian hissed and produced a weapon of his own.

The door imploded into a thousand pieces, revealing the Clone and Todd. Not Cassandra, who would have been the most useful, but Dami did not have the luxury of choosing allies right now. 

“What the fuck?” Jay asked, as slow as usual on the uptake. 

“You go left, I go right,” the Clone lunged towards Damian, disarming him and spinning him into a bear hug so that his back was to the Clone’s chest, leaving the boy to kick uselessly. It would have been excellent had Todd not captured Dami in the exact same hold.

“You okay, squirt?” Conner asked, looking at Jon who had shakily gotten to his feet and was floating slightly. 

“Release me!” demanded Damian. “I will not suffer this insult. Drake will pay for what he has done to Father! And for bringing me here! I will have his blood!”

Dami did not bother to make demands. Todd was an idiot. Instead he lifted his arms, flowing out of Todd’s grip like water. The moment he hit the ground he lunged forward, using the best weapon he had available since Todd had seen it necessary to strip him of his knife. 

He used his teeth. 

He bit deep into the boy’s unprotected shin, hard enough to draw blood through the wound. He opened his mouth to bite again but Todd, damn his interference, pinned him to the floor. “Dami, no. Bad,” he chastised as though Dami were a stupid animal, instead of a brother doing his duty . 

“I will kill you all!” Damian shrieked. “I will hang your guts from the stair railings.” 

Todd carefully lifted Dami, keeping his arms twisted in such a way that he couldn’t break free, before looking to Conner for direction. “Cave?” he asked. 

“Cave,” Conner nodded.  

Excellent. There were more weapons there that Dami could access to end this intruder.

Chapter Text

Lois was hard on jewellery. She banged it against things. Chipped it. Scratched it. Snagged it. She hated it as a gift because it came with the expectation that she would have to wear it, a responsibility that she could not live up to. She’d only ever had one piece that she’d ever tried to wear daily. 

It was a plain band. Gold but a low karat to make the metal tougher. Even then it was still battered, dented and gouged from all the stress Lois put it through.

She used to tell Clark that she’d get it polished one of these days, so it could shine like it did the way it was new. He always told her he liked how battered it got, every nick as evidence of the life they shared together.

He’d never say that again. 

Lois had left Clark. No matter how far along in the paperwork they were, it had been a done deal on her end. There was something that had been fundamentally wrong with Clark Kent the last time she’d seen him and she wanted him out of her life. 

But she hadn’t wanted him dead .  

She traced her thumb along a particularly noticeable dent. She’d been tossed by another one of Lex’s stupid robots into a wall. She’d had a bump on her head for a week to match the ring. Clark had doted on her and she grumbled over it but secretly she’d been pleased. It had been nice to relax, to not have to think, while her body dealt with the injury. 

That was the worst part. Clark wasn’t a bad man. Or, if he was, he hadn’t always been. She had so many wonderful memories of him. From so many larger than life moments where he saved the day to those important little intimacies that made the day worth saving. And there had been hope. Hope that he would heal from whatever was going on, that he could go back to being, if not the man he was before, a decent man who once again believed in something greater than himself. 

There was so much to mourn and she didn’t know where to start. 

She just felt numb. 

“More tea, Ms. Lane?” Alfred asked in a soft tone. Not pitying, but professional enough to not set her off into another round of sobs. She supposed that Alfred had a lot of practice with people dealing with death. 

“Thank you, Alfred.” She pushed her mug closer to him to make it easier to fill. He left enough room that it didn’t splash when she dragged it closer, wrapping her hands around the cup. The heat did more to help than the flavor. “I should find Jon,” she muttered. She felt like a terrible parent. Bruce said both that that was a sign she was doing it right and that the feeling would pass with time. Jon was a good boy, good in all the ways that Clark had been, and he was healing in slow steps. She didn’t know how she would have handled trying to take care of him on her own. 

She probably would have broken down and confessed the situation to Martha. 

Martha, who had lost her son and her husband in an act of senseless violence. If this was Lois’s grief after leaving Clark she couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of Martha’s pain. Did the woman even know yet? Had anyone told her? Was anyone with her? 

