Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The streets of Gotham were never quiet. Even at dusk, with the sun setting behind towering skyscrapers, the city hummed with a dangerous energy. People moved quickly, heads down, trying to get home before the real predators emerged from the shadows. Tony Stark walked briskly through the streets, one hand wrapped around Peter Parker's much smaller one, the other firmly gripping Harley Keener's shoulder.

"Keep up, kids," Tony muttered, eyes scanning the dimming streets. At twenty-eight—or at least, in this twenty-eight-year-old body—he felt the weight of responsibility for the two children more acutely than he ever had before.

"My legs are tired," complained Peter, his eight-year-old frame struggling to match Tony's pace.

"We'll be home soon," Stephen Strange assured him from behind, his vigilant gaze never settling in one place for too long. At twenty-seven, Stephen looked younger than Tony had ever seen him, but his eyes held the same ancient wisdom they always had.

They were only a few blocks from their cramped apartment when Peter suddenly stopped, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed the air.

"Tony," Peter said, tugging at his sleeve.

"Not now, kid. We need to get home before dark."

"But Tony, I smell—" Peter paused, his expression tightening. His gaze flickered toward the mouth of an alleyway, shadowed and damp, tucked between two old buildings. He sniffed again. "That's blood."

Tony sighed. He was still getting used to Peter's enhanced senses, which had somehow remained despite their physical regression when they landed in this universe. Gotham wasn't their city, and it sure as hell wasn't their universe. The last thing they needed was to get involved in something they couldn't control.

"Probably just another mugging," Harley said, his nine-year-old face surprisingly grim. "This place is worse than Rose Hill on a bad day."

But Peter was already veering toward the alley.

"Kid—"

"I just wanna check!" Peter called over his shoulder, slipping into the darkness before Tony could stop him.

"Dammit," Tony swore, glancing at Stephen, who merely shrugged.

"I'll watch Harley. You get Peter."

Tony nodded and followed Peter into the alley. It smelled like damp concrete, garbage, and, yeah, Peter was right—blood. A lot of it.

At the far end, slumped against the brick wall, was a man. His clothes were soaked with blood, his breaths shallow. A glint of metal near his hip suggested he'd been shot. His black hair stuck to his forehead, sweat mixing with grime and blood. He barely reacted as Peter approached cautiously.

"Tony," Peter whispered, his brown eyes wide with worry. "He's dying."

The man's gaze flickered toward them, barely focusing.

"You... should go," he rasped, shifting slightly. "Not safe."

Tony knelt beside him, pressing a hand to his shoulder. The guy barely had enough strength to flinch away. "Not safe for who, pal? You?"

Peter's small fingers clenched Tony's sleeve. "We can't leave him."

From the mouth of the alley, Harley called out, "Is it a dead guy?"

"Not yet," Tony replied dryly.

Stephen appeared behind the boys, his expression carefully neutral as he assessed the situation. "This is unwise, Tony."

"I know, I know." Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. Every survival instinct told him to walk away. They had been in this strange universe for just three weeks, surviving on Stephen's meager earnings as an off-the-books medical consultant and Tony's tech repair side hustle. They couldn't afford complications.

But Peter was looking at him with those damn puppy eyes, and even Harley seemed affected by the man's condition.

"He's going to die if we leave him," Peter insisted, his voice small but determined.

Tony exchanged a look with Stephen, who sighed in resignation.

"Fine," Stephen muttered, kneeling to examine the man. "Single gunshot wound to the lower abdomen. Significant blood loss, but if we can get him somewhere safe..."

Tony turned back to the bleeding man. "You're coming with us."

The man huffed out something between a laugh and a pained grunt. "Bad... idea."

"Yeah, yeah. You're not the first person to tell me that." Tony sighed. "Peter, Harley, help Doc Strange. I'll take most of his weight."

The boys scrambled forward, carefully placing their small hands under the man's shoulders as Tony looped his arms around the stranger's torso. Stephen supported his legs. The stranger groaned as they lifted him, but he didn't fight. Probably because he didn't have the strength.

"We should name him," Harley suggested as they awkwardly maneuvered out of the alley. "How about Bullet Bob?"

"He has a name," Tony said, grunting under the man's weight. "Probably."

"Doesn't everyone?" Peter asked.

"Let's focus on keeping him alive first," Stephen advised, his voice tight with concentration.

---

Their apartment was small—rented under fake names, paid in cash. Just enough to keep them under the radar while they worked on a way home. It wasn't Stark Tower, but it was safe, and that was what mattered.

Tony shouldered the door open, dragging the half-conscious man inside with Stephen's and the boys' help. The apartment was sparsely furnished: a worn couch, a small table with mismatched chairs, and a kitchenette with a hot plate and mini refrigerator. Two doors led to tiny bedrooms—one for the adults, one for the boys.

"Where do we put him?" Harley asked, his face flushed from the effort of helping carry a grown man up three flights of stairs.

"Couch," Stephen directed, already in doctor mode. "Harley, get my medical bag from under the bed. Peter, I need clean towels and hot water."

The boys sprung into action as Tony and Stephen carefully lowered the man onto the couch. The stranger's eyes fluttered open momentarily, unfocused and glazed with pain.

"I'd... ask where I am," he slurred, "but I don't think... it matters."

"Smart man," Tony replied, stepping back to let Stephen work. "You got a name?"

The man's lips twitched in something that might've been amusement. "Jason."

"Alright, Jason," Stephen said, accepting his medical bag from Harley with a nod of thanks. "I'm going to help you, but it's going to hurt."

Jason let out a weak laugh. "What else is new?"

Stephen pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began cutting away the bloody fabric around the wound. "Tony, I need better light."

Tony grabbed their only lamp and positioned it over the couch. Peter returned with towels and a pot of steaming water, his small face serious as he set them down beside Stephen.

"Bullet's still in there," Stephen murmured, examining the wound. "I need to extract it before I can close this up."

Jason tensed. "No hospitals."

"We're not taking you to a hospital," Tony said, crossing his arms. "We're removing the bullet right here in our luxurious penthouse suite."

"What Tony means," Stephen clarified, shooting his friend a look, "is that we understand discretion. I was a surgeon before... before some complications in my life. I can handle this."

Jason's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing them with a sharpness that belied his injured state. "You're not... ordinary people."

"Depends on your definition of ordinary," Tony replied smoothly. "Boys, maybe you should go to your room while the adults handle this."

"But I want to help," Peter protested.

"Me too," Harley added. "I've seen worse on YouTube."

"YouTube isn't real life," Stephen said firmly. "And this isn't going to be pleasant."

Jason's gaze flicked between the boys, then back to Tony and Stephen. "They've... got guts."

"They've got something," Tony muttered. "Fine. Peter, you can hand Doc the tools he asks for. Harley, you're on cleanup duty."

The procedure was messy and painful. Jason, to his credit, remained stoic throughout, only occasionally letting a hiss of pain escape through clenched teeth. Stephen worked with practiced precision, his hands steady as he extracted the bullet and cleaned the wound.

"You're lucky," Stephen said as he began to stitch the entry wound closed. "The bullet missed any major organs. An inch to the left and we'd be having a very different conversation."

"Luck's not... usually my thing," Jason murmured, his voice hoarse.

Tony, who had been watching from the kitchenette, approached with a glass of water. "Here. Small sips."

Jason accepted the water with a shaky hand, eyeing Tony warily. "Why help me?"

Peter, who was carefully organizing Stephen's medical tools, piped up. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Jason's eyes flicked to the boy, something unreadable passing across his face. "Right thing... doesn't happen much in Gotham."

"Maybe not," Tony agreed, taking the glass back. "But we're not exactly from around here."

Stephen shot Tony a warning look, which Tony acknowledged with a slight nod. They had agreed to keep their situation private—their displacement across universes, their physical regressions, and especially their various abilities. Gotham was dangerous enough without painting targets on their backs.

"Where are you from?" Jason asked, his eyes growing heavy as exhaustion and blood loss took their toll.

"Far away," Stephen answered diplomatically. "Rest now. We can talk more when you've recovered."

Jason's lips twitched in what might have been a smile before his eyes closed completely.

Once Stephen was certain their patient was stable, he stood, stretching his back with a wince. "He'll need antibiotics. I can probably get some from Dr. Thompson at the clinic tomorrow."

"Is he gonna die?" Harley asked bluntly, peering at Jason's unconscious form.

"Not if I can help it," Stephen replied. "But he's lost a lot of blood, and infection is still a risk."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, a habit he'd never managed to break no matter what age his body was. "This complicates things."

"The secret lab you're building in the basement was already a complication," Stephen pointed out dryly.

"Workshop," Tony corrected. "And it's barely functional. I can't exactly build an interdimensional portal with spare parts from 1990s computers."

Peter frowned, looking between the adults. "But we're still trying to get home, right?"

Tony's expression softened as he looked at the boy. "Of course we are, Pete. It's just taking longer than expected."

"And now we have a gunshot victim on our couch," Stephen added.

Harley, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "Maybe he can help us."

The others turned to look at him.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

Harley shrugged. "He lives here, right? He probably knows things. People. Places where we could get better stuff for your workshop."

Tony's eyebrows rose in consideration. "The kid has a point."

"The kid always has a point," Harley said smugly.

Stephen sighed, removing his bloodied gloves. "Let's focus on keeping him alive first. Then we can worry about whether he's an asset or a liability."

---

Jason Todd woke to the smell of cooking food and the sound of childish bickering. His body ached, but the sharp, life-threatening pain had subsided to a dull throb. He kept his eyes closed, assessing his surroundings through his other senses—a habit born of years of training and survival.

"—and that's why the quantum tunnel would be more efficient than trying to recreate the mystical convergence," a young voice was saying.

"But the energy requirements would be astronomical," an older male voice countered. "We'd need at least a nuclear reactor."

"Or we find something that already exists in this universe that could act as a power source," another child's voice suggested.

"Like what, Harley? A magic lamp?" the first kid asked sarcastically.

"No, dummy. Like... I don't know. Whatever powers the Bat's tech."

There was a sudden silence.

"We've talked about this," the older voice said cautiously. "We stay under the radar. No engaging with the locals, especially not the costumed ones."

"But Tony—"

"No buts, Peter. We don't know how things work here. For all we know, the guy in the bat costume could be this world's version of a supervillain."

Jason couldn't help the small snort that escaped him.

Instantly, four pairs of eyes were on him.

"He's awake," announced the smaller of the two boys—Peter, apparently. He looked about eight, with wide brown eyes and an expression of innocent curiosity.

"How perceptive," Jason rasped, wincing at the dryness in his throat.

The older of the two men—Tony—approached with a glass of water. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been shot," Jason replied dryly, accepting the water.

"Funny coincidence," said the other boy—Harley—who looked maybe a year older than Peter. "That's exactly what happened to you."

The second man, who Jason recognized as the one who had extracted the bullet, stood off to the side, arms crossed as he observed Jason with clinical detachment. "The wound is clean, but you've lost a significant amount of blood. You should rest for at least a few days."

Jason took a careful sip of water, studying the strange quartet. There was something off about them—something that didn't quite fit with the typical Gotham denizens. "Thanks for the patch job, Doctor...?"

"Strange. Stephen Strange."

"Strange name."

"I've heard that one before," Stephen replied with a faint smile.

Jason turned his attention to Tony. "And you are?"

"Tony Stark. These are our... sons, Peter and Harley." Tony gestured to the boys, who were watching with undisguised curiosity. The hesitation before "sons" was slight but noticeable.

"Quite the family," Jason remarked, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

Tony's smile was sharp. "We make it work."

Jason shifted, testing his mobility. The pain was manageable—he'd certainly endured worse. "Well, thanks for the help, but I should—"

"You're not going anywhere," Stephen interrupted firmly. "Not unless you want to reopen that wound and bleed out in some other alley."

"Doc's right," Tony added. "Besides, we have questions."

"I bet you do," Jason muttered. "But I don't do the Q&A thing."

Peter stepped forward, his small face earnest. "We just want to help."

Jason looked at the child, struck by the sincerity in his eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had offered Jason help without expecting something in return.

"What's your name?" Peter asked simply.

Jason hesitated, then decided there was little harm in it. "Jason. Jason Todd."

If the name meant anything to them, none of them showed it.

"Well, Jason Todd," Tony said, crossing his arms. "Here's the deal. You stay here until Doc Strange says you're well enough to leave. In exchange, you tell us what we need to know about Gotham."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "What do you need to know?"

Tony and Stephen exchanged a brief look.

"We're... new to the city," Stephen explained carefully. "We could use some local insight."

Jason's eyes narrowed. These people were hiding something—something big. But then again, so was he.

"Fine," he agreed finally. "But if you're smart, you'll get out of Gotham as soon as you can. This city eats people like you for breakfast."

Tony's smile held a confidence that seemed both out of place and perfectly natural. "That's the plan, Jason. That's exactly the plan."

Outside, Gotham's night deepened, unaware that within its borders now resided a displaced family of genius—and one former Robin who might just be their key to getting home.

Chapter Text

Jason Todd was not a man accustomed to trusting others. Trust was a luxury in Gotham, and luxuries got you killed. Yet here he was, recovering on a threadbare couch in an apartment belonging to four strangers who were clearly hiding something significant.

During his first days of recovery, Jason observed. It was what he did best.

Tony Stark spent hours hunched over salvaged electronic components at the kitchen table, muttering formulas and equations that even Jason, with his extensive training, could only partially follow. The man's hands moved with practiced precision, repurposing obsolete technology into something that seemed both impossible and inevitable.

Stephen Strange divided his time between caring for Jason's wound and reading worn medical texts he'd acquired from somewhere. Occasionally, he'd make notations in a journal, his handwriting precise and methodical.

The boys were the most interesting. Peter, despite his youth, spoke with the vocabulary and understanding of someone far older. He would engage Tony in complex scientific discussions before suddenly breaking into childish excitement over finding a spider in the corner of the room. Harley was more guarded, watching Jason with suspicion while hovering protectively near Peter.

None of them asked about the gunshot wound or why Jason had been bleeding out in an alley. In return, Jason didn't question the obvious inconsistencies in their family dynamic or the strange, coded conversations they thought he couldn't hear.

It was an arrangement built on mutual secrets.

"How's the pain today?" Stephen asked on the fourth morning, changing Jason's bandages with clinical efficiency.

"Manageable," Jason replied, watching as Peter and Harley ate cereal at the kitchen table, arguing quietly about something called "quantum entanglement."

Stephen followed his gaze. "They're unusual children."

"That's one word for it," Jason agreed. "Where did you say you were from again?"

"We didn't," Stephen replied smoothly, securing the fresh bandage. "But it's far from here."

"Another country?"

Stephen's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "Something like that."

From the kitchen, Tony called out, "Hey, Doc, when you're done playing Florence Nightingale, I need your input on this circuitry."

Stephen sighed, gathering his medical supplies. "Keep the wound clean. Try not to move too much."

Jason nodded, settling back against the couch cushions. "You know, most people would be more curious about taking in a gunshot victim."

"Most people haven't seen what we've seen," Stephen replied cryptically.

---

By the end of the first week, word had somehow spread through the neighborhood about the doctor who treated injuries without asking questions and the mechanic who could fix anything electronic. The apartment door began to see a steady stream of visitors.

First came Mrs. Ramirez from downstairs, clutching a broken radio that had been her late husband's. Tony fixed it in twenty minutes, his fingers dancing over the ancient circuitry with surprising tenderness.

"How much?" she asked, clutching her worn purse.

Tony waved her off. "Consider it a welcome gift from the new neighbors."

The next day, it was a teenage boy with a deep cut on his arm that he claimed came from "falling on broken glass." Stephen cleaned and stitched the wound while Peter sat nearby, chatting about comic books to distract the boy from the pain.

"You don't have to talk to these people," Jason commented from his position on the couch as the boy left, arm bandaged and expression relieved.

Peter shrugged. "I like helping."

"Helping can be dangerous in Gotham."

"Everything's dangerous somewhere," Peter replied with a wisdom far beyond his years. "Doesn't mean you stop helping."

By the third week, Jason was mobile enough to move around the apartment, though Stephen strictly forbade him from leaving. The stream of visitors had become a steady trickle—people with minor injuries, broken appliances, and occasionally, food as payment.

"You've become quite the neighborhood clinic," Jason observed as Stephen treated an elderly man's infected foot while Tony repaired the space heater the man had brought along.

"Not intentionally," Stephen murmured, carefully cleaning the wound.

"It was my fault," Peter admitted from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a pile of electronic components. "I told Mrs. Ramirez that Stephen was a doctor when she mentioned her grandson cut his hand."

Harley, who was assisting Tony by handing him tools, snorted. "Pete can't keep a secret to save his life."

"I can too!" Peter protested. "I've kept plenty of secrets!"

"Like what?"

"Like..." Peter hesitated, glancing at Tony, who gave him a subtle head shake. "Like lots of things."

Jason didn't miss the exchange, filing it away with the other oddities he'd observed. The family—if they truly were a family—had a shorthand that spoke of shared experiences, yet there was something almost rehearsed about their dynamics, as if they were still learning how to interact with each other.

"Your secret's safe with me, kid," Jason said, more to see their reactions than anything else.

Peter's eyes widened momentarily before he recovered. "I don't have secrets."

"Everyone has secrets," Jason replied mildly. "Especially in this city."

---

The pattern continued. By day, Tony and the boys repaired electronics while Stephen treated minor injuries. By night, Tony worked on his mysterious "workshop" project, occasionally consulting with Stephen in hushed tones.

Jason offered little about himself and they didn't press. But he did provide information about Gotham—safe areas, dangerous neighborhoods, which grocery stores wouldn't overcharge them. Practical knowledge that wouldn't compromise his identity but might keep them alive.

"The East End is completely controlled by gangs," he explained one evening as they ate a dinner of pasta and canned sauce. "Don't go there, even during daylight."

"Noted," Tony said, twirling pasta around his fork. "What about the financial district? Any chance of finding tech companies with surplus inventory?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Looking to upgrade your workshop?"

"Something like that."

"Wayne Enterprises has the best tech in the city," Jason said carefully, watching their faces. "But their security is top-notch."

None of them reacted to the name Wayne. Either they were excellent actors, or they truly didn't know who Bruce Wayne was—which seemed impossible for anyone living in Gotham.

"What about medical supplies?" Stephen asked. "The clinic where I've been picking up shifts is woefully understocked."

Jason considered this. "There's a pharmaceutical warehouse near the docks. Security's lighter than you'd expect. Rumor has it that some of the guards can be persuaded to look the other way for the right price."

Stephen nodded thoughtfully. "Good to know."

Peter, who had been unusually quiet during dinner, suddenly asked, "Are there really people who dress up in costumes and fight crime here?"

The table fell silent. Harley kicked Peter under the table, earning a yelp of protest.

"What Peter means," Tony said carefully, "is that we've heard rumors. Urban legends about vigilantes."

Jason kept his expression neutral. "Gotham has its share of costumed figures. Some claim to fight for justice. Others are just psychopaths with themed gimmicks."

"Like Batman?" Peter asked eagerly.

Jason's hand tightened imperceptibly around his fork. "Batman is... complicated. He thinks he's helping, but some would say he's just another symptom of Gotham's disease."

"And what do you say?" Stephen asked, his gaze shrewd.

Jason shrugged. "I say stay away from all of them. They bring trouble, and you've got enough of that already."

---

The day Bane came, Jason was out. He'd finally convinced Stephen that he was healed enough for short excursions, claiming he needed fresh air. In reality, he needed to check in with his few reliable contacts and gather information about who might have shot him.

He returned to find the apartment door ajar—a bad sign in any circumstance, but particularly worrying given what he knew about the family inside.

Jason drew the knife he kept hidden in his boot and approached cautiously. From within, he heard a deep, accented voice that made his blood run cold.

"You have steady hands, doctor. Few in Gotham would treat me without fear clouding their skills."

Jason peered through the crack in the door. Sitting on the same couch where he had recuperated was the massive figure of Bane, his shirt removed to reveal a laceration running across his broad chest. Stephen was cleaning the wound with methodical precision, his face a mask of professional detachment.

Tony stood nearby, one arm extended slightly in front of the boys, who were watching with wide eyes from the kitchen doorway.

"I'm a doctor," Stephen replied evenly. "I treat whoever needs treatment."

Bane's laugh rumbled like distant thunder. "A rare philosophy in this city. Tell me, where did you practice before coming to Gotham?"

"New York," Stephen answered without hesitation.

"Hmm. You are not from Gotham, that much is clear. You lack the stench of fear and desperation that clings to its natives." Bane's gaze swept the apartment, taking in Tony and the boys. "An unusual family."

"We make it work," Tony said, echoing what he'd told Jason weeks ago.

Jason withdrew silently from the doorway, mind racing. Bane's presence changed everything. If the mercenary took an interest in this strange family, their days of relative anonymity were over. And if Bane discovered any connection between Jason and the family...

He needed to warn them, but bursting in now would only escalate the situation. Jason melted back into the shadows of the stairwell, waiting and listening.

Inside the apartment, Stephen finished cleaning Bane's wound and began to stitch it closed.

"This will scar," he warned.

"All wounds scar, doctor. It is their nature." Bane's gaze fell on Peter, who was watching the procedure with fascination despite Tony's attempt to keep him back. "Your son has curious eyes."

Peter, never one to miss an opportunity for conversation, piped up, "How did you get hurt?"

"Peter," Tony warned.

But Bane seemed amused by the question. "A disagreement with associates who forgot their place in the hierarchy."

"Oh," Peter said. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Peter, why don't you and Harley go to your room?" Stephen suggested, tying off the last stitch.

"It's fine," Bane rumbled. "The boy asks honest questions. That is rare." He focused on Peter. "Yes, little one, it happens occasionally. Power must be maintained through demonstration."

Harley, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up. "Is that why you wear that mask? To look scarier?"

Bane's eyes narrowed slightly. "My mask serves a purpose beyond intimidation."

"Like what?" Harley pressed, ignoring Tony's warning glance.

"It delivers medicine I require to function," Bane answered, surprising everyone with his candor. "Without it, I would be weakened by constant pain."

"Oh," Harley said, his curiosity momentarily overriding his wariness. "So it's like an insulin pump, but for painkillers?"

Bane's expression shifted to one of mild surprise. "An apt comparison for one so young."

Stephen applied a bandage to the stitched wound. "The cut wasn't deep enough to damage muscle tissue, but you should avoid strenuous activity for at least a week to prevent the stitches from tearing."

Bane nodded, rising to his full, imposing height. "Your advice is noted, doctor." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a thick envelope, which he placed on the table. "For your services."

"That's not necessary," Stephen began, but Bane cut him off with a raised hand.

"I do not accept charity. Furthermore, you have earned my consideration. In Gotham, that is a currency more valuable than money." Bane's gaze swept over the family once more. "Should you require assistance, speak my name in the Narrows. Word will reach me."

With that ominous promise, Bane moved toward the door. Jason quickly retreated further into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall as Bane emerged from the apartment. The mercenary paused momentarily, as if sensing another presence, then continued down the stairs, his heavy footsteps fading gradually.

Jason waited until he was certain Bane had left the building before entering the apartment, finding the family in various states of tension.

"Please tell me you didn't just make friends with Bane," Jason said, closing the door firmly behind him.

Four pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise.

"You know that guy?" Tony asked, finally relaxing his protective stance in front of the boys.

"Everyone in Gotham knows Bane," Jason replied grimly. "He's one of the most dangerous men in the city."

"He didn't seem that bad," Peter offered innocently. "He answered my questions."

Jason ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "That's because he found you amusing, kid. Bane doesn't have friends; he has resources and obstacles. Right now, he's decided you're the former. Pray he doesn't change his mind."

Stephen looked down at the envelope Bane had left. "He seemed to appreciate professional courtesy."

"Bane respects strength and skill," Jason acknowledged. "But that doesn't make him safe. And now he knows about all of you."

Tony and Stephen exchanged meaningful glances.

"We should move," Tony suggested. "Find another apartment."

Jason shook his head. "Won't matter. If Bane wants to find you, he will. Your best bet is to stay under his radar—keep treating patients, fixing gadgets, being useful but unremarkable."

"And what about your other... acquaintances?" Stephen asked carefully. "Should we be concerned?"

Jason's mind flashed to Batman, to the others who might take interest in this unusual family if they knew of their existence. "Just keep your heads down. And maybe speed up whatever plan you have for getting out of Gotham."

Tony's expression hardened with determination. "Working on it. But we're still missing some key components."

"Then work faster," Jason advised, glancing toward the door as if expecting more unwelcome visitors. "Because Gotham just got a lot more complicated for all of us."

Chapter Text

Jason knew it was only a matter of time before he would need to leave the strange sanctuary he'd found. His wound had healed enough for mobility, and the longer he stayed, the more he risked drawing attention to this unusual family that had, against all reason, decided to help him.

The morning came a week after Bane's visit. Jason was helping Tony sort through a pile of salvaged electronics—motherboards and processors that Tony claimed were "practically antiques" but still useful for his mysterious project.

"You're leaving," Tony said without looking up from the circuit board he was examining. It wasn't a question.

Jason paused, a discarded hard drive in his hand. "How'd you know?"

Tony's lips quirked into a half-smile. "You've been checking escape routes more frequently. Testing your range of motion when you think no one's watching. Classic pre-exit behavior."

"Observant."

"I've had practice." Tony set down his screwdriver. "Problems catching up with you?"

Jason considered deflecting, but there seemed little point. "Something like that. I've been off the grid too long. There are... responsibilities I need to get back to."

"Ah, responsibilities." Tony nodded sagely. "Those pesky things have a way of finding us, don't they?"

From the bedroom doorway, Stephen appeared, arms folded. "You're not fully healed."

"Healed enough," Jason countered.

"The internal tissue is still—"

"Doc," Jason interrupted firmly, "I appreciate the concern, but I've operated with worse."

Stephen's expression tightened with professional disapproval, but he didn't argue further.

"When will you go?" Tony asked.

"Tonight. After dark."

Peter and Harley emerged from their room, their conversation about some elaborate science project halting as they sensed the tension in the air.

"What's going on?" Peter asked, his young face immediately concerned.

"Jason's leaving us," Tony explained, his tone carefully neutral.

Peter's face fell. "But... why? Did we do something wrong?"

The simple question, delivered with such genuine distress, caught Jason off guard. He'd spent so many years expecting betrayal and manipulation that Peter's transparent concern was almost disorienting.

"No, kid. You didn't do anything wrong." Jason awkwardly patted Peter's shoulder. "I just have things I need to take care of."

"Will you come back?" Harley asked, his expression more guarded than Peter's but still revealing a hint of attachment that Jason hadn't anticipated.

Jason hesitated. Attachments were dangerous in his line of work. They created vulnerabilities, opportunities for enemies to strike. And yet, looking at these four strange people who had taken him in without question, he found himself reluctant to sever the connection entirely.

"I'll check in when I can," he promised, surprising himself. "Make sure you're all staying out of trouble."

"Us? Trouble?" Tony placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "We're the picture of suburban normalcy."

Stephen snorted, and even Harley cracked a smile.

"Right." Jason shook his head, almost fondly. "Just keep your heads down. Especially after Bane's visit."

"We will," Stephen assured him.

Jason nodded, already mentally preparing for his departure. He had a safehouse across town where he kept spare equipment, weapons, and his Red Hood gear. After nearly a month away, he needed to reclaim his territory before someone else decided to fill the power vacuum he'd left.

And there was the matter of who had shot him in the first place—a loose end he intended to tie up, permanently.

---

As the day progressed, Jason packed the few possessions he'd accumulated during his stay—mostly clothes that Tony had procured for him from somewhere. The family continued their usual routine, but there was an undercurrent of melancholy that surprised Jason. He'd become accustomed to their quirks: Tony's manic energy when solving a technical problem, Stephen's quiet competence, Peter's boundless curiosity, and Harley's protective watchfulness.

They'd become familiar in a way that few people ever did in Jason's life.

In the late afternoon, as Jason was checking the knife he kept hidden in his boot, Harley approached him, holding something wrapped in a torn t-shirt.

"Here," the boy said, thrusting the bundle toward Jason.

"What's this?"

"Just take it," Harley insisted, an edge of impatience in his voice.

Jason unwrapped the bundle to find a small communications device, similar to the earpieces the Bat-family used but with clear modifications.

"Tony and I made it," Harley explained, his posture suggesting nonchalance though his eyes betrayed his investment in Jason's reaction. "It's got an encrypted channel. If you get into trouble and need help, just turn it on."

Jason turned the device over in his hand, noting the quality of craftsmanship despite the salvaged components. "You made this from scratch?"

Harley shrugged. "Tony did most of the work. I just helped with the encryption algorithm."

Jason raised an eyebrow. For a nine-year-old to casually mention creating encryption algorithms was yet another anomaly in a family full of them.

"Thanks," Jason said, tucking the device into his pocket. "Though I doubt I'll need it."

"That's what everyone says right before they need help," Harley retorted. Then, more quietly: "Just don't die, okay? Peter would be upset."

"Just Peter, huh?"

Harley's expression hardened slightly. "The rest of us would get over it."

Jason's lips twitched in amusement. "I'll do my best."

---

As evening approached, Jason prepared for his departure. The family insisted on a proper goodbye dinner, which turned out to be canned soup and crackers—the best their limited resources could provide.

"We could have splurged for your going-away party," Tony commented, dipping a stale cracker into his soup. "Ordered pizza or something."

