Chapter Text
The device came from another planet, as it so often did, and it was almost embarrassing how used to this kind of thing the Justice League was. They didn’t know what the object, a little touchscreen with literally two buttons, a green and a red one, did, and after looking for information through the usual channels they had, it was Batman who took the responsibility to study it further. Bringing it to the cave instead of leaving it at the Watchtower had been his own personal preference.
One he was now deeply, deeply regretting.
“Explain it to me again,” he growled. He had given himself a couple of hours to patrol Gotham with his children, before telling them to go back to analyze a new pollen created by Poison Ivy, while he stayed behind to make sure she’d end up in Arkham. Red Robin and Robin had immediately followed the order, but for once Nightwing and Red Hood had accompanied them, probably too conscious of the effect some of the villain’s plants could have and too worried for the kids to leave them alone.
Batman had arrived no more than ten minutes later.
Ten.
Ten!
“It was not my fault,” Damian complained, shifting his weight like he was a second away from stomping his foot in annoyance.
Jason snorted. “Right, because-”
“It was not! Drake-”
Tim huffed. “I didn’t leave the clock open!”
“It doesn’t matter!” Dick tried to quiet them. “It shouldn’t have happened and it will never happen again.”
They were all still suited up, domino masks in place even though they were in the safety of the cave, and they turned to look at the device; instead of being on the desk where Bruce had left it, it was in the middle of the room, on the floor, and it was spinning at an alarming speed.
Every single test the Justice League had performed on it had shown it wasn’t dangerous in an obvious way – it wasn’t a bomb, it didn’t contain a toxin, or a tracker. It was, however, unknown, and therefore too risky for Batman to allow this close to his kids when it had clearly been activated.
“We have to leave,” he said, eyes glued to the spinning device.
“Tt. If someone had not forgotten the entrance open,” was going on Damian, “it would have never happened.”
Tim huffed again, this time louder than before. “You can’t shift the blame! It was the damn-”
“Alfred is a good-”
“Cat!” Tim kept going. “Animals in the cave are a big no, you know it!”
“You left the door open!”
Dick sighed. “Dames, you don’t know if it was him.”
“Either way,” Jason chimed in, patting the cat’s head as the animal squirmed in Damian’s arms, “it could have killed us all. Good job.”
They looked at the device and stilled, voices dying in their throats; the little screen was now flashing intermittently and a weird force field was rising in the form of a dome covering it. The dome grew as Bruce moved to stand in front of his kids, determined to shield them with his own body if he had to, and only stopped when it reached around fifteen feet in diameter. Then it stood there, shining faintly in the low light of the cave.
Ten minutes. That was how longer Batman had stayed out than his children.
Enough time for Alfred the cat to jump on the desk, immediately take interest in throwing down with a paw everything he found on it and somehow both activate and make slide to the center of the room an object of unknown origin and, worst of all, unknown effects.
Ten. Minutes.
“Evacuate, now,” he grunted – but there simply wasn’t time.
Because at the center of the dome, in a flash of light, the device disappeared and someone took its place.
“Fuck,” Jason cursed from where he was now standing shoulder to shoulder on Bruce’s side, Dick on the other to create a wall between the dome and Tim and Damian; the two, of course, lasted one second before ignoring the protection of their older brothers and father to step up near them.
To be fair, the newcomer didn’t look that scary.
“A kid,” Dick murmured.
She must have been between nine and eleven, given her height and the way she looked, in that weird phase when a child wasn’t so young anymore, but wasn’t fully developed either, and she was wearing what they all recognized as a vigilante suit. It was mainly black; she had what seemed, under her crossed arms, a tight, padded shirt with an open leather jacket sewn on top, so that it couldn’t be removed but it could be zipped up either for cold or protection. Black leather gloves, cargo pants with a lot of pockets and heavy boots with red strings. Red was also the fabric piece sewn on the collar of the black shirt and raised around the lower part of her face, to cover her mouth and nose like a scarf and only leave out her eyes, hidden however by a domino mask.
Bruce’s instinct flared as he saw her, her tiny figure in a suit that made her look more ready for a costume party than anything, given how scared her body language was underneath a good amount of fake bravado; he just couldn’t allow himself any kind of sentimentality when he knew for a fact – and was father to one of them – how many children were raised to become young assassins.
Then she uncrossed her arms and revealed the red bat on her chest.
“Fuck,” Jason repeated.
The girl was looking around the dome with a disinterest that was clearly forced, her dark, slightly curly hair closed in a ponytail that swung every time she turned. She had yet to react to any of them, or their words, and the longer they waited the clearer it became that the force field wasn’t as see-through on her side as it was on theirs.
“Kid?” Dick called her once more, just to be sure.
She looked at the ceiling, to her right, to her left, behind her, as one hand reached to her hip, where a metal chain was clasped to a loop of her cargo pants, and the other flew to her covered ear.
“This is Wren,” she croaked, young voice tense in the way that made it clear just how much she was trying to project calm, “does anyone copy?”
She walked in circles, then, never approaching the force field or touching it directly, no matter how long she stared at it deep in thought, and Bruce felt a wave of pride for how well she had been clearly trained. He briefly moved around the computer as he activated the multiple tools he had developed for instances such as this one – because if there was something he was never short of was a contingency plan –, before turning to study the situation once more. By his side, his kids all settled down to watch the stranger like she was a tv show, and not a potential risk to their lives.
“This is Wren,” she repeated for the fourth time, something akin to desperation seeping through a crack in her voice, “does anyone copy?”
Then, with fingers that were clearly trembling, she pressed the comms she must have had in her ear. “Red Hood?”
Jason’s breath itched by Bruce’s side.
“Oracle? Nightflare?” she went on and they all tensed, surprised by the name they didn’t recognize if not for the affinity with Dick’s. Tim, tablet in one hand, was keeping scrupulous notes about the whole thing and he jotted down the new information.