“Miss Cassandra has it well in hand,” Alfred assured her as he poured his own cup.

“Well, I should do something !” Lois snapped. She gripped the mug so tightly she could imagine the glass shattering in her hand. She drew in a long, deep breath, relaxing her grip. “Sorry, Alfred.”

“Quite alright, Ms. Lane.” He sat beside her, radiating a quiet kind of comfort. “These walls have seen grief many times. They have also seen healing.”

“Let me guess. It gets easier,” she said bitterly. 

Alfred gave a considering hum. “Sometimes. But now is not the time to be concerned about the future, only the moment. This moment hurts. 

“So let us hurt together.”

-  

Tim had pulled his cowl back up not to hide his identity, which was basically known to the entire League, but to disguise red, puffy eyes and allow him to draw on the emotional distance that being Red Robin had always allowed him. 

He needed it desperately. 

The boy in the cell was not Tim Drake. He had been, at one point, but whoever he was, whatever he was now, the part that had fundamentally made Tim Drake who he was had been burned out. Quite literally if the scars Tim had seen on Junior’s temple were any indication. What had transpired wasn’t Tim’s fault. In some ways Tim believed it probably wasn’t entirely Junior’s fault, but instead the hands that had moulded him and the ones that had let him loose. But that didn’t really matter.

Superman was still dead. 

“I call this meeting to order!” Diana’s voice sliced through the silence like an arrow. 

Everyone was there; even Oliver had allowed himself to be dragged from Roy’s side. Each person was grim faced but dry eyed. There would be time to mourn later, when there was less to do. 

“Batman. Explain the situation.” Bruce rose to speak but was cut off by Arthur. 

“Your son killed Superman.” Apparently years of being Other Bruce’s least favourite Robin came in handy. Tim didn’t even flinch. 

The glare Bruce sent the king of Atlantis could have stripped scales off of a fish. Bruce stood in silence, demanding attention and a cautious respect in the way that only Batman truly could. When he went to speak again, no one interrupted. “We are having multiple multiverse incursions centering around my people. At first we thought the event was localized to a single coordinate, but Constantine was able to confirm the issue was not connected to a physical location.” People glanced at the magician, who nodded dourly.

People were barely breathing as they listened to Bruce’s stark report. “Given the timeline, Junior, the Tim variant that we have in custody, was the first variant to slip into our world though, given his own testimony, he was at least partially involved in his own travel. Red was the next. He had already been displaced and his attempt to return to his universe was unsuccessful and landed him in ours. 

“Stray just appeared and reported that he was doing nothing that could have resulted in multiverse travel. 

“Furthermore, a variant of my other son arrived moments after our interrogation of the prisoner. Those affected by the phenomena are broadening.

“The window in between events is decreasing.” 

-

Dick was the eldest son of Bruce Wayne, the first sidekick of the Batman himself, and that came with responsibilities that couldn’t be shirked or shifted, no matter how hard he was grieving. And he was.

He thought he’d had no more tears to give Clark, that the man was all but dead in his heart. 

Apparently he was wrong about that. 

But now was not the time to cry. Alfred was taking care of Lois, and Cass and Bart had been placed to guard both Dami and Jon since Damian had slipped into their dimension. The new kid was a badger and Dick had snapped a blood sample to make sure he wasn’t rabid. Since they had locked him in one of the polymer cells he’d done little but feel for seams and throw himself at the glass, looking for ways out.  

He wouldn’t find any. That cell was designed to hold a clear-minded Bruce packing a Venom punch. A snotty brat like him was truly stuck until someone let him out. Given the way Conner, Jay and the Tims were watching Damian, ‘true blood son, heir to the Batman, and from the Superior Dimension’ Wayne with curious horror, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. 

The kid kept screaming about vengeance, about how ‘Drake’ left the family destitute by coming here. Dick would not be surprised if he came from Tim’s original dimension, or one very close to it. 

He still needed to be babysat. For all Dick knew the little monster’s Batman was going to come through and then they’d have to have a real party. Dick could hold on, could keep his grief bottled until the job was done. 