"This is fine," Jason replied, genuinely meaning it. The simple meal shared around the small table held more warmth than most of the elaborate dinners he'd attended in Wayne Manor.

After dinner, as twilight deepened outside the apartment windows, Jason knew it was time. He'd waited for nightfall to provide better cover for his journey across town.

"Well, this has been... educational," he said, standing at the door with his small bag of belongings.

Tony extended a hand. "Try not to get shot again."

Jason shook it, noting the calluses on Tony's palm—the marks of someone who worked extensively with tools and machinery. "Try not to blow up the building with whatever you're building in the bathroom."

"Workshop," Tony corrected automatically. "And explosions are highly unlikely. Small fires, maybe, but—"

"Tony," Stephen interjected with a long-suffering sigh.

Peter stepped forward then, his small arms wrapping around Jason's waist in a hug that momentarily paralyzed him. Physical affection wasn't something Jason encountered often, especially not the guileless embrace of a child.

"Be safe," Peter mumbled against Jason's shirt.

Awkwardly, Jason patted the boy's head. "You too, kid."

Harley maintained his distance but gave Jason a solemn nod. "Remember about the comm."

"Got it," Jason assured him, tapping his pocket.

Stephen approached last, handing Jason a small bag. "Antibiotics, painkillers, and fresh bandages. Change them daily and watch for signs of infection."

"Yes, Doctor," Jason said with a hint of a smirk.

He opened the door, pausing one last time to look at the four of them standing there—a picture of an unconventional family that had somehow, against all odds, made room for him temporarily in their lives.

"I'll see you around," he said, the words feeling inadequate.

Tony nodded. "We'll be here. For now."

Jason slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. As he descended the stairs and emerged into Gotham's night, he felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest—something that might, in someone else, be identified as regret or perhaps even longing.

He pushed the feeling aside. He had work to do.

---

Jason had just reached the alley behind the apartment building when he heard a soft sound from above—the barely perceptible rustle of fabric against brick that most people would miss. But Jason wasn't most people. Years of training with the best detective in the world had honed his senses to detect even the subtlest signs of pursuit.

Without breaking stride, he continued walking, leading his follower away from the apartment. Once he'd put sufficient distance between himself and the family, he ducked into a narrow passage between two buildings, scaling a fire escape with practiced ease despite his still-healing wound.

On the rooftop, he waited in the shadow of a water tower, knife drawn.

The figure that landed silently on the roof moments later was familiar—lithe, athletic, dressed in a black and blue costume that caught what little moonlight filtered through Gotham's perpetual smog.

"You can put the knife away, Jay," Nightwing said, his voice a blend of relief and exasperation. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Jason didn't lower the knife. "Funny how you always find me when I don't want to be found."

Dick Grayson removed his domino mask, revealing concerned eyes. "You disappeared after the Cobblepot raid. Blood trail led to an alley before going cold. No hospital reports matching your description. What was I supposed to think?"

"Maybe that I wanted some privacy?"

"Privacy and bleeding out alone are two different things."

Jason finally lowered the knife, but didn't put it away entirely. His relationship with his adoptive brother was complicated at best. Dick represented everything Jason had failed to be—the golden child, the perfect Robin who had grown into his own hero, still firmly in Batman's good graces despite their occasional differences.

"I handled it," Jason said tersely.

"Clearly." Dick's gaze flicked to Jason's midsection, where he'd been favoring his left side. "Who patched you up? Leslie?"

"A friend."

Dick's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You don't have friends, Jay. You have allies and enemies."

"Maybe I'm branching out."

Dick approached cautiously, as if Jason were a wounded animal that might lash out. "Bruce has been worried."

Jason let out a derisive laugh. "Right. The old man was probably relieved. One less problem to deal with."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Last time I saw him, he made it pretty clear where I stand in the family hierarchy." Jason's grip tightened on the knife. "Somewhere below the family dog, if I recall correctly."

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair—a gesture so reminiscent of Bruce that it made Jason's jaw clench in irritation. "You tried to kill the Penguin, Jay. On live television."

"He deserved worse."

"That's not our call to make."

"See, that's where you're wrong. Someone has to make that call, and Batman's too wrapped up in his moral code to do what needs to be done." Jason took a step back, creating distance between them. "I didn't stick around to have this argument again."

Dick's expression shifted from exasperation to concern. "Where have you been staying? Your safehouse in the East End was compromised after you disappeared. Someone tipped off Black Mask's crew."

That explained how they'd found him the night he was shot. Jason filed that information away, adding another name to his list of people who needed a visit from the Red Hood.

"I've been around," he said vaguely.

"Jay," Dick pressed, "if you're in trouble—"

"I'm always in trouble, Dickiebird. It's kind of my brand." Jason tucked the knife away, deciding that continuing this conversation was pointless. "Tell Bruce I'm not dead. Again. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

He turned to leave, but Dick's next words stopped him.

"We're tracking something big. Some kind of new player moving into Gotham. Heavy tech, experimental weapons. Bruce thinks it might be ARGUS or maybe even Cadmus, but the energy signatures don't match anything in our database."

Jason's thoughts immediately went to Tony and his mysterious "workshop," but he kept his expression neutral. "And this concerns me because...?"

"Because the epicenter of the energy readings is in the neighborhood you just walked out of." Dick's eyes narrowed slightly. "You know something."

"I know lots of things. You'll have to be more specific."

"Jay, if there's something dangerous happening—"

"There's always something dangerous happening in Gotham," Jason interrupted. "It's practically a city requirement."

Dick took a step closer. "Is this about the people you've been staying with? Are they involved in something that could put civilians at risk?"

Jason felt a flicker of alarm. If Batman was already tracking energy signatures back to the apartment building, it wouldn't be long before he identified the exact source. Tony, Stephen, and the boys would be exposed.

"The only civilian at risk right now is you, if you keep pushing," Jason warned, his hand drifting toward the gun holstered at his thigh.

Dick noticed the movement and his posture shifted subtly, ready for confrontation. "Don't do this, Jay. Whatever's going on, let me help."

"I don't need your help. And neither do they." The words escaped before Jason could censor them.

Dick's expression shifted to understanding. "So there are people. People you're protecting."

Jason cursed inwardly. "Back off, Dick. This doesn't concern the Bat-family."

"If it's happening in Gotham, it concerns us." Dick's tone softened slightly. "Just tell me they're not dangerous."

Jason thought of Tony's manic energy and engineering genius, of Stephen's clinical precision, of the boys' uncanny intelligence. Dangerous? Perhaps, in the right circumstances. But to Gotham? To its people?

"They're just trying to get home," Jason said finally, the truth slipping out in his frustration. "They're not a threat to anyone. Especially not to your precious Batman."

Dick studied him for a long moment. "You care about them."

"I care about them being left alone," Jason corrected sharply.

"That's... new for you."

Jason glared. "Don't psychoanalyze me."

Dick raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just saying, if they've earned your trust, maybe they're worth meeting."

"Not going to happen."

"Jay—"

"No." Jason's voice hardened. "They stay off your radar, off Bruce's radar, off everyone's radar. That's non-negotiable."

Dick seemed about to argue further but then nodded slowly. "Alright. For now. But if these energy signatures keep spiking, Bruce won't ignore it forever."

"Then I'll deal with that when it happens." Jason moved to the edge of the roof, ready to depart. "In the meantime, forget you saw me."

"You know I can't do that," Dick said quietly. "Family doesn't just forget about each other."

Jason paused, his back to his adoptive brother. "We haven't been family since I came back from the grave, Dick. We're just people who used to wear the same costume."

Without waiting for a response, Jason fired his grapple gun at a nearby building and swung away into the Gotham night, leaving Dick standing alone on the rooftop.

---

Back at the apartment, Harley stood at the window, watching the street below until Jason's figure disappeared around a corner. Only then did he turn to face the others, his expression unusually serious for a nine-year-old.

"He's the Red Hood," Harley announced without preamble.

Tony, who had been dismantling an old television remote, looked up with raised eyebrows. "Come again?"

"Jason. He's the Red Hood. One of those costume guys he warned us about."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise. "How do you know?"

Harley rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Pete. I found his mask when I was looking for more components for Tony's quantum stabilizer. It was in his bag, hidden under a false bottom."

"You went through his things?" Stephen asked disapprovingly.

"Technically, they were our things. We gave him that bag."

Tony set down his screwdriver, exchanging a look with Stephen. "Are you sure about this?"

Harley nodded confidently. "Red helmet, leather jacket, guy with anger issues? Matches the descriptions I've heard from the people who come for repairs. He's supposedly some kind of crime lord who also sometimes fights other criminals. Like a villain and a hero rolled into one."

Peter looked troubled. "But he's been nice to us."

"Nice is relative in Gotham," Tony remarked. "Did you confront him about it?"

"No," Harley admitted. "I put everything back where I found it. Figured it was better to know and not say anything."

Stephen ran a hand over his face, looking weary. "This complicates things."

"Does it?" Tony countered. "We're not exactly normal ourselves. Glass houses, stones, etc."

Peter moved closer to Tony, his young face earnest. "Should we be afraid of him?"

Tony considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "He's had plenty of opportunities to harm us if that was his intention. I think Harley's right—whatever Jason is out there," he gestured toward the window, "he's been something else with us."

"A friend?" Peter suggested hopefully.

"Maybe," Tony conceded. "In his own damaged, vigilante way."

Harley joined them at the table, still looking pensive. "Do you think he'll really come back?"

Stephen placed a reassuring hand on Harley's shoulder. "I think he will. Probably with more gunshot wounds for me to treat."

"Next time, we should just tell him the truth," Peter suggested. "About us, about where we're from. Maybe he could help with Tony's quantum bridge."

Tony's expression grew thoughtful. "Not a bad idea, kid. If he's operating as this Red Hood character, he probably has access to tech and resources we don't. Might speed up our timeline for getting home."

"Or it might put us on the radar of every costumed vigilante in Gotham," Stephen cautioned. "Jason specifically warned us against that."

"True," Tony acknowledged. "But sooner or later, our little science project is going to attract attention anyway. Might be better to have someone like Jason on our side when it does."

Outside, the Gotham night deepened, the city's perpetual chorus of sirens and distant shouts providing a familiar backdrop to their conversation. Somewhere out there, Jason Todd was reclaiming his identity as the Red Hood, unaware that his newfound allies had discovered his secret—just as he had yet to discover theirs.

Two sets of strangers with hidden identities, drawn together by circumstance and perhaps something more. In a city built on secrets and shadows, they had somehow found a fragile connection that neither had anticipated.

The question now was whether that connection would strengthen or shatter when all secrets were finally revealed.

Chapter Text

The convenience store on the corner of 43rd and Harrison was a rare oasis in the desert of Gotham's night. Its fluorescent lights spilled onto the cracked sidewalk, creating an illusion of safety that most locals knew was just that—an illusion. But it was open twenty-four hours, which made it the only option when hunger struck after dark.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Harley muttered, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he and Peter walked the three blocks from their apartment. "Tony and Stephen are going to kill us when they find out we left."

Peter bounced on his toes, undeterred by his friend's pessimism. "They're both asleep. We'll be back before they even notice we're gone."

"That's what you said last time, and we ended up grounded for a week."

"This is different. We need snacks for our quantum alignment calculations." Peter grinned. "Science needs fuel, Harley!"

Harley rolled his eyes but couldn't completely suppress his own smile. "You're just using science as an excuse because you wanted those weird cheese puffs again."

"They help me think!"

The boys continued their banter as they navigated the darkened streets. Despite their youth, they moved with the confidence of those who had faced far greater dangers than a nighttime snack run. In the three months since their displacement to this universe, they'd adapted to Gotham's rhythms—when to venture out, which blocks to avoid, how to blend into the background.

Still, Harley remained vigilant, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Peter might have enhanced senses and reflexes, but Harley had street smarts and an instinctive wariness that had served him well in Rose Hill.

They were just a block from the store when Peter suddenly stiffened, his head tilting slightly in a gesture Harley had come to recognize—he was hearing something beyond normal human range.

"What is it?" Harley whispered, automatically moving closer to his friend.

Peter's expression grew concerned. "Shouting. Laughing. Not happy laughing—the crazy kind. And... explosions, I think?"

Harley grabbed Peter's arm. "That settles it. We're going back."

But Peter was already moving forward, drawn by the distant sounds only he could hear. "Someone could be hurt, Harley."

"Yeah, us, if we don't turn around right now!"

Peter hesitated, torn between safety and his innate desire to help. "Let's just check. From a distance. If it's bad, we'll go straight back and tell Tony and Stephen."

Harley wanted to argue further, but he knew that particular stubborn look on Peter's face all too well. "Fine. But we stay hidden, and at the first sign of serious trouble, we're out. Promise?"

"Promise," Peter agreed, already leading the way toward the commotion.

They took a detour down an alley that connected to the main street, moving cautiously until they reached the edge. Peering around the corner, they immediately ducked back at what they saw.

The street had become a battlefield. Smoke billowed from an overturned police car, its lights still flashing weakly through the haze. Dark figures engaged in combat across the pavement—some in distinctive costumes, others in garish, mismatched clothing that made them look like demented circus performers.

At the center of the chaos stood a tall, thin man in a purple suit, his face a ghastly white mask of makeup with a grotesque red smile painted across it. He was laughing maniacally as he waved what appeared to be a pistol with an absurdly long barrel.

"Is that...?" Harley whispered, unable to finish the question.

Peter nodded, his eyes wide. "The Joker. Jason warned us about him."

Opposing the clown and his minions was a group of vigilantes the boys had only heard about—Batman, imposing and dark, flanked by three costumed figures that moved with similar precision. Robins, according to the neighborhood gossip, though one wore blue and black instead of the traditional red, green, and yellow.

"We need to go," Harley urged, tugging at Peter's sleeve. "This is way above our pay grade."

But before they could retreat, an explosion rocked the street, much closer to their position than the main battle. The concussive force sent them stumbling back deeper into the alley, disoriented and ears ringing.

When Harley regained his balance, he realized with horror that they'd been spotted. Three of the Joker's henchmen were advancing into the alley, their painted faces leering in the dim light.

"Well, what do we have here?" one called out, twirling a baseball bat studded with nails. "A couple of lost lambs?"

"Run!" Harley shouted, pushing Peter ahead of him as they sprinted deeper into the alley.

But the alley ended in a chain-link fence too high for them to climb quickly. They spun around to face their pursuers, backs against the fence.

"Good evening, children," the lead henchman said with exaggerated politeness. "The boss loves meeting new friends. Why don't you come say hello?"

Peter shifted subtly into a fighting stance, and Harley could practically see the calculations running behind his friend's eyes—how to use his strength without revealing too much, how to protect both of them without exposing their secret.

"Leave us alone," Peter said, his voice steadier than Harley expected.

The henchmen laughed. "Brave little bug, aren't you? But bravery gets you killed in Gotham."

They advanced, weapons raised. Peter tensed, ready to fight despite the odds.

A shrill whistle pierced the night, drawing everyone's attention to the mouth of the alley. There stood the Joker himself, flanked by more henchmen.

"What's the holdup, boys?" the Joker called, his voice a sinister singsong. "Playtime waits for no man! Or child, as the case may be." His gaze fell on the boys, and his red lips stretched into an impossibly wide grin. "Oh, how delightful! Party crashers!"

Harley felt his blood run cold. Even in another universe, the Joker's reputation for sadistic cruelty was legendary. Peter moved slightly in front of him, a protective gesture that would have been touching if not for the dire circumstances.

"Bring them along," the Joker instructed, turning back toward the main street. "Batsy's getting a bit predictable tonight. Perhaps some fresh motivation will liven things up!"

The henchmen closed in. Peter tensed, ready to fight despite being outnumbered.

"Pete," Harley whispered urgently. "Don't. Not yet."

"But—"

"They don't know what you can do. That's our only advantage right now."

Reluctantly, Peter relaxed his stance, allowing the henchmen to grab them. They were roughly dragged from the alley onto the main street, where the battle had reached a temporary standoff.

The Joker clapped his hands gleefully as they approached. "Oh, Batsy! I brought some new friends to our little soirée!"

Batman, who had been stalking toward the Joker with clear intent, froze when he saw the boys. Beside him, the three other vigilantes—Nightwing, Robin, and a third in a red helmet that Harley thought looked oddly familiar—tensed visibly.

"Let them go, Joker," Batman growled, his voice a rumble of barely contained fury. "They're not part of this."

The Joker laughed, the sound sending shivers down Harley's spine. "But that's where you're wrong! Everyone in Gotham is part of our ongoing performance art, Batsy. Even the littlest audience members!"

He skipped forward, grabbing Harley from his captor's grip and pressing the barrel of his oversized pistol against the boy's temple. Harley stiffened but kept his expression defiant.

"Let him go!" Peter shouted, struggling against the henchman holding him.

"Such spirit!" the Joker crowed. "I do appreciate an enthusiastic audience."

The vigilante in the red helmet stepped forward, his body language shifting from tense to something more dangerous. "Release the kid. Now."

There was something in his voice—a controlled rage that seemed familiar to Harley. He blinked, suddenly connecting the dots. The helmet, the stance, the barely restrained fury...

It was Jason.

The Joker tilted his head, studying the Red Hood with apparent delight. "Well, well! The prodigal son speaks! Tell me, Hood, do these particular brats mean something to you? Have I accidentally stumbled upon a soft spot in that bulletproof heart of yours?"

Jason's hands moved to his holstered guns. "Last warning, clown."

Batman raised a hand toward Jason. "Hood—"

"Stay out of this," Jason snarled, not taking his eyes off the Joker and Harley.

The Joker's smile widened impossibly further. "Oh my! Family drama on top of hostage negotiations! This night just keeps getting better!"

Peter, still restrained by one of the henchmen, caught Harley's eye. A silent communication passed between them—a plan formed through weeks of working together. Peter gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Harley caught the signal and knew what was coming. As Peter suddenly went limp in his captor's grip, causing the man to adjust his hold, Harley braced himself. The momentary distraction was all Peter needed. With strength that belied his small frame, he drove his elbow back into his captor's stomach, breaking free.

In the same instant, Harley stomped hard on the Joker's instep and twisted away from the gun. The clown let out a surprised yelp, his grip loosening just enough for Harley to wrench himself free.

"Run!" Harley shouted to Peter.

But instead of fleeing, Peter charged toward the Joker, his face contorted with fury. "Don't touch my brother!"

"Peter, no!" Harley yelled, recognizing the dangerous mistake his friend was about to make. If Peter used his enhanced strength against the Joker in front of Batman and the others...

Before Peter could reach his target, Jason intercepted him, catching the boy around the waist and bodily removing him from the Joker's reach.

"Stand down, kid," Jason ordered, his voice modulated through the helmet but unmistakably directed at Peter.

The Joker, recovering from his surprise, cackled with renewed delight. "My, my! Such drama! Such passion! I haven't seen a family outing this exciting since... well, since I took a crowbar to the last Robin!"

Jason's entire body went rigid at the words. His grip on Peter tightened momentarily before he set the boy behind him, drawing both guns in one fluid motion.

"Get the boys out of here," he commanded, not looking at the other vigilantes as he advanced on the Joker.

Batman moved forward. "Hood, don't—"

"I said get them out!" Jason's voice was razor-sharp, brooking no argument.

Nightwing approached cautiously, reaching for Harley and Peter. "Come on, kids. Let's get you somewhere safe."

But Peter, still not recognizing Jason beneath the helmet, tried to push past. "No! He has my brother!"

"Pete, it's okay," Harley said urgently, grabbing his friend's arm. "That's Jason."

Peter froze, his eyes widening as he looked more carefully at the Red Hood. "What? How do you—"

"I'll explain later. Just trust me."

The Joker, observing this exchange with apparent glee, raised his oversized pistol again. "Leaving so soon? But the party's just getting started!"

He fired the gun, but instead of a bullet, it released a cloud of garish green gas. Batman immediately threw a smoke bomb of his own, creating a counteracting cloud that neutralized most of the Joker's gas.

In the confusion, Jason grabbed both boys, pulling them away from the toxic cloud. "Move, now!"

He hustled them toward a narrow side street, shielding them with his body as bullets began flying through the smokescreen. Batman and the others engaged the Joker's remaining henchmen, creating a diversion that allowed Jason to get the boys to relative safety.

Once they were out of immediate danger, Jason crouched to their level, his helmeted face betraying nothing of his expression beneath. "What the hell were you two thinking? Wandering around at night in the middle of a Joker attack?"

"We didn't know he was going to be there," Peter protested, still staring at Jason with confusion. "We just wanted snacks."

"Snacks," Jason repeated incredulously. "You risked your lives for snacks."

"Are you really Jason?" Peter asked suddenly.

Jason sighed, then released the catch on his helmet, lifting it just enough to reveal his face to the boys. "Yes, it's me. And you two are in serious trouble."

Peter's eyes widened with a mix of awe and betrayal. "You're a vigilante? Why didn't you tell us?"

"For the same reason you don't tell everyone you meet that you have super strength," Jason retorted, causing Peter to blanch.

"How did you—"

"I've been watching you train on the roof when you think no one's looking," Jason said flatly. "Not exactly subtle, kid."

Harley crossed his arms. "So you've been spying on us?"

"I've been making sure you stay alive," Jason corrected, replacing his helmet. "Which is apparently a full-time job."

From the main street, the sounds of combat began to fade. The Joker's maniacal laughter echoed once more, then cut off abruptly—likely making his escape, as he often did.

"Tony and Stephen are going to kill us," Harley muttered to Peter.

"Not if I kill you first," Jason growled, though there was less heat in his voice than before. "Where are they, anyway?"

"Asleep," Peter admitted sheepishly. "They don't know we left."

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose through his helmet. "Of course they don't."

The sound of approaching footsteps caused Jason to straighten, placing himself between the boys and the potential threat. Batman emerged from the smoke, followed by Nightwing and Robin.

"Hood," Batman acknowledged, his white lenses focusing on the boys. "Are they hurt?"

"We're fine," Harley answered before Jason could, his voice steady despite the night's events. "Thanks to Red Hood."

Batman studied the boys more carefully. "You know each other."

It wasn't a question, but Jason answered anyway. "They're under my protection. That's all you need to know."

Nightwing stepped forward, his expression concerned beneath his domino mask. "They're children, Hood. They shouldn't be involved in this."

"We're not involved," Peter protested. "We were just getting snacks!"

Robin, who appeared to be in his mid-teens, scoffed. "At midnight? During a Joker attack? Very believable."

Jason's posture grew more defensive. "Back off, Replacement. This isn't your concern."

"If the Joker is targeting civilians to get to you, it becomes our concern," Batman stated, his voice flat.

"He wasn't targeting them," Jason snapped. "They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I handled it."

"After they nearly got themselves killed," Robin pointed out.

Harley stepped forward, putting himself slightly between the vigilantes and Peter. "We can take care of ourselves."

"Clearly," Robin said sarcastically.

Peter moved closer to Harley, his expression troubled. "We should go home. Tony and Stephen might wake up and check on us."

Batman's eyes narrowed slightly at the names. "Who are Tony and Stephen?"

"None of your business," Jason interjected before either boy could answer. "Look, Batman, I appreciate the assist tonight, but these kids are under my protection. That means they're off-limits to your investigations."

"You can't expect us to ignore—" Nightwing began.

"I expect you to respect my territory," Jason cut him off. "That was our agreement, remember? I stay in my lane, you stay in yours."

Batman was silent for a long moment, his imposing figure seeming to absorb the shadows around him. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Get them home safely. We'll discuss this later."

"Can't wait," Jason muttered sarcastically.

Batman turned to leave, then paused. "Hood. The energy signatures in Crime Alley. Are they connected to these children?"

Jason tensed. "I said, not your business."

"If there's a potential threat—"

"The only threat to these kids right now is standing right in front of them," Jason said coldly. "Back off, Batman. I won't tell you again."

For a tense moment, it seemed like the confrontation might escalate. Then Nightwing placed a hand on Batman's shoulder. "B, maybe we should focus on tracking the Joker. He still has that nerve agent."

After a pause that felt eternal, Batman nodded. "This isn't over," he said to Jason, before firing his grapple gun and disappearing into the night. Nightwing and Robin followed, though not without Robin casting a final suspicious glance at the boys.

Once they were alone, Jason's shoulders slumped slightly. "You two are nothing but trouble."

"Says the guy in the red helmet with guns," Harley retorted.

Despite himself, Jason let out a short laugh. "Fair point. Come on, let's get you home before Tony and Stephen realize you're gone and have simultaneous heart attacks."

As they began walking back toward the apartment, Peter looked up at Jason. "So... you're a superhero?"

"No," Jason said firmly. "I'm not a hero. I'm just someone trying to keep this city from completely destroying itself. And apparently babysitting two troublemakers while I'm at it."

"We're not babies," Harley protested.

"Could have fooled me," Jason muttered, but there was a hint of affection in his voice that hadn't been there before.

They walked in silence for a block before Peter asked, "Are you going to tell Tony and Stephen that we snuck out?"

Jason considered this. "No. But you are."

Both boys groaned.

"That's your punishment for nearly getting yourselves killed," Jason continued. "That, and you're going to tell me exactly what you've been doing on that rooftop. I want to know everything—what you can do, where you came from, all of it."

Harley and Peter exchanged worried glances.

"Tony said we shouldn't tell anyone," Peter said hesitantly.

"Tony isn't the one who saved you from the Joker tonight," Jason countered. "Besides, I've already figured out most of it. You're not from this universe, are you?"

The boys' shocked expressions were answer enough.

"Thought so," Jason said, satisfaction evident in his voice despite the helmet's modulation. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. But no more secrets between us, got it? If I'm going to protect you, I need to know what I'm dealing with."

As they approached the apartment building, Jason stopped and crouched to their level once more. "One more thing. Batman and his crew—stay away from them. They're dangerous in ways you can't understand."

"But they're the good guys, right?" Peter asked, confused.

Jason's response was quiet but firm. "In Gotham, kid, good and bad aren't always clear-cut. Remember that."

With those cryptic words, Jason escorted them to the apartment door, waiting until they were safely inside before disappearing back into the night—a red-helmeted guardian watching over a family of interdimensional travelers who had, against all odds, become something like his own.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the apartment was tense, punctuated by occasional sirens in the distance—the aftermath of the Joker's chaos. Jason kept the boys between himself and the buildings, his vigilant gaze constantly scanning their surroundings. He'd removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm to attract less attention, but kept his domino mask in place.

Peter kept sneaking glances at Jason, clearly still processing the revelation of his vigilante identity. Harley, meanwhile, maintained a stubborn silence that reminded Jason uncomfortably of himself at that age.

"So," Jason finally said as they turned onto their street, "how long have you known?"

Harley shrugged. "Found your mask a couple weeks ago. The false bottom in your bag wasn't that clever."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You went through my things?"

"Technically, they were our things. We gave them to you." Harley's tone was defensive but not apologetic.

"And you didn't say anything?"

"Wasn't my secret to tell. Besides," Harley added, his voice dropping slightly, "we've got our own secrets."

"Yeah, about that," Jason glanced down at Peter. "Super strength? Really?"

Peter winced. "It's complicated."

"I bet it is." Jason sighed as they reached the apartment building. "Look, we all have things we'd rather keep private. But after tonight... Let's just say the Joker has a way of complicating lives he touches."

Both boys sobered at the mention of the clown. Even in their short time in Gotham, they'd heard enough about the Joker to understand the gravity of their encounter.

"Will he come after us?" Peter asked quietly.

Jason wished he could offer more reassurance. "Probably not. The Joker's chaos is usually opportunistic. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Batman will be watching now, which means..."

"Which means what?" Harley pressed.

"Which means we all need to be more careful." Jason stopped outside the apartment building, crouching to meet them at eye level. "No more midnight snack runs. No more rooftop training sessions unless I'm there. And you've got to talk to Tony and Stephen about amping down whatever energy signature is coming from your place. It's like a beacon for anyone with the right equipment."

Peter nodded solemnly. "Tony's been working on shielding, but some of the materials he needs are hard to find."

"I might be able to help with that," Jason offered, surprising himself with the sincerity of the offer. "I have... connections."

Harley snorted. "You mean you can steal stuff."

"I prefer 'tactically acquire,'" Jason corrected with a slight smirk. "Now come on, let's get you inside before something else goes wrong."

They climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, moving quietly to avoid waking other residents. As they approached the apartment door, however, Jason noticed it was already cracked open, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway.

He immediately pushed the boys behind him, drawing one of his guns.

"Stay here," he whispered, his entire demeanor shifting back to the Red Hood.

"Wait," Peter said urgently, placing a small hand on Jason's arm. "I can hear Tony and Stephen inside. They're worried."

Jason hesitated, then holstered his weapon. "Looks like your midnight adventure has been discovered."

Harley grimaced. "We are so dead."

"Better dead metaphorically than literally," Jason pointed out. "After you, troublemakers."

The boys exchanged resigned looks before pushing the door open. Inside, they found Tony pacing the small living room while Stephen stood by the window, his expression tense.

Both men froze at the sight of the boys, relief washing over their faces immediately followed by parental fury.

"Where the hell have you been?" Tony demanded, striding forward to inspect them. His anger faltered when he noticed the small bruise forming on Peter's cheek and the torn sleeve of Harley's jacket. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Stephen was already moving toward them, doctor's instincts taking over. "Sit down, both of you. Let me check you over."

Only then did they notice Jason lingering in the doorway, domino mask still in place, helmet tucked under his arm, and the full reality of the Red Hood standing in their apartment seemed to register.