“Starwing?”
“What the-” Dick cut himself after a brief look reminded him Damian was still in the room. “Who are these people?”
“Red Hood, please,” the girl almost begged and Jason went to take a step forward, before Bruce’s hand ran to his chest to keep him from moving. His son shook his head like he was trying to shake a thought instead and nodded, although more in understanding than gratitude, and Bruce knew how hard it was for him to see a child calling him in need and not react.
He turned to look at the computer, where a glowing bar signaled it was just at 1% of the analysis it needed to complete in order to attest it was safe. It would be a long night.
“B?” she went on, fingers shaking near her head. “Batman? Red Robin, Nightwing, someone?”
Then, shoulders sagging in defeat, she sat on the floor and raised her knees to her chest – and stayed like that for sixteen long minutes. Staring at the floor, body shaking in what Bruce was sure was an involuntary reaction but breath controlled and mask still firmly in place. Like that, all crumpled on the ground, she looked desperately young and the fact that her position hid the bat on her chest didn’t change how Batman would have always reacted to one of his little birds in danger. Except that she wasn’t his and, whether she knew it or not, she wasn’t in danger.
He saw Damian turn his head just enough to shoot him a quick look and he sighed. “You should all go,” Bruce decided, “I’ll stay and monitor the situation.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” was Jason’s immediate response. Arms crossed in front of him, he leaned back on the desk to rest his backbone on it, body language making it clear he was settling in for the long haul.
“I’m taking notes,” Tim declared in a matter-of-fact way.
Dick took a deep breath. “I think we all want to stay for this one, B.”
Damian nodded sharply and sat on a desk chair when his oldest brother did the same.
Bruce didn’t comment; it wasn’t a real risk unless they actually touched the force field and he knew how curious they could all be, plus allowing them to stay wasn’t that big of an issue, especially being Friday night and having an entire weekend to catch up with sleep.
The sound of a scoff made them all twitch in surprise. Wren, the kid, had jumped up and was staring just a little to the left of them.
“What the hell is going on?!” she demanded to know before she turned to her right. “Where am I? What is this place, what do you want from me?!”
She shifted again, now giving them her back and making it clear once more that she couldn’t see outside the shining dome the way they could from their side. “Just tell me what you want, you fuckers! You shitheads, fucking pervs who get off on trapped ki-people.”
Eyebrows rising in surprise, Jason chuckled. “She’s got a mouth on her, uh?”
She snarled, turning towards them once more. “Red Hood’s gonna kill you all unless you let me go right now!”
Bruce straightened up, eyes fixed on her as his mind worked quickly. There weren’t many possibilities regarding what they might have been dealing with, but the two most likely ones were both mainly positive and, if he could say so, deeply interesting. Jason, on the contrary, was more tense than he’d seen him be in a long time.
Before anyone could react – although what they could really do, no matter how scared and angry the kid became? – a light flashed for a second time and a man appeared by Wren’s side. And boy, if it wasn’t a surprising turn of events.
Bruce stood still as a statue as he took in the situation.
The newcomer was, for lack of other terms of comparison, a Nightwing written in another font. His jaw, his nose, even his brows over the domino mask were the same; his skin was slightly lighter, but the height and the gymnast-like physique were identical, even though he appeared to be younger than Dick – more of a college student than a full-grown adult. The costume he was wearing was a tight-skin, light blue suit with a black bat on his chest and black and silver stripes on his sleeves. It was… disconcerting, to be honest, because even the escrima sticks on his back were a perfect copy.
Then not-Nightwing turned to look at the girl and sighed loudly in relief. It took him no longer than a second before he opened his arms and she jumped in them, her arms circling his neck and her legs his hips as he straightened up and took her with him.
“Wren,” he called her, so relieved it was hard not to feel their heart clench, “are you okay?”
She wriggled out of his arms and stood as tall as she could – and Bruce, probably influenced by her colors, but mainly by her attitude, was suddenly reminded of Jason when he had first arrived at the Manor. Cocky, sure of himself, full of shit.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, voice wavering.
The man sighed and waited, hands on his hips.
“I was all alone,” she murmured after a few seconds and she pressed her face against his torso, almost like she was undecided between trying to appear stronger and in control, and acting like the kid she clearly was. “P-”
“No names on the field,” he reminded her quickly as he squeezed her tightly and stroked her back. “We don’t know who is watching.”
He was studying the dome in the same way Wren, or whatever her real name was, had before, while he kept holding her to his body with one arm.
“Different universe?” Tim hesitated, eyes running from his brothers to the strangers.
“Or different time,” Bruce mused with a grunt.
Dick actually whimpered. “What?”
“Richard’s son cannot be but a great hero,” Damian declared and whether he didn’t notice the compliment in his words or simply didn’t care about the way they all looked at him, his father didn’t know. “Should we try to open the force field?”
“Not until I know it’s safe,” Bruce decided.
“I didn’t touch it,” Wren was saying in the meantime, tone mellow in a way that was in deep contrast with her harsh screams just a few minutes earlier. “Didn’t do a thing.”
The man must have known her well enough to predict her reaction, because he raised a singular eyebrow and pushed a little farther from himself, so that he could look her in the eyes. “How much money do you owe the jar?”
Dick barked a laugh, surprised. Whether it was a different universe or many years from then, it was funny to think that certain things never changed and the swear jar Alfred had enforced since Jason’s arrival at the Manor, when he was still a street kid with a potty mouth and no filter, was the same.
Wren raised a hand to her heart and gasped. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“…You can’t prove anything.”
The guy let out an exasperated laugh. “I know you.”
“That’s what you think, Starwing.”
Tim wrote down the new information, before snapping a picture just to be safe – the cave had so many cameras that it was pretty much unnecessary, but Bruce would rather have more images than less so he nodded in approval as soon as his son looked at him.