Bruce had tasked him with creating an algorithm for finding energy variations. It was his responsibility. 

“Hey!” cried out an impossible voice. “There isn’t a penny in here!” 

Dick drew his escrimas, twirling them in his hands as the intruder stepped into view. It was him if he’d ever designed a costume after a PCP fuelled rewatch of Saturday Night Fever. He didn’t know what was more egregious, the zipper that showed off most of his chest or the popped collar that was as high as his ears. Dark blue as a base was good for stealth but it was absolutely ruined by the gold tassels that hugged his chest and shoulders.

It was ridiculous. 

“Easy!” this Disco Dick said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I swear I come in peace.” 

Stray practically purred. “In that outfit you could come in a lot more than tha-ow!” He hissed, rubbing his head where Red had cuffed him. 

“Grayson! Release me from this infernal prison so I might enact my revenge on these fools!” 

Disco Dick smiled disarmingly at the crowded Cave, only seemingly recognizing Dick himself. “I don’t know who that is but I’m not with him.”

Dick kept his guard up while reflecting the smile. “Hope you don’t mind but I’m going to have to insist that you take the accommodations next to him.”

“Since you asked so politely.”

Conner, Jay, and Red fell into fighting positions. They all knew Dick well enough to know when his nice was over a layer of not so nice. Stray, for his part, looked disturbingly excited. 

“Look,” Dick explained, “we’re having a multiverse event. No, we didn’t bring you here. Yes, we want you to go home and do whatever it is that you do but I do not have the time or the fucks to give on figuring out if you are an enemy or an ally so just get in the cell. If you cooperate you get a book.”

“Holy shit. Did Dick just swear ?” 

“Not the time, Jason,” Dick said sharply

“Full name,” muttered Conner. 

Disco Dick flicked his gaze to Jason. “You didn’t live this long in my world.” There was a fresh grief beneath the words.

“Eh.” Jay shrugged. “I dug my way out of my own grave and then was kidnapped by the League of Assassins.”

Disco Dick opened his mouth, gaping. “I need to get back. Now!” he demanded, his voice flinty. 

“We’re going to get you home as soon as we can, but the sooner you get in the cell the sooner we can go back to finding a solution.” Dick felt himself relax a little as Disco Dick nodded and put his hands on top of his head. 

“No! Grayson! Have you no pride?” Damian snarled like an angry kitten in desperate need of nail caps.  

Once Disco Dick was placed firmly in the cell with the promised book everyone sighed a breath of relief. He seemed a lot like Dick.

If Dick was a fashion disaster. 

Damian had decided that the newcomer would be an excellent target of abuse and had immediately begun slinging imaginative insults and threats while Jay, Red, and Stray all explained what had happened to Jay.  

Disco Dick gave a bitter nod as he processed his brother’s possible fate. Then he tucked the emotion away behind a light smile. “Seriously, though,” Disco Dick asked over Damian’s vitriol, “who's the kid?”

-

“So what you are saying is that we likely have more copies of your psycho son out there and we should all watch our backs,” snarled Hal. 

“It’s a possibility.” In the multiverse all things happened. 

“I can’t be here for this.” Oliver stood. “This puts Roy in danger and I am not losing him a second time.” He marched out of the room. 

No one tried to stop him. 

Barry looked pale and he was shaking, but his eyes were clear. “Our first priority should be locating them.”

“Nightwing is already on it.” That sentence was like chewing glass, the reminder of Clark buried into the costume’s mythos. 

No. Batman didn’t have time for grief and Bruce didn’t have time for anything but Batman right now. 

“You said that you originally suspected it was tied to a location and you brought Constantine ,” Diana sounded pained as she grit out the name, “to investigate. Explain your reasoning.”

Constantine spoke up in his own defense. “A couple of lads took a quick jaunt to another universe and needed a guide. I volunteered.”

Tension in the room ratcheted up. “You opened a portal to another dimension,” accused Doctor Fate. 

Constantine shrugged lazily. “I don’t have the power to do something like that. Your boy Klarion did that. I was just daft enough to step through it.”

-

Jay was laughing and joking with Peacock Dick, because that’s what he looked like with that stupid collar.