"Jason?" Tony asked, his voice carrying a mixture of surprise and wariness.

"Hey," Jason replied awkwardly, suddenly feeling like an intruder despite having spent weeks recuperating in this very room. "Found these two in the middle of a situation."

"A situation," Stephen repeated flatly, carefully examining the bruise on Peter's face. "Care to elaborate?"

Peter and Harley began talking simultaneously:

"We just wanted some snacks—"
"It wasn't that bad—"
"The Joker showed up—"
"Jason saved us—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tony interrupted, his face paling. "Did you say 'Joker'? As in the psychopathic clown who murders people for fun?"

The boys fell silent, exchanging guilty looks.

"Perhaps one of you could explain," Stephen suggested, his calm tone belied by the tension in his shoulders. "Preferably in a coherent, sequential manner."

Jason stepped fully into the apartment, closing the door behind him. "They decided to go for a midnight snack run and walked right into a confrontation between the Joker and Batman. The clown grabbed them, tried to use them as leverage." He removed his domino mask, revealing tired eyes. "I happened to be in the area."

"You 'happened' to be in the area," Tony repeated skeptically.

"I was on patrol," Jason clarified. "It's what I do."

Stephen finished his initial examination of Peter and moved on to Harley. "Minor contusions, some superficial abrasions. Nothing serious, thankfully."

"No thanks to their recklessness," Jason added.

Tony ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "So let me get this straight. My kids snuck out for snacks, ran into Gotham's most notorious mass murderer, and were rescued by you—who, apparently, is some kind of vigilante?"

"Red Hood," Harley supplied helpfully. "He's kind of famous around here."

"Infamous would be more accurate," Jason muttered.

Tony looked between his children and Jason, connecting dots visibly. "That's why you recognized him," he said to Harley. "You knew he was Red Hood when you found his mask."

Harley had the grace to look sheepish. "Yeah."

"And you didn't think to mention this?" Stephen asked, his voice carrying the special strain of a parent who's been pushed to his limit.

"It wasn't relevant," Harley defended. "Besides, Jason was helping us."

"It became relevant the moment you two decided to wander into a war zone!" Tony's voice rose, fear disguised as anger. "Do you have any idea what could have happened? What that lunatic does to people?"

Peter's eyes filled with tears. "We're sorry, Tony. We didn't mean to—"

"Scaring us to death?" Tony cut him off, though his expression softened at Peter's distress. "Because that's exactly what happened when we checked your room and found it empty."

"I should go," Jason said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in the middle of this family moment. "I just wanted to make sure they got home safe."

He turned toward the door, but Tony's voice stopped him.

"Wait." Tony approached Jason, studying him with newfound awareness. "You protected my kids tonight. Thank you."

Jason shifted uncomfortably, unused to gratitude. "Don't mention it."

"Are you injured?" Stephen asked professionally, noticing how Jason favored his right side slightly.

"I'm fine. Just some bruising."

Stephen clearly didn't believe him. "Sit down. Let me check."

"Really, Doc, I'm—"

"Sit," Stephen repeated more firmly. "Considering you were shot not too long ago, I'd prefer to confirm you haven't reopened that wound or acquired new ones."

Jason sighed but complied, sitting on the edge of the couch while Stephen knelt to examine him. Tony, meanwhile, guided the boys to the small kitchen table.

"You two," Tony said sternly, "are in serious trouble. Grounded doesn't even begin to cover it."

"We know," Peter said miserably.

"But we're also really glad you're alive," Tony added, his voice softening as he pulled both boys into a tight hug. "Don't ever do that to us again."

Over by the couch, Stephen carefully lifted the edge of Jason's armored shirt, revealing fresh bruising along his ribs. "You've been hit with something heavy."

"Crowbar," Jason said tersely. "It's nothing."

Stephen's hands paused momentarily, his medical professionalism momentarily overtaken by concern. "A crowbar."

"Joker's weapon of choice," Jason explained flatly. "He thinks it's funny."

Something in Jason's tone suggested a deeper history with that particular weapon, but Stephen didn't press. Instead, he continued his examination with careful hands.

"No broken ribs, but these bruises are significant. You should ice them and try to rest for at least twenty-four hours."

Jason snorted. "Sure, Doc. I'll pencil that in between crime-fighting and keeping your kids out of trouble."

Stephen's expression didn't change, but his hands were gentle as he helped Jason lower his shirt. "Thank you. For bringing them home safely."

Jason nodded uncomfortably, unaccustomed to such sincere gratitude. "They're good kids. Reckless, but good."

From the kitchen, Tony called out, "Jason, you staying for some food? I think we all could use something after tonight's excitement."

The casual offer caught Jason off guard. After the danger he'd inadvertently brought to their doorstep—the Joker, Batman's attention—he'd expected recriminations, not dinner invitations.

"It's late," he hedged.

"It's two a.m.," Tony corrected, already pulling items from their small refrigerator. "Perfect time for breakfast. Eggs work for everyone?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tony began cracking eggs into a bowl. Peter, eager to help despite his chastisement, hopped up to retrieve plates while Harley silently set out forks.

The domestic scene was so incongruous with the night's events that Jason couldn't help but stare. These people had just learned their children had nearly been killed, that Jason himself was a notorious vigilante, and their response was... breakfast?

Stephen seemed to read his confusion. "Tony stress-cooks," he explained quietly. "It's his way of processing."

"Right," Jason said, still bewildered.

Stephen studied him for a moment. "This would be a good opportunity to have that conversation about where we're from. All of us."

Jason's eyes narrowed slightly. "You mean the alternate universe thing? The kids let that slip tonight."

"They did, did they?" Stephen cast a look toward the boys, who suddenly found the table extremely interesting. "Well, that saves some explanation. But there's more to it than that."

"Like Peter's super strength? Yeah, I noticed."

Stephen's lips quirked. "That's just the beginning."

In the kitchen, Tony was whipping eggs with scientific precision while instructing the boys on proper egg-to-salt ratios. The scene was so ordinary, so peaceful compared to the violence of earlier that Jason felt something in his chest loosen slightly.

"So," Jason said, pitching his voice low enough that only Stephen could hear, "what's your story? Interdimensional travelers who just happened to land in the worst city in America?"

"Something like that," Stephen agreed. "Though I'm starting to think Gotham might be the least of our problems."

"Batman won't let this go," Jason warned. "He saw me with the boys. He's already tracking energy signatures from your apartment. It's only a matter of time before he connects the dots."

Stephen nodded gravely. "Tony's been working on shielding technology to mask our quantum experiments, but progress has been slow without proper materials."

"I might be able to help with that," Jason offered, echoing what he'd told the boys earlier. "I have access to tech that doesn't exactly come through official channels."

"Wayne Enterprises tech?" Stephen asked innocently.

Jason froze. "What makes you say that?"

"Logical deduction. You're familiar with Batman and his associates. You operate in similar circles but with different methods. And you have access to advanced technology despite apparently limited financial resources." Stephen shrugged. "That, and you reacted every time anyone mentioned Wayne Enterprises in your presence."

"You're observant," Jason said cautiously.

"It's a requirement in my line of work." Stephen leaned closer. "Your secrets are safe with us, Jason. Just as I hope ours are with you."

Before Jason could respond, Tony called out, "Food's ready! Get it while it's hot and marginally edible!"

The boys, despite their earlier ordeal, perked up at the prospect of food. They set the small table quickly, their movements suggesting a practiced routine.

"Jason, chair's for you," Tony said, gesturing to a spot that had clearly been kept open even during the weeks of Jason's absence.

Hesitantly, Jason joined them at the table. Tony served scrambled eggs with bits of cheese and the last of their bread, toasted to hide its slight staleness.

"So," Tony said conversationally as they began eating, "Red Hood, huh? Interesting career choice."

Jason tensed, preparing for judgment or interrogation. "It's complicated."

"Isn't everything?" Tony replied with surprising understanding. "Look, I'm not thrilled that my kids were almost killed tonight, but that wasn't your fault. You saved them."

"After my enemies put them in danger in the first place," Jason pointed out.

Tony waved a fork dismissively. "Kids determined to find trouble will find it with or without help. Trust me, I know from experience." He cast a meaningful glance at Peter and Harley, who had the grace to look embarrassed.

"What Tony's trying to say," Stephen interjected, "is that we're grateful you were there. Without you, this night could have ended very differently."

Peter nodded vigorously. "You were amazing, Jason! The way you just appeared and stood up to the Joker like that!"

"Yeah," Harley agreed, his earlier sullenness replaced by reluctant admiration. "It was pretty cool."

Jason felt a strange warmth at their praise, different from the respect or fear his Red Hood persona usually commanded. This felt more... personal. More genuine.

"About Batman," he said, steering the conversation back to safer territory. "He's going to be a problem. He doesn't like unknowns in his city, and you four are about as unknown as it gets."

Tony and Stephen exchanged looks.

"How much of a threat is he?" Tony asked.

"To you specifically? Uncertain." Jason took a bite of eggs, considering his words carefully. "Batman doesn't kill, but he's not above intimidation, surveillance, or intervention if he believes someone poses a danger to Gotham."

"We just want to go home," Peter said quietly. "We're not trying to hurt anyone."

"Good intentions aren't always enough in this city," Jason replied, though he softened his tone for the boy's benefit. "But I can run interference, keep him off your trail while you finish whatever you're building."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "And why would you do that for us?"

Jason hesitated, unused to examining his own motivations too closely. "Because contrary to popular belief, I don't actually enjoy seeing innocent people caught in Gotham's crossfire. Especially kids. Especially these kids."

The simple admission hung in the air, heavy with implications that Jason wasn't entirely comfortable acknowledging. These four strangers had somehow wormed their way past his defenses, becoming something dangerously close to family.

"Well," Tony said finally, breaking the tension with a small smile, "lucky for us you've got a soft spot for troublemakers."

"Don't push it, Stark," Jason warned, but there was no heat in his voice.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as they finished their impromptu meal. The boys, despite their earlier adventure, began to fade, eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

"Bed," Stephen directed firmly. "School tomorrow."

"But we almost died," Harley protested weakly. "Shouldn't we get a day off?"

"Nice try," Tony replied. "Traumatic experiences are no excuse for missing education."

The boys grumbled but complied, heading to their room after mumbling goodnight to Jason.

Once they were gone, Tony's expression grew more serious. "Jason, we need to know everything about the potential threats in Gotham. Not just Batman, but anyone who might take an interest in strange energy signatures or interdimensional travelers."

Jason nodded. "It's a long list."

"We've got time," Stephen said, clearing the plates. "And we need to be prepared."

As the night deepened into early morning, Jason found himself explaining Gotham's complex ecosystem of villains, vigilantes, and caught-in-between figures like himself. Tony took notes on a salvaged tablet, occasionally asking incisive questions that revealed a tactical mind behind the sarcasm.

By the time dawn began to lighten the sky, a plan had formed. Jason would supply the specialized materials Tony needed to complete his quantum bridge while helping Stephen establish better security protocols for their apartment. In exchange, they would share their scientific knowledge—particularly about interdimensional travel, which might prove useful in Jason's own unspoken contingency plans.

As Jason prepared to leave, Tony walked him to the door. "You know," Tony said quietly, "we've got a spare key. In case you need a place that's... not filled with weapons and vendettas."

The offer caught Jason off guard. "I have safehouses."

"Houses, yes. Homes, maybe not." Tony pressed a key into Jason's palm. "Just think about it."

Jason stared at the simple key, feeling its weight in his hand. It had been years since anyone had offered him a place without conditions or expectations.

"Thanks," he said finally, tucking the key into his pocket. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Do," Tony replied with unexpected sincerity. "And Jason? You're always welcome here. Red Hood, Jason Todd, whoever you need to be that day. This place is safe for all versions of you."

Jason nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He slipped out the door, back into Gotham's warming dawn, the key a solid presence against his thigh—a physical reminder that somewhere in this city, there existed a place where he was known and accepted, complex history and all.

It was a dangerous idea, allowing himself to care about these interdimensional refugees. But as he made his way across rooftops toward his nearest safehouse, Jason found himself planning his patrol routes to include regular passes by their apartment building.

Just to check, he told himself. Just to make sure they stayed safe.

But deep down, he knew it was more than that. Somehow, against all odds and his better judgment, Jason Todd had found something in Gotham he'd thought lost forever.

A home. A family. A place to belong.

Chapter Text

The night air carried the distinct tang of Gotham—pollution mixed with desperation and rain-slicked concrete. Jason crouched on a rooftop in Crime Alley, his territory, watching a drug deal unfold below. Three weeks had passed since the Joker incident, three weeks since he'd last visited the strange interdimensional family that had somehow gotten under his skin.

His fingers absently traced the outline of the key in his pocket—Tony's key that he'd kept but never used. Just knowing it existed was both comfort and burden.

A movement across the adjacent rooftop caught his attention—a flash of yellow cape that could only belong to one person.

"Damn it," Jason muttered, drawing his gun as Robin landed silently on his rooftop.

"Hood," Damian acknowledged, his posture tense but not overtly hostile.

Before Jason could respond, another figure dropped down beside Robin—Red Robin, Tim's cowl gleaming dully in the city lights.

"Two for one special," Jason drawled, keeping his gun pointed at the ground. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

"We need to talk," Tim said, his voice modulated through his mask. "About the children you were with when Joker attacked."

Jason's grip tightened on his weapon. "Nothing to talk about. None of your business."

"It became our business when Batman tracked unusual energy signatures to the same area," Tim countered. "Energy readings unlike anything we've seen before."

"Get out of my city," Jason growled. "Stick to the rest of Gotham. The Alley is mine."

Damian scoffed. "Your 'city' is two square miles of the worst real estate in Gotham."

"Which makes it the perfect place to hide whatever you're hiding," Tim added, taking a careful step forward. "Those kids—"

"Are off-limits," Jason cut him sharply. "Whatever you think you know, whatever Batman's paranoia has cooked up, drop it."

Tim tilted his head, studying Jason with that analytical gaze that always made him feel exposed. "You're protecting them. Why?"

"Maybe I'm tired of seeing innocent people caught in the crossfire of Bat family drama," Jason replied, holstering his gun in a deliberate show of restraint. "Those kids and their family are not a threat."

"Then why the energy signatures?" Damian pressed. "Father detected quantum fluctuations consistent with—"

"I said drop it," Jason interrupted, his patience wearing thin. "Or I'll make you drop it."

The threat hung in the air between them, charged with years of complicated history.

"Hood," Tim said quietly, "if they're in danger, we can help."

The sincerity in his voice almost made Jason waver. Almost.

"The biggest danger to them right now is Batman's interference," Jason said flatly. "Tell him to back off."

"You know he won't," Damian responded.

"Then we have nothing else to discuss." Jason turned his back on them, a calculated risk. "Stay out of my territory, and stay away from those kids."

He could feel their eyes on him as he fired his grappling gun and swung away, disappearing into the maze of Gotham's underbelly. The encounter left him unsettled. If Bruce was actively tracking the quantum signatures, the Stark-Strange family had less time than he'd hoped.

He needed to warn them. But that meant breaking his self-imposed exile, facing the inexplicable pull these strangers had on him—the dangerous feeling of connection that threatened everything he'd built since his resurrection.

Attachment in Gotham was a liability. For them as much as for him.

* * *

The free clinic where Stephen volunteered was housed in a former factory, its brick exterior crumbling but clean. Jason had been circling it for twenty minutes, debating whether to go inside, when the decision was made for him.

A knife wound to the abdomen—courtesy of a would-be mugger with surprisingly good aim—had gone from "manageable" to "problematic" during his patrol. Blood seeped through his makeshift bandage, warm against his skin.

The clinic's back entrance required only minimal lock-picking. Jason slipped inside, mask still in place, following the sounds of quiet activity to a room at the end of the hall.

Stephen stood with his back to the door, organizing supplies. Even in this dingy clinic, he maintained the precise movements of a surgeon, his focus absolute.

"Guess it's my turn to be the patient," Jason said, his voice rougher than intended.

Stephen turned, startled but not alarmed. His eyes quickly assessed Jason's condition, medical instincts overriding any personal reaction.

"Sit," he directed, pointing to an examination table. "Remove your jacket and shirt."

Jason complied awkwardly, wincing as dried blood pulled at the wound. Stephen approached with gloved hands, his expression shifting from professional detachment to quiet anger as he examined the knife wound.

"This is at least three hours old," he noted, cleaning around the laceration. "Why didn't you seek treatment immediately?"

Jason shrugged, then regretted the movement. "Been busy."

"Too busy for three weeks to check in?" Stephen's tone was deliberately casual, but the question landed with precision.

"Had things to handle," Jason evaded.

Stephen worked in silence for a moment, cleaning the wound with careful efficiency. "The boys asked about you. Particularly after Batman was spotted surveilling our building last week."

Jason tensed. "He came to your place?"

"Not directly. Just watching." Stephen began stitching the wound, his hands steady. "Tony noticed him first. Said it reminded him of surveillance tech from his world."

"I ran into some Bats tonight," Jason admitted. "They're asking questions about you. About the kids."

Stephen nodded as if confirming a suspicion. "We assumed as much. Tony's accelerated his work on the quantum bridge. He's hoping to have it operational within two weeks."

"That soon?" Jason couldn't hide his surprise—or the unexpected pang that accompanied it.

"We've always been temporary residents here, Jason," Stephen reminded him gently. "This isn't our world."

"I know that," Jason snapped, then sighed. "Sorry. Loss of blood makes me cranky."

"Among other things," Stephen agreed dryly, completing the final stitch. "There. Not my best work, but it will hold if you don't do anything foolish for at least forty-eight hours."

Jason snorted. "No promises there, Doc."

Stephen cleaned up efficiently, disposing of bloodied gauze in a biohazard container. "The others are at the apartment. Tony's been working on rebuilding his nanite technology. The boys have been helping."

"Nanites?" Jason asked, pulling his shirt back on carefully.

"The foundation of his armor in our world," Stephen explained. "He's been recreating it piece by piece, using whatever materials he can salvage—including what you provided."

Jason nodded, remembering the specialized components he'd "acquired" for them before his self-imposed distance. "Smart. Good defensive measure if Batman decides to escalate."

"It's not just for defense," Stephen said, studying Jason with that penetrating gaze. "It's who Tony is. Creator, inventor, protector. Just as Red Hood is part of who you are."

The insight made Jason uncomfortable. "Speaking of which, I should get back to it."

"Jason." Stephen's voice stopped him halfway to the door. "Whatever your reasons for staying away, know that you're still welcome. The boys miss you. We all do."

The simple acknowledgment cut deeper than the knife had. Jason nodded once, unable to formulate a response, and slipped out into the hallway.

He made it to the clinic exit before turning back.

* * *

Bass-heavy music reverberated through the apartment building's basement, so loud Jason could feel it through the concrete floor. He followed the sound, passing makeshift workshops that hadn't been there during his previous visits.

He found them in what had once been a storage room, now transformed into a high-tech laboratory that would make Batman's own setup envious. Tony stood at a holographic interface—likely of his own design—manipulating glowing blue schematics while Peter worked at a bench nearby, measuring microscopic components with precise movements.

Across the room, Harley was hunched over what appeared to be a robotic arm, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he soldered a connection.

None of them noticed Jason's arrival, absorbed in their work and insulated by the blaring music. He watched them for a moment, struck by the tableau—a family of geniuses creating something extraordinary in the bowels of Gotham's worst neighborhood.

Tony spotted him first, double-taking before a grin spread across his face. He tapped a button, and the music abruptly cut off.

"Well, well," he called, setting down his tools. "Look what the bat dragged in."

Peter whirled around, his face lighting up. "Jason! You're back!"

Harley's reaction was more reserved—a measuring look followed by a casual nod that reminded Jason eerily of himself at that age.

"Hey," Jason said awkwardly, suddenly aware he had no prepared explanation for his absence or his return.

"Just 'hey' after three weeks of radio silence?" Tony approached, wiping grease from his hands. "No calls, no texts—oh wait, you refused the burner phone I offered."

"Tony," Peter cautioned, shooting Jason an apologetic look.

"No, it's fine," Jason said. "I deserve that."

"Yeah, you do," Harley agreed, setting down his soldering iron. "We thought maybe the Joker got you. Or Batman."

The genuine concern in the boy's voice made Jason's chest tighten uncomfortably. "Takes more than that to keep me down."

"Apparently it just takes a family that cares about you," Tony remarked, his sarcasm barely masking hurt. "That's enough to send you running for the hills."

"I wasn't running," Jason protested, though the denial sounded weak even to his ears. "I was protecting you."

"From what?" Peter asked quietly.

"From me," Jason admitted. "From the people who hate Red Hood. From the fallout of being associated with someone like me."

The words hung in the air, raw and honest in a way Jason rarely allowed himself to be.

Tony studied him for a long moment before sighing dramatically. "Well, you're here now. And judging by the way you're favoring your left side, I'm guessing Stephen patched you up?"

Jason nodded, grateful for the change in subject. "Knife wound. Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious, he says," Tony rolled his eyes. "Just a casual stabbing on a Tuesday night. Perfectly normal."

Despite himself, Jason felt a smile tugging at his lips. "It's Wednesday morning, actually."

"Even worse," Tony declared, gesturing toward his workstation. "Well, since you're here, might as well show you what we've been working on. Kids, project rundown for the prodigal vigilante, please."

Peter immediately perked up, eager to share. "We've been helping Tony rebuild his Iron Man technology! Look!"

He bounded over to a table where dozens of tiny metallic beads glinted under bright lights. "These are the nanites. Each one contains programming that allows it to form different parts of the armor. They're like tiny robots that can reshape themselves!"

"Iron Man?" Jason asked, approaching the table cautiously.

"My alter ego," Tony explained, a hint of pride in his voice. "In our world, I'm not just devilishly handsome and brilliant—I'm also a superhero. Armor, repulsors, the works."

"He's an Avenger!" Peter added enthusiastically. "One of Earth's mightiest heroes!"

Jason raised an eyebrow, looking between Tony and the tiny nanites. "You're telling me these little metal beads turn into a full suit of armor?"

"When there's enough of them, yes," Tony confirmed. "Right now we've only managed to produce enough for gauntlets and partial chest coverage, but it's a start."

"I'm working on the power distribution system," Harley said, gesturing to his robotic project. "Normal power sources aren't efficient enough, so we're having to get creative."

Jason moved closer to examine their work, genuinely impressed by what they'd accomplished with limited resources. "This is why Batman's been detecting energy fluctuations. Your power source isn't from this world."

"Got it in one," Tony nodded. "The arc reactor technology draws on energy principles that, technically speaking, don't exist in your universe's physics. Hence the quantum signature that's got Batsy's tights in a twist."

"He's getting more aggressive in his surveillance," Jason warned. "I ran into Robin and Red Robin tonight. They were asking about you, specifically about the kids."

Tony's expression hardened. "Ever since the Joker incident, I've been accelerating our timeline. We need to be ready—either to defend ourselves or to go home."

"Stephen mentioned a quantum bridge," Jason said, carefully watching their reactions. "Two weeks?"

"If everything goes according to plan," Tony confirmed. "Which, spoiler alert, it rarely does. But we're making progress."

Peter moved closer to Jason, his young face serious. "Are you going to help us again? With Batman and everything?"

The simple question carried weight far beyond its words. Jason looked at the boy—this child from another universe who somehow had super strength and the heart of a hero—and felt something resolute settle in his chest.

"Yeah, kid," he said softly. "I'm going to help."

"Why?" Harley challenged, his arms crossed defensively. "You disappeared for three weeks. What's changed?"

Jason met the older boy's skeptical gaze directly. "Nothing's changed. That's the problem." He sighed, struggling to articulate feelings he barely understood himself. "Look, I stayed away because people I care about tend to become targets. But it turns out you're already targets—with or without me."

"So you're helping us out of obligation?" Tony asked, his tone carefully neutral.

"I'm helping because..." Jason paused, searching for words that wouldn't leave him too exposed. "Because in this cesspool of a city, you four are actually trying to build something rather than destroy it. And that's rare enough to be worth protecting."

Tony's expression softened. "Well, that was almost sentimental. We'll make a functional human being out of you yet, Todd."

"Don't count on it, Stark," Jason retorted, but without heat.

Peter beamed at the exchange, clearly pleased by Jason's return. Even Harley seemed to relax slightly, turning back to his project with less tension in his shoulders.

"So," Jason said, gesturing around the makeshift lab, "what do you need from me?"

Tony's eyes lit up with a mischievous gleam that Jason was learning to be wary of. "How do you feel about breaking into Wayne Enterprises?"

"Absolutely not," Jason replied automatically.

"Oh come on," Tony wheedled. "They have specialized alloys I need for the quantum bridge stabilizer. Just a tiny corporate heist. For science!"

"For getting arrested," Jason corrected. "Wayne Enterprises has security that would make the Pentagon jealous."

"Exactly why we need your expertise," Tony argued. "Peter could get in and out without being detected, but he needs guidance from someone who knows the building."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "How would Peter get in undetected?"

Peter smiled sheepishly. "I'm, uh, kind of sticky? I can climb walls."

"Of course you can," Jason muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Any other superpowers I should know about?"

"Well, I have enhanced strength, healing, reflexes, and a sort of danger sense," Peter listed off casually. "Oh, and I invented these web-shooters that let me swing around the city!"

He held up his wrists, showing off devices that looked remarkably similar to simplified versions of Batman's grappling technology.

"He's Spider-Man in our world," Harley explained with a hint of pride. "Another superhero."

Jason looked between them, suddenly understanding why Peter had been able to fight back against the Joker's henchmen. "You're telling me I've been worried about protecting a family of superheroes?"

"Well, only half of us," Tony clarified. "Peter's Spider-Man, I'm Iron Man when I have my tech, Stephen is a sorcerer—"

"A what now?" Jason interrupted.

"—and Harley here is a genius in training," Tony continued, clapping a hand on Harley's shoulder. "So really, you've been protecting two superheroes, one sorcerer, and one extremely promising young inventor."

Jason shook his head in disbelief. "A sorcerer. As in magic?"

"Don't let him hear you say it like that," Tony advised. "He gets very defensive about the distinction between mystical arts and parlor tricks."

"This whole time," Jason said slowly, "I've been worried about Batman finding you, when I should have been worried about what you might do to him."

Tony waved a dismissive hand. "We're pacifists. Mostly. When provoked minimally. The point is, we're not here to cause trouble—we just want to go home."

"And to do that, you need parts from Wayne Enterprises," Jason concluded.

"Exactly! See, you're catching on," Tony grinned. "So, about that heist..."

Jason was saved from responding by the arrival of Stephen, who looked unsurprised to find Jason in their makeshift lab.

"I see you found your way here after all," Stephen observed.

"He's considering helping us break into Wayne Enterprises," Peter supplied helpfully.

"I am not," Jason corrected firmly. "I'm considering less illegal alternatives."

Stephen raised an eyebrow at Tony. "We discussed this. No corporate espionage in a universe where we're technically undocumented aliens."

"It's not espionage if we don't get caught," Tony argued. "And with Spider-Boy and Hood-Man here, how could we?"

"Spider-Man," Peter corrected automatically.

"You're all impossible," Jason muttered, but couldn't quite suppress the warmth spreading through his chest at their easy banter—at being included in it.

For the first time in weeks, the weight of Gotham seemed a fraction lighter. The dangers hadn't diminished—Batman was still hunting, the Joker was still out there, and a family of interdimensional travelers was still building potentially reality-altering technology in a basement—but somehow, facing these threats together felt more manageable than facing his own demons alone.

As the night wore on, Jason found himself drawn into their planning, offering insights on Gotham's criminal networks that might provide alternative sources for the materials Tony needed. The boys contributed ideas with surprising strategic acumen, while Stephen kept them grounded with practical considerations.

It was past midnight when Tony declared a break, producing a hidden stash of sodas and snacks. As they sat amid half-built technology eating convenience store sandwiches, Jason realized with startling clarity what he'd been avoiding these past weeks.

Not the danger of caring for these people, but the certainty of losing them when they returned home.

"Two weeks, huh?" he asked quietly during a lull in conversation.

Tony glanced at him, understanding immediately. "Give or take. Quantum physics isn't exactly a precise science, especially when rebuilding interdimensional transportation in a basement with scraps."

"Will you be able to come back? Visit?" The question escaped before Jason could censor it.

A brief silence fell over the group.

"We don't know," Stephen admitted. "The multiverse is vast, and finding the exact same universe again would be..."

"Like finding a specific atom in an ocean," Tony finished. "Not impossible, but..."

"Highly improbable," Harley supplied, his expression uncharacteristically somber.

Peter looked between Jason and his guardians, distress evident on his young face. "But we could try, right? To visit?"

"Of course we'll try, Pete," Tony assured him, ruffling his hair. "We're geniuses, remember? Impossible just means we haven't figured it out yet."

The answer seemed to satisfy Peter, but Jason recognized the look Tony and Stephen exchanged—the adult awareness that some promises couldn't be kept, no matter how genuine the intention.

"Well," Jason said, forcing lightness into his voice, "guess that means we've got two weeks to show you the best parts of Gotham before you go."

"There are good parts of Gotham?" Harley asked skeptically.

Jason laughed—a real laugh that surprised even himself. "A few. Hidden gems in all the garbage."

"Like you," Peter said with disarming sincerity.

The simple statement caught Jason off-guard, warming places inside him long gone cold. "I'm definitely more garbage than gem, kid."