“Oh, really?” Starwing was saying in the meantime and they all watched as he bent down on his knees so that he wouldn’t tower on her, smile charming in an entirely Grayson’s fashion and hands going to fix small issues in the younger girl’s clothes – the black belt threatening to open, her pants slightly askew, the chain on her hip a little too long for his taste. “And here I thought I was your favorite.”
“So we all agree that she’s Jason’s daughter, right?” Tim not-so-innocently asked, a grin on his face making it clear he was enjoying the whole thing.
Jason spluttered. “Wha-we don’t know!”
“Todd is quite correct, Drake,” came quick Damian’s snapping retort. A beat. “She could simply be another universe’s version of him.”
Jason raised his arms and huffed. “What, just because she’s wearing red?!”
Wren chose that moment to shrug, after a small hesitation that talked more about pride than real preference. “Well, cursing is natural. And Crime Alley stays with you no matter what,” she declared, chin up in defiance.
“You’re richer than-”
“It’s in my blood. Your point, Starwing?”
This time, Tim’s amusement was clear in the laugh he let out. “You were saying? Besides, she literally asked for Hood.”
Starwing laughed as well, unknowingly part of the joke, before he stood up and turned to look at the dome; by doing so he effectively put Wren behind him and that’s when he tensed, smile dropping as he clearly calculated the risk they were facing, the trouble they were in. The whole exchange, Bruce thought, had probably been a tactic to calm the shaking little girl down, to put her at ease with the knowledge that her older – cousin, brother? – teammate wasn’t worried and either way he was there, so there was no reason to be afraid. Bruce looked at her, half hidden behind him, and at her hand finding its way to Starwing’s and squeezing tightly.
Whether it was their future or another universe’s future, pride swelled in his chest. The fundamentals their family was built on would never change, would it? Taking care of each other, especially of the younger ones, was just as a core trait as vigilantism.
“This is Starwing. Wren and I need backup, does anyone copy?” he was trying meanwhile, hand pressed on the comms. “This is Starwing. We need extraction, does anyone copy?”
The request for help kept going for more than half an hour as the pair studied the dome and the situation; they didn’t speak if not necessary, probably worried about whoever might have been on the other side, not knowing the people who were watching them were also the ones who’d never hurt them, and Starwing didn’t leave Wren for a second. He made her move along with him, always holding her hand or squeezing her shoulder or her nape, and Bruce shared another moment of pride, this time with Dick, at the way either his other self’s or his son was behaving.
When the flash of light came, the third time, it took a few seconds more for someone to appear; just enough for Starwing to take out his escrima sticks and flare them with electricity. When Wren went to move by his side, he firmly pushed her behind him – and to her credit she followed the implicit order and stayed put.
It was obvious, and not that revealing, the reason why Starwing straightened up the second the new person appeared, from where he had been bent a little forward in preparation for an attack. “Robin,” he greeted the young woman.
She was wearing an altered version of the classic uniform, probably – or so Bruce guessed – because the suit had always been thought for a little boy and not a high school senior girl, or whatever her age actually was; the boots were the same pixy ones he had grown so accustomed in seeing and her pants, because at least she had pants, were as tight as they went. The cape was black and yellow, with green gauntlets and a green domino mask, with the yellow “R” on her chest that completed a clear picture of just how much she had tried to give homage to Damian’s current suit. Her hair was dark, perfectly braided on top of her head in a hairdo that looked as complicated and as secured to her head as Bruce could imagine, and her skin was a little darker than Damian’s, but the whole thing, from her posture to the daggers on her hips, made it clear who she was connected to.
“She-” he mumbled, heart clenching.
She had the colors and the attitude more of an Al Ghul than the Wayne’s side of her family, sure, but her face? Her face was Martha’s.
A chorus of catcalling started between his children as they all pushed Damian, cooing and therefore risking being seriously injured by the youngest, who immediately threatened them with bodily harm.
“Starwing,” the girl greeted him in the meantime, voice flat. When Wren peeked out from where she was hiding behind him, she nodded. “Wren.”
“Hi, Robin.”
“Hi, Robin,” Starwing echoed as he loosened his stance even more. “Location unknown, method of detainment unknown,” he explained and he nodded toward the force field, “and unknown extrapolation process… at least for me. I was with Nightflare one second and suddenly I was here.”
“Same,” Wren intervened, pressing herself against the man in a move that reminded Bruce of a cat – or, in fact, a tired kid. “Well, I wasn’t with them, but-”
“Why are you suited up?” was Robin’s sharp interruption. “I was under the impression that you were not allowed to go out. Were you defying orders?”
Wren huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest, something she had done so many times that it was clearly a self-soothing movement; Bruce, turning slightly towards Jason, still by his side, hid a smile in noticing the same exact position in his son.
“No, grandma,” she replied with a petulant tone.
“Red Hood strictly forbade you from any vigilante’s activity except training,” Robin went on. “I do not wish to-”
Starwing took a step forward. “Not the time, Robin.”
Her lips tightened for a few seconds, before she let out a long breath and relented. “Nightflare is not here,” she noticed, “therefore you are in charge.”
“Thank you. Now,” he said and looked at Wren, “why don’t you keep trying with the comms, baby bird?”
He turned towards Robin. “A word?”
They both moved, ignoring Wren’s clear displeasure at the idea of being isolated by the discussion as she started calling for backup again, sitting on the ground, and thankfully Starwing chose to step closer to where Batman and his sons were standing instead of the opposite side. Unfortunately, however, the two of them had a way of communicating either typical of their universe or that the family had not created yet, because Robin offered her hand to Starwing and he immediately started tracing with a finger on her palm. It wasn’t letters, or numbers, or Morse code, but a series of movements that Robin, head tilted in concentration, nodded to. Then they exchanged positions and it was her turn to poke his hand, before he had the last “word” and they separated.