He could tell the duplicate was handling him. The guy seemed smart enough to know that it wasn’t just the multiverse bullshit they were dealing with that had everyone on edge but no one here was stupid enough to tell a stranger that Superman was dead. 

Peacock made it easy to pretend and Jay was fairly certain, as they compared stories of what Jay had and hadn’t done with Dick, that the guy was working out some of his own grief. It wasn’t a perfect situation but the angry shrew had worn himself out and was now just huffing angrily in the corner, like an actively murderous blowfish. 

It was the bats that tipped Jay off. “Dick!” he yelled as he lunged towards the weapons’ drawer. Red had a bo and Stray, who had decided not to be useless this time, whipped out his, well, whip. 

Batman stepped out of the shadows and both Red and Stray lowered their weapons. Jay and Dick raised theirs. 

“Bruce. Why do you have a gun?”

“ What the fuck did you just call me?” The man’s voice was deep, like a smoker that gargled tacks in between doing shots. Given the way he smelled that guess might have been spot on. 

“So. Not B.” Dick smiled and Damian scoffed. 

“My Father would never let his appearance go so uncared for.”

It was true, now that Jay was looking for it. There were mystery stains on the armor, patches on the chest plate and tears at the edge of the cape. They looked like they were born from negligence, not commitment to the theme. He also smelled like Willis.  

So. Alcoholic Batman with a gun.

“My son is dead!” barked AA Batman and holy fuck that made him Thomas Wayne. 

“Not here.” Dick didn’t sound intimidated by this guy at all, but Dick was still in uniform. Jay’s sweater was not bulletproof. “Bruce is Batman here and this is his Cave. We’re having people from alternate universe fall into ours and we are trying to fix-”

Thomas snarled. “This is probably that fucker the Flash’s fault. Move it, kid.” Nobody did any moving and Thomas growled, showing exactly where Damian got that from. “You are gonna need to track movement and for that you’ll need to trace energy bursts. Given the piss poor job you did of noticing me you haven’t isolated the radiation bursts that precede this. I know them and can program them in so we can sort out this clusterfuck.”

The bats screeched as everyone waited for Dick to make the decision. When he came to it he nodded firmly. “You put the gun down and you can play on the computer.”

Thomas did as asked with a laugh that was like walking over someone’s grave. “I’m still dangerous without a gun.”

Conner bared his teeth. “So are we.”

-

Tim watched as Doctor Fate worked grimly, golden circles flickering in and out of life as the Lord of Order searched for something only he could see. Constantine waited as patiently as the man ever did, making sure to keep his angry mutters about being denied a smoke under his breath. Tim didn’t blame him. If it weren’t for the protective lenses in his suit he’d have a blaring headache. 

As it was he relaxed his shoulders as best he could. He had no idea how long this was going to take and his turn was next. Hopefully they’d find something because Doctor Fate was going to otherwise make Bruce haul up everyone who’d crossed over to the other universe to rescue Jon. 

-

“Where’s Tim?” Everyone was instantly on guard as Klarion manifested in the Cave. “Where is he? We don’t have much time!” Teekl hit the ground with a yelp before wrapping himself around Klarion’s ankles. The Chaos Lord didn’t reach down to pick up the familiar. 

Dick drew his escrimas and launched himself towards Klarion, ready to beat the gremlin out of his home but a whip snapped and caught him across the arm. “What are you doing?” He hissed, grabbing the whip so he could pull Tim Stray close and punch him in the throat.

“Klarion and I are friends where I’m from!”

Thomas pulled out a flask and had a long pull. 

“You’re friends with a Chaos Lord?” Conner asked, his inflectionless. 

“I’m not a Chaos Lord.” Klarion blinked guilessly. “I’m descended from witches, and I need to talk to Tim.” Red opened his mouth but Klarion shook his head. “My Tim. We don’t have much time.”

-

Tim’s scan took much less time. 

The lights flared out and Doctor Fate let his arms drop. “We’re too late.” The pronouncement sent shivers up Tim’s spine.  

“Explain,” ordered Bruce. 

“There is a hole in reality around the boy.”