"Disagree," Tony interjected casually. "But your terrible self-image aside, we should probably call it a night. Some of us have school tomorrow."

The boys groaned in unison but began cleaning up their workstations without serious complaint.

As they prepared to head upstairs, Jason found himself reluctant to leave—to return to his empty safehouse and the solitary life of Red Hood.

Stephen seemed to sense his hesitation. "The couch is still available," he offered quietly. "If you'd rather not patrol with that fresh wound."

"I don't want to impose," Jason said automatically.

Tony snorted. "Says the man who bled all over our couch for two weeks when we first met. Trust me, your conscious presence is far less imposing than your unconscious one."

The familiar banter eased something in Jason. "When you put it that way, how can I refuse?"

As they climbed the stairs together—this strange found family and the wayward vigilante they'd somehow adopted—Jason felt the key in his pocket, no longer just a piece of metal but a tangible connection to something he'd thought forever beyond his reach.

For two more weeks, at least, he had a place to belong.

Chapter Text

"Six days of surveillance and nothing conclusive." Batman's gravelly voice cut through the silence of the Batcave as he reviewed footage on the main monitor. "Just a family trying to maintain normalcy in Crime Alley."

The screen displayed a collection of thermal and standard surveillance clips—the strange family going about their daily routines. One clip showed the boys playing basketball in a nearby court while Jason Todd watched from the sidelines, occasionally joining in. Another captured the older man—Stephen—treating patients at the free clinic.

Tim Drake leaned forward, studying the energy readings that scrolled alongside the visual data. "The quantum fluctuations are still present, though. And they've intensified over the past week."

"Could be anything," Dick Grayson offered from where he lounged against a nearby console. "Experimental tech, alternative energy source—"

"Or interdimensional technology," Bruce cut in, his expression grim beneath the cowl. "The pattern matches theoretical models for quantum bridges between realities."

"You can't seriously believe they're from another dimension," Dick said skeptically.

"I've seen stranger things," Bruce replied. "The Justice League has documented multiple instances of interdimensional travel."

"But a family with kids?" Dick pressed. "Seems more likely they're metahumans or scientists working on something unusual."

Bruce pulled up another clip—this one showing the younger boy, Peter, apparently sticking to a wall while retrieving a ball that had bounced onto a fire escape. The footage was grainy but unmistakable.

"Enhanced abilities," Bruce noted. "The older boy seems to possess advanced intellect based on his school records, though nothing physically extraordinary."

"And Todd is protecting them," Damian added from his perch on a nearby chair, his tone making it clear what he thought of Jason's judgment. "Which means they're either innocent or he's been manipulated."

"Or he's found people who actually treat him like family," Tim suggested quietly.

The statement drew sharp looks from both Bruce and Damian, but Dick nodded thoughtfully.

"The footage speaks for itself," Dick gestured to a clip showing Jason laughing as he helped the boys with what appeared to be homework. "I haven't seen him that relaxed since... well, since before he died."

Bruce's jaw tightened at the mention of Jason's death, but he didn't comment. Instead, he pulled up another set of readings.

"These energy signatures spiked three days ago. If they're building what I think they are, they'll be ready to activate it soon."

"And what do you think they're building, exactly?" Tim asked.

"A way home," Bruce answered simply. "But the energy required could destabilize a significant portion of Gotham if something goes wrong."

The implications hung heavy in the air. Bruce had seen too many good intentions lead to catastrophe to take the risk lightly.

"We need more information," he decided. "Direct contact."

"Hood made it clear he'd fight us if we approached them," Damian reminded him.

"Then we don't approach as vigilantes," Tim suggested, an idea forming. "Stephen Strange works at that free clinic in Crime Alley. If someone were to come in with injuries requiring treatment..."

"...we could gather intelligence while maintaining cover," Damian finished, looking almost impressed by the strategy. "I volunteer."

"Both of you go," Bruce directed. "Minor injuries only. Nothing that would raise suspicion."

"And if Jason is there?" Tim asked.

Bruce's expression hardened. "Gather information first. Confrontation is a last resort."

"You mean don't antagonize the brother with guns and anger issues?" Dick quipped. "Solid plan."

"Todd is not our brother," Damian stated flatly.

Tim and Dick exchanged knowing glances but chose not to argue the point. Damian's relationship with Jason was complicated at best, hostile at worst, but blood wasn't the only thing that defined family—something the surveillance footage made increasingly clear.

"Tomorrow night," Bruce said, turning back to the monitors. "In the meantime, we prepare for contingencies."

The screen shifted to a new clip—Jason sitting at a small kitchen table with the entire family, his posture relaxed as the older boy, Harley, animatedly described something that made them all laugh. Even from the grainy footage, the scene radiated warmth.

Bruce watched it longer than strictly necessary before closing the file.

* * *

The free clinic was busier than usual when Tim and Damian arrived. A minor gang skirmish in the area had resulted in several injuries, keeping the small medical staff occupied. The boys sat in hard plastic chairs, waiting for their turn, Damian fidgeting impatiently while Tim observed the clinic's operations.

"This is inefficient," Damian muttered. "We should have come earlier."

"Earlier would have been suspicious," Tim reminded him quietly. "Besides, watching how they handle a crisis gives us information too."

Across the room, Stephen Strange moved with practiced efficiency, triaging patients and directing volunteers. Despite the chaotic environment, he maintained a calm demeanor that seemed to settle those around him.

"Strange seems competent," Damian acknowledged grudgingly.

"Overqualified for a free clinic," Tim agreed. "His movements suggest specialized surgical training."

After forty minutes of waiting, a harried volunteer finally called Damian's name. Tim followed as they were led to a small examination room where Stephen was washing his hands between patients.

"Two at once?" Stephen asked, turning to assess them with professional detachment. "What happened?"

"Mugging," Tim explained smoothly. "We fought back but the guy had a knife."

Stephen gestured for Damian to sit on the examination table first. "Let's see the damage."

Damian rolled up his sleeve, revealing a shallow slash across his forearm—self-inflicted under Bruce's supervision to appear genuine without causing significant harm.

"Relatively clean cut," Stephen observed, examining the wound carefully. "You're lucky. A centimeter deeper and you'd have tendon damage."

As Stephen began cleaning the wound, the door opened abruptly, and Jason Todd froze in the doorway, holding a paper bag that presumably contained lunch. His expression shifted from casual to hostile in an instant when he recognized Tim and Damian.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jason demanded, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Getting medical attention," Tim replied calmly, gesturing to Damian's arm. "What does it look like?"

Stephen glanced between them, his hands never pausing in their work. "You know each other?"

"Unfortunately," Jason growled, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. "These are Bruce Wayne's kids."

Understanding dawned in Stephen's eyes, though his expression remained professionally neutral. "I see. Well, regardless of their family connections, they're patients right now."

"They're spies," Jason corrected bluntly, setting the paper bag on a nearby counter. "Here to gather intelligence on you and your family."

"That's absurd," Damian scoffed unconvincingly. "We were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Sure you were, demon spawn," Jason sneered. "Just happened to get mugged near the one clinic in Crime Alley where Strange works."

Tim maintained his composure, watching Stephen's reaction carefully. The doctor continued treating Damian's wound with steady hands, showing no outward signs of concern beyond a slight tightening around his eyes.

"If you are here on behalf of your father," Stephen said evenly, applying a sterile dressing to Damian's arm, "you could have simply scheduled a meeting. Injuring yourselves seems excessive."

The calm statement caught both Tim and Damian off guard. There had been no denial, no attempt to feign ignorance about what Jason had implied.

"We tried talking to Hood," Tim said, deciding honesty might yield more information than continued pretense. "He wasn't cooperative."

"Because there's nothing to discuss," Jason snapped. "They're not a threat, they're just trying to get home."

Stephen finished bandaging Damian's arm and gestured for Tim to take his place on the examination table. "Your turn."

Tim rolled up his shirt to reveal a similar shallow cut along his side. As Stephen began examining it, Tim addressed him directly.

"Dr. Strange, we're concerned about the energy readings coming from your residence. They match patterns associated with potentially unstable interdimensional technology."

Stephen's hands paused momentarily before resuming their work. "I understand your concern. Tony's work can appear dangerous to those unfamiliar with the underlying principles."

"See? They're handling it," Jason interjected. "Now get patched up and get out."

Damian stood from the examination table, flexing his bandaged arm. "Father believes the energy requirements for whatever you're building could cause widespread damage if something goes wrong."

"A valid concern," Stephen acknowledged, surprising them with his candor. "Tony has been implementing multiple failsafes to contain any potential energy discharge. The quantum bridge is designed to open just enough to allow our passage, nothing more."

"So you admit you're building a way to another dimension," Tim said.

Stephen met his gaze steadily as he cleaned Tim's wound. "We're building a way home. This isn't our world, as I suspect you've already deduced."

The frank admission seemed to throw even Jason off balance. "Doc, you don't have to tell them anything."

"Transparency may be our best option," Stephen replied calmly. "They're going to learn the truth eventually, and I'd rather they hear it from us than jump to their own conclusions."

A tense silence filled the small examination room as Stephen finished dressing Tim's wound. Jason maintained his position by the door, arms crossed, clearly prepared to intervene if either of his "brothers" made a threatening move.

"There," Stephen said, stepping back from Tim. "Keep the wounds clean and change the dressings daily. They should heal without complications."

"Thank you," Tim said automatically, pulling his shirt back down.

"Now," Stephen continued, disposing of his gloves and washing his hands again, "I have other patients to attend to. If you have further questions about our situation, I suggest you speak with Tony. He can address the technical concerns your father might have."

"And where would we find Stark?" Damian asked.

"Absolutely not," Jason cut in. "We're not turning this into a family reunion."

Stephen glanced at his watch. "Tony is likely at our apartment with the boys right now, working on the bridge. But I'd appreciate it if you'd wait until I'm present for any further discussions. My shift ends in two hours."

"Doc," Jason's tone held a note of betrayal. "You can't seriously be inviting them over."

"I'm facilitating a conversation that needs to happen," Stephen corrected. "The alternative is continued surveillance and potential interference based on incomplete information."

The logic was sound, even as it clearly frustrated Jason. Tim found himself reluctantly impressed by Strange's calm diplomacy.

"Two hours," Tim agreed, standing up. "We'll meet you at your apartment then."

"Like hell you will," Jason growled.

"Jason," Stephen said softly, "they'll come whether we invite them or not. Better on our terms than theirs."

The statement hung in the air as Jason glared at his adoptive brothers. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

"Fine. But I'll be there too. And if either of you so much as looks at those kids wrong, I'll throw you out the window."

"Such brotherly affection," Damian remarked sarcastically.

"We'll behave," Tim promised, directing the assurance more to Stephen than Jason. "This is about safety, not conflict."

Jason snorted derisively but didn't contradict him. Stephen nodded once, accepting the uneasy truce, and opened the door to usher them out.

"Two hours," he reminded them. "Apartment 4B."

As Tim and Damian left the examination room, Tim caught a glimpse of Jason remaining behind, clearly intending to have words with Stephen. Despite the tension of the encounter, Tim felt they'd gained more information than expected—and with surprisingly little resistance.

Whatever these interdimensional visitors were planning, they weren't behaving like threats. If anything, they seemed remarkably transparent.

The question now was whether Bruce would see it the same way.

* * *

Tony Stark was having A Day™.

It had started promisingly enough—the quantum bridge was nearing completion, the kids were being helpful rather than destructive, and Jason had brought coffee that didn't taste like it had been filtered through a sweaty sock. But things had deteriorated rapidly when Harley decided to test his latest robotics project without proper containment protocols.

Now a three-foot-tall robot with surprisingly fast treads was zooming around the apartment, grabbing everything it could reach with its extendable arms and stuffing the items into its storage compartment.

"Harley!" Tony shouted, diving to intercept the robot before it could grab his tablet. "What part of 'no autonomous testing without supervision' was unclear?"

"It wasn't supposed to activate yet!" Harley protested, frantically typing commands into his control pad. "I was just checking the servo connections!"

Peter, meanwhile, was attempting to herd the robot away from breakable items, using his enhanced agility to stay one step ahead of the mechanical menace. "Can't you just shut it down remotely?"

"I'm trying!" Harley groaned in frustration. "It's ignoring the shutdown sequence!"

"Of course it is," Tony muttered, grabbing a screwdriver. "Because why would any Stark-adjacent technology ever behave predictably?"

The robot made a sudden dash for the kitchen, its metallic arms snatching utensils from the counter and shoving them into its increasingly full storage compartment.

"Oh no you don't," Tony lunged after it, missing by inches as the robot pivoted with surprising agility. "Peter! Cut it off!"

Peter vaulted over the couch, landing in the robot's path. "Got it!"

The robot stopped, its optical sensors focusing on Peter momentarily before it suddenly extended its arms to their full length, grabbed the ceiling light fixture, and hoisted itself overhead.

"Since when can it do that?" Tony demanded, staring in disbelief as the robot swung from the light like a mechanical monkey.

"Since never!" Harley replied, equally shocked. "I didn't program that behavior!"

The light fixture groaned ominously under the robot's weight. Tony calculated the repair costs in his head and winced.

"Peter, web it," he directed. "Before it brings down the entire ceiling."

Peter hesitated. "I've only got the prototype shooters. They're not very accurate yet."

"Better than explaining to Stephen why there's a robot-shaped hole in the ceiling," Tony countered. "Do it!"

With a determined nod, Peter activated the web-shooters he'd been rebuilding with salvaged parts. He aimed carefully and pressed the trigger mechanism—only for a glob of synthetic webbing to shoot wide, missing the robot entirely and instead adhering to the wall in a messy splatter.

"Sorry!" Peter adjusted his aim and tried again, this time managing to catch one of the robot's arms. He pulled, trying to bring it down gently, but the robot responded by detaching the captured limb and scuttling across the ceiling using its remaining three appendages.

"It can self-amputate now?" Tony exclaimed. "Harley, what exactly have you been teaching this thing?"

"Nothing!" Harley defended, still typing furiously. "I think it's learning on its own!"

"Fantastic," Tony groaned. "Skynet in miniature. Just what we needed today."

A loud crack interrupted their bickering as the light fixture finally gave way. The robot dropped, landing on the dining table with a crash that sent papers and dishes flying. Before anyone could react, it reconfigured itself into a more compact form and zoomed toward the front door.

"Block the door!" Tony shouted, diving to intercept.

Peter leapt forward, using his enhanced strength to shove the couch in front of the exit just as the robot approached. Thwarted, the mechanical troublemaker spun in place, apparently recalculating.

"Got you now," Harley said triumphantly, having finally accessed the robot's core programming. "Initiating emergency shutdown in three, two—"

The robot suddenly went still, its lights blinking out. The three inventors froze, staring at it warily.

"Is it actually off this time?" Peter asked cautiously.

"I think so," Harley approached slowly, control pad still in hand. "Vital systems are showing zero activity."

Tony prodded the robot with his screwdriver. When it remained inert, he let out a relieved sigh. "Next time, maybe test the off switch before the on switch, hm?"

Harley had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, Tony. I just wanted to show you the improved grabber mechanism before dinner."

"Well, mission accomplished," Tony gestured to the chaotic apartment. "It definitely grabs things effectively. Also climbs, swings, self-amputates, and generally causes mayhem."

Peter surveyed the damage with a wince. "Papa's going to kill us."

"Not us," Tony corrected, already backing toward his room. "This has Harley's fingerprints all over it. I was merely an innocent bystander."

"What?" Harley squawked indignantly. "You're throwing me under the bus?"

"I'm acknowledging your creative ownership of this disaster," Tony countered. "Besides, Stephen likes you better. He might ground you, but he'll dismember me."

"That's not fair!" Harley protested. "Peter helped too!"

Peter raised his hands defensively. "I was trying to stop it!"

"With experimental web-shooters that are now decorating our walls," Tony pointed out, gesturing to the sticky residue splattered across the living room. "Face it, kids, we're all accomplices in this crime against interior design."

A key turned in the lock, freezing all three in guilty tableau. The door pushed against the couch barricade, opening just enough for a voice to call through.

"Why is the door blocked?" Stephen asked, his tone suggesting he already suspected trouble.

"Um, slight furniture rearrangement," Tony called back, frantically gesturing for the boys to start cleaning. "Give us a minute!"

"Tony," Stephen's voice carried a warning note. "What happened?"

"Nothing major," Tony assured, helping Peter move the couch. "Just a minor robotics... situation. All under control now!"

The door finally opened, revealing Stephen's suspicious face. His eyes widened as he took in the disaster zone that had been their tidy apartment—the dangling light fixture, scattered papers, web-covered walls, and the deactivated robot in the center of it all.

"A 'minor' situation," Stephen repeated flatly.

"To be fair, it could have been worse," Tony offered his most charming smile. "The ceiling is mostly intact, and the robot didn't escape into the hallway to terrorize the neighbors."

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture they'd all come to recognize as his attempt to maintain composure. "I see. And I suppose you three have everything well in hand? Including cleaning this up before our guests arrive?"

"Guests?" Peter asked, momentarily distracted from gathering scattered utensils.

Before Stephen could respond, Jason appeared behind him in the doorway, his expression darkening as he took in both the apartment's condition and Stephen's words.

"You actually invited them," Jason said accusingly. "I was hoping you'd reconsider."

"Invited who?" Tony asked, his attention shifting from the mess to this new development.

"Bruce Wayne's other kids," Jason explained tersely. "The ones who've been spying on us. They showed up at the clinic with convenient injuries, asking questions."

Tony straightened, his playful demeanor vanishing. "The Bat sent his birds to interrogate you?"

"Not exactly," Stephen corrected, finally entering the apartment and surveying the damage more thoroughly. "They came seeking information, yes, but I invited them here to discuss concerns about the quantum bridge rather than let them continue operating on assumptions."

"You invited Batman's spies to our home?" Tony looked incredulous. "Without consulting me?"

"I made a judgment call," Stephen replied calmly. "They're already aware of our situation. Being transparent about our intentions seems the most efficient way to alleviate their concerns."

"Or the most efficient way to get the entire Bat family down on our heads," Jason countered, kicking aside a piece of robot debris. "What the hell happened in here, anyway?"

"Harley's robot gained sentience and tried to redecorate," Tony explained dismissively, more concerned with the imminent arrival of vigilantes. "When are these 'guests' supposed to arrive?"

"In about fifteen minutes," Stephen answered, already beginning to straighten the room. "Which means we need to clean this up quickly."

"Fifteen minutes?" Tony ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Great. Just enough time to make this place look slightly less like a war zone."

Peter and Harley exchanged worried glances before diving into cleanup mode with renewed vigor. Jason stood in the doorway, clearly conflicted between helping and maintaining his outrage at the situation.

"Jason," Stephen said quietly, "I understand your concerns. But confrontation is inevitable. Better here, on our terms, than elsewhere."

"There's a difference between confrontation and invitation," Jason muttered, though he reluctantly began helping Peter gather scattered papers.

Tony approached Stephen under the guise of sweeping up broken glass, keeping his voice low. "You really think this is a good idea? Batsy's kids aren't exactly known for their open-mindedness."

"They're concerned about the energy signatures," Stephen explained. "Legitimate concerns that we can address directly. The alternative is continued surveillance and potential intervention when we activate the bridge."

Tony considered this, then nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' before they drag us off to whatever bat-prison they've got hidden under the city."

"Noted," Stephen replied with the hint of a smile. "Though perhaps we should focus on making this place presentable before critiquing my diplomatic strategy."

They worked quickly, managing to restore a semblance of order to the apartment. The broken light fixture was removed entirely, the scattered possessions returned to approximate locations, and the deactivated robot stashed in Harley's room. The webbing proved more problematic until Peter remembered the solvent he'd been developing.

Just as they were disposing of the last evidence of chaos, a firm knock sounded at the door. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Jason, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Remember," he said tensely, "these aren't friends. They're here to assess whether you're a threat."

"Noted," Tony replied, straightening his shirt and assuming what Peter called his "board meeting face"—confident, slightly arrogant, utterly unintimidated. "Let's get this over with."

Stephen opened the door to reveal Tim and Damian Wayne, both dressed in civilian clothes that nevertheless couldn't disguise their vigilant postures. Behind them, the hallway remained conspicuously empty.

"Just you two?" Stephen asked, stepping aside to let them enter. "I half expected your father to join us."

"He's otherwise engaged," Tim replied diplomatically, his sharp eyes already cataloging details of the apartment. "But he's very interested in our findings."

"I bet he is," Jason muttered from his position by the window, arms crossed defensively.

Damian's gaze locked with Jason's in a silent challenge that thrummed with unresolved tension. Peter and Harley, standing near the kitchen, watched the standoff with undisguised curiosity.

"Well," Tony broke the awkward silence, stepping forward with his hand extended, "since no one's doing introductions—Tony Stark, genius inventor and temporary interdimensional refugee. The glaring contest champions are clearly acquainted, and you've met the good doctor. The kids by the kitchen are Peter and Harley."

Tim accepted the handshake, his expression betraying slight surprise at Tony's directness. "Tim Drake. This is Damian Wayne."

"Great," Tony clapped his hands together. "Now that we're all introduced, let's address the bat in the room, shall we? You think our quantum bridge might destabilize your city, we assure you it won't, and Jason doesn't want you here at all. Did I miss anything?"

The blunt summary seemed to momentarily throw the Wayne boys off balance—clearly they'd been expecting more evasion or denial.

"You admit you're building an interdimensional portal?" Damian asked, recovering quickly.

"Bridge," Tony corrected. "Portal implies permanent. This is a one-time ticket home, after which the technology self-destructs—quite literally, I might add."

"The energy signatures suggest significant power requirements," Tim observed. "Our scans indicate potential for spatial distortion beyond your apartment."

Tony looked genuinely impressed. "Your scanning technology is better than I gave you credit for. Yes, there's potential for spatial effects, but we've implemented containment protocols to limit the radius to this apartment only."

"Theoretical containment," Damian pointed out. "Untested in practice."

"Not entirely untested," Tony countered. "We've run multiple small-scale trials. The principle is sound."

The technical discussion continued, with Tim asking increasingly specific questions about the quantum mechanics involved. Tony answered readily, seeming almost to enjoy the intellectual challenge, while Stephen occasionally interjected clarifications. Peter and Harley remained quiet but attentive, while Damian maintained a suspicious vigilance.

Jason watched it all with growing tension, his posture coiled as if expecting an attack. When Damian took a step toward the hallway where the bedrooms and makeshift lab were located, Jason immediately blocked his path.

"That's far enough," Jason warned. "Living room only."

"We need to see the technology," Damian stated flatly.

"No, you don't," Jason countered. "Tony's explaining it. Use your imagination."

The two glared at each other, neither willing to back down. Tim noticed the escalating tension and intervened.

"Perhaps we could see just the basic setup," he suggested diplomatically. "It would help verify the containment measures Tony described."

Before Jason could refuse again, Stephen stepped forward. "A brief look should be sufficient, assuming that's all you require."

Jason's expression hardened. "Doc, you can't seriously—"

"It's okay, Jay," Peter unexpectedly piped up, moving to stand beside Jason. "We don't have anything to hide."

The simple statement, delivered with such earnest confidence, seemed to catch everyone off guard—none more so than Jason, whose rigid posture softened fractionally at Peter's presence.

"Fine," Jason finally conceded. "But I go with them."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Tony agreed cheerfully, though his eyes remained watchful. "Boys, stay here with Stephen. Science tour is adults only."

"But I helped build it," Harley protested.

"And you'll help finish it," Tony assured him. "But right now, let's keep the potential hostage situation to a minimum, shall we?"

The blunt acknowledgment of underlying tensions surprised a short laugh out of Tim. "We're not here to take hostages."

"Just to spy, threaten, and potentially sabotage," Jason countered. "Much better."

"Enough," Stephen said firmly. "Tony, show them what they need to see. Jason, stay civil. The rest of us will wait here."

The uneasy party moved toward the hallway, Jason maintaining his position between the Wayne boys and the apartment's other occupants. As they disappeared into the converted bedroom that served as their main lab, Harley turned to Stephen with a raised eyebrow.

"So those are Jason's brothers?"

"Technically," Stephen confirmed, keeping his voice low. "It's complicated."

"They seem nice," Peter offered optimistically.

Harley snorted. "If by 'nice' you mean 'looking for reasons to shut us down,' sure."

"They're concerned," Stephen corrected. "Not unreasonably, given what we're attempting."

"Will they try to stop us?" Peter asked, worry creeping into his voice.

Stephen placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Not if we can prove our safety measures are adequate. Which they are."

"And if they try anyway?" Harley pressed.

Stephen's expression remained calm, but something in his eyes hardened slightly. "Then they'll discover why assuming we're defenseless would be a significant miscalculation."

The quiet confidence in his statement reminded both boys that before Stephen was "Papa," he had been his world's Sorcerer Supreme—a title neither fully understood but both instinctively respected.

In the makeshift lab, meanwhile, the tension between the three brothers had reached a silent crescendo as Tony walked the Wayne boys through the quantum bridge technology, explaining the containment systems and failsafes with uncharacteristic patience.

"So you see," Tony concluded, gesturing to the central apparatus, "the energy is channeled inward, creating a momentary aperture just large enough for passage before collapsing in on itself."

Tim studied the equipment with genuine interest. "The theoretical framework is sound. But the materials..."

"Are suboptimal, I know," Tony acknowledged. "Working with what I could scavenge and what Jason could... acquire."

"Steal," Damian translated flatly.

"Liberate from organizations that wouldn't miss them," Jason corrected, his hostile gaze never leaving his brothers. "Unlike some people, I don't have a billion-dollar trust fund to fall back on."

The barb hit its mark, drawing a scowl from Damian. "Because Father knows better than to fund your criminal activities."

"Alright, let's dial back the family drama," Tony interjected. "Have you seen enough to verify we're not planning to implode your city?"

Tim nodded slowly. "Your containment theory is solid, but the execution is concerning. These power regulators are barely adequate for the energy you're channeling."

"Which is why we only get one shot," Tony agreed. "It'll hold together long enough for one crossing, then safely short circuit."

"'Safely' is optimistic," Tim observed. "A controlled failure would be more accurate."

"Semantics," Tony waved dismissively. "The point is, your city survives, we go home, everybody wins."

Damian remained skeptical. "And we're supposed to simply take your word for this?"

"No," Tony replied seriously. "You're supposed to verify my work, recognize its brilliance despite the constraints, and then leave us alone to finish it. We're not villains plotting destruction. We're just trying to get back to our world."

The simple honesty of the statement seemed to register with Tim, who nodded slightly. "I believe you."

"Tim," Damian hissed in warning.

"They're not lying, Damian," Tim said quietly. "Everything here supports their explanation."

Jason's posture relaxed fractionally at this assessment. "Told you."

"That doesn't mean it's safe," Damian argued. "Intentions and outcomes aren't always aligned."

"True," Tony acknowledged. "But we've taken every precaution possible with the resources available. The risk is minimal and contained."

"Father will want additional safeguards," Damian insisted.

"Your father is welcome to suggest improvements," Tony replied smoothly. "As long as they don't prevent us from completing our work."

The statement carried an undercurrent of steel beneath its diplomatic surface—a clear line being drawn. Jason's slight smirk suggested approval of Tony's backbone.

"We should report back," Tim said finally, backing toward the door. "Thank you for your transparency, Mr. Stark."

"Tony, please," he corrected. "Mr. Stark was my father, and even he didn't go by that if he could help it."

They returned to the living room, where Stephen and the boys looked up expectantly. Peter's anxious expression eased somewhat when he saw no outright hostility in their visitors' demeanor.

"Well?" Stephen asked.

"Their technology appears to function as described," Tim reported carefully. "Though I have concerns about material stability."

"Nothing unforeseen," Tony assured Stephen. "The usual 'your jerry-rigged interdimensional technology might explode' concerns."

"It won't explode," Harley interjected confidently. "The containment field will direct energy inward, not outward."

Tim raised an eyebrow at the teenager's technical understanding. "You helped design this?"

"I'm handling the power distribution system," Harley confirmed with no small amount of pride. "Tony's teaching me quantum mechanics on the side."

"Impressive," Tim acknowledged, earning a surprised but pleased smile from Harley.

Jason moved to stand protectively near the boys, his message clear—the Wayne examination was concluded.

"So," Tony clapped his hands together decisively, "now that you've confirmed we're not planning to destroy Gotham, perhaps you could convince Batman to ease up on the surveillance? The constant drone of bat-tech is interfering with our sonic calibrations."

Tim and Damian exchanged glances, communicating silently in the way only those trained by Batman could.

"We'll discuss it with him," Tim finally offered. "No promises."

"That's all we ask," Stephen said diplomatically. "That, and a reasonable period to complete our work without interference."

"How long?" Damian asked bluntly.

"A week," Tony estimated. "Give or take a day for final adjustments."

Another silent exchange passed between the Wayne boys before Tim nodded. "One week. But we'll be monitoring the energy signatures. Any significant spike or anomaly—"

"—and the Bat-cavalry comes charging in," Jason finished sarcastically. "We get it."

"Just making the parameters clear," Tim replied evenly.

Stephen walked them to the door, maintaining his calm professional demeanor. "Thank you for coming. Despite the circumstances, it's been a productive discussion."

Tim paused at the threshold, glancing back at Jason. "Hood—Jason—for what it's worth, we're glad you found..." he hesitated, searching for the right words, "people who matter to you."