“Oracle, do you copy?” was repeating Wren, cross-legged on the floor as she played with her hair, wrapping it around her finger before letting it go and repeating the motion. “We need assistance. Can someone hear me?”
The two older heroes turned to look at her and stood silently for a few seconds; then, when Bruce had already studied every detail of their tense body language, Starwing moved. He hooked an arm around Wren’s belly and lifted her easily as she went limp into his hold, something Batman had taught each one of his kids to do in case they had to make a hasty retreat and he needed total compliance. He then went to the opposite side of the dome, careful not to touch it, and let her go again.
Wren didn’t make a pip and actually tucked herself in the tiniest shape she could, holding her knees to her chest and hiding her head in between, in a move that was clearly well practiced. Then Starwing all but covered her with his body and Robin, who had followed them, took out a batarang, before throwing the weapon against the opposite side of the force field with a gesture that revealed both skills and strength, and immediately raised her cape to cover the three of them with it.
As they had probably predicted, given the way they were protecting each other, the batarang ricocheted hard, flying back to each impenetrable wall like a pinball. Bruce, who had to concede they had at least tried in the safest possible way, had a clear image of what could have happened if it had hit one of them – and so did Jason, by his side, if the hand covering his throat proved anything.
Shame burned in Bruce’s chest.
When the batarang stopped, Robin went to collect it with a displeased sigh… which is when the light flashed again and another figure appeared.
“No way,” Jason exclaimed, voice thrilled and lips open in a gleeful, if mischievous, smile. “Twins!”
There was no doubt that the newcomer was Starwing’s twin, he was right, because he was physically his carbon copy; hair, nose, brows, chin, physique. Even the suit was the same, just in different colors. Where the other was light blue, this one was black; the bat on his chest was silver, instead, and the sleeves had light blue stripes. The escrima sticks were already in his hands and he put them away after a few seconds of hesitation.
“Hey guys.”
Starwing walked to him with quick strides. “Nightflare,” he greeted him before the two hugged each other in a way that had Grayson written all over it: one hand behind each other’s head, one gripping the suit and the skin on the other’s back. When they separated they took stock of how they were and then nodded in unison.
Dick had a full body shiver and he let himself lean back into the chair. “We fly again,” he whispered before he covered his mouth with two trembling fingers.
Bruce leaned over and squeezed him hard on one shoulder, to ground him and remind him it was okay. They didn’t know if they came from the future or if they all belonged to a future from another universe, but still, having two kids there meant more to Dick than anyone other than the Bat would have probably realized. Because Bruce, who loved all of his children equally, was still sometimes shocked by seeing his parents in Damian’s face or expressions.
Having two healthy sons of college-age? Who, considering their appearances, spent their nights jumping from roof to roof?
Bruce could see how Dick might have felt immediately less alone. The Flying Graysons were indeed flying again.
In the dome, the twin had squeezed once Robin’s arm, before letting her go with a nod.
“Hi Nightflare,” Wren murmured from the corner she was still standing in and it was clear from her tone then she was getting upset.
“Hey, baby bird,” he replied as he raised his hand towards her; when she took it, he used it to pull her into a short hug, before letting her go – and Wren pushed herself against Starwing, who covered her back with an arm and kept her there.
Bruce, who was used to keeping track of information on a daily basis, agreed to the young man’s earlier statement: he was clearly the girl’s favorite.
“Starwing, Robin, report,” came Nightflare’s order not even a moment later. He turned serious as he listened to what little they knew and he inspected the force field at the same time, hands twitching by his sides in a clear desire to move and touch – and Bruce was so, so glad all those new heroes, his grandkids?, had been trained well enough not to physically engage with something they knew nothing about.
Upon realizing all the unknown elements of their situation, Nightflare turned to his twin and let him trace a few things on his palms. Then he huffed, displeased.
“Given what we have scheduled… this month,” he started, “Nightwing won’t expect us to check in for at least a couple of days. We weren’t even supposed to be out, tonight.”
He was good, speaking about his father – probably, at least – like that, not a trace in his tone to suggest the real relationship they had. Bruce thought it made sense to talk about him like a leader, or an older vigilante, they were used to check in with.
Nightflare turned to look at Robin. “Any chance someone noticed your absence?”
It was also risky, Batman mused, to discuss so clearly their chances of rescue, but he guessed there were things you could trace on a palm and things you needed your words for – or maybe it was their plan? Or maybe they were too tired and confused to truly care, which was an issue he’d need to carefully train them out of, in the future.
If that was actually their future, of course.
Robin shook her head. “Batman’s assistance was requested by the Justice League on the way back. He sent me home.”
Nightflare cursed under his breath.
“I was with daddy and he was on the phone with grandpa.”
The three turned to stare at the sleepy kid pressed to Starwing’s side, breath hitching in surprise, and outside the force field they all did the same, curious and just a little softened by the girl’s tired expression.
Starwing scooped her up. “You were?” he asked for confirmation and once again Bruce was pleased by the lack of names, which in case of an enemy listening wouldn’t have revealed important connections with the other members of the team. Of course it was hard not to see through it, considering Red Hood had been the first person she had called upon finding herself in a mysterious, isolating dome, but it was good nonetheless.
Nightflare let out a deep breath, obviously relieved. “That means they’ll find us soon.”
And wasn’t that the nicest words Bruce could have heard? The amount of faith they all had in them, the older generation, to keep them safe, to find them in a time of need, to protect them?
Grandpa.
Uh.
“They will most likely alert everyone and have a head count,” Robin added quietly.
“And when we don’t check in,” Nightflare continued.
“They will know to look for us too,” she finished.
Starwing, rocking slowly, moved his hand in a wave to attract her attention, before pointing at her cape.
Bruce leaned forward and so did Damian as Robin understood with the easiness and the complicity of someone who spends a lot of time together; she detached the cape from her suit and brought it over to where Wren was peacefully situated in Starwing’s arms, before tucking the youngest in it like a blanket. Then Nightflare moved and squeezed his twin’s shoulder once: all he needed for him to nod, tilt his head, shake it and nod again.