“So we patch it up,” Hal pointed out obliviously, as though one could slap a piece of tape over the fabric of the universe. 

“It has been there too long and has been used too often.” 

Tim frowned at the news. “I haven’t been using holes in reality to do anything.”

“How many times have you left this universe?” Nobu challenged. “How many times have you travelled through time, have you ignored the laws of order? No,” he rose into the air. “You did not create the tear but you have exploited it and now it is a chasm. It is only a matter of time before reality, all realities, collapse.” 

“Who created the tear,” Bruce asked urgently. Guiltily. No, it couldn’t have been Bruce. If it had been his device the tear would be centered around him, so what had Tim experienced that Bruce hadn’t?

“It was Zatanna,” Tim deduced. Doctor Fate nodded. “So why don’t we ask her for help? If she did it she can fix it.”

Familiar laughter filled the room. “You. Didn’t. Tell. Him.” Klarion accused in delight. Nobu raised his hand, golden magic swirling about and Klarion flicked his fingers dismissively. “You can’t just tear reality,” he snickered. “At least not without reality tearing at you.”

Oh god.

Zatanna was dead . Tim had just assumed the League had dealt with her, sealed her powers and left her somewhere to learn her lesson. He hadn’t considered any other possibility. 

“And now look at the delightful mess we’re in!” Even as he cackled a crevice split the air. The man who stepped through wasn’t Superman, given by the giant U on his chest, and the scowl that Tim recognized from most Gotham mobsters. 

“Someone here better have a fucking explanation or you’re going to answer to Ultraman!” Bruce wasted no time in drawing a piece of kryptonite and lunging.  

Tim took a step to go help but another crack appeared. 

“Klarion!” Tim called. “Klarion how do we fix this?”

The Chaos Lord giggled. “I told you I’d be the one to kill you, Tim.”

Not like this. He was supposed to kill Tim and only Tim. “You’ll die too!” Tim argued. “Death is order. Nothing will be out of place ever again.”

Klarion opened his mouth and then paused, frowning. “Fiddleferns,” he muttered, as though he hadn’t thought this all the way through. 

“Tim! Batman!” Nightwing ducked into the growing chaos of the conference room, his outfit torn and, in some places, bloody. Behind him stood an equally dishevelled Klarion. 

“Tim, this Klarion says he's yours. Talk to him! Apparently he owes you a favor.” Dick launched himself into the fight.

Klarion, Tim’s Klarion, grabbed him by the gloves and started to draw on one. “I can’t save you, Tim, but I can save the multiverse. I’m sorry,” he apologized frantically as he started to draw up Tim’s arm.

“What are you doing?” This world’s Klarion asked with growing interest. 

“We can’t plug the hole but we can remove it,” Tim’s Klarion mumbled as he bit his tongue in concentration. 

Klarion stroked his chin. “We just pull him out of existence and then-”

“-everything falls back into place.”

Tim did not like this plan. He did not like it at all. “That sounds painful.” It sounded worse than painful. 

The conference room started to bleed away, turning into desert and mountain and plain and city all intersecting at a single jagged point.

“It won’t be,” his Klarion promised. “Just a light pull and then you’ll be gone.”

Klarion snorted. “It will be practically boring.”

Tim’s Klarion started writing on his other glove. “What about the people here? What about Jon and Cass? What will happen to them?” 

“That!” Tim’s Klarion exclaimed. “That will be my favor! They can stay, Tim. So I’ll keep my promise.” 

“And the alternates, like Stray?”

“They all go home,” The Klarions echoed back. 

One problem solved. One more left. 

“I don’t want to die,” Tim admitted, as though that could change what needed to happen. More people were falling through: heroes, civilians and villains spreading wide. Tim believed the only reason they hadn’t been shoved was due to the Witch Boys’ magic. 

“You won’t!” Klarion sounded delighted. “You’ll just cease to be! But,” he hummed, “you are interesting, for a human.” He sighed. “Too bad death is order or maybe I would have just let this play out.” A circle of crimson appeared beneath Tim’s feet as his Klarion stepped back, looking satisfied. 

Tears made of starlight split the ground. 

“It won’t hurt,” he promised. 