The sincerity in his voice seemed to catch Jason off guard. Before he could formulate a response, the Wayne boys were gone, disappearing down the hallway with the silent efficiency of their nighttime personas.

As the door closed behind them, Tony let out a theatrical sigh. "Well, that was tensely cordial. Should we expect masked visitors tonight, or did we buy ourselves some breathing room?"

"Both," Jason answered, his expression troubled as he stared at the closed door. "They'll report back, and Bruce will make his own assessment. Whether that means continued surveillance or direct intervention depends on how Tim frames what he saw."

"He seemed convinced," Peter offered hopefully.

"Tim's always been the reasonable one," Jason acknowledged. "But Bruce makes the final call."

"Then we accelerate the timeline," Tony decided. "If we can get the bridge operational before they decide to intervene—"

"We stick to the plan," Stephen countered firmly. "Rushing increases the risk of errors. One week is already aggressive for the work remaining."

Tony looked ready to argue but subsided when he saw Stephen's expression. "Fine. One week, as scheduled. But we double-check everything, leave nothing to chance."

"And I'll keep an eye out for bat-shaped shadows," Jason added, finally moving away from the door. "

Chapter Text

Jason Todd knew ambushing the Bat family in their own cave was suicidal. He did it anyway.

The security systems recognized his biometrics—something Bruce had never bothered to revoke despite their estrangement. Whether that was an oversight or deliberate, Jason had never asked. Tonight, he used it to his advantage, slipping past the outer defenses and disabling only the proximity alarms that would have announced his arrival.

He found them in the main chamber, gathered around the computer where Bruce was analyzing data—undoubtedly the energy signatures from the quantum bridge. Dick, Tim, and Damian stood in various states of costumed readiness, apparently preparing for patrol.

"Your surveillance equipment is getting sloppy," Jason announced, emerging from the shadows with his guns holstered but visible. "I found three new devices yesterday alone."

Four heads snapped in his direction, bodies tensing for combat. Bruce's expression remained impassive behind his cowl, but his hand moved subtly toward a batarang.

"Stand down," Jason said tiredly. "If I wanted a fight, I wouldn't have walked in through the front door."

"Then why are you here?" Bruce demanded, his voice gravel-rough.

"To deliver a message in person, since subtlety doesn't seem to be working." Jason stepped forward, stopping at the edge of the platform. "Stop. Spying. On. Them."

Tim moved slightly to the side, a strategic positioning that didn't escape Jason's notice. "We're monitoring potentially dangerous technology, not spying on your... friends."

"You've had Tim and the demon brat run reconnaissance, you've planted at least twelve surveillance devices on their building, and you've intercepted their communications," Jason listed flatly. "That's the definition of spying."

"We're protecting Gotham," Bruce stated, as if that justified any invasion of privacy.

"From what?" Jason challenged. "A family trying to get home? Kids playing basketball in the park? Strange treating patients at a free clinic? Which of these activities strikes you as threatening, exactly?"

"The quantum bridge—" Bruce began.

"Is contained and controlled," Jason cut him off. "As Tim and Damian confirmed themselves. The only thing your surveillance is accomplishing is making them feel hunted in a city that should be offering them sanctuary."

Dick, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. "Maybe we're just curious."

"About what?" Jason scoffed.

"About what makes this random family worthy of your protection when you're so fixated on kicking your real family out of your life."

The statement hit like a physical blow, momentarily silencing Jason. Dick's expression held no malice, only a complicated mixture of hurt and genuine curiosity.

"They're not random," Jason finally said, his voice lower. "And they're not trying to control me or change me or fix me. They just... accept."

"And we don't?" Dick pressed.

Jason gestured around the cave. "This place comes with conditions, always has. I have to play by his rules," he jerked his head toward Bruce, "follow his moral code, fit into his mission. They don't have a mission for me to fit into. They just have space at their table."

A heavy silence followed his words. Even Damian seemed momentarily subdued by the raw honesty.

"One week," Jason continued, regaining his composure. "That's all they need. One week without Batman shadowing their every move, without worrying that their children are being watched by strangers. Is that really too much to ask?"

Bruce's expression remained unreadable, but Tim nodded slightly. "The containment systems are sound. The risk is minimal."

"I'm not asking you to trust them," Jason added. "I'm asking you to trust me. Just this once."

Bruce studied him for a long moment before turning to the computer. With a few keystrokes, he pulled up a command interface. "The surveillance on their building will be deactivated."

The concession surprised Jason enough that he momentarily lost his scowl.

"But," Bruce continued, "the energy monitoring stays in place. If the readings exceed the parameters Tim established, we will intervene. Immediately and without warning."

It wasn't perfect, but it was more than Jason had expected. "Fine."

"And Jason," Bruce added, his tone shifting subtly, "when they leave... you still have a place here. If you want it."

The unexpected offer caught Jason off-guard. Before he could formulate a response that wasn't colored by years of anger and resentment, an alarm blared through the cave—the emergency channel used by Gordon for high-priority situations.

Bruce immediately activated the feed, and Commissioner Gordon's tense voice filled the chamber.

"Batman, the Joker's back. He's got a kid hostage at Robinson Park, broadcasting live. It's... it's bad."

The blood drained from Jason's face as a terrible premonition gripped him. "No..."

Bruce was already bringing up the live feed on the main screen. The image that appeared confirmed Jason's worst fears: Harley, pale and terrified, being held at gunpoint by the Joker on the roof of the park's maintenance building. The clown was ranting to the camera, his twisted face split in a manic grin.

"—little playdate interrupted! This one says he has a brother, but the gas seems to have taken care of that problem! Now, Gotham, let's see if Bat-brain can save this one before—"

Jason didn't hear the rest. He was already running for his motorcycle, heart hammering with a fear he hadn't felt since his own death.

"Hood, wait!" Dick called after him. "We'll coordinate—"

"No time," Jason shouted back, already mounting his bike. "Those are my kids!"

The admission echoed through the cave as Jason roared out into the night, leaving the Bat family to scramble into action behind him.

* * *

Peter Parker had been having a perfect afternoon until the green gas came.

The weather was unusually pleasant for Gotham, so Tony had suggested they take their robotics projects to the park. Harley had been excited to test his modified drone in open space, while Peter had brought his latest web-shooter prototype to calibrate the targeting system.

They'd found a relatively empty section of Robinson Park, setting up their makeshift workshop on a picnic table while Tony made calls nearby, coordinating with Stephen about supplies for the quantum bridge. It had felt almost normal—just a dad and his kids enjoying the sunshine, if you ignored the fact that they were interdimensional refugees building advanced technology in a crime-riddled city.

The attack came with little warning. One moment, Peter was adjusting his web-shooter's pressure valve; the next, cannisters were rolling across the grass, spewing sickly green vapor. His enhanced senses gave him just enough time to shout a warning before the gas reached them.

"Harley! Gas! Don't breathe!"

But it was too late. The cloud enveloped them, burning Peter's eyes and throat despite his enhanced resistance. He glimpsed Tony running toward them, shouting into his phone, before a figure in a purple suit emerged from the tree line, flanked by men in clown masks.

The Joker.

Peter fought to stay conscious as the gas invaded his system, his enhanced metabolism struggling against the toxin. He saw Harley collapse beside him, saw rough hands grab his brother while others shoved Tony back with the threat of guns. Peter tried to reach for Harley, tried to use his strength to fight back, but his limbs felt leaden, unresponsive.

The last thing he registered before darkness claimed him was the Joker's maniacal laughter and Tony's desperate shouts being cut off by the butt of a gun to his head.

When Peter awoke, an indeterminate time later, the first thing he processed was noise—sirens, shouting, the whirr of helicopter blades overhead. His enhanced hearing picked up a familiar voice cutting through the chaos—the Joker, amplified by some kind of speaker system. Opening his burning eyes, Peter found himself on the ground behind police barricades, emergency personnel working frantically around him.

"The boy's awake!" someone called, and a paramedic rushed to his side.

"Stay still, son," the medic instructed, shining a light in Peter's eyes. "You've been exposed to toxic gas. We need to—"

Peter pushed past him, his enhanced strength making it easy despite his weakened state. "Where's my brother? Where's Harley?"

The medic's grim expression told him everything. Following the man's reluctant gaze, Peter looked up to see the park's maintenance building—and on its roof, the Joker holding Harley at the edge.

Horror flooded through him, burning away the last effects of the gas. A television crew was filming from behind the police cordon, broadcasting the scene live to Gotham. The Joker was playing to the cameras, using Harley as a prop in his twisted performance.

"Where's Tony? My dad?" Peter demanded, scanning the chaotic scene.

"They took the adult to the hospital," the paramedic explained. "Head injury. He was fighting like hell to get to you boys when we arrived."

Peter's eyes locked on Harley's small figure, tottering at the building's edge as the Joker gesticulated wildly. Determination crystallized within him.

"I have to help him."

"Kid, you can't—" the medic began, but Peter was already gone, slipping through the confusion with the agility that made him Spider-Man in his own world.

Without his full suit or web-shooters, Peter had to rely on his natural abilities, keeping to shadows and using his enhanced strength and reflexes to scale the building from the unguarded rear side. He moved quickly but cautiously, aware that saving Harley depended on stealth. Drawing on everything Jason had taught him about moving silently, Peter made his way toward the roof access door.

He was almost there when a newcomer landed heavily on the roof—a massive figure that made even the Joker pause his monologue. The man stood at least seven feet tall, muscles bulging beneath a tight black shirt. His face was partially obscured by a metal mask, but his intentions were clear as he moved to stand beside the Joker.

"Ah, my new friend has arrived!" the Joker announced gleefully to the cameras. "Bane junior here is insurance against any bat-shaped interruptions. Show them what you can do, big boy!"

The muscled giant—apparently not the real Bane but some meta-human imitator—effortlessly lifted a maintenance van parked on the roof and held it overhead with a roar.

Peter froze. Even with his enhanced strength, challenging that kind of power directly would be risky, especially with Harley in such a precarious position. He needed a plan.

But time ran out. As Peter crept closer to the rooftop door, a sound alerted the meta-human to his presence. The giant turned, spotted Peter, and with terrible speed hurled the van directly at him.

Peter had no choice. He caught the vehicle, his enhanced strength straining against the momentum, feet sliding backward toward the roof edge. For a moment, he teetered there, struggling to maintain balance while supporting the crushing weight.

The Joker's manic laughter echoed across the rooftop. "Well, well! The little brother isn't so little after all! Two for the price of one!"

With a final, contemptuous laugh, the Joker shoved Harley from the roof.

"NO!" Peter screamed, helplessly pinned by the weight of the van as his brother plummeted toward the concrete below.

In that moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. Peter saw Harley falling, saw the Joker's triumphant grin, saw the meta-human advancing toward him—and something snapped inside.

With a roar of pure rage, Peter heaved the van upward, pivoting to hurl it directly at the approaching giant. The vehicle crashed into the meta-human with devastating force, crushing him against an air conditioning unit with a sickening sound of metal and flesh giving way.

Peter didn't pause to confirm the damage. He ran to the roof edge, heart in his throat, looking down to where Harley's broken body lay motionless on the pavement six stories below.

A circle of golden sparks suddenly appeared in the air beside Harley—a perfect ring of energy that widened to reveal Stephen Strange stepping through, his hands already moving in complex patterns as he knelt beside the boy.

Relief and renewed purpose surged through Peter. Papa was there. Harley had a chance.

But the Joker was still laughing, still reveling in the chaos he'd created. The sound ignited something primal in Peter—a protective fury he'd never experienced before.

He turned slowly to face the clown, who was now backing away, seeming to realize that the small boy before him was not as helpless as he'd appeared.

"You hurt my brother," Peter said, his voice unnaturally calm. "You threw him off the roof."

"Just a little joke," the Joker giggled nervously, drawing a gun from his coat. "Kids bounce, don't they?"

Peter moved with blinding speed, crossing the distance between them before the Joker could aim. With one precise strike, he shattered the clown's wrist, sending the gun clattering across the rooftop.

The Joker's laughter turned to a scream of pain, but Peter wasn't finished. Everything Jason had taught him about controlling his strength disappeared as rage took over. He struck again, and again, systematically dismantling the man who had hurt his family.

First the hands—crushed beyond recognition to ensure they'd never hold another child at gunpoint. Then the legs—broken at the knees to guarantee the Joker would never again stand over a victim. Finally, as the clown gurgled through blood and broken teeth, Peter wrapped his small hand around the Joker's throat, feeling the fragile structures beneath his fingers.

"Peter! Stop!"

The voice barely registered through the haze of his fury. Peter tightened his grip, watching the Joker's eyes bulge with terror.

"You kill kids," Peter whispered, voice trembling with rage. "You think it's funny. You don't get to laugh anymore."

With surgical precision, he crushed the Joker's larynx—not enough to kill, but enough to ensure the clown would never again terrorize with his signature laughter.

As the Joker wheezed and thrashed, Peter raised his fist for a final, fatal blow.

"PETER!"

This time, the voice cut through his rage—Tony's voice, desperate and pleading. Peter turned to see his father standing at the roof access door, blood still matting his hair from his earlier injury.

"Don't," Tony begged, taking a cautious step forward. "This isn't you, Pete. This isn't who we raised."

Peter's fist remained raised, trembling with the effort of restraint. "He hurt Harley. He was laughing."

"I know, buddy. I know." Tony moved closer, hands raised non-threateningly. "But Harley's going to make it. Stephen has him in a healing stasis. He's going to be okay."

Hope flickered through Peter's rage. "Really?"

"Really," Tony promised, now close enough to gently lower Peter's arm. "Stephen's the best, remember? And killing the Joker won't help Harley. It will only hurt you."

The rage that had possessed Peter began to recede, replaced by the crushing weight of what he'd done—what he'd almost done. He looked down at the Joker, barely recognizable after Peter's assault, then back at his own bloodied hands.

"I wanted to kill him," Peter admitted, his voice small and frightened.

"I know," Tony pulled him into a tight embrace, shielding him from the sight of the devastation he'd caused. "Anyone would. But you stopped. That's what matters."

As Tony held him, Peter became aware of new arrivals on the rooftop. Batman landed silently from a grappling line, followed closely by Red Hood, Nightwing, and Robin. Their expressions as they took in the scene ranged from shock to grim satisfaction.

Jason—Red Hood—moved immediately to Peter and Tony, his concern evident despite his helmet.

"Kid? You okay?"

Peter shook his head, face still pressed against Tony's chest. "I hurt him bad, Jason. I wanted to kill him."

"But you didn't," Jason said firmly, crouching to Peter's level. "Trust me, I understand the impulse better than anyone. The fact that you stopped..." He glanced toward Batman, something unspoken passing between them. "That makes you stronger than me."

Batman approached the Joker's broken form, assessing the damage with clinical detachment. "He'll need immediate medical attention."

"Good," Jason spat. "Maybe he'll live long enough to face real justice for once."

"This isn't justice," Batman countered. "This is vengeance."

"He threw a child off a building!" Jason exploded, rising to confront Batman. "While broadcasting it live! How many times does he get to destroy lives before your precious moral code bends even slightly?"

"Stop it," Peter's small voice cut through their argument. "Please. I want to see Harley."

The simple request deflated their confrontation. Batman nodded once, stepping back to allow medical personnel access to the Joker.

"The boy goes with his family," Batman directed to Nightwing. "No questions, no custody, no statements until we've assessed the situation fully."

Nightwing nodded, clearly relieved not to be separating Peter from Tony. "I'll escort them to where Dr. Strange is treating the other boy."

As they moved toward the exit, Robin approached, his young face uncharacteristically subdued as he studied Peter.

"Your technique was flawed," Damian observed, though without his usual derision. "But effective. The Joker will not harm another child."

Coming from Robin, it was practically a compliment. Peter managed a weak nod of acknowledgment before Tony guided him away, Jason following protectively.

They found Stephen in a hastily established medical perimeter near where Harley had fallen. Golden energy encased the boy's broken body, suspending him in a state between life and death while Stephen's hands moved in precise, complex patterns.

"Papa?" Peter whispered, approaching cautiously.

Stephen's concentration didn't waver, but he nodded slightly to acknowledge Peter's presence. "He's stabilizing," he reported, voice tight with focus. "Severe trauma, but the stasis field is preventing further deterioration."

"Will he be okay?" Peter asked, the question barely audible.

"Yes," Stephen answered with absolute certainty. "I won't allow any other outcome."

The simple declaration carried the weight of a sorcerer's oath—a promise backed by powers that transcended conventional medicine. Tony squeezed Peter's shoulder reassuringly.

"See? Harley's got the best doctor in any universe. He's going to be fine."

Jason remained slightly apart, maintaining a vigilant watch as Batman and the others secured the scene. His posture was rigid with tension—the protective instinct of someone who had failed to prevent harm to those under his care.

Peter approached him hesitantly. "Jason? Is everyone going to be mad at me for what I did to the Joker?"

Jason crouched down, removing his helmet to meet Peter's eyes directly. "Listen to me, kid. What you did today... some people won't understand it. They'll say it was wrong or excessive. But you were protecting your family against a monster who's killed hundreds of people, including me."

"He killed you?" Peter's eyes widened in confusion.

"Long story," Jason said with a grim smile. "The point is, you did what you had to do. And now Harley has a chance because you were strong enough to save him."

"But I almost..." Peter couldn't finish the sentence.

"Almost isn't the same as did," Jason said firmly. "You pulled back when it mattered. That's the difference between justice and vengeance, no matter what Batman says."

Their conversation was interrupted as medical personnel approached with a gurney. Stephen's energy field maintained its protective cocoon around Harley as they carefully transferred him for transport.

""We need to move him to a secure location," Stephen explained to Tony. "Somewhere I can maintain the stasis field while addressing his injuries systematically."

"The apartment?" Tony suggested.

Stephen shook his head. "Too many variables, not enough specialized equipment."

"Wayne Manor," came Batman's voice as he approached their group. "Full medical facilities, secure perimeter, complete privacy."

The offer surprised everyone, none more than Jason, who shot Batman a suspicious look.

"Why would you—"

"Because a child's life is at stake," Batman cut him off. "And because you called them your kids."

The simple statement hung in the air between them, acknowledging something fundamental that had shifted during this crisis. Jason's protection of this strange family had transcended mere alliance—it had become something deeper, something Batman recognized even if Jason himself struggled to name it.

"I'll go with them," Jason said firmly, making it clear this wasn't negotiable.

Batman nodded once. "Alfred is already preparing the medical wing."

As they organized the careful transportation of Harley's suspended form, Peter remained close to Tony, processing the trauma of what had happened—what he had done. The rage that had possessed him on the rooftop had burned away, leaving behind a hollow exhaustion and lingering horror at his own capacity for violence.

"Tony?" he asked quietly. "Are you scared of me now?"

Tony knelt beside him, gently wiping blood from Peter's small hands with a medical wipe someone had provided. "Peter Benjamin Parker-Stark," he said seriously, "I have never been scared of you, and I never will be. What I saw today wasn't something to fear—it was a boy protecting his brother with everything he had."

"But I hurt someone really badly," Peter insisted, needing Tony to understand the gravity of his actions.

"Yes, you did," Tony acknowledged honestly. "And we'll talk about that—about control and consequences and the line between protection and vengeance. But right now, all that matters is that you and Harley are safe, and we're going to get through this together. As a family."

The word "family" caught in Peter's throat, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. "Even Jason?"

Tony glanced over to where Jason stood vigilantly beside Harley's gurney, arguing with Batman about transportation protocols with the fierce protectiveness of someone defending their own.

"Especially Jason," Tony confirmed with a small smile. "Though good luck getting him to admit it."

As they prepared to move to Wayne Manor—a sanctuary none of them had anticipated—Peter felt the weight of the day's events settling on his small shoulders. He had revealed his powers, brutally injured the Joker, and watched his brother fall from a building. But somehow, impossibly, his family had emerged intact—changed, perhaps, but together.

And for now, together was enough.

Chapter Text

The medical wing of Wayne Manor was a stark contrast to the cave below—warmly lit, meticulously equipped, and designed to heal rather than intimidate. At its center, Harley floated in Stephen's golden energy field, his small body suspended above a specialized medical bed while various monitors tracked vital signs that occasionally fluctuated but never disappeared.

Tony worked methodically alongside Stephen, having deployed a scaled-down version of his AI assistant from a portable device. FRIDAY's disembodied voice provided real-time analysis as Tony's nanobots integrated with Stephen's mystical energies, creating a hybrid of science and sorcery that neither man could have achieved alone.

"Spinal damage is stabilizing," FRIDAY reported. "Projected recovery timeline updated to 82% probability of full mobility."

Stephen's hands never ceased their intricate movements, sweat beading on his forehead from the sustained effort. "The mystical stasis is holding, but I'll need to transition to active healing soon. Tony, can your bots maintain the cranial pressure regulation while I focus on the vertebral repairs?"

"Already on it," Tony confirmed, his fingers dancing across a holographic interface. "FRIDAY, divert nanite cluster six to the occipital support matrix."

Their technical exchange continued without pause, two brilliant minds working in perfect synchronization to save the child they both considered a son. Neither acknowledged the exhaustion etching deeper lines around their eyes, nor the fear that occasionally surfaced when Harley's readings momentarily destabilized.

Alfred Pennyworth moved efficiently around them, anticipating needs before they were voiced, providing supplies without interrupting their flow. Despite having witnessed countless medical emergencies in this same room, the elderly butler was visibly affected by the sight of a child so grievously injured.

"Master Bruce has instructed me to provide anything you require," Alfred informed them quietly during a rare moment when both men paused to reassess. "The manor's resources are entirely at your disposal."

"Thank you, Alfred," Stephen replied without taking his eyes off Harley. "We'll need to maintain this intervention for several more hours. The initial healing trance must be uninterrupted."

"Then uninterrupted it shall be," Alfred assured them with quiet dignity. "I've prepared accommodations for your family when rest becomes necessary."

Tony nodded gratefully, though rest seemed an impossibility while Harley remained suspended between life and recovery. "How's Peter doing?"

"Master Jason is tending to him in the east study," Alfred informed him. "The young gentleman appears physically resilient, though understandably distressed."

Tony's expression tightened with concern. "He shouldn't be alone right now."

"He is not alone," Alfred replied with gentle reassurance. "Master Jason has not left his side since your arrival, and I believe several other members of the family are keeping watch as well."

The term "family" caught Tony's attention—not because Alfred had applied it to his own makeshift unit, but because it encompassed Jason as well. Something significant had shifted in the dynamics of both their unusual families today.

Stephen seemed to sense Tony's diverted attention. "Go check on Peter," he encouraged. "This phase is stable, and FRIDAY can alert you if anything changes."

Tony hesitated, torn between his injured sons. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," Stephen confirmed, eyes still fixed on his mystical workings. "Peter needs you too."

With a grateful nod, Tony squeezed Stephen's shoulder briefly before heading for the door. As he left, he heard Alfred speaking quietly to Stephen.

"Your devotion to these children is remarkable, Doctor."

Stephen's response followed Tony into the hallway, tinged with the same fierce protectiveness that had driven Peter on the rooftop hours earlier.

"They're my sons, Mr. Pennyworth. There is nothing I wouldn't do for them."

* * *

In the east study, Jason Todd carefully cleaned a nasty abrasion on Peter's forearm while the boy sat silently on an antique leather sofa, eyes fixed on the ornate carpet. The room's warm wood paneling and shelves of leather-bound books created an incongruous setting for the two bloodstained figures—one a vigilante still partially in costume, the other a child whose small hands had nearly killed the most notorious criminal in Gotham.

"This might sting a bit," Jason warned, applying antiseptic to the wound.

Peter didn't flinch. "It's fine. Enhanced healing."

"Enhanced healing doesn't mean you can't feel pain, kid," Jason observed, gentler than his usual gruff manner.

The boy shrugged, seemingly indifferent to his injuries. From the doorway, Tim Drake watched with quiet concern, while Damian Wayne stood near the window, ostensibly keeping watch but clearly monitoring the conversation.

"Want to tell me how you got these?" Jason asked, moving on to clean a set of bruises along Peter's shoulder.

"Car," Peter replied flatly.

"A car?"

"The Bane guy threw one at me. I caught it."

Jason's hands stilled momentarily as he processed this. "You caught a car. Thrown by a Bane impostor."

"Yeah." Peter finally looked up, his young face unnervingly calm. "Then I threw it back at him. Gave him what he wanted."

"What he wanted?" Tim asked from the doorway.

"A fight," Peter clarified, his voice hollow. "Everyone always wants to fight. The bad guys, the good guys. Everyone."

Jason resumed his first aid, but his movements were more careful, assessing Peter with new understanding. "And what does Peter want?"

The simple question cracked something in Peter's carefully maintained composure. His lower lip trembled once before he regained control. "I just want Harley to be okay. I want to go home. I want..." He trailed off, struggling to articulate the complicated tangle of emotions. "I don't want to have hurt someone so badly, even if they deserved it."

"You know," Jason said conversationally, "you probably traumatized that Bane wannabe more than he traumatized you. Not many people can say they got their ass handed to them by an eight-year-old."

The attempt at humor earned a flicker of a smile from Peter before it faded. "He wasn't the problem. The Joker was."

A tense silence fell over the room at the mention of the clown. Jason's expression hardened, though he kept his touch gentle as he finished bandaging Peter's arm.

"The Joker has hurt a lot of people, Peter. Including me. What you did today..." Jason chose his words carefully, aware of Bruce's progeny listening. "What you did today probably saved lives. Not just Harley's, but future victims too."

"But Batman doesn't kill," Peter said, echoing what he'd absorbed from his time in Gotham. "And I almost did."

Before Jason could respond, Damian spoke from his position by the window. "Batman's rule is his own, not a universal truth. My grandfather believes that permanently removing threats is the only path to true justice."

"Your grandfather runs an assassination guild," Tim pointed out dryly.

Damian shrugged, unperturbed. "His methods are extreme, but his assessment of the Joker's threat level is correct. Parker's restraint was admirable but unnecessary."

Jason shot Damian a warning look. "Not helping, demon spawn."

"I'm simply stating facts," Damian replied, though he subsided back into watchfulness.

"The point is," Jason continued, addressing Peter directly, "there's a difference between what happened on that roof and cold-blooded murder. You were protecting your brother. Anyone with a heart understands that."

"Even Batman?" Peter asked skeptically.

Jason's mouth twisted in a complicated expression. "Batman understands it better than most, even if he won't admit it."

A knock at the study door interrupted their conversation. All heads turned to see a massive figure filling the doorframe—Bane himself, his intimidating bulk softened somewhat by the civil clothing he wore instead of his usual battle gear. The venom delivery system remained integrated with his body, but it was clearly inactive.

Jason tensed instinctively but didn't reach for a weapon. "Bane. Wasn't expecting you."

"Wayne called me," Bane explained, his accented voice surprisingly soft for a man of his size. "Said there was an impostor using my name today. I came to... clarify matters."

Peter stared at the newcomer with undisguised fascination. Unlike the others, he showed no fear, only curiosity. "You're the real Bane?"

Bane inclined his head slightly, studying the small boy with equal interest. "And you are the child who defeated my imitator. Impressive."

"He threw a car at me," Peter explained, as if this were a normal conversation topic.

"And you caught it," Bane observed. "Then broke most of his bones."

Peter glanced down at his hands. "I was angry."

"Rightfully so." Bane moved further into the room, ignoring the subtle shifts in posture as Tim and Damian prepared for potential conflict. "I saw the broadcast. What you did to the Joker... it has made quite an impression on Gotham."

Jason shifted protectively closer to Peter. "If you're here to make threats—"

Bane cut him off with a dismissive gesture. "I come with respect, not threats. The Joker is a rabid dog who should have been put down years ago. This child accomplished what the Batman would not."

"I didn't kill him," Peter clarified quickly.

"No." Bane's mouth curved in what might have been a smile behind his mask. "But you ensured he will never laugh again, never speak clearly again, never walk without assistance. Some would say that is a more fitting punishment than death."

The blunt assessment hung in the air, uncomfortable in its accuracy. Peter seemed simultaneously relieved and disturbed by the validation.

"The doctors say his vocal cords are permanently damaged," Tim confirmed quietly. "Along with extensive reconstruction needed for his hands, knees, and jaw."

"Good," Jason said flatly, earning a sharp look from Tim but nods of agreement from both Bane and Damian.

Peter looked between them, confused by the conflicting messages he was receiving. "But isn't it wrong to be glad someone is hurt?"

"There's a difference between sadism and justice," came Tony's voice from the doorway. He entered the room with measured steps, nodding acknowledgment to Bane before focusing entirely on Peter. "How're you doing, buddy?"

"I'm okay," Peter answered automatically. "How's Harley?"

"Stable," Tony assured him, sitting beside Peter on the sofa. "Stephen's working his magic—literally—and the outlook is positive. Alfred's keeping watch so I could check on you."

Relief visibly washed over Peter, some of the tension leaving his small frame. "So he's going to be okay?"

"He's going to be okay," Tony confirmed, pulling Peter against his side in a one-armed hug. "And so are you."

Bane watched their interaction with unexpected gentleness in his eyes. "Your son is a warrior, Stark. Gotham respects strength and justice. What he did today has earned him the protection of many who normally stand against the Bat."

Tony regarded Bane with cautious appreciation. "I'm less concerned with Gotham's respect than with Peter's well-being. He's eight years old. He shouldn't have had to make the choices he made today."

"Few of us get the childhood we deserve," Bane replied with surprising insight. "The question is what lessons he takes from today's events."