“They’re very… attuned with each other,” Tim noticed and they all watched as Starwing went to the very center of the force field and lowered himself until he was sitting cross-legged on the ground.
“I’m not tired,” Wren protested but she turned her head to hide it in her cousin’s chest nonetheless, so it was a moot point.
“Sure you’re not, Hoodie,” Nightflare commented, patting her head once. He stood by their side, an escrima stick out and the other put away, facing where Bruce’s current family was watching, and the girl-Robin stepped back to cover their backs, half turned to the side they couldn’t know had no one observing them.
“It’s a good strategy,” Jason murmured. “They’re ready to protect their most vulnerable member,” he went on and Bruce could hear the strain on those words, the emotion at the idea one day he might have a child of his own, “while at the same time one of the fighters rests.”
“I don’t-”
“What?” Dick asked.
Tim, who had cut himself off, shook his head. “Nothing.”
But Bruce knew it must have been weird, to see all of his brothers with kids, even Damian who was younger than him and yet, apparently, had been the second to after Dick – and now that he stopped to think about it, if they all had children that old Bruce probably wasn’t even Batman, anymore.
Damian scoffed. “What is it, Drake?”
“Just leave it,” Tim pleaded, eyes forcefully stuck on the tablet where he was taking notes.
“I miss daddy,” Wren murmured where she was half asleep in Starwing’s arms, reclaiming their attention.
Nightflare bent to kiss her head and shared a look with his brother. “I know,” he whispered, barely loud enough for all of them to hear it through the force field. “Now sleep, baby bird. We’ll be okay.”
They stayed like that for more than an hour, just waiting, before Nightflare gave up and sat down; it then took Robin another twenty-five minutes to relent as well and she did it with tight lips and brows furrowed, choosing to sit back to back with Starwing to keep watch on her assigned side of the dome.
“The others must be freaking out,” Nightflare said after a while, before looking at Wren for a second. “U-Hood is probably on a warpath.”
Starwing huffed a laugh, elbowing Robin in her back. “Because Batman will be so chill, right?”
“He takes his role very seriously, as do I,” she snapped. “I am quite tired of these comments, he has prepared for it his whole life! Of course he is not chill, as you say: he is Batman!”
Damian shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable even though Bruce knew how often he declared he was his heir and therefore would one day inherit the mantle – because that was what the conversation had implied, right? After all, Wren had mentioned both a B and a Batman. Also, again, given the age he probably had reached with that many grown-up grandkids his retirement must have been inevitable – which actually made him feel a little relieved. If there was something Bruce had doubted since starting his mission, was surviving that long.
He didn’t know what to think, honestly. The computer said that 67% of the force field had been analyzed, but until the process was completed he had no intention of risking his kids’ lives, especially because there was no reassurance whatsoever that who they were seeing were real people at all, and not projections or magic users or whatever else could trick them into trusting them.
His instinct was telling him that those four were the real deal and it didn’t matter if they were alternate versions of his sons or his grandchildren, he’d love them anyway if he had the chance to actually meet them; Bruce just knew instinct couldn’t win against logic. Not when their lives were at stake.
The vigilantes in the dome sat quietly for more than an hour, after a brief moment of mutual apology for making the other snap and reacting too harshly, and outside of it they all got as comfortable as they could, still wearing the suits but all sitting down, a cup of coffee gently brought by Alfred to keep them awake even when their chatters died.
It was four in the morning, when the light flashed again. They stared in surprise at how quickly the twins and Robin scrambled on their feet, pushing a roughly woken-up Wren to stand behind them and raising their weapons in defensive positions. Even the young girl gathered hers, a metal chain she wrapped on her wrist like a sort of whip, and Bruce was impressed by how ready they had all been, especially considering one of them had been deeply asleep and the other three had been fighting yawns for a while.
As the last few times it had happened, the fear was for nothing; only a few feet from them, dressed in pajamas covered in cartoon characters, there was a child. His short black hair was up on one side and down on the other, like he had spent some time with his head pressed on a pillow, and his blue eyes were wide in surprise, but not fear – probably, Bruce thought, because he was in front of his family. He didn’t know it for certain, of course, but the kid must have been two years old and he immediately raised his hands towards Robin, who was still as a statue.
“Uhm,” Starwing hesitated.
“No mask,” Tim noticed, taking a picture before typing quickly on the tablet once more.
“Duh,” Jason replied, “why would the pipsqueak have a mask?”
Dick let out a tired sigh. “He means they can’t act as they normally would with him, unless they want to reveal their identities.”
Bruce knew he shouldn’t have felt like that, but he couldn’t help the interest he had in the scenario and the possible reactions, even just as food for thought. Being a tactician meant preparing for every possibility, after all, and he was curious both of the training the kids in the dome had gone through, and of the chance that there was something more he could teach his own.
Everything could be a lesson, he was sure of it, even on how to react in the very, very remote situation the same thing happened to them.
“It’s William Drake,” Nightflare said quickly, in what could have passed as surprised if the hypothetical audience he was hiding their identities from didn’t already know the truth. “I saw him on the news.”
“Young Drake, yes,” Robin immediately caught on. “What is a civilian doing here?”
She scooped him up and he hid his face in her neck. “Malia?”
Freezing, she let out a chuckle that was clearly very, very forced. “I am certain that whoever she is, you will soon see her again. Now sleep, darling, be a good boy.”
They all looked at each other and it was so obvious that they were scared to death about compromising their identities and therefore the ones of the rest of the family, that Bruce actually felt somewhat bad for them – except that it was also a good teaching moment, because things like that happened more often than not. He had lost count of how many times he had been kidnapped or taken hostage as Brucie Wayne, unable to save himself as he would have liked and forced to wait for someone else to arrive.