“Wait!” Tim looked around, trying to pick out his Bruce from the mass of Batmen. “I need to say goodbye!”

Light flared up around him. 

"Tim! "

Chapter Text

Tim’s fingers stuttered across the keyboard, the only betrayal of his surprise. It was a small sign, though Tim had no doubt that it had been caught and Tim was being evaluated based on it, based on everything that could be seen in here, and Tim would yet again be found wanting. 

The safe house was lacking and in poor taste. An abandoned restaurant from when Falcone had been top dog, there was a basement that didn’t exist on any blueprint filled with concrete rooms that had drains in the floor and eye screws in the ceiling. Tim had claimed the one furthest from the trapdoor that led up into the restaurant as his own by virtue of it having an old power generator inside, moving in just the very basics: a mattress, a mini-fridge, a computer and a workbench. It wasn’t comfortable like a hotel would be, but Tim had craved the security more than comfort and with only one entrance it theoretically should have been possible for Tim to set up a kickass warning system so he could secure the room before anyone even found the basement. 

Given that Batman had found his way in, that theory was rapidly falling apart. 

Tim bit back a sigh. He’d planned on getting a few hours of sleep after he’d finished responding to Lucius’s emails, proving to the man that despite his days of silence Tim was indeed alive. It looked like instead he’d be either upgrading his security or moving his things to a new temporary safe house. If Batman could get in, Damian or Jason could get in and that would lead to Tim waking up dead. 

“Are you hurt?” Batman asked, concern painting his tone.

Tim's hands froze. He couldn't remember the last time Batman had asked him that. Before Bruce had fallen through time. Probably before Damian had appeared. And even then the question had always been loaded, more about Batman cataloguing Tim’s failures than inquiring about his health. 

Batman didn't bother to record Tim's failures anymore. Him almost killing Captain Boomerang had cemented Tim as the black sheep of the family. Not that Tim had ever been family. Whatever. The point was that now Batman only watched Tim to see if he left behind a trail of corpses, which, considering Jason and Damian, was actually kind of hilarious in the most fucked up sense. If Kon and Bart had survived, it was something they would have laughed over together. 

Tim pushed the dead aside and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Why was Batman here? The three most likely options were that: Batman was legitimately worried about Tim, Batman wanted to reprimand Red Robin, or Tim was hallucinating because even he could only go without sleep for so long. The first was a manifestation of Tim’s fantasies, not a reflection of any possible reality. He judged himself for even bringing it up as an option. The third would explain both the concerned tone and the lack of alarms, but until the second theory was dismissed Tim would assume it to be true. Better to be cautious with hallucination Batman than overshare with the real thing. 

“I'm fine.”

Batman’s shoulders slumped with relief, though Tim wasn’t sure why. There was the expectation that he would be fine, that it was only the Riddler, that Red Robin could take care of himself. 

“Then we need to go.”

“...Go?” Tim asked, titling his head. “Has there been another breakout?” No, Tim would have heard. It must be something else. 

Watching the way Batman stiffened was fascinating, as it was so out of character. Bruce didn’t do suprised, didn’t get caught off guard. If Tim was so far out of the loop that his ignorance was shocking then he was in deep shit. 

“You don’t remember.” It should be a flat statement, judgemental in its lack of inflection, not an agonized realization. 

No. This wasn’t Bruce. A very poor imitation or a hallucination. Either way. “Coffee, I need coffee for this.”

Fake Bruce took a step closer, reaching out his hand. “Tim, we need to go. We don’t have time.” There was definitely an undercurrent of panic. 

“You can leave at any time,” Tim pointed at the door even as he studied the hand, something that he thought he’d killed years ago yearning to reach back. But he would either be met with an enemy, or worse – empty air. 

“Not without my son.”

It was like being slapped. Painful because of how unexpected it was. Tim physically recoiled, stumbling back. He wasn’t Bruce’s son. He wasn’t anyone’s son. Having Fathers had never made Tim someone who could be loved back and he knew that. He accepted that. He didn’t need anyone, even if it was his own brain, digging their fingers into that particular trauma. “Go fuck yourself.”