"That's for his family to help him determine," Jason interjected firmly. "Not Gotham, not the League of Assassins, and not the Bat family."

The protective declaration earned a raised eyebrow from Bane and subtle looks of surprise from Tim and Damian. Jason's inclusion of himself in Peter's family unit hadn't gone unnoticed.

Bane inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Then I will leave you to it. But know this, young one," he addressed Peter directly, "what you did today has made Gotham safer. The Joker's reign of terror claimed countless innocent lives over the years. Many in this city will sleep better knowing he can no longer hurt their children."

With that surprisingly gentle assurance, Bane nodded respectfully to Tony and Jason before turning to leave. At the doorway, he paused to add, "The impostor who aided the Joker will face justice through proper channels. I do not tolerate those who damage my reputation."

After Bane's departure, silence settled over the study, broken only when Peter quietly asked, "Is it true what he said? About people being safer now?"

Tony sighed, struggling to find the right balance between honesty and comfort. "The Joker was a terrible person who hurt a lot of people. The world is arguably better with him neutralized."

"But," Jason added, seeming to understand Tony's hesitation, "the way it happened isn't something to celebrate or repeat. You acted to protect Harley in an extreme situation. That's different from setting out to hurt someone, no matter how bad they are."

Peter nodded slowly, processing this nuanced perspective. "I just don't want to be a bad person."

"Peter, look at me," Tony requested, turning to face his son directly. "You are the furthest thing from a bad person. You're a kind, brave, brilliant kid who faced an impossible situation today. The fact that you're worried about the moral implications of your actions just proves what a good heart you have."

A subtle throat-clearing from the doorway announced Alfred's presence. "Pardon the interruption, but Dr. Strange has requested Master Stark's assistance. There appears to be a critical phase in the young gentleman's treatment approaching."

Tony squeezed Peter's shoulder reassuringly. "I need to help Stephen with Harley. Will you be okay here with Jason?"

Peter nodded. "Can I see Harley soon?"

"When Stephen says it's safe," Tony promised, rising to follow Alfred. "Try to rest if you can. It's been a long day."

As Tony departed, Peter leaned slightly against Jason's side, exhaustion finally overtaking his heightened vigilance. "Jason? Did you mean what you said about me being family?"

Jason stiffened momentarily before relaxing with a resigned sigh. "Yeah, kid. I guess I did."

"That's nice," Peter murmured, his eyelids growing heavy. "I've never had a big brother before."

The simple statement hit Jason with unexpected force. He glanced up to find Tim and Damian watching him with expressions ranging from amused (Tim) to vaguely disgusted (Damian).

"Don't start," Jason warned them quietly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tim replied, though his small smile suggested otherwise. "Though I have to say, the Red Hood with an eight-year-old sidekick is quite the image."

"He's not my sidekick," Jason growled. "He's just a kid who needs looking after."

"A kid with enough strength to catch a car and permanently disable the Joker," Damian pointed out pragmatically. "His potential is considerable."

Jason's expression darkened. "He's not a weapon to be honed, Damian. He's a child who's been through hell today."

Before the youngest Wayne could respond, a soft snore interrupted their debate. Peter had fallen asleep against Jason's side, his small face finally peaceful in exhaustion.

The sight effectively ended their discussion. Even Damian seemed unwilling to disturb the sleeping child, instead moving silently toward the door with a final glance at the incongruous pair on the sofa.

"I'll inform Father of the situation," he stated quietly before departing.

Tim lingered a moment longer. "You know, for what it's worth, I think you're good for them. And they're good for you."

Jason didn't acknowledge the observation directly, but his careful adjustment to make Peter more comfortable spoke volumes. As Tim left, closing the door softly behind him, Jason found himself in the unexpected position of guardian to a sleeping metahuman child in Bruce Wayne's study—a bizarre culmination to what had already been an extraordinary day.

Looking down at Peter's peaceful face, Jason felt a complex mixture of emotions he wasn't entirely equipped to process—protectiveness, concern, and something dangerously close to familial love. For a man who had spent years defining himself through rage and vengeance, these softer feelings were as disorienting as they were unwelcome.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to move away, to maintain the emotional distance he usually insisted upon. Instead, he remained perfectly still, allowing Peter to sleep undisturbed against his side while his thoughts drifted to the medical wing where another child fought for recovery.

"Guess we're all family now, kid," he murmured to the sleeping boy. "God help us all."

* * *

In the medical wing, the atmosphere had intensified as Stephen entered what he termed the "critical regenerative phase" of Harley's treatment. The golden energy surrounding the boy had deepened to amber, pulsating with complex patterns that corresponded to the natural healing rhythms of the human body.

"We're approaching the neural pathway restoration," Stephen explained to Tony, sweat now streaming down his face from sustained mystic exertion. "This is where your nanobots need to synchronize precisely with the mystical matrix."

Tony nodded, fingers flying across his holographic interface. "FRIDAY, initiate neural-mystic integration protocol. Electron microscopy at maximum resolution."

"Integration protocol active," FRIDAY confirmed. "Detecting mystical variance in delta wave patterns."

The two men worked in concentrated silence, performing what amounted to microsurgery on a metaphysical level. Around them, Alfred maintained a steady supply of specialized equipment and, notably, cups of strong black coffee that disappeared almost as quickly as they were provided.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, cowl removed but still in the remainder of his batsuit, watching the process with the analytical intensity that characterized both his vigilante and civilian personas.

"Dr. Strange," he eventually said, his voice low enough not to disrupt their concentration. "Your energy reserves are depleting at an unsustainable rate."

Stephen didn't look up from his work. "I'm aware."

"There are resources available—"

"I'll manage," Stephen cut him off, clearly unwilling to pause even for conversation.

Bruce exchanged a look with Tony, who understood the unspoken concern. "Stephen, Bruce is right. You've been channeling continuously for almost five hours. Even you have limits."

"Limits are negotiable," Stephen responded tersely. "We're at a critical juncture."

"Which is precisely why you need to conserve enough strength to complete the process," Bruce countered, stepping fully into the room. "Alfred, please bring the artifact from the secure vault. The one from Constantine."

Alfred's eyebrows rose fractionally, but he nodded and departed without comment. Tony glanced questioningly at Bruce, who elaborated only slightly.

"An energy amplifier. It was entrusted to me for safekeeping after a particularly dangerous situation in London."

Stephen's hands faltered momentarily in their complex movements. "Constantine's Crystalline Catalyst? He actually gave it to you?"

"Not willingly," Bruce admitted. "But he recognized the need for it to be secured somewhere beyond magical reach."

"And you're offering it now," Stephen observed, a note of surprise in his voice.

Bruce met his gaze directly. "A child's life outweighs any perceived risk."

The simple statement hung in the air between them—a concession from Batman that his rigid protocols could bend when genuine need arose. Tony recognized the significance of the gesture, even if he didn't fully understand the magical implications.

Alfred returned carrying a small wooden box inlaid with silver symbols. Bruce took it carefully, approaching Stephen with measured steps. "This will amplify your abilities without additional strain, but Constantine warned of potential... side effects."

"Magical resonance displacement," Stephen nodded. "I'm familiar with the theory."

"In practice, it can be unpredictable," Bruce cautioned.

Stephen's expression remained unchanged. "For Harley, the risk is acceptable."

Bruce opened the box to reveal a crystal structure that seemed to shift dimensions as they watched, its geometric form impossible to pin down with normal perception. It emitted a subtle glow that pulsed in rhythm with Stephen's amber energy field.

With careful precision, Bruce positioned the artifact near Stephen's workspace, where the sorcerer could incorporate it into his mystical circuit without interrupting his ongoing work. Almost immediately, the golden energy surrounding Harley intensified, growing brighter and more stable.

Stephen's posture straightened as the strain visibly lessened, his movements becoming more fluid and precise. "Thank you," he said simply, the brief acknowledgment all he could spare while maintaining focus.

Bruce stepped back, allowing the healing work to continue with renewed efficiency. To Tony, he added quietly, "The artifact will buy him several more hours of working capacity, but he'll still need rest eventually."

"Stephen doesn't do 'eventually' very well when it comes to the kids," Tony replied with the weary understanding of someone who shared the same protective instinct.

Bruce's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "A trait I've observed in others as well."

Before Tony could respond to this rare moment of Batman almost-humor, FRIDAY's voice interrupted with welcome news.

"Boss, neural pathway regeneration at 78% completion. Detecting independent brain activity consistent with healing patterns."

Tony leaned forward, studying the holographic readouts. "Harley's healing himself now. Stephen, are you seeing this?"

Stephen nodded, a flicker of relief breaking through his intense concentration. "His natural healing processes are engaging with the mystical framework. This is exactly what we wanted."

"Prognosis?" Bruce asked, the clinical term barely masking genuine concern.

Stephen adjusted his energy patterns, shifting from active restoration to supportive maintenance. "Barring complications, full recovery is now the most likely outcome. We've moved past the critical danger point."

The relief in the room was palpable. Tony closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a breath he felt he'd been holding for hours. "How long until he wakes up?"

"Several hours, possibly longer," Stephen replied. "The body needs time to integrate the healing. But he's going to make it, Tony. He's going to be okay."

Tony nodded, emotion momentarily robbing him of words. After composing himself, he addressed Bruce. "Thank you. For everything. The medical facilities, the artifact... for giving us sanctuary when we needed it most."

Bruce acknowledged the gratitude with a slight nod. "Jason considers you family," he stated simply, as if this explained everything.

And perhaps it did. In the complex, often fractured dynamics of the Bat family, Jason's explicit claim of kinship with these interdimensional visitors carried weight—enough to bring Bruce Wayne's considerable resources to bear in their time of need.

"Speaking of family," Tony said, "I should check on Peter again. Let him know Harley's going to be alright."

"Alfred will show you to the study," Bruce offered. "And arrangements have been made for you all to stay here until the boy is fully recovered. It's safer than your apartment, particularly given today's events."

The practical offer of extended hospitality surprised Tony almost as much as Bruce's earlier willingness to share a mystical artifact. "That's... unexpectedly generous."

Bruce's expression remained impassive. "The Joker had accomplices. Until they're all apprehended, your family remains at risk. Wayne Manor's security is unparalleled."

The explanation was logical, tactical even, but Tony sensed something more beneath the surface—a gesture of reconciliation, perhaps, or recognition of the unusual bonds forming between their unconventional families.

"We accept," Tony said simply, understanding that overanalyzing the offer would only make both men uncomfortable. "Thank you, Bruce."

With a final glance at Harley's floating form, now peaceful in healing sleep rather than critical suspension, Tony left to find Peter and share the good news. Behind him, he heard Bruce speaking quietly to Stephen.

"Your devotion to these children is remarkable."

Stephen's response echoed the sentiment he'd expressed to Alfred hours earlier, but with an addition that caught Tony's attention as he paused in the doorway.

"They're my sons, Mr. Wayne. There is nothing I wouldn't do for them. A concept I believe you understand better than most."

Bruce was silent for a moment before responding with rare emotional honesty.

"Yes. I do."

Tony continued down the hallway, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders. Harley would recover. Peter was safe. And somehow, against all odds, they had found allies in this strange world—allies who understood, perhaps better than most, what it meant to forge family from trauma and protect it at all costs.

As Tony approached the study where Peter rested under Jason's watchful eye, he allowed himself a moment of cautious optimism. The quantum bridge was nearly complete. Harley would heal. Soon, they would find their way home.

But first, they would heal together in this unexpected sanctuary, their makeshift family expanded in ways none of them could have anticipated when they first arrived in Gotham.

And maybe, Tony reflected as he quietly opened the study door to find Peter peacefully asleep against Jason's side, that expansion wasn't entirely a bad thing.

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Wayne Manor's grand living room, painting golden stripes across antique furniture that had witnessed generations of Wayne family history. In one such beam of light, Peter Parker slept curled on a plush sofa, his small form finally relaxed after days of tension. The bruises on his face had already begun to fade thanks to his enhanced healing, though the emotional wounds of recent events remained evident in the occasional twitch of his features even in sleep.

Across the room, a door eased open with deliberate stealth. Harley Stark-Strange slipped through the narrow opening, his movements careful but surprisingly fluid for someone who had been critically injured just days before. Stephen's mystical healing combined with Tony's nanite technology had accomplished what conventional medicine would have deemed impossible—a complete recovery in a fraction of the normal timeframe.

Damian Wayne stood just outside the doorway, arms crossed and expression disapproving. "This is inadvisable," he whispered to Harley. "He has been sleep-deprived with concern for your welfare."

Harley merely flashed Damian a mischievous grin. "Trust me, he'll be happy to see me."

Damian sniffed but made no move to stop the younger boy as Harley tiptoed across the expensive carpet toward his sleeping brother. In his hand, Harley clutched a small device—one of Tony's prototype sonic emitters that had somehow survived their ordeal in the park. With the casual expertise of a child long accustomed to advanced technology, Harley adjusted its settings while moving stealthily closer to Peter.

At the threshold, Alfred Pennyworth appeared beside Damian, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

"I attempted to dissuade him," Damian explained quietly. "He was... persistent."

"Indeed," Alfred replied, a hint of amusement softening his proper demeanor. "Perhaps we should prepare for the aftermath."

Harley reached Peter's side, leaning close to his brother's ear with the device held just inches away. His grin widened as his finger hovered over the activation button. For a brief moment, he hesitated—a flicker of consideration for what Peter had been through on his behalf—before his natural impishness reasserted itself.

He pressed the button.

A piercing electronic wail erupted from the device, specifically calibrated to target enhanced hearing. The effect was instantaneous and spectacular. Peter's eyes flew open in panic, his body responding on pure instinct before his conscious mind could fully engage. In a movement too swift for an ordinary human to track, he leapt straight upward and adhered to the ornate ceiling twelve feet above, fingers and toes sticking firmly to the decorative plasterwork.

"WHAT—" Peter gasped, heart pounding, before he registered Harley's delighted laughter rolling on the carpet below. "HARLEY!"

Harley clutched his sides, tears of mirth streaming down his face. "Your face! You should see your face right now!"

From the doorway, Damian's usual stoicism cracked enough to allow a small smirk, while Alfred maintained his dignified expression despite the obvious amusement in his eyes.

Peter remained affixed to the ceiling, shock giving way to realization as he fully processed what he was seeing. "Harley? You're awake! You're okay!"

The anger that might have followed such a prank was entirely absent from Peter's voice, replaced by pure joy and relief. In a fluid movement that defied normal physics, he detached from the ceiling and dropped back to the floor, landing lightly beside his still-giggling brother.

"How long have you been—wait, should you even be walking around? Are you really okay? Does Stephen know you're up?" The questions tumbled out as Peter grabbed Harley by the shoulders, examining him with brotherly concern.

Harley's grin never faltered. "Brand new! Not even a scratch, which is kind of disappointing. A scar would've been wicked." He pulled up his shirt to demonstrate his unmarked torso. "Papa said I'm completely healed, though Dad wants to run more tests because he's Dad."

Peter's expression shifted from concern to overwhelming relief. Without warning, he pulled Harley into a fierce hug, momentarily forgetting to moderate his enhanced strength.

"Oof—easy on the ribs, Spider-boy," Harley protested, though he returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm. "I just got them put back together."

"Sorry, sorry," Peter mumbled, loosening his grip but not letting go. "I thought... when you fell..."

Harley's characteristic bravado softened. "I know. I heard what you did to the Joker." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Thanks for saving me, Pete."

The simple acknowledgment carried the weight of understanding beyond Harley's years—recognition of what Peter had been willing to do, what lines he had nearly crossed, to protect his brother.

"Always," Peter replied with equal solemnity, before pulling back to study Harley's face. "But if you ever scare me like that again, I'll web you to the ceiling for a week."

"Promises, promises," Harley grinned, the somber moment passing as quickly as it had come. "Anyway, you should see the workshop Mr. Wayne has downstairs! It's almost as good as Dad's, and he said I could—"

His excited recounting was abruptly interrupted by a tremendous crash from the manor's main entrance hall—the unmistakable sound of heavy doors being forcefully flung open with enough power to trigger multiple alarms. Security systems wailed to life throughout the mansion, red emergency lights pulsing in concert with the strident alert tones.

Alfred's posture shifted instantly from relaxed to alert. "Master Damian—"

But Damian was already moving, drawing a blade from some hidden recess of his clothing as he sprinted toward the commotion. Through the doorway, Peter and Harley glimpsed a flurry of activity as the entire Bat family responded to the apparent breach with practiced efficiency—Bruce emerging from his study in mid-transformation to Batman, Dick flipping over a balustrade to take up a defensive position, Tim appearing from nowhere with his bo staff extended, and Jason skidding into the main hall with guns drawn.

"Stay here," Alfred instructed the boys, producing a small but lethal-looking weapon from his jacket as he moved to secure the living room's entrance.

Peter and Harley exchanged a quick glance, communicating without words in the way only siblings could. Neither had any intention of staying put during a potential crisis. Peter grabbed Harley's wrist, pulling him toward the nearest wall.

"Hold on to me," he whispered, already mapping the fastest route to where Stephen and Tony would likely be.

Before they could make their escape, however, a bizarre sight flooded through the living room doorway—a flowing mass of crimson fabric, moving with impossible independence and unmistakable purpose. It swept past a startled Alfred with what could only be described as indignant haste, the fabric's edges fluttering with what appeared to be agitation.

"The Cloak!" Harley exclaimed in delight, instantly recognizing the magical garment.

Peter's face split into a relieved grin. "Levi!"

The Cloak of Levitation—affectionately nicknamed "Levi" by the boys—performed what could only be interpreted as an aerial double-take, spinning in mid-air before surging toward the children with clear excitement. It enveloped both boys simultaneously, fabric wrapping around them in what was unmistakably a hug despite the garment's lack of traditional appendages.

"You found us!" Harley laughed as the Cloak lifted both boys several feet off the ground in its enthusiasm, spinning them in a gentle circle.

From the doorway, Jason Todd appeared with guns still drawn, only to freeze at the bizarre tableau. "What the actual—"

"Levi!" Stephen Strange's voice preceded his appearance, the sorcerer striding into the room with an expression that mingled relief and exasperation in equal measure. "I told you to wait for me!"

The Cloak responded by lifting the boys higher, as if protecting them from potential scolding. Its collar twisted toward Stephen in what could only be described as a defiant gesture.

"Yes, I know you've been worried," Stephen addressed the garment directly, seeming entirely accustomed to conversing with his sentient accessory. "But destroying the front entrance of Wayne Manor was completely unnecessary."

The Cloak's edges fluttered in what appeared to be argumentative movements.

"Don't you take that tone with me," Stephen retorted. "I didn't 'abandon' you. There was an emergency, and I didn't have time to—"

The fabric rippled more vigorously, its movements somehow conveying an entire paragraph of indignant sentiment.

"Three days is not 'forever,'" Stephen countered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And yes, I should have left a note, but I was rather busy saving Harley's life at the time."

Bruce Wayne appeared behind Stephen, cowl removed but expression no less intense. "Dr. Strange, if you could explain why your... clothing... has demolished my front door?"

"Apologies for the dramatic entrance," Stephen sighed. "The Cloak of Levitation is somewhat... attached to the boys. When it realized we had relocated without it, it apparently tracked us across Gotham."

"It tracked you," Bruce repeated flatly.

"It's semi-sentient," Stephen explained, as if this were a perfectly reasonable clarification. "And extremely protective."

Tony Stark entered the increasingly crowded room, his eyes immediately finding his sons suspended in the Cloak's gentle embrace. "There you are! And I see Levi found you too." He approached the floating fabric with hands on his hips. "You and I need to have a serious discussion about respecting other people's security systems."

The Cloak responded by reaching out a corner of fabric to prod Tony accusingly in the chest.

"Don't you start with me, Carpet," Tony retorted. "We were in crisis mode. Next time I'll leave you a detailed itinerary, complete with GPS coordinates and a packed lunch."

The absurdity of watching Tony Stark argue with an animated piece of clothing finally broke the tension in the room. Dick Grayson was the first to lower his weapon, a fascinated grin spreading across his face.

"That's... actually pretty cool," he admitted, approaching cautiously to observe the Cloak more closely. "Is it always this... expressive?"

"Unfortunately," Stephen and Tony replied in unison.

The Cloak seemed to preen at the attention, gently setting the boys down before performing what could only be described as a flourish—rippling its fabric in an elegant wave that somehow managed to convey both dignity and flair.

"Show-off," Tony muttered, though without real annoyance.

Bruce studied the magical garment with analytical intensity. "Mystical construct or sentient entity?"

"Both, technically," Stephen replied. "The Cloak of Levitation chooses its master and has been my companion for several years. It's one of the most powerful magical artifacts in our dimension."

As if to demonstrate its capabilities, the Cloak darted across the room toward Jason, who had finally holstered his guns but remained warily at the threshold. Before the vigilante could react, the crimson fabric swooped around him, lifting him several inches off the ground.

"What the—put me down!" Jason protested, his usual intimidating demeanor completely undermined as he flailed helplessly in the Cloak's gentle grip.

Harley doubled over with laughter. "Levi likes you!"

"The feeling is not mutual," Jason growled as the Cloak playfully ruffled his hair, somehow managing to convey affection despite having no visible means of expression. "Strange, call off your haunted curtain!"

Stephen made a half-hearted gesture. "Cloak, please release Mr. Todd."

The magical garment seemed to consider this request before deliberately ignoring it, instead wrapping more securely around Jason's shoulders in a manner reminiscent of how it typically draped around Stephen.

Peter giggled. "I think it's adopting you."

"I am not being adopted by outerwear," Jason insisted, though his struggles had diminished from genuine resistance to resigned acceptance. "This is ridiculous."

"Welcome to our world," Tony quipped, clearly enjoying Jason's discomfort. "It took me six months to convince it that my lab equipment wasn't toys for its amusement."

The rest of the Bat family had gradually lowered their weapons as the Cloak's benign—if overly enthusiastic—nature became apparent. Tim approached with unconcealed curiosity, circling Jason and the Cloak with analytical interest.

"The energy signature is fascinating," he observed. "Not quite like anything in our database of magical items."

"Different dimensional frequency," Stephen explained. "The mystical artifacts from our world operate on slightly different principles than yours."

Alfred, who had maintained his composure throughout the bizarre intrusion, stepped forward with impeccable timing. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion over breakfast? I've prepared a meal in anticipation of young Master Harley's return to consciousness."

"FOOD!" Harley exclaimed, his personality instantly reverting to that of a normal hungry child. "I'm starving! Being almost dead really works up an appetite."

The casual reference to his near-death experience made several adults wince, but Stephen merely placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "Food is an excellent idea. Your body needs to replenish after the accelerated healing process."

"And then can we work on the quantum bridge?" Harley asked eagerly. "Dad promised we could finish the calibrations today."

"First food, then medical scans," Tony countered. "Bridge work is contingent on you being genuinely one hundred percent recovered."

Harley rolled his eyes but didn't argue, too genuinely hungry to delay gratification. As the group began migrating toward the manor's formal dining room, the Cloak finally released Jason, who tried to maintain his dignity despite having spent several minutes suspended by sentient fabric.

"That thing is menace," he muttered, straightening his jacket.

Peter slipped beside him, voice lowered conspiratorially. "Levi only gets clingy with people it really likes. It took weeks before it would even let Tony touch it."

"Lucky me," Jason replied dryly, though Peter noticed his hand briefly reached up to touch the fabric's edge with something close to wonder before the Cloak drifted back to hover near Stephen.

The dining room of Wayne Manor presented the surreal tableau of the combined Bat family and interdimensional visitors seated around an elegantly set table, with the Cloak of Levitation floating attentively behind Harley and Peter like a crimson sentinel. Alfred served a breakfast feast that accommodated everything from Bruce's ascetic preferences to Harley's enthusiastic appetite with equal consideration.

"So the Cloak is always... aware?" Dick asked, watching with fascination as the magical garment occasionally adjusted itself to provide better support for Harley, who still showed slight signs of fatigue despite his miraculous recovery.

"Constantly," Stephen confirmed. "It's been particularly attached to the boys since they were small. Something of a third parent at times."

"More like the weird uncle who lets you do stuff Dad and Papa say no to," Harley interjected through a mouthful of pancakes.

Tony pointed his fork accusingly at the Cloak. "I knew you were behind the chandelier incident! Peter swore he climbed up there himself."

The Cloak's collar ducked slightly in what appeared to be an admission of guilt, prompting laughter from the boys and a resigned head shake from Stephen.

As breakfast progressed, the earlier tension of the dramatic entrance faded into something approaching comfortable camaraderie. Bruce and Tony engaged in a detailed discussion of security upgrades for the apartment building during their remaining time in Gotham, while Tim peppered Stephen with questions about dimensional travel that the sorcerer answered with scholarly precision.

Damian, seated between Alfred and Peter, maintained his typical aloof demeanor, though he occasionally contributed precise technical clarifications to the quantum bridge discussion that revealed his own substantial intellect. Dick regaled Harley with carefully edited vigilante stories that made the boy's eyes widen with admiration, while Jason remained quieter, observing the interactions with an expression that shifted between wariness and something closer to wistful contemplation.

"The quantum bridge should be fully operational within forty-eight hours," Tony announced as the meal concluded. "Assuming the power couplings hold and Stephen's mystical mumbo-jumbo aligns correctly with the particle accelerator."

"The 'mystical mumbo-jumbo' is what prevents molecular disintegration during transit," Stephen reminded him dryly. "But yes, we're on schedule for departure soon."

A subtle shift in atmosphere followed this confirmation—an acknowledgment that the unusual alliance between these families was approaching its conclusion. Jason's expression hardened slightly, though he quickly masked it by reaching for his coffee.

"So soon?" Dick asked, glancing between Harley and Peter with genuine regret. "We've barely had time to get to know you guys properly."

"Grayson has a point," Damian agreed unexpectedly. "Parker's combat capabilities warrant further assessment, particularly given his performance against the Joker."

"Damian," Bruce cautioned quietly.

"It was merely an observation," the youngest Wayne defended himself. "His technique requires refinement, but the raw potential is... significant."

Peter stared intently at his plate, uncomfortable with the reminder of what he had done. Sensing his discomfort, the Cloak extended a corner of fabric to rest supportively on his shoulder.

"Peter's 'combat capabilities' aren't why we care about him," Jason stated firmly, surprising everyone with his direct intervention. "And they're not something he needs to be developing at eight years old."

"Thank you, Jason," Tony said with genuine appreciation. "And while we're incredibly grateful for everything you've all done for us, particularly for Harley, our world is waiting. Our family is waiting."

"The Avengers must be quite concerned by your prolonged absence," Alfred observed as he cleared plates with efficient grace.

Stephen nodded. "Time passes somewhat differently between dimensions, but yes, our colleagues will be worried. And there are responsibilities we've left unattended."

"Being superheroes and stuff," Harley added casually, as if this were the most normal thing in the world to mention. "Dad and Papa have to save the world like, all the time."

This declaration earned varied reactions from around the table, ranging from Bruce's subtle raised eyebrow to Dick's amused grin.

"Takes one to know one, huh?" Dick commented, glancing meaningfully at Bruce.

"We had wondered about certain... inconsistencies... in your backgrounds," Bruce acknowledged carefully.

"You mean you did extensive background checks and found nothing because we don't exist in this dimension," Tony translated with a knowing smirk. "Must have driven you crazy."

The slight twitch at the corner of Bruce's mouth was as close to confirmation as he would offer. "Your technological expertise and Dr. Strange's abilities suggested specialized training."

"You could say that," Stephen replied diplomatically. "Though our methods and organizations differ significantly from yours."

"Will you tell us about your world?" Tim asked, his natural curiosity overriding the usual Bat-family reticence. "Before you go?"

The question hung in the air, a request not just for information but for trust—for a genuine exchange between these two groups who had found unexpected common ground through crisis.

Tony looked to Stephen, who nodded slightly. "I suppose we owe you that much, after everything. But it goes both ways," Tony added, leveling a pointed look at Bruce. "Fair exchange of information."

"Within reasonable boundaries," Bruce agreed after a moment's consideration.

Jason stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. "If we're doing story time, I need more coffee. Alfred?"

The butler nodded understanding. "I shall prepare a fresh pot, Master Jason. Perhaps in the library? It offers more comfortable seating for extended conversation."

As they migrated from the dining room, Peter fell into step beside Jason, the Cloak hovering protectively above both of them like a crimson canopy.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked quietly, his intuitive nature detecting Jason's sudden tension.

Jason glanced down, his typical hardened expression softening slightly. "Just not big on goodbyes, kid."

"We're not gone yet," Peter pointed out. "And anyway, maybe it doesn't have to be goodbye forever. Papa's really good at dimensional stuff. Maybe we could visit sometimes."

The simple, hopeful suggestion—so characteristic of Peter's optimistic nature despite everything he'd endured—caught Jason off guard. Before he could formulate a response that wouldn't reveal too much of his unexpected attachment to this strange family, the Cloak draped itself across both their shoulders, creating a physical link between them.

"See?" Peter smiled. "Even Levi thinks we're family now."

Jason didn't shrug off the magical garment, though his expression remained guarded. "Family's complicated, kid."

"Tell me about it," Peter agreed with surprising wisdom. "I've had three different ones now. But that just means there's more people to care about, right?"

As they entered the library, where Alfred was already arranging comfortable seating for the unusual gathering of vigilantes and interdimensional visitors, Jason found himself unusually lost for words. Instead, he simply rested a hand briefly on Peter's shoulder—a gesture that acknowledged the bond that had formed between them without requiring him to voice the uncomfortable emotions that accompanied it.