Damian, who had been staring quietly at the scene, tilted his head. “I do like the name Malia.”
Dick smiled, kindness in his eyes and in his voice. “Maybe you wanted to honor both Martha and Talia.”
Surprised, Bruce blinked a few times. He hadn’t thought of that.
Oh, chum.
While Damian blushed furiously and mumbled something about all that sentimentality being beneath him, Tim took a deep, shaky breath that Bruce and Jason noticed at the same time, sharing a look. “I have a kid,” he murmured. Then, a little louder, he repeated his name, William.
“Hi William,” Wren caught their attention as she took Robin’s cape from her shoulder, where she was keeping it as a blanket, and used it to cover the toddler.
“That was really nice,” Starwing praised her immediately and she shrugged, eyes low. Then she whispered something and he shook his head. “Sorry, baby bird, I didn’t get it.”
“I said I fucking want to go home,” she loudly lamented then, catching everyone by surprise while a chorus of “language!” took over the room, even by those – like Bruce and Dick – who weren’t even in the position of being heard.
“Wren!” came Nightflare quick reprimand. “What’s up with the swear word?!”
“Daddy says it’s okay when the situation requires it,” she replied, stubbornly crossing her arms.
Appalled, out of the force field they all turned to look at Jason, who hesitated a few seconds before shrugging. “Eh, I get it,” he snorted. “It’s a fucking bad situation, from their point of view.”
Then, louder even though no one inside the dome would hear him, he yelled “Say it, kid!”. Tim laughed, Damian rolled his eyes. Dick, unsurprised, shook his head.
Bruce sighed, because really, what else could he have done?
“And the situation fits!” Wren went on.
“Not in front of William, you cannot! And stop acting like an infant!” Malia-Robin scolded her. Then she quickly cleared her throat. “Civilians deserve our calm and reassurance, not this kind of behavior. This child does the same.”
“This child,” Jason mocked her in a low voice.
“Leave her alone, she is currently protecting all of their identities,” Damian hissed, face red like he had just been deeply insulted, “a matter your daughter has not been as good at, if you had not noticed!”
“She’s a kid,” was Jason’s turn to retort, tone suddenly cold. “It’s bad enough that she’s locked in that thing!”
“Enough,” Bruce said then, not even changing his voice to his Batman’s growl to shut them all up. “I suggest you don’t get attached to them, we don’t know who they are. They might be your future or alternate kids,” he added before any of them could complain, “but the truth is: we don’t know. Until then, either keep it civil or keep it quiet, as long as you keep emotional distance.”
He didn’t enjoy the idea of forcing them to rein their feelings that much, not when they should have been in the safest place in the world for them, and yet he was painfully aware of how badly things could turn out, if they all started caring before the computer – now at a promising 89% – declared they weren’t a threat.
Letting his eyes wander from one of his sons to the others, he quickly realized it might have been too late.
And just like the situation had risked descending into chaos outside of the force field, so it had inside – this time, with no Batman to keep the piece.
The three semi-adults were all arguing loudly while Wren, little body pressed once more against Starwing’s, sobbed her heart out. Her cries had inevitably triggered William, too young to understand the topic but receptive to the tone in the room as kids usually were, and his wailings soon joined in, pitch higher than they were all expecting. Robin rocked him a little, shushing him while still trying to argue with Starwing, who scooped up Wren like she weighed nothing and snarled with an anger they had yet to see in him.
“Enough!” Nightflare yelled then, thankfully silencing both his brother and his older cousin, while the young ones still bawled.
Robin pointed at William, whose face was red with the effort of crying. “He will not calm down until she does.”
With an expression that promised murder, Starwing scoffed. “Maybe give her a second, will you? She’s nine, for fuck’s sake.”
Despite the tension in the room, Nightflare raised his hands to the sky. “Et tu, Brute? We’ll need a bigger jar, man!”
And then, just like that… they were laughing. The twins actually bent over, struggling to breathe between one fit and the other, while Robin smacked her lips in a way that Bruce could tell meant she was trying to keep herself from imitating them. Seeing them that way made Wren follow in the hilarity, which allowed William to calm down enough to actually giggle adorably just a few moments later.
When they all settled down, Wren smashed her forehead against Starwing’s cheek and apologized in a low voice.
“I know, baby bird, it’s okay,” he reassured her. “Besides, you’re tired and you woke up scared. It’s okay.”
By his side, a little more relaxed than before, his brother frowned. “What are doing suited up, baby bird? I thought Hood didn’t want you to have anything to do with this.”
Jason, who Bruce knew had strong feelings about kids risking their lives every night instead of having the childhood he thought they deserved, leaned forward, eyes glued to the little girl dressed in his colors.
Wren hooked an arm behind Starwing’s neck and settled in his hold, clearly with no intention of standing on her feet if she could help it. “Daddy’s teaching me parkour! We’ve been going out to practice.”
“You’ve known how to parkour since you could walk,” Nightflare commented. “Our- Nightwing taught you when he taught you gymnastics, we all practiced with you!”
“But never out at night! On real roofs!”
“Uh,” he murmured. “Yeah, might be useful.”
“J-”
They all turned to look at Robin, who was covering William’s mouth and muffling his voice. He was clearly interested in switching holds, his grabby hands stretched in the air to reach Nightflare, and the young man quickly took him into his arms. “Nice catch, Robin,” he said.
“I know I should be happy about their training,” Dick confessed after a second, “but I’d really like to know their names.”
Jason grunted in agreement.
And then, because no one was expecting it, he cursed. “Another one?”
The light flashed once, twice, three times, except that nothing happened for at least ten seconds: enough for Wren to be put down again, William to end up in her arms and the two of them to be shielded by a wall of three very prepared vigilantes, weapons drawn and ready to fight.
And once again they relaxed in unison in seeing who the new arrival was.