Fake Bruce took another step forward. “I can’t grab you and run this time, Tim. You have to come willingly. Please, take my hand.”

Tim scoffed. “Are you going to offer me candy to go to your van?”

“Tim. We are running out of time. Please, son. I am begging.”

That got Tim to roll his eyes. This was either the worst trap ever or his lack of sleep was really getting to him. “Let me guess, I need to come with you to save the world.”

“Fuck the world!” Suddenly Tim was staring at Bruce with his cowl down, the Batsuit looking more like a costume than an identity. “I need you to come to save yourself, Tim. This is a pocket dimension and it is collapsing and if you are here when it goes we will die.” 

That…actually sounded plausible. Plausible-ish. Bruce was still definitely not actually like his Bruce. Also, “we?”

“I am not abandoning you here.” Bruce took a step closer, holding out his hand. “I am not returning to a world empty handed, where I have to explain to all the people who love you that I failed you so completely that you were within inches and I let you die.”

Tim frowned, focusing his eyes on Bruce’s hand. It was easier than watching the tears gathering in the doppelganger's eyes. “There is no world like that, Bruce.”

“You were born to be loved.” Tim wanted to deflect, wanted to discard or ignore the statement but it echoed in his chest, like he’d heard it before. Like someone had meant it when they said it. “And you are. Our world is like that, Tim. I love you. Your brothers love you. Conner and Bart and Jon and even Lois all love you, Tim, and we want you to come home. 

“Just take my hand.”

It was a lie. A good one. A tempting one. Everything Tim had ever denied that he wanted coming from Bruce’s lips. A single step and a raised arm and then, what? “So I touch you and go to a magic land where everything is perfect?” Tim didn’t bother to hide the derision. 

The room shook. Maybe an explosion. Was this just a distraction?

“No!” Bruce denied sharply. “We fight. I don’t respect your boundaries and you lie to me like it’s an Olympic sport. Your brothers smother you when you are perfectly capable of being independent and Alfred restricts your caffeine intake. You aren’t allowed to be a vigilante until you turn eighteen and when we get home you are very grounded. It’s not perfect. But it’s real, Tim. This isn’t. Take my hand.”

The room shook again. 

It wasn’t a good argument. It was actually pretty stupid. Why would Tim want to go somewhere he didn’t have open access to coffee? But maybe if he reached out then this would stop and move to the next stage of the plan because this? This hurt. This was torturous, like having his soul laid bare. There were few things that Tim could think of in this moment that would hurt more. 

Reaching out and finding empty air was one of them. 

But it would be a temporary pain. A quick thrust and then the wound could heal and Tim could drink coffee and work on his emails until he tucked this part of his brain away. 

Or he could go full Red Hood on whoever thought that fucking with him like this was a good idea. 

Tim grabbed the hand. 

“Then you are loved!”

“Tim, I promise that I’m never going to just let someone hurt you. I get that you won’t believe me right away, and that we aren’t brothers, but I do want to be your friend. And friends look out for each other. So that’s what I’m going to do. Not because Bruce asked me to, not because Damian will likely stab me if I don’t, but because you’re worth it”

“Hi. I'm Bart Allen and I'm from a post apocalyptic future. My favorite colour is red and eating a pluot is on my bucket list.”

“Hell, yeah I would have been pissed. At Bruce. Not at you. It wasn’t your fault and oh fuck you are bleeding. “

“In the meantime, hug Red Robin."

“I love you, and you will always have a place here. You are so smart and so strong, and even though you are causing me to go grey early, I respect you and I love you.”

“Timothy, where is your spleen?”

“You’re my fucking brother and I fucking love you.”

“Missed you. You’ve been here. Far away.”

“We match.”

“I will tend to you and I will do an infinitely superior job than that imbecile Todd. Now you. Will. Eat.”

“You are loved. Dami loves you. Jay and Bruce love you. I love you! You are my brother and I need you to live, Tim! I need you to be safe. So the next time you feel that way, that you can’t go on, or that you don’t want to, you find me.”

“You have the worst luck. You nearly died getting a cat.”