The Cloak settled more firmly around them both, its fabric somehow conveying approval of this small moment of connection between the cynical vigilante and the boy who had, against all odds, found a way past his defenses.

In a few days, the quantum bridge would open, and this unexpected chapter would close. But as the combined families gathered to share their stories, there was an unspoken recognition that something valuable had been forged in their brief time together—something that would leave its mark on both worlds long after the dimensional pathways closed once more.

Chapter Text

The subterranean laboratory of Wayne Manor hummed with energy—both literal and figurative—as the interdimensional travelers worked tirelessly to complete their pathway home. What had once been Bruce Wayne's secondary research space had transformed over the past week into something that resembled a fusion of Tony Stark's workshop and Stephen Strange's sanctum. Holographic diagrams floated beside mystical reference texts; quantum calculations scrolled across screens while ensorcelled components glowed with otherworldly light.

The centerpiece of this technological-mystical hybrid was the quantum bridge itself—a circular structure roughly eight feet in diameter, its frame composed of materials that seemed to shift between solid matter and pure energy depending on the angle of observation. The interior space pulsed occasionally with faint amber light, like the surface of water catching sunlight from an unseen source.

"Pass me the phase inverter, would you?" Tony called from beneath the primary control console, his voice muffled by the machinery surrounding him.

Jason, who had stationed himself as a general assistant, scanned the nearby workbench before locating the device—a sleek cylinder with intricate circuitry visible through transparent sections. He tossed it with casual accuracy into the space beneath the console.

"Thanks, Hood," came Tony's distracted acknowledgment, followed by a sequence of metallic clicks and a satisfied "Ah, there we go!"

Across the laboratory, Stephen stood with eyes closed and hands forming complex geometric patterns, a faint golden light emanating from his fingertips as he murmured incantations in an ancient language. The air around him seemed to warp slightly, bending light in unnatural patterns that occasionally aligned with the mathematical formulas projected from Tony's workstation.

Peter moved between the various stations with the practiced ease of someone completely at home in this chaotic blend of disciplines. Despite his youth, he was clearly an integral part of the operation, adjusting settings and translating complex technical concepts into terms that bridged Tony's technological expertise and Stephen's mystical knowledge.

"Papa, the etheric resonance is fluctuating again," he reported, studying a monitor displaying incomprehensible energy patterns. "Should I recalibrate the containment field?"

Stephen opened his eyes, the golden light fading as he turned to examine the readings. "Good catch, Peter. The mystical harmonics are seeking equilibrium with this dimension's natural frequency. Try adjusting the Vishanti coefficient by point three."

Peter nodded, fingers flying across a holographic interface. "Got it. Dad, we need to compensate on the quantum side too."

"Already on it, kiddo," Tony replied, emerging from beneath the console with smudges of grease highlighting his focused expression. "FRIDAY, apply the new harmonic sequence to the particle accelerator."

"Applying now, Boss," came the AI's voice from speakers throughout the lab. "Quantum stability increasing to eighty-seven percent."

From the edge of the working area, Bruce Wayne observed with analytical intensity, occasionally making notes on a tablet. Tim Drake stood beside him, eyes wide with fascinated appreciation as he absorbed the unprecedented fusion of science and sorcery unfolding before them.

"The integration of mystical energy with quantum technology is remarkable," Tim commented quietly. "Their approach completely bypasses the uncertainty principle limitations we've been struggling with."

Bruce nodded, his expression thoughtful. "The applications extend beyond dimensional travel. Their methods could revolutionize energy production, medical technology..."

"Or weapons," Damian interjected from where he sat perched on a nearby counter, ostensibly sharpening a knife but clearly paying close attention to the proceedings. "Such power could devastate cities if weaponized."

"Which is precisely why we're not sharing the complete blueprints," Tony called out without looking away from his work, his hearing apparently sharper than the Waynes had realized. "No offense, but I've learned my lesson about proliferating advanced tech across dimensions. The basic principles are fascinating dinner conversation; the specific implementation stays with us."

"Prudent," Bruce acknowledged with a slight nod of respect.

Harley, who had been uncharacteristically quiet as he concentrated on assembling a complex component at a side workbench, suddenly held up his creation with triumphant enthusiasm. "Finished! The quantum entanglement stabilizer is ready!"

"Let me see, squirt," Jason said, crossing to inspect Harley's work. Despite his limited understanding of the advanced technology, he had developed an eye for the quality of construction after days of observing the family's methods. "Looks solid to me."

"Of course it is," Harley replied with the casual confidence that seemed inherent to the Stark bloodline, regardless of biological connection. "I built the prototype for the original bridge too."

"At seven years old?" Dick asked from where he leaned against the wall, watching the proceedings with a mix of amazement and amusement.

"Seven and three-quarters," Harley corrected seriously, earning chuckles from around the room.

Stephen approached to examine the component, his expression shifting from skeptical to impressed as he turned the device in his hands. "This is excellent work, Harley. The mystical conduits are perfectly aligned with the quantum channels."

Harley beamed under the praise, though he attempted to maintain a nonchalant demeanor. "No big deal. Just basic interdimensional engineering."

"'Basic' and 'interdimensional engineering' are two phrases that should never appear in the same sentence," Tony commented dryly, though his pride in Harley's accomplishment was evident. "Bring it over here, kiddo. This is the last major component we need."

As Harley carried his creation toward the main apparatus, the Cloak of Levitation swept down from where it had been hovering near the ceiling, carefully inspecting the device over Harley's shoulder. Its collar twisted in what appeared to be an approving nod before it returned to its self-appointed task of monitoring the laboratory activities.

Throughout the morning, the Cloak had been serving as a bizarrely efficient assistant—fetching tools, adjusting equipment too delicate for human hands, and occasionally bringing refreshments to the busy workers. Its actions had a distinctly mothering quality, particularly toward Peter and Harley, whom it checked on with regular frequency.

"Levi, could you bring me the dimensional coordinate charts?" Stephen requested, pointing to a stack of parchment covered in complex geometric symbols.

The Cloak swept over to retrieve the requested items but paused as FRIDAY's voice interrupted.

"Dr. Strange, I've already uploaded the coordinate matrices to your workstation. The physical charts are redundant with our current calibration method."

The Cloak's edges fluttered in what appeared to be irritation, its collar turning toward the nearest speaker in a distinctly confrontational pose.

"Both are useful, FRIDAY," Stephen sighed, clearly accustomed to mediating between the AI and the magical garment. "The physical charts contain magical notations that don't translate to your digital format."

The Cloak rippled triumphantly as it delivered the parchments to Stephen, performing a subtle flourish that somehow conveyed smugness despite its lack of facial features.

"The magical notations could be integrated if someone would provide the correct symbolic interpretation algorithms," FRIDAY countered, her tone carrying a hint of digital petulance.

"Are they always like this?" Tim asked Peter quietly as the AI and the magical garment continued their passive-aggressive interaction.

Peter nodded with the resigned expression of someone long accustomed to bizarre household dynamics. "They've been competing for 'most helpful assistant' status since I was five. It was worse when Vision was around too—he kept trying to mediate, which just made them both mad at him instead."

"Vision?" Tim inquired.

"Kind of an android with a magic gem in his head," Peter explained casually, as if this were a perfectly normal description of a person. "He's technically my uncle, I guess? Family trees get weird when superheroes are involved."

Tim's expression suggested he found this assessment both accurate and relatable.

As Harley installed his component into the main apparatus, Tony stepped back to assess their progress, wiping his hands on a shop rag. "FRIDAY, run a comprehensive diagnostic. Let's see where we stand."

"Running diagnostic," the AI confirmed. A moment later, holographic displays throughout the lab updated with detailed analyses. "Quantum bridge structural integrity at ninety-four percent. Mystical containment field at ninety-two percent stability. Dimensional targeting systems online and functional."

Tony exchanged a significant look with Stephen. "We're in the green zone. Want to try a test run?"

Stephen nodded, moving to stand beside the circular frame. "A minimal aperture only. Just enough to confirm successful breaching of the interdimensional barrier."

As the two men took their positions at opposite sides of the bridge, the atmosphere in the laboratory shifted perceptibly. Even those without mystical sensitivity could feel the buildup of energies—a subtle pressure against the skin, a faint vibration in the air that seemed to resonate at a frequency just beyond human hearing.

"Everyone stand back," Tony instructed, his usual flippant demeanor replaced by intense focus. "First-time dimensional portals can be...temperamental."

The Bat family members retreated to a safe distance, though Jason remained slightly closer, positioning himself protectively near Peter and Harley despite the boys' evident comfort with the proceedings.

"Initiating quantum field generation," Tony announced, manipulating controls with practiced precision. "FRIDAY, maintain stable power flow regardless of load fluctuations."

"Power flow locked, Boss."

Stephen's hands began to glow with intricate mandala patterns, golden light spiraling from his fingertips toward the bridge frame. "Beginning mystical alignment. Vishanti phases one through four activating."

The circular frame hummed with increasing intensity, the metal itself seeming to vibrate between states of matter. Within its circumference, the air shimmered like heat waves above asphalt before beginning to swirl in a clockwise pattern, gathering momentum until a distinct vortex formed—small at first, merely the size of a dinner plate, but undeniably a tear in the fabric of reality.

"Dimensional breach achieved," FRIDAY confirmed clinically, though there was a note of something like wonder in her artificial voice. "Detecting foreign universe signature."

"Can you identify the dimensional frequency?" Stephen asked, maintaining his mystical gestures with unwavering concentration.

"Analyzing... Frequency matches target parameters. Ninety-nine point eight percent probability this is your home dimension."

The announcement sent a visible wave of relief through the interdimensional visitors. Peter broke into a broad smile, while Harley pumped his fist in celebration.

"Let's confirm visual," Tony suggested, adjusting settings on his control panel. "FRIDAY, send through the microsensor probe."

A small, spider-like device detached from the main console and approached the swirling vortex. With mechanical precision, it extended a hair-thin filament into the dimensional opening, transmitting data back to the laboratory systems.

"Receiving telemetry," FRIDAY announced. "Converting to visual feed."

A holographic screen materialized beside Tony, displaying what appeared to be a cluttered laboratory space not entirely unlike the one they currently occupied, though the technology visible was distinctly more advanced than even Wayne Enterprises' cutting-edge equipment.

"That's my workshop!" Tony exclaimed, leaning forward to examine the image. "Look, there's DUM-E in the corner, still wearing that dunce cap from when he tried to extinguish me last month."

"Can you widen the aperture enough to check news feeds?" Stephen requested. "We should confirm temporal alignment before proceeding further."

Tony nodded, making careful adjustments. "FRIDAY, extend the probe's range and patch into the local network. Give us the headlines."

The image on the screen shifted as the probe apparently moved through the workshop toward a bank of monitors. After a moment of electronic negotiation, news feeds began to populate the display.

The headlines were immediate and striking:

"DAY 12: SEARCH CONTINUES FOR MISSING AVENGERS"

"STARK INDUSTRIES STOCK PLUMMETS AS CEO VANISHES"

"MAGICAL DISTURBANCE LINKED TO DISAPPEARANCE OF SORCERER SUPREME"

"WHERE IS SPIDER-MAN? VIGILANTE MISSING ALONGSIDE STARK FAMILY"

"AVENGERS HEADQUARTERS REFUSES COMMENT ON 'DIMENSIONAL INCIDENT'"

Peter and Harley burst into laughter at the dramatic coverage, particularly a stern-faced news anchor gesticulating beside a crudely photoshopped image of Tony, Stephen, and what appeared to be Spider-Man vanishing into a swirling vortex.

"They always use the worst pictures," Peter complained, pointing to the Spider-Man image. "That's from when I got hit with that slime monster last year. I look like I'm covered in green jello!"

"At least they got my good side," Tony quipped, though his expression grew more serious as he scanned the dates on the news feeds. "Time dilation is minimal—approximately twelve days on their end to our nine here. That's well within acceptable parameters."

The probe continued scanning through news reports, eventually landing on footage of a press conference where a stern-looking man with an eye patch addressed a barrage of reporters' questions with barely concealed irritation.

"—assure the public that all available resources are being devoted to locating Stark and his family," the man was saying, his singular eye narrowed dangerously. "And I would like to add personally that if this is one of Stark's publicity stunts, he can expect a response that will make him nostalgic for his cave in Afghanistan."

Harley doubled over with renewed laughter. "Fury is so mad! His vein is doing the twitchy thing!"

"Director Fury seems... concerned," Stephen observed with dry understatement.

"Concerned enough to put out a global alert, apparently," Tony noted, pointing to a ticker scrolling beneath the footage that mentioned increased SHIELD activity worldwide. "We should probably get home before he decides to solve this by nuking random dimensional anomalies."

"Is that a genuine possibility?" Bruce asked, his tone suggesting he wasn't entirely sure whether to take the comment seriously.

"With Fury?" Tony shrugged. "It's always on the table as Plan C."

Stephen gestured for Tony to begin closing the test aperture. "We've confirmed targeting accuracy and temporal alignment. That's sufficient for now. We should conserve power for the actual transit."

As Tony initiated the shutdown sequence, the miniature portal collapsed with a soft implosion of air, leaving the bridge frame dormant once more. The atmosphere in the laboratory gradually returned to normal, though an expectant energy remained among the group.

"So..." Jason finally broke the contemplative silence. "You're really going home tomorrow."

The simple statement carried more emotion than he'd likely intended, causing Peter and Harley to exchange meaningful glances before turning to their fathers with questioning looks.

"Actually," Tony began with deliberate casualness, "we've been meaning to discuss something with you, Hood."

Jason's posture immediately stiffened, years of vigilante work conditioning him to be wary of unexpected conversations. "What's that?"

"Well," Tony continued, leaning against the control console with studied nonchalance, "we've built a bit of a buffer into the portal's capacity. Engineering safety margins and all that. Technically speaking, the bridge could safely transport... more mass than just the four of us."

Jason looked between Tony and Stephen, confusion evident even through his typically guarded expression. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Stephen clarified, "that if someone were hypothetically interested in visiting our dimension, perhaps for an extended period, the quantum bridge could accommodate an additional traveler."

Understanding dawned slowly on Jason's face, his eyes widening slightly before his expression shuttered back to careful neutrality. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"Jason's coming with us?" Harley burst out, unable to contain his excitement any longer. "For real?"

"If he wants to," Tony confirmed, his eyes remaining fixed on Jason's face, gauging his reaction. "We've built the capability into the system. The invitation is open."

A stunned silence fell over the laboratory as the Bat family processed this unexpected development. Bruce's expression remained carefully impassive, though a slight tightening around his eyes betrayed some internal reaction. Tim and Dick exchanged quick glances, while Damian's hand stilled on his knife, his attention fully captured by the unfolding situation.

"You've been planning this," Jason finally said, his voice carefully controlled. "For how long?"

Stephen stepped forward, his manner shifting to the direct honesty that characterized his approach to important matters. "Since the hospital. Watching you with the boys... it became clear that bonds had formed that perhaps shouldn't be severed so abruptly."

"We're not suggesting anything permanent," Tony added quickly. "The bridge design includes return capabilities. You could visit, stay as long as you wanted, come back whenever you chose. No commitments, no expectations."

"Just... options," Stephen finished.

Jason's gaze shifted to Peter and Harley, who were watching him with expressions of barely contained hope. The vulnerability there seemed to strike something deep within him, momentarily cracking his carefully maintained facade.

"You'd really want me there?" he asked, the question directed more at the boys than their fathers.

"Duh," Harley replied with characteristic bluntness. "Who else is gonna teach me how to throw knives properly? Dad says I'm not allowed to learn from Aunt Nat until I'm at least ten."

"And you could meet the real Spider-Man," Peter added eagerly. "And the Avengers, and maybe even help with missions sometimes, if you wanted."

The simple, earnest responses seemed to affect Jason more deeply than any elaborate persuasion could have. He turned away slightly, ostensibly to examine some equipment but clearly needing a moment to compose himself.

"Bruce?" he finally asked, not turning to face his mentor. "Thoughts?"

The question hung in the air, weighted with years of complicated history. Bruce approached slowly, positioning himself where Jason would have to meet his eyes.

"It's your decision," Bruce said simply. "Gotham will be here if you choose to return."

The uncharacteristically direct statement—neither an endorsement nor a rejection—seemed to surprise Jason almost as much as the original invitation had. "That's it? No lecture about responsibilities? No warnings about interdimensional travel?"

A ghost of something that might have been a smile touched Bruce's lips. "Would it change your mind if I offered either?"

"Probably make me more determined to go," Jason admitted, a reluctant half-smile answering Bruce's.

"Then I'll save my breath." Bruce glanced toward Tony and Stephen. "I assume you've considered the technical challenges of returning him safely?"

"Return capabilities were built into the design from the start," Tony confirmed. "We can reopen the bridge from either side with the right equipment. We'll leave a receiver node here, keyed to a transmitter Jason would carry."

"Like a dimensional recall button," Harley explained helpfully. "Press it, and boom—portal opens, step through, you're back in gloomy Gotham."

"I've also enchanted this," Stephen added, producing a small amulet on a chain. "It will maintain Jason's quantum signature alignment with this dimension, preventing any degradation during extended stays in our reality."

Bruce nodded, apparently satisfied with the technical safeguards. "Then as I said, it's Jason's decision."

All eyes turned to Jason, who seemed genuinely caught off-guard by both the invitation and Bruce's unexpected deference to his choice. For a man accustomed to fighting for every inch of independence, having options simply presented to him without conditions appeared to be a novel and somewhat disorienting experience.

"I... need to think about it," he finally said. "This isn't exactly a weekend trip we're talking about."

"Of course," Stephen agreed immediately. "The portal won't be ready for final activation until tomorrow afternoon. You have time to consider."

An awkward silence descended, broken by Alfred's impeccable timing as he entered the laboratory carrying a tray of refreshments.

"I thought some sustenance might be in order," the butler announced, seemingly oblivious to the emotional tension permeating the room. "The young gentlemen, in particular, should maintain their energy after such intensive work."

The mundane interruption effectively reset the atmosphere, allowing everyone to step back from the emotionally charged moment. As the group dispersed to partake of Alfred's offerings, Peter quietly approached Jason, who had moved to a relatively isolated corner of the laboratory.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," the boy said softly, his perceptive nature picking up on Jason's conflicted emotions. "We just thought... it might be nice. For all of us."

Jason looked down at Peter's earnest face, finding himself once again disarmed by the child's straightforward compassion. "It's not that I don't want to, Pete. It's complicated."

"Because of Batman?" Peter asked with the simplifying clarity of youth.

"Because of everything," Jason replied honestly. "My history here, my responsibilities, the fact that I don't exactly fit the 'superhero family' mold you guys have going."

Peter considered this thoughtfully. "No one really fits at first. Before Dad adopted me, I was just a kid from Queens with spider powers trying not to fail math class. Before Papa found Harley, he was fixing cars in Tennessee. Family isn't about fitting a mold—it's about making room for each other."

The wisdom in the simple statement caught Jason off guard. "When did you get so philosophical, kiddo?"

Peter shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Papa says I was born with an old soul. Dad says I just talk too much and eventually something profound slips out by accident."

That drew a genuine laugh from Jason, easing some of the tension that had knotted inside him. "Fair assessment."

"Just think about it," Peter urged, placing a small hand briefly on Jason's arm. "And know that whatever you decide, you're still family to us. Even if you stay in Gotham."

As Peter rejoined the others, Jason found himself watching the interactions of this unusual family with new eyes. Tony ruffled Harley's hair as the boy enthusiastically explained something about the portal mechanics to an attentive Tim. Stephen gently corrected Peter's grip on a mystical artifact he was examining, patience evident in every careful movement. The Cloak hovered protectively over all of them, occasionally adjusting positions to maintain optimal vigilance.

They functioned as a seamless unit despite their diverse origins and abilities—each member valued for their contributions, each voice heard in the collective decision-making. It was a version of family that operated on fundamentally different principles than the hierarchical structure he had experienced in the Bat family, where Bruce's vision and leadership remained the constant center around which everyone else orbited.

Across the laboratory, Jason caught Bruce watching him with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met briefly, decades of complicated history passing between them in that momentary connection. Bruce offered a slight nod—acknowledgment without pressure, respect without demands.

It was, perhaps, the closest thing to blessing Jason could expect.

The Cloak suddenly swept across the room to hover beside Jason, its fabric rippling in what he had come to recognize as its version of communication. After a moment of apparent consideration, it extended an edge of fabric toward him in a gesture reminiscent of someone offering their hand.

"I think Levi's voting yes," Harley called out with a grin, having noticed the interaction.

"The Cloak has excellent judgment," Stephen remarked with a small smile. "It rarely makes overtures to those it doesn't deem worthy of trust."

Jason hesitantly reached out, allowing the fabric to brush against his fingers. The material felt unlike any textile he had encountered—simultaneously substantial and ethereal, vibrating with subtle energy that seemed to resonate with something inside him.

"Don't tell me you're susceptible to magical manipulation too," Tony groaned theatrically. "Between Stephen and the Cloak, I'm already outnumbered in the household."

"The Cloak simply recognizes kindred spirits," Stephen countered smoothly. "Those who protect others regardless of personal cost."

The observation, delivered without fanfare but with quiet conviction, landed with unexpected weight. Jason withdrew his hand from the Cloak, uncomfortable with the implicit recognition of qualities he rarely acknowledged in himself.

"We should finish the calibrations," he deflected, turning back toward the portal apparatus. "If you're planning to leave tomorrow, there's still work to do."

As the group returned to their tasks, the conversation shifted back to technical matters, but the invitation remained an unspoken presence in the laboratory—a door opened that hadn't existed before, a possibility that would require a decision before the quantum bridge activated the following day.

For a man accustomed to limited options and hard choices, having a genuine opportunity presented without strings attached was perhaps the most disorienting aspect of all. Jason found himself contemplating not just interdimensional travel but the rarer journey from isolation to connection, from the shadows of Gotham to the possibility of a different kind of family.

Above the quantum bridge, energy patterns continued to stabilize as the dimensional coordinates locked firmly onto the target reality. Tomorrow, the portal would open fully, creating a pathway between worlds. Whether Jason would walk that path remained undecided, but the very existence of the choice represented something he had rarely experienced in his complicated life:

Hope without conditions.

Chapter Text

Jason stood on the balcony of Wayne Manor, watching as the moon cast silver light across the sprawling grounds. The night was uncharacteristically clear for Gotham, stars visible through gaps in the thin cloud cover. Behind him, through the glass doors, he could see the warm glow of the manor's living spaces—a stark contrast to the cool stillness of his outdoor vigil.

His hand absently traced the small quantum transmitter in his pocket, the device that represented a choice he still hadn't fully made. Less than twenty-four hours remained before the Strange-Stark family would activate their portal and return home. Less than twenty-four hours to decide whether he would go with them.

The sound of the balcony door sliding open interrupted his thoughts. He didn't turn, already recognizing the deliberate footsteps.

"You're brooding," Dick said, coming to stand beside him at the railing. "More than usual, I mean."

"I'm thinking," Jason corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" Dick leaned against the railing, studying his brother's profile. "You've been out here for two hours."

Jason shrugged. "Didn't realize I was on a schedule."

A comfortable silence settled between them, both men watching the distant lights of Gotham City glimmering on the horizon. The city they had both sworn to protect, albeit in vastly different ways.

"So," Dick finally ventured. "Are you going to tell me what you're planning to do?"

Jason sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know yet."

"Bullshit." The word was delivered without heat, a simple statement of disbelief. "I know you, Jay. You've already decided. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."

Before Jason could respond, the balcony door slid open again, and Tim stepped out, carrying three steaming mugs.

"Alfred sent these," he explained, distributing the hot chocolate. "Said something about 'young masters catching their death in the night air.'"

Jason accepted the mug with a nod of thanks, wrapping his hands around its warmth. "Did he also send you to join the intervention?"

"No intervention," Tim assured him, taking position on Jason's other side. "Just... curiosity."

"And concern," added a new voice as Damian appeared, having approached so silently that even Jason hadn't detected his presence. The youngest Wayne leaned against the wall, arms crossed defensively. "Though why anyone should be concerned about Todd's whereabouts is beyond me."

Jason snorted. "Nice to see you too, demon spawn."

Damian's eyes narrowed, though there was less hostility in the expression than there might have been weeks earlier. "Father says you're considering traveling to another dimension with the Strange-Stark family."

"Considering," Jason confirmed, taking a deliberate sip of his chocolate. "Nothing's decided."

"Tt." Damian's signature sound of dismissal cut through the night air. "Indecision is weakness."

"Says the kid who spent fifteen minutes this morning deciding between two identical black t-shirts," Tim muttered.

"They were not identical! One was tactical cotton-poly blend, the other was—" Damian caught himself, scowling at the distraction. "We are discussing Todd's abandonment of his responsibilities, not my wardrobe."

The accusation hung in the air, forcing the conversation to the heart of the matter. Jason turned to face his brothers fully for the first time.

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Abandoning my responsibilities?"

"Aren't you?" Damian challenged. "Crime Alley needs the Red Hood. Without your... methods... the criminal element will believe they can operate unchecked."

It was perhaps the closest thing to acknowledgment of Jason's effectiveness that Damian had ever offered, cloaked though it was in criticism.

"Crime Alley survived before me," Jason replied evenly. "It'll survive after me."

"But not as well," Tim said quietly. "You know that, Jason. What you've built there—the network of informants, the delicate balance of power. No one else can maintain that."

Jason stared into his mug, watching the steam rise in curling patterns. "Maybe that's part of the problem."

Dick placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Jason struggled to articulate thoughts he'd barely acknowledged to himself. "What if what I've built there is just another kind of prison? For them and for me?"

The three brothers exchanged glances, clearly surprised by the philosophical turn.

"You think the Strange-Stark family represents freedom?" Tim asked, his analytical mind cutting to the core of the issue.

Jason shrugged off Dick's hand, moving to pace the length of the balcony. "I think they represent something different. A chance to exist without being defined entirely by Gotham, by the Pit, by..." He gestured vaguely toward the manor. "By all of this."

"By us, you mean," Dick said, a hint of hurt coloring his voice.

"Not just you," Jason clarified. "By everything I've been since I came back. The anger, the vengeance, the constant fighting just to carve out a space that's mine. Over there, with them... I could just be Jason. Not the failed Robin. Not the family disappointment. Not the cautionary tale."

Damian scoffed, though the sound lacked its usual edge. "So you're running away."

"Maybe I am," Jason admitted, surprising them all with his candor. "Maybe after everything, I've earned the right to run toward something instead of always running from things."

Tim set his mug down on the balcony railing, his expression thoughtful. "The kids really got to you, didn't they?"

A small, involuntary smile touched Jason's lips. "They're something else. Smart as hell, but still actual kids, you know? Not miniature soldiers." His eyes flicked briefly to Damian. "No offense."

"Offense taken," Damian replied automatically, though he seemed more contemplative than truly angry.

"And their fathers?" Dick pressed. "You trust them?"

Jason considered the question, remembering Strange's quiet competence in the hospital, Stark's manic brilliance in the lab, the easy way they balanced each other and created space for their children to thrive. "Yeah, I do. They're not perfect, but they're... good. In ways that matter."

"Better than Bruce?" Tim asked quietly.

The loaded question hung in the air between them all. Finally, Jason shook his head.

"Different than Bruce. Better for me right now, maybe."

Dick sighed, leaning back against the railing. "So you are going."

It wasn't a question this time, and Jason didn't treat it as one. The decision crystallized as he spoke it aloud. "Yeah. I think I am."

Damian pushed away from the wall, stepping closer. "And Crime Alley? What becomes of your territory, your... protectorates?"

The genuine concern beneath the demanding tone wasn't lost on Jason. "That's the part I'm still figuring out. I can't just walk away from those people. They depend on me."

"We could cover it," Tim offered. "Between the three of us, we could establish a rotation—"

Jason was already shaking his head. "No offense, replacement, but none of you can do what I do there. You don't have the connections, and you don't have the... reputation."

"You mean we're not feared by the criminal underworld as potentially homicidal vigilantes?" Dick asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Exactly," Jason confirmed without apology.

"Then what's your solution?" Damian demanded. "You cannot simultaneously leave and stay."

"Actually," came a young voice from the doorway, "that's not entirely accurate."

The four brothers turned to find Harley leaning against the door frame, an expression of barely contained excitement on his face. Behind him, Peter peered around his shoulder, offering an apologetic wave.

"Sorry to interrupt," Peter said. "But we heard you talking, and, well..."

"We solved your problem!" Harley announced triumphantly. "Come to the living room. We want to show you something."

The brothers exchanged puzzled glances before following the two boys back into the manor and down to the main living area. There, they found Tony and Stephen engaged in quiet conversation near the fireplace. Bruce sat in his customary armchair, expression unreadable as always.

"Found him!" Harley declared unnecessarily. "And he's decided to come with us!"

Tony straightened immediately, eyes finding Jason's with undisguised hope. "Is that true?"

Jason nodded slowly. "If we can figure out what happens to Crime Alley."

"About that," Peter interjected, practically vibrating with excitement. "We have something to show you. It's kind of a surprise."

"We weren't going to tell you about it until you decided," Harley explained. "So it wouldn't, you know, influence your choice or whatever."

Stephen rose from his seat, fixing the boys with a stern look that failed to completely mask his affection. "Perhaps you should explain rather than simply alluding cryptically."