Tim’s breath hitched and he stood up, shocked – because the boy, clearly a teenager, surely not older than sixteen-seventeen, was so obviously his then even Bruce raised his eyebrows.
His domino mask did nothing to hide how much he looked like him, from the shape of his chin to the one of his nose, even of his lips. He was also wearing a suit very similar and yet so different to the one of Red Robin; red boots, black fabric covering the rest of him, with a single utility red belt crossing on his torso diagonally, like some soldiers used to keep bullets. At the very center of the belt, tightening it to his chest, an emblem of a bird in gold and red. Red and yellow were also the two colors of the cape, with yellow on the inside. A black domino mask, red gauntlets and a metallic bo staff completed the look.
Bruce looked at Tim’s expression and smiled. It said something good, didn’t it, that the new kid had chosen his colors and other few details, like the weapon, to make it clear who he was inspired by.
“Not bad, Timbers,” Jason commented.
But then William, seeing who Bruce was sure was his brother, called all their attention by screeching in delight and trying to call for him – which ended with a mumbling sound under Wren’s little hand on his mouth.
“I’m sorry, did he say mommy?” Dick exclaimed, eyes wide roaming from Tim to his two kids to Tim again.
“I think he said Tommy, chum,” Bruce replied.
Jason snorted loudly. “Timmy and Tommy.”
“Shut up!”
Damian scoffed. “Did you call your son after my grandfather?”
Once again, however, what was happening in the force field became too loud to ignore, as the three oldest vigilantes tried to recover from the almost security breach.
“It’s fine!” Tommy yelled in order to be heard. “It’s fine. He’s just a kid and I probably look like someone he knows.”
“You’re right, Red Sparrow,” Nightflare conceded, voice tight.
William was struggling in Wren’s hold, trying to free himself, and as soon as she let him go he ran to his brother, Robin’s cape flying forgotten on the ground; she retrieved it, putting it on Wren’s shoulders in a gesture that Bruce recognized as a sort of plead of forgiveness for their earlier disagreement. The kid pulled it tight and smiled.
When Red Sparrow had his younger brother secure in his hold, he sighed and took something out from under his own cape, before waving it so that the rest of the room could see it.
“Is that…” Tim gasped, surprised. The same device that had started that mess was in his son’s hand.
Nightflare was clearly confused. “What is it, Sparrow?”
Not letting emotions cloud his mission, Tim jotted the new information down and took another picture; Bruce was quite proud of the way he had kept up with his notes even with the rollercoaster they had been living through and the early hours of the morning.
In the dome, the teenager hesitated. “It’s a… it’s the reason we’re here.”
“How did you find it?” Robin asked.
“I didn’t need to, I… You see, my- Red Robin was one of the people who made it.”
Bruce turned his head to look at Tim, who was staring at the scene with eyes wide in shock. When he returned his gaze, he immediately shook his head. “I have no idea-”
“Years ago he asked a Lantern to hide it somewhere in the galaxy, but when I suited up to come look for you I somehow had it in my gear.”
“What the f-” Wren started cursing, before Starwing’s hand settled on her mouth. He was standing behind her, looming on her when she threw her head back to share with him an amused look.
“If Red Robin brought us here,” Nightflare was saying in the meantime, clearly calmer than he had been since then, if the relief in his voice meant anything, “he must have had his reasons.”
Red Sparrow sighed, before kissing his brother’s hair and checking quickly where Wren was standing.
Immediately understanding the hesitation, which made pride swell in Bruce due to the social skills she was displaying – whether Damian himself had learned and passed on or someone else had taught her –, Robin sighed. “There is no place we can talk where the young ones will not hear. Just explain, Red Sparrow.”
The younger teenager took a deep breath and nodded. “He called it Dome Protocol. After the whole disaster with those wizards three years ago,” he explained and Bruce checked to make sure Tim was still taking notes, because disaster? Not reassuring. “They owed Red Robin a favor. He called it in when his… youngest son was born.”
He didn’t say his name, but they all knew he was talking about little William, napping in his arms. “At the time the Justice League was facing… you know.”
They all nodded, leaving everyone outside the force field to wonder what they were talking about, without a real chance to find out.
“Red Robin wasn’t sure they’d win, remember?”
Again, the kids agreed, either with a tilt of their heads or a murmur.
Red Sparrow took a deep breath. “So when the whole thing was over he got the wizards to work with him to create the Dome Protocol, just in case things went that bad again. In case… in case they turned for the worst.”
“I don’t get it,” Wren whispered.
Starwing shared a long look with Nightflare, before picking her up again and holding her tightly.
“It was a contingency plan, nothing more,” Red Sparrow went on, voice almost breaking. “A Hail Mary.”
He stared at the device in his hand, studying the little screen. “But the data is weird, I can’t understand if it got it wrong or if it’s working.”
“What does he mean, Father?” Damian asked as he turned to read Bruce’s expression, which he carefully kept blank.
Although he was a firm believer in the power of knowing and understanding the situation at hand at any moment, he didn’t want to scare his youngest son, not if he could help it – and yet he wasn’t sure how to avoid it.
“I think Red Robin created the device for an end-of-the-world scenario,” he explained, tone forcibly flat so that Damian would know he wasn’t worried and therefore neither should he be.
The kid’s expression, carefully neutral in a way that was entirely fake, told him he hadn’t succeeded.
“Are you saying they have fallen? All of them?” Malia’s voice rang clear and emotionless in the force field. She was standing unnaturally still, with tensed muscles and jaw, while the twins kept twitching and moving, and Red Sparrow rocked slowly his little brother.
“The Justice League was in trouble. They called everyone in, every hero, every ally, even the low-level vigilantes and metas, everyone,” Red Sparrow stated. “… Even us, and we all know they’d never risk our lives for nothing.”
Nightflare clenched his teeth. “Nightwing?”
“The first to respond.”