“Mostly that you didn’t think anyone would care if you died. But I’d care. As would Jay and Bruce. I think Damian would actually go fight the grim reaper to get you back, and he might even win. The kid’s got spunk.”

“If you don’t know what you want to do right now, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out one day at a time. You, me, your siblings, Alfred. We’re all in this together and we all support each other. You can always count on us Tim.”

“I think we’ll be just fine.”

Tim blinked, the circle of light surrounding him and Bruce fading into the Batcave where everyone stood gathered, looking grim. Dami was draped over Dick’s shoulder, shuddering as he cried into the older boy’s neck. He wasn’t the only one affected by tears. Conner’s eyes were red and his cheeks were stained. Lois was comforting an anxious Jon, who was shifting from foot to foot. Bart looked grim while Cass and Jay looked…blank. Even Alfred looked like he had aged by a million years. 

The moment they spotted Tim that grief washed away. 

“Tim,” Conner surged forward, stopped by Bruce’s hand. 

“I don’t know if he remembers.”

How could he not? How could he have for a moment forgotten this? “Dad,” he squeezed Bruce’s hand tighter. “Dad,” he practically threw himself into Bruce’s arms and was caught in a strong grip. It was easy to ignore how they both shook. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Bruce’s grip tightened. “Is this just so I can say goodbye?” He didn’t want to lose it, lose everything again. But Tim couldn’t condemn reality to unravel, no matter how much he wanted to. He didn’t think he’d survive without this. But they would.

His family would. 

“No,” Bruce held Tim tighter, to the point of discomfort. 

It was grounding.  

“The Klarions did something,” Conner explained even as he impatiently waited for his turn to hug Tim.

“We don’t know what,” Bruce spoke into Tim’s hair. “They said we had one chance to keep you.” He released Tim from the hug, but he kept one hand on Tim’s shoulder as everyone else came over. 

“Is everything fixed?” Tim whispered.

“Right as rain,” Dick said with a shimmery smile. “Everyone else is gone and you’re staying, Tim.” He carried a squirming Dami over, ignoring the boy’s threats as they approached. “You get to stay with us.”

“Yeah, you fucking loser,” Jay barked with geniune heat. “You’re a punkass bitch for thinking you get to sacrifice yourself and I will kick your ass.”

“Tim, my man, you can’t just do that!” Bart held a hand to his chest dramatically. “I really will have to figure out time travel on my own if you ever pull something so mode again.”

“Sorry.” Tim choked on his apology. 

Dami, finally having succeeded in freeing himself, launched himself at Tim’s waist. Tim reached down to steady his brother only to hear a familiar ker-snick as a metal cuff snapped around his wrist. “You are mine, Timothy, and you aren’t allowed to leave. You promised to stay and you are not allowed to break your promises. I will not have it!”

Tim patted Dami’s hair with his free hand. 

Conner did too. Then Dami squawked and the cuff popped open as his tactile telekinesis kicked in and he lifted Dami harmlessly by his hair and set him out of the way before he pulled Tim into his own hug, placing a kiss against Tim’s lips. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.” 

Conner did. Everyone in this room did. Bruce was willing to die because he loved Tim so much.

It hurt. Tim was fairly certain it hurt because he was so happy, that the tears pouring over his face were tears of joy as everyone pushed and shoved for a hug, Conner being pulled away to be replaced by Jay then Dick and then it became a mess of arms and Tim was in the middle of love and relief.

Bruce had claimed that this world wasn’t perfect. He was right. In the next coming months there would be tension, anger that Tim was still so ready to throw himself on the sword, fear that he was going to disappear again, and annoyance and the constant smothering and surveillance. There would be fights: cutting words, slamming doors, and brooding silences. There would be bouts of grief, of anger, and of bitterness.

But there would be gentle kisses and hair pats, mugs of soup and trips to the Pride Centre. Bruce would finally cave and get Damian a dog. Dick would work with Kaldur to start a new team. Jay would wear a dress through the house and not punch anyone over it. Cass would be in a dance performance and Lara would video call on weekends. Lois and Jon would stay. 

It wouldn’t be perfect but it would be filled with moments like this. Moments that were.

And that was enough.