"Right," Harley agreed. "Okay, so, Jason's worried about leaving Crime Alley unprotected, which makes sense because he's built this whole system, right? Bad guys know he'll shoot them if they step out of line, good guys know he'll protect them, it's a whole ecosystem."

"The point, Harley," Tony prompted gently.

"The point is," Peter picked up, "what if Jason didn't have to leave Crime Alley unprotected? What if Red Hood could still be here, even while Jason comes with us?"

Jason frowned, confusion evident on his face. "I'm not following."

Harley grinned broadly. "Papa, can we show him now?"

Stephen sighed, but nodded, making a subtle gesture with his hand. Golden sparks danced in the air, forming a small portal. "Very well. But remember what we discussed about dimensional ethics."

"Yes, Papa," both boys chorused.

Harley reached through the portal and seemed to be retrieving something. When he stepped back, the assembled group stared in stunned silence.

Standing before them was... Jason Todd. Or rather, a perfect replica of Jason Todd, down to the leather jacket and the stubborn set of his jaw. The duplicate regarded the original with a small, sardonic smile that was eerily familiar.

"What the hell?" Jason breathed, instinctively reaching for a weapon that wasn't there.

"Surprise!" Harley announced. "Meet Jason 2.0!"

"We call him Jay-Two," Peter added helpfully.

The duplicate—Jay-Two—crossed his arms in a gesture identical to one Jason himself often used. "This is weird for me too, if it helps."

"What. The. Actual. Hell." Jason repeated, turning accusatory eyes to Stephen and Tony. "You cloned me?"

"Not exactly," Stephen explained calmly. "He's a mystical construct. Similar in principle to the magical duplicates I sometimes create, but far more sophisticated and autonomous."

"He's a magical AI with your physical form, memories, and behavioral patterns," Tony elaborated. "Think of him as a magical android with your source code."

Jay-Two rolled his eyes. "They're making it sound more complicated than it is. I'm you, but I don't mind staying in Gotham while you go dimension-hopping with the Wonder Family."

Dick had recovered from his initial shock enough to circle the duplicate, studying him with fascinated interest. "He even sounds like you. The same inflections, the same attitude..."

"Because he has the same experiences to draw from," Stephen explained. "We used a complex enchantment to create an entity with Jason's memories and personality traits."

"Up to this morning," Jay-Two specified. "Which means I remember deciding I wanted to go with them, but I also understand why I need to stay."

"This is..." Bruce finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the chaos. "Concerning."

"It's brilliant," Tim countered, already examining the magical duplicate with analytical interest. "The perfect solution. Crime Alley keeps its protector, and Jason gets to..."

"Escape," Damian finished flatly.

"Explore," Peter corrected gently.

Jason approached his duplicate cautiously. "So what, you're just... okay with this arrangement? Being left behind while I go off to another dimension?"

Jay-Two shrugged. "I'm okay with it because I'm programmed to be okay with it. But also because I get it. We both know what Crime Alley needs, and we both know what you need." He gestured between them. "This way, everyone gets what they need."

"And he's fully functional?" Dick asked, directing the question to Stephen. "He can fight, make decisions, everything Jason does?"

"The construct is capable of everything the original Jason can do," Stephen confirmed. "Physical combat, strategic thinking, emotional responses—all mapped from Jason's actual patterns."

"With a few safeguards," Tony added. "We didn't want to create an unkillable murder-bot, considering Jay's occasional... temperament issues."

Both Jasons scowled identically.

"The construct cannot kill," Stephen clarified. "It can injure, incapacitate, intimidate—all the functions necessary for the Red Hood's work—but it physically cannot take a human life."

"That's actually an improvement," Bruce noted dryly.

"Debatable," both Jasons responded simultaneously, then glanced at each other with mutual discomfort.

"This is profoundly disturbing," Jason muttered. "It's like looking in a mirror that talks back."

"You'll get used to it," Harley assured him confidently. "And once we get you home with us, you might decide to stay forever and then it won't matter!"

"Harley," Stephen admonished gently.

"What? It could happen," the boy insisted. "Jason's gonna love it there. We have way cooler tech, and the Avengers, and Auntie Nat can teach him how to kill people even better—"

"And on that note," Tony interrupted, "maybe we focus on the current situation rather than future hypotheticals."

"Right," Peter agreed quickly. "The important thing is that we have a solution. Jay-Two can stay here and keep doing all the Red Hood stuff, and Jason can come with us without worrying about abandoning anyone."

Jason studied his duplicate, still processing the bizarre situation. "And you... survive how, exactly? Eat, sleep, all that?"

"The construct requires neither food nor sleep, though it can simulate both for appearance's sake," Stephen explained. "It draws energy from ambient mystical forces."

"I'm self-sustaining," Jay-Two simplified. "And before you ask, yes, I'll check in with the Bats regularly so they know I'm functioning properly."

"We can also remotely monitor his status from our dimension," Tony added. "Any significant deviation from expected parameters would trigger an alert."

Jason ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed by the implications. "This is... a lot."

"We know," Peter said sympathetically. "But we really want you to come with us, and we didn't want you to have to choose between us and the people who need you here."

"So you just... made another me." Jason shook his head in disbelief. "When did you even do this?"

"We've been working on it for the past four days," Harley admitted. "While you were patrolling at night. Papa did the magical parts, Dad did the consciousness mapping, and Peter and I helped with the personality calibration."

"Which explains why you two kept asking me those weird hypothetical questions," Jason realized. "'What would you do if a kitten was stuck in a tree but also there was a bank robbery?' 'How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?' That was personality mapping?"

"Important ethical dilemmas," Harley confirmed solemnly. "For science."

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Jason found himself fighting a smile. The efforts these people had gone to—creating an entire magical duplicate of him—just to make it possible for him to join them without guilt or reservation, was equally disturbing and touching.

"So what do you think?" Tony asked, watching Jason carefully. "Does this solve your Crime Alley dilemma?"

Jason looked around the room, taking in the expectant faces of his brothers, the hopeful expressions of Peter and Harley, the carefully neutral mask of Bruce Wayne, and the quietly supportive presence of Tony and Stephen. Finally, his gaze settled on his duplicate, who regarded him with the understanding that could only come from shared experience.

"You'll keep them safe?" Jason asked softly. "All of them? Sherri at the corner market, old man Guzman and his granddaughter, the kids at St. Mary's shelter?"

Jay-Two nodded solemnly. "Like they were my own. Because they are."

The simple affirmation settled something within Jason, a worry he hadn't fully acknowledged even to himself. He turned to Tony and Stephen, decision made.

"Okay," he said firmly. "I'm in."

The reaction was immediate. Harley whooped loudly, pumping his fist in the air. Peter's face split into a radiant smile as he exchanged a delighted high-five with his brother. Even the Cloak of Levitation, which had been hovering unobtrusively near Stephen, performed what could only be described as an aerial twirl of satisfaction.

"Excellent," Tony declared, clapping his hands together. "The portal will be fully operational by tomorrow afternoon. We'll need to make final adjustments for the additional mass, but nothing FRIDAY can't handle."

Stephen approached Jason, extending his hand. "We're glad to have you join us, Jason. I think you'll find our dimension has much to offer."

As Jason shook the sorcerer's hand, he was struck by the genuine warmth in the man's eyes—not the calculated assessment he was accustomed to from authority figures, but simple welcome.

"Speaking of which," Tony interjected, suddenly animated with new energy, "we haven't even told you about all the cool stuff waiting on the other side. The Avengers compound, my workshop—which makes this bat-cave look like a high school science lab, no offense Bruce—"

"Offense taken," Bruce commented mildly.

"—and wait until you see what Peter can really do when he's not holding back because of dimensional physics limitations," Tony continued, undeterred. "Kid's practically Spider-Man and Doctor Strange Junior rolled into one these days."

Peter blushed bright red. "Dad, come on."

"And the food!" Harley chimed in. "We've got this shawarma place near the tower that will blow your mind. And Mr. Delmar's sandwiches, and—"

"Let's not overwhelm him just yet," Stephen suggested, though his eyes betrayed amusement at his family's enthusiasm. "Jason will have plenty of time to discover everything our dimension has to offer."

As the conversation evolved into excited planning for the journey, Jason found himself drawn aside by Bruce, who had risen silently from his chair and motioned toward the hallway. With a nod to the others, Jason followed his mentor into the relative privacy of the corridor.

"You've made your decision," Bruce stated once they were alone.

"I have," Jason confirmed, bracing himself for disapproval or an attempt to dissuade him.

Instead, Bruce simply nodded. "Are you certain about this... duplicate?"

Jason glanced back toward the living room, where his magical counterpart was now engaged in conversation with Dick and Tim. "As certain as I can be about anything involving magic and alternate dimensions. Strange seems confident in his work."

"And you trust Strange," Bruce observed. "And Stark."

"I do," Jason admitted. "Maybe I shouldn't, but... yeah, I do."

Bruce was quiet for a long moment, his expression inscrutable as always. Then, with uncharacteristic directness, he asked, "Are you leaving because of me, Jason?"

The question caught Jason off guard with its vulnerability. "No," he answered honestly. "Not because of you. Not entirely, anyway. It's... complicated."

"Explain it to me," Bruce requested, and for once, it didn't sound like a command.

Jason leaned against the wall, gathering his thoughts. "It's about finding out who I am when I'm not defined by Gotham. By the mission. By... my history here." He met Bruce's eyes steadily. "I need to know if there's more to me than anger and vengeance."

Bruce absorbed this in silence, his gaze never wavering. "And you believe you'll find that answer with them."

"I believe I might have a chance to find it," Jason corrected. "No guarantees. But a chance."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Then I won't stand in your way."

The simple acceptance, free from judgment or conditions, was so unlike their usual interactions that Jason found himself momentarily speechless.

"Thank you," he finally managed.

Bruce hesitated, then placed a hand on Jason's shoulder—a rare physical gesture that spoke volumes. "The portal allows return access."

It wasn't quite a question, not quite a request, but Jason understood the meaning behind the words. "I'll come back. To visit. To check on things."

"Alfred would appreciate that," Bruce said, the deflection transparent but familiar.

Jason's lips quirked in a small smile. "Just Alfred, huh?"

Bruce's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps others as well."

From the living room, they could hear the excited voices of Peter and Harley explaining something to the assembled group, Tony's occasional interjections punctuating their enthusiasm.

"They've been planning this for days, haven't they?" Jason realized aloud. "The duplicate, the invitation—they've been hoping I'd say yes all along."

"They care about you," Bruce observed, and though his tone remained neutral, there was no mistaking the complexity beneath the simple statement. "As do we."

Before Jason could respond to this rare acknowledgment, Tony appeared in the hallway, his expression one of barely contained excitement.

"There you are! Stephen's just had the most brilliant idea—well, technically it was the Cloak's idea, if sentient outerwear can have ideas, which apparently it can—about creating a specialized dimensional anchor for you. Completely customized quantum frequency tuning, should make transitions smoother, reduce any potential side effects." He gestured enthusiastically. "Come on, we need to start the calibration process if we're going to have it ready by tomorrow."

Bruce and Jason exchanged a look that contained decades of complicated history and understanding. With a slight nod from Bruce—permission, acknowledgment, farewell, all in one subtle gesture—Jason pushed away from the wall.

"Lead the way, Stark."

As they returned to the living room, Jason found himself the center of excited attention. Stephen was already explaining something about dimensional resonance frequencies to an attentive Tim. The Cloak hovered near Jay-Two, seemingly fascinated by the magical duplicate. Harley had somehow convinced Damian to look at a holographic display of what appeared to be the Avengers compound, pointing out various features with enthusiastic commentary.

In the midst of this chaos, Peter sidled up to Jason, a soft smile on his face. "So you're really coming with us?"

Jason nodded, still somewhat dazed by how quickly everything was moving. "Looks that way, kiddo."

"I knew you would," Peter said with quiet confidence. "Levi told me."

"The Cloak told you?" Jason raised an eyebrow skeptically.

Peter nodded solemnly. "Levi's never wrong about people. And if you ever did try to change your mind, it probably would help us kidnap you." He grinned mischievously. "But I don't think we'll need to."

Before Jason could respond to this surprising revelation, Harley bounded over, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Dad's already designing your room at the compound," he announced. "And Papa's been stressing about it for days, even though he pretends he hasn't been."

"I have not been 'stressing,'" Stephen objected from across the room, proving both his exceptional hearing and the accuracy of Harley's assessment. "I've been considering appropriate accommodations."

"You asked rhetorical questions about his preferred ambient temperature for three hours last night," Tony pointed out with evident amusement. "And reorganized the east wing guest suite four times."

"Reasonable preparation is not 'stressing,'" Stephen maintained with dignity, though a faint color had risen to his cheeks.

Jason looked around at this strange, brilliant family that had somehow decided he belonged with them—at Harley's irrepressible enthusiasm, Peter's quiet certainty, Tony's manic energy, and Stephen's composed care. Across the room, his duplicate caught his eye and offered a knowing nod—understanding and reassurance in one silent gesture.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Jason felt something that had been foreign to him since his resurrection: a sense of possibility untainted by anger or vengeance. A future that might contain more than an endless battle against the darkness of Gotham City.

Tomorrow, he would step through a portal into another dimension, leaving behind the city that had both made and broken him. But he wouldn't be leaving behind his responsibilities—his magical counterpart would ensure that. And he wouldn't be leaving forever—the quantum transmitter would guarantee that.

What he would be doing, for perhaps the first time since his death and rebirth, was moving toward something rather than away from something. Choosing a path not dictated by trauma or obligation, but by the simple, unexpected connection he had formed with a family as unusual and complicated as his own.

"We should start the final calibrations," Stephen announced, bringing the excited conversations to a pause. "If we're to be ready for departure tomorrow afternoon, there's still much to prepare."

As the group began to disperse, heading toward the laboratory to complete the necessary adjustments to the quantum bridge, Jason found himself momentarily alone with his duplicate. The two regarded each other with identical expressions of wary assessment.

"Take care of them," Jason said finally, no need to specify who "them" were.

Jay-Two nodded. "You too. Those kids... they're something special."

"Yeah," Jason agreed softly. "They are."

A moment of understanding passed between original and copy—a shared knowledge of what had been and what might be. Then, with identical half-smiles, they turned to follow the others, one toward a continuing mission in the shadows of Gotham, the other toward an unexpected journey into light.

Chapter Text

The morning sun struggled to penetrate Gotham's perpetual haze, casting weak, filtered light across the city's jagged skyline. In the guest room of Wayne Manor, Jason Todd finished packing the few possessions he'd decided to bring on his interdimensional journey. The small duffel bag contained little more than clothing, a few weapons Bruce had reluctantly approved, and several dog-eared paperbacks he couldn't bear to leave behind.

A soft knock interrupted his methodical packing.

"Come in," he called, zipping the bag closed.

The door swung open to reveal Peter and Harley, both boys already dressed and vibrating with barely contained energy despite the early hour.

"Morning!" Peter greeted cheerfully. "Dad and Papa sent us to see if you're ready."

"Almost," Jason replied, surveying his meager belongings. "Not much to pack when you're traveling between dimensions."

Harley bounced on his toes, peering curiously at Jason's bag. "Is that all you're bringing? Just clothes and books?"

"And a few knives," Jason added with a smirk. "Your dad said no guns in the quantum bridge. Something about 'unstable energy interactions with gunpowder.'"

"Probably smart," Peter nodded sagely. "Remember when Uncle Clint tried to bring that experimental arrow through one of Papa's portals?"

"We had purple sparkles raining in the compound for a week!" Harley cackled at the memory.

Jason raised an eyebrow, adding this to his mental file of 'bizarre things to expect in the Strange-Stark household.' "So, what's the plan? Portal opens at three, right?"

The boys exchanged meaningful glances before Peter spoke. "Actually, we were hoping you might take us to Crime Alley before we go. To say goodbye to everyone."

"Everyone?" Jason repeated skeptically.

"You know," Harley clarified, "Miss Sherri at the market, and Mr. Guzman, and Sister Maria at the shelter, and those kids who always hang out near the basketball court..."

Jason's eyebrows climbed higher. "You've been in this dimension for less than two weeks, and you've already made friends with half of Crime Alley?"

The boys shrugged simultaneously, an eerily synchronized movement that suggested they'd been asked this question before.

"We like people," Peter explained simply.

"And people like us," Harley added without a hint of arrogance, stating it as matter-of-fact as the color of the sky.

Jason shook his head in bemusement. During his time as Crime Alley's protector, he'd cultivated a network of informants and allies out of necessity, but these kids had apparently formed genuine friendships in the same dangerous territory within days.

"Fine," he relented. "I should check in with a few people before we leave anyway. Let your dads know we'll be gone for a couple hours."

"Already did!" Harley announced triumphantly. "They said it's fine as long as Levi comes too."

On cue, the Cloak of Levitation swept into the room, its fabric rippling in what Jason had come to recognize as its version of a greeting.

"You bringing the magic carpet along is definitely not going to draw attention," Jason muttered sarcastically.

The Cloak's collar stiffened in apparent offense.

"Levi can be discreet," Peter assured him, patting the magical garment soothingly. "Right, Levi?"

The Cloak seemed to consider this request before collapsing its form into what appeared to be a normal red scarf, which then wound itself around Peter's neck.

"See?" Peter grinned. "Totally inconspicuous."

Jason sighed, already questioning his life choices. "Let me guess—your fathers gave you emergency protocols and backup plans too, right?"

"Three different emergency contact methods, plus Papa enchanted our amulets with a short-range teleportation spell as a last resort," Harley confirmed, tugging a small pendant from beneath his shirt. "Standard procedure for potentially dangerous field trips."

"Crime Alley isn't a field trip," Jason pointed out, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"It kind of is for us," Peter replied with undeniable logic. "Oh, and Dick and Tim and Damian want to come too."

Jason froze halfway to the door. "What?"

"They're waiting downstairs," Harley explained. "Dick said something about 'one last family outing,' and Tim wanted to monitor Jay-Two's first day on patrol, and Damian just made that 'tt' sound but followed them anyway."

The thought of parading through Crime Alley with three Bat-brothers, two interdimensional children, and a disguised magical cloak was enough to make Jason reconsider the entire plan. But the hopeful expressions on Peter and Harley's faces made refusal impossible.

"Fine," he surrendered. "But we're not taking the Batmobile."

---

The unlikely procession made its way through Crime Alley in what Jason could only describe as the most conspicuous attempt at inconspicuousness he'd ever witnessed. Despite civilian clothing, the Bat-brothers moved with the unmistakable vigilance of trained fighters. Peter and Harley bounded ahead and then back like excited puppies, pointing out landmarks and greeting strangers with disarming friendliness. The "scarf" around Peter's neck occasionally twitched of its own accord when sensing potential threats.

"This is surreal," Tim murmured, watching as Harley charmed an elderly woman selling flowers, who promptly gave him a carnation for free.

"You're telling me," Jason replied, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Despite the early hour, Crime Alley was already bustling with the activity of people who lived on the margins—vendors setting up makeshift stalls, day laborers gathering on corners hoping for work, and the ever-present shadow economy conducting its business in hushed exchanges.

What surprised Jason most was how many people recognized not just him, but Peter and Harley. The boys were greeted by name by shopkeepers, street vendors, and even a group of teenagers who would normally regard outsiders with suspicion. Somehow, in their brief time in Gotham, they had woven themselves into the fabric of this community.

"Jason!" called a familiar voice as they passed a small bodega. Sherri Martinez, the store's owner, emerged with a wide smile. "And you brought the whole family today!"

Before Jason could correct her assumption, Peter and Harley had already rushed to embrace the woman, chattering excitedly about their imminent departure.

"We wanted to say goodbye," Peter explained. "We're going home today."

Sherri's face fell slightly. "So soon? You boys have brightened this neighborhood." She turned to Jason. "These two are special, you know. Your little brother fixed my refrigerator unit when it broke down last week—saved me thousands in replacement costs."

Jason raised an eyebrow at Harley, who shrugged modestly. "It was just a compressor issue. Easy fix."

"And this one," Sherri continued, ruffling Peter's hair affectionately, "helped my Antonio with his science homework. First passing grade he's had all semester."

"It was just basic biochemistry," Peter demurred, though his pleased blush betrayed his pride.

Dick stepped forward, extending his hand to Sherri. "I'm Dick, Jason's brother. These two have been staying with our family, but they're heading home today."

"Such a shame," Sherri sighed. "Wait here, I have something for them."

She disappeared into her store, returning moments later with two small packages wrapped in brown paper. "Cannolis from my mother's recipe. For the journey."

The boys accepted the gifts with genuine gratitude, and Jason watched in amazement as this scene repeated itself throughout their walk. At the community center, an elderly man named Guzman presented Harley with a hand-carved wooden figure after the boy had apparently spent hours repairing the center's ancient heating system. The local librarian had special books set aside for Peter, having discovered his voracious reading habits during his visits.

"How did they do this?" Jason muttered to Dick as they watched the boys being fussed over by Sister Maria at St. Mary's shelter. "I've been protecting this neighborhood for years, and half these people still look at me like I might shoot them."

"Because you might," Damian pointed out bluntly.

"Not helping, demon spawn," Jason growled.

Dick's expression was thoughtful as he observed the boys. "I think it's because they don't see people as threats or assets first. They just see people."

Tim nodded in agreement. "They connect without agenda. It's... refreshing."

The simple observation struck Jason deeper than he expected. His relationships in Crime Alley were built on a foundation of fear and respect—necessary tools for maintaining order in a chaotic environment. But Peter and Harley had built connections based on genuine interest and kindness, and in just days had achieved a type of community integration that had eluded him for years.

Their walk eventually brought them to a rundown basketball court where a group of children and teenagers were engaged in a spirited if chaotic game with a ball that had seen better days. At the sight of the approaching group, one of the younger kids broke away from the game.

"Peter! Harley!" he shouted, racing toward them. "You came!"

The court quickly emptied as word spread, and suddenly the boys were surrounded by a dozen children ranging from perhaps six to sixteen years old. What followed was a cacophony of excited greetings, questions, and expressions of concern.

"We saw it on the news—"
"That car could've killed you—"
"They said someone fell from a building—"
"We thought maybe you were—"

Jason exchanged a confused glance with his brothers as the children spoke over each other, their voices tinged with genuine worry.

"What are they talking about?" he asked Tim quietly.

Tim's expression darkened. "The Joker attack. It was on every channel for days. These kids must have seen the footage of Peter being hit by the car and Harley falling."

Jason's heart sank as understanding dawned. In the midst of the chaos and aftermath, he hadn't considered how the event might have appeared to the general public. For these children—many of whom had already experienced significant trauma and loss in their young lives—seeing their new friends apparently injured or killed on live television must have been devastating.

"We're okay," Peter was assuring the group, his voice gentle but firm. "See? Not even a scratch."

"But how?" demanded an older boy, skepticism written across his face. "That car hit you full-on. And you," he pointed at Harley, "fell like thirty stories."

Harley exchanged a quick glance with Peter before offering a carefully crafted explanation. "Our dads have access to really advanced medical technology. We healed super fast."

This explanation was met with varying degrees of acceptance, though most of the children seemed too relieved to question it deeply. One small girl simply threw her arms around Peter's waist, hugging him tightly as if to confirm his solid presence.

"We came to say goodbye," Peter told them once the initial excitement had settled. "We're going home today."

This announcement was met with a chorus of disappointed protests. Jason watched as Peter and Harley patiently explained their departure, promising to try to visit again someday, exchanging contact information that Jason suspected would never bridge the dimensional gap.

The "scarf" around Peter's neck seemed to droop slightly, as if sharing in the melancholy of the moment.

"Will you play one more game before you go?" asked one of the younger boys, hopefully holding up the battered basketball.

Harley glanced at his watch, then at Jason. "We have time for a quick one, right?"

Before Jason could answer, Dick stepped forward, removing his jacket. "I'm in," he announced with his characteristic grin. "Fair warning, though—I was almost Olympic level in gymnastics."

This declaration was met with skeptical looks from the local kids, until Dick casually performed a backflip, landing with perfect balance on the cracked concrete.

"Show-off," Jason muttered, though he couldn't suppress a small smile as the court erupted in impressed exclamations.

What followed was perhaps the most unusual basketball game Crime Alley had ever witnessed. Dick's acrobatics were matched by Peter's surprising agility. Tim, despite his analytical approach to every play, was soundly outmaneuvered by streetwise kids half his age. Even Damian, after initial reluctance, joined the fray with his characteristic intensity, though Jason noted the youngest Wayne was carefully moderating his strength against the smaller children.

Jason found himself on the sidelines, content to watch until a basketball suddenly bounced at his feet. He looked up to find Harley grinning at him challengingly.

"Come on, Hood! Show these Gotham kids how it's done!"

With a resigned sigh that couldn't quite mask his amusement, Jason joined the game. For the next half hour, the disparate group played with unexpected camaraderie, the boundaries of family and dimension temporarily forgotten in the simple joy of competition and play.

By the time they called the game (with the Crime Alley kids narrowly victorious, much to Damian's poorly concealed frustration), Jason realized that something significant had happened. In the midst of this unlikely basketball game, he had glimpsed what his life might be like beyond the confines of his vigilante identity—a life where connections weren't built on fear or obligation, but on something simpler and perhaps more enduring.

As they prepared to leave, the children crowded around Peter and Harley for final goodbyes. Jason watched as the boys handled the farewells with surprising grace, promising to remember everyone, accepting small tokens and mementos with genuine appreciation.

"They're really something special, aren't they?" commented a voice beside him. Jason turned to find Jay-Two—his magical duplicate—had arrived, dressed in civilian clothes but unmistakably the same in every other aspect.

"When did you get here?" Jason asked, startled by his double's sudden appearance.

"About ten minutes ago," Jay-Two replied with a shrug. "Figured I should familiarize myself with the routine. Plus, I wanted to see this for myself." He nodded toward the boys. "They've touched a lot of lives here in a short time."

Jason studied his duplicate, still unnerved by their identical features but finding unexpected comfort in their shared understanding. "You'll look out for these kids too?" he asked, gesturing toward the basketball court.

"Already on the list," Jay-Two confirmed. "Weekly check-ins, new basketball equipment on order, scholarship opportunities for the older ones. I've got it covered."

Jason nodded gratefully. "Thanks."

"Thank yourself," Jay-Two replied with a smirk. "Literally."

Their conversation was interrupted as Peter and Harley approached, flanked by Dick, Tim, and Damian.

"We need to head back," Peter announced, checking his watch. "Dad and Papa want to run final diagnostics before we activate the portal."

The "scarf" around his neck uncoiled slightly, as if preparing for their return journey.

"I'll take over from here," Jay-Two told the group. "Got a few rounds to make, establish the new normal."

The Bat-brothers regarded the duplicate with varying degrees of fascination and unease.

"That's never not going to be weird," Dick commented, looking between Jason and his magical copy.

"You get used to it," Harley assured him confidently. "Uncle Vision makes duplicates of himself all the time when he's multitasking. It's super useful."

Jay-Two offered his hand to Jason in a final gesture. "Good luck out there. Try not to get yourself killed in a new dimension."

Jason clasped his duplicate's hand firmly. "Try not to mess up my reputation here."

With final nods of acknowledgment, the group parted ways—Jay-Two heading deeper into Crime Alley to begin his patrol, while the others started back toward Wayne Manor.

As they walked, Jason found himself flanked by Peter and Harley, each boy's animated chatter punctuated by excited speculation about returning home. The "scarf" had resumed its alert monitoring, occasionally twitching toward suspicious sounds or movements.

"You've made quite an impression here," Jason observed, nodding toward a vendor who waved enthusiastically at the boys as they passed.

"We like it here," Peter replied earnestly. "It reminds me a little of Queens—not the danger parts, but the community parts. People looking out for each other."

"Not all that different from our dimension, really," Harley added thoughtfully. "Just needs some TLC and maybe better infrastructure funding."

Jason snorted at the casual assessment of Crime Alley's deeply entrenched problems. "That simple, huh?"

"Not simple," Peter corrected carefully. "But not impossible either. You already make a difference here, Jason."

The simple affirmation, delivered without dramatics, somehow meant more coming from this perceptive child than it would have from anyone else.

Their walk continued in companionable conversation, the boys pointing out places they'd visited during their stay, sharing memories and observations that painted Crime Alley not as the dangerous, desperate place Jason had always known, but as a community of resilient people facing challenges together.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the neighborhood, afternoon sun finally breaking through Gotham's perpetual cloud cover, Jason realized he was seeing his territory through new eyes. The protective vigilance he'd always felt toward Crime Alley had been joined by something else—a deeper appreciation for the human connections that formed its true foundation.

As they prepared to leave Crime Alley behind, the "scarf" around Peter's neck briefly extended a corner of fabric to touch Jason's shoulder in what felt remarkably like reassurance.

"It'll still be here when you come back to visit," Peter said softly, somehow understanding Jason's unspoken thoughts.

"And Jay-Two will keep it safe until then," Harley added confidently.

Jason nodded, allowing himself one final glance at the neighborhood that had shaped so much of his life—first as a street kid fighting to survive, then as a vigilante fighting to protect. Now he was leaving it in the care of a magical duplicate of himself, about to step through a dimensional portal with a family of superhero-sorcerers.

Life, Jason reflected with grim amusement, had a way of taking unexpected turns.

"Come on," he said, turning toward Wayne Manor and the future that awaited. "We've got a portal to catch."