Starwing sniffed in what Bruce could clearly identify as poorly contained anger, not sadness, as he kept a silently shaking Wren tight to his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but his bother raised his hand to quiet him and nodded towards Red Sparrow.
The teenager sighed. “Look. The device isn’t giving me data I recognize. My dad explained how it worked-”
“Why the hell wasn’t I informed?!” Nightflare yelled.
Bruce supposed it made sense, in a way; if he was their leader as Damian’s daughter had asserted earlier that night, he should have been the one to know what would happen in case of emergency; at the same time he guessed he could understand why Tim would have chosen to share it with his eldest and not his nephew, even if it bothered him a little to think that way.
He would have loved his grandchildren equally, one day, he was sure of it. He could just see his son’s point of view, in deciding to reveal to his firstborn – maybe to comfort him? – that he’d always be safe, no matter what.
“The probability for an event of such a scale to destroy Earth without even one hero left to stop it wasn’t high!” Red Sparrow defended himself. “It was just supposed-”
“To what, get us somewhere safe while everyone else dies?!” Starwing roared. “We should have been fighting with them!”
“W-we would have died,” Red Sparrow stuttered.
“But we would have been by their side!” was Nightflare screaming reply.
With Wren crying again on her cousin’s neck, although thankfully not loud enough to wake William, Robin sighed and raised her hands to ask for silence. “I understand,” she admitted.
Starwing scoffed. “Of course you do.”
“Our family’s legacy can only continue if we do not die,” she went on. Bruce, who knew Damian better than many gave him credit to, could see behind her aloof facade – her tight lips, her control of her body, not letting even a finger showcase her emotions… She wasn’t as okay as she was trying to appear.
“Look, we don’t even know, okay? It could be a mistake, or a coincidence,” Red Sparrow theorized.
Starwing lost his patience and stomped forward, taking Wren with him in a way that made Bruce think he had momentarily forgotten she was in his arms. “What the fuck do you mean!”
Red Sparrow took a deep breath. “Okay, bear with me. The point of the Dome Protocol was to be activated as soon as the world was about to end. Literally a second before. Except that Red Hood gave the alarm for Wren disappearance half an hour before I even arrived here, at least fifteen minutes before the Justice League called!”
Robin’s head snapped to look at him. “Whatever do you mean with half an hour? Why would he not report it immediately?”
Wren, hearing Red Hood’s name, had finally stopped crying and was now staring at them intently. “Daddy?”
By Bruce’s side, Jason shifted his weight in what he knew must have been an overwhelming desire to protect the little girl. Hell, he felt the same… with all of them.
“He did,” Red Sparrow confirmed, mouth opening in surprise. “Oh, time works differently, uh? That…”
“That what?” Nightflare prompted him sharply. “Talk, Sparrow, talk!”
“I don’t know what the data should look like exactly, but this,” he explained and raised the device, “hasn’t finished processing. So I don’t know if it’s actually doing what it’s supposed to – which is to find us a point in time and place where we would be safe, okay? That was the whole point, to get us somewhere we would be able to survive! Except that when Wren was reported missing, the threat wasn’t even there! So either this thing predicted what was going to happen and took all of us, one at a time, or it’s malfunctioning for some reason and we’ll be home soon.”
He took a deep breath. “Either way, we won’t know until it happens. In both cases there will be a powerful flash of light, apparently, and then… if we have a world to go back to, we will. If not, the dome will have finished the process and we will be free to-”
“Live in another time? Another place? Without our families? Knowing everyone is dead?!” Starwing pressed with a scowl.
Red Sparrow passed a hand through his hair. “We don’t know! Not yet!”
“Schrödinger’s cat,” Robin commented. Then, when everyone turned to look at her, she shrugged. “A cat is locked in a box with poison and a radioactive source. To keep it short, until the box is opened the cat can be considered both dead and alive-”
“So until the Protocol is completed,” Nightflare followed her line of thoughts, “we both have and don’t have parents.”
And then Wren was crying at the top of her lungs, screaming for her daddy and her grandpa and her uncles. She kicked and punched Starwing’s chest, who to Bruce’s relief kept hugging her and pressing her against him, in a desperate attempt to calm her down; William of course had woken up at the first shrill and was now bowling his eyes as well, although with innocent sadness rather than the pure anguish of his older cousin.
“I want daddy!” Wren hiccuped a last time a few minutes later, exhausted.
Nightflare turned to look at Red Sparrow, whose lips trembled once. “I don’t know, he- he’s the only one who refused the Justice League’s call.”
Robin froze from where she was stroking Will’s hair, as he hid his sobs against his brother’s neck. “He refused,” she repeated.
“Of course he did,” Starwing huffed. “He’d tear Gotham apart if it meant finding Wren – and he’d be right!”
Then he kissed her temple and she hiccuped once more. “What good would it do, to save the world only to lose his?”
Jason’s breath came out shakier than Bruce had heard it in a long time, but he didn’t look at him, knowing his son wouldn’t react kindly in feeling called out, and Dick must have agreed because he didn’t comment either. His eldest had tears running down his cheeks, though, which he dried when he noticed Damian staring at him. Tim, trembling fingers tight on the tablet, shook his head.
“I don’t know what the answer is,” he murmured. “I-I don’t know if it was a mistake or if-”
Bruce lowered his eyes.
Six new orphans.
How could life present him with the same situation, over and over again?
He had tried to be what his sons had needed, what Bruce had found in Alfred so many years before, although he knew well he didn’t always do the best job, and he’d try to give these new kids a home if they ended up staying, but how unfair was it? For those wonderful young heroes, those sweet children to have their whole lives taken away from them?
And how unfair it would have been, too, to allow Bruce and his sons to see a glimpse of a future they all now desperately wanted, and take it away?
Either way, one of the two sides would lose.
“So what do we do?” Robin asked Nightflare.
Damian turned towards Bruce. “Is there something we can do?”
And then the light flashed again.
