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Chapter Text

[ Neo Gotham City ] - [ Terry - POV ]

            The fight had been brutal, but the horrifying truth that the newly resurrected Joker was using Tim Drake’s body was much, much worse. Terry could feel his bones aching from yet another electrical shock from Joker. He could hear Bruce tensely breathing through the communicator in his cowl—small whispers of “Run, just run, McGinnis” would bleed through each time the Joker swung at him. It hadn’t taken too long before Terry had figured out a soft spot for that maniac. The original Batman had never laughed at his jokes…simply because the old clown wasn’t funny. But Terry laughed, letting his voice echo through the darkness of the rafters he was lurking on. He watched Joker’s actions become more and more crazed before a lucky toss of a grenade had sent him falling to the ground with pieces of the ceiling and metal beams.

            However, as luck would have it, it ended up pinning the Joker as well—crushing the clown’s whole body down in a sickening crunch. Terry pushed himself up unsteadily, panting as he cautiously moved towards the fallen maniac. He could hear Joker gurgling as he stopped just short of the clown. Joker’s mouth twisted into a wild grin as he fought for his final breaths.

“Well, WELL, Bat-fake,” Joker chuckled, craning his head to lock eyes with Terry, “Seems like the joke’s on me…but you know me…I always get the last laugh.”

“No more jokes, Joker. It’s done—there’s no more cards to play,” Terry retorted sharply, his cowl starting to crackle with interference, “You lose.”

“Oh, Bat-fake, there’s ALWAYS one more card to play…the Joker’s Wild,” Joker smiled wildly, using his eyes to gesture towards the window, “You will lose EVERYTHING, kid…and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to stop it.”

“What’re you talking about? WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Terry shouted, eyes widening as he caught sight of a brilliant blue beam shooting down from the sky.

“Your family, your friends, your allies…your precious mentor,” Joker growled with a wicked grin, “Got to love future technology, Bat-fake, all I needed to do was ensure there was a receiver in each of their homes…and BOOM. Another casualty of being near a Batman.”

“You’re fucking lying! You—,” Terry choked out frantically, tapping his cowl comm and getting nothing but static, “No, NO!”

“I win,” Joker hissed, breaking out into one last hair-raising cackle as his eyes began to glaze over.

            The deathly cackle followed Terry as he burst out of the old factory, wings extended and foot propulsions firing at max capacity. Fear laced his heart as his breath started coming out in jagged bursts. Two explosions shattered the still night, and Terry felt his chest tighten. They were in the direction of where Max and Dana lived. He fought the rising bile in his throat as he turned the corner towards where mother and brother lived. Another explosion rocked the night—the Neo Gotham City Police Station. Oh god, Commissioner Gordon.

“No, NO!” Terry shouted, eyes locking onto his apartment building as he urged his suit to go faster.

            Terry used the suit’s enhanced vision to see his family’s apartment window. He shuddered in relief as he spied his little brother and mother sitting by the window, seemingly laughing at something. He felt his heart seize as his mother sharply turned her head to her left. Terry wasn’t sure if he screamed it out loud, but his heart wrenching howl for his mother was lost in another explosion. His family was disintegrated before his eyes as the aftershock knocked him into an empty neighboring building. Terry’s lungs were bursting from the screams tearing through his body as he lay on the floor. They were gone…all gone. No. BRUCE. Terry flipped over and forced his numb body to throw itself back out the window. He bit back the sob as he left the smoldering remains of his home and family behind. Come on, McGinnis, come on. You couldn’t save them, so save Bruce. Joker hated the old man, and it wouldn’t shock him if the old clown had saved the worst for his mentor. Terry spied the blue beam, now behind him, as he hurriedly tried to establish contact with the elder Wayne. A faint crackle damn near made him fall from the sky.

“McGinnis…re…report!” Bruce’s voice cut through brokenly, “Damn it, say something!”

“Joker put receivers in the houses of everyone I know!” Terry yelled, twisting through the maze of buildings towards the manor on the far off hill, “My family…Bruce…my family’s dead.”

“…God…Terry…I’m…sorry…I—,” Bruce started saying through the crackling link.

“GET OUT OF THE MANOR. IT’S COMING FOR YOU TOO,” Terry cut in, his voice going hoarse from the volume of his yelling, “IT’S—.”

“Terry…I need you to listen to me…I need you to hear this…,” Bruce responded grimly, a tremor evident in the old man’s otherwise calm voice, “None of this is on you…Joker was my fault…I should have made sure it was really done…”

“PLEASE,” Terry begged, “I can see the manor, I can—.”

“It’s not the suit that makes Batman…but the person…Terry…you’ve earned that title…you ARE Batman…,” Bruce’s voice tensely replied, “Don’t forget why you do this…McGinnis, I—.”

“BRUCE!” Terry screamed as a large scale explosion tore through the manor, burrowing deep into the foundation…into the cave.

            The energy from the shockwave launched Terry backwards into the shuddering blue beam, but he never made it through the other side of the beam. A small tear had opened and caught the stunned Batman, bathing the sky with a brief white light before snapping shut behind him. He felt like he was being crushed to death before the sky opened up again…and he was falling once more.

[ Suit power 25% - repair mode recommended ]

            His suit’s internal system was blaring loudly at Terry as he frantically tried to activate the propulsion system once more, and failing. The ground was arriving quickly. No. He wasn’t dying like this…not after all that… His wings snapped out and Terry did what he could to cushion the last leg of the fall. Shit, this was going to hurt. He crashed through the skylight of an abandoned building, landing on old fabric and cardboard. Terry lay stunned and in silence as his suit disengaged, retreating back into his belt, and with it, taking the 17 year old’s last shred of calm. He felt a jagged sound leave his body as the tears began to fall. Gone…they’re all gone. Terry felt a scream starting to push its way up his throat, but held it firm when more glass fell around him. He needed to get out of this building…then find a place to mourn properly.

            Terry swallowed thickly as he rolled out of the large pile, landing on his shaking legs. His eyes scanned the area around him as he made his way to the door labeled ‘exit’—it was odd. This wasn’t the usual architecture for Neo Gotham City. Maybe it was in the older section of the city? Cool air rushed to meet his skin as he stepped out onto a deserted street. Terry, for the millionth time this night, felt his heart clench with anxiety. There was a bat symbol being flashed across the sky, bathing the skyline in light…the same skyline that looked nothing like it should. It was more gothic, and cold. The usual sounds of technology were absent as well. Almost like…no. This can’t be. It can’t… Terry slowly closed his eyes in shock, and clenched his jaw as the realization hit him.

This was Old Gotham City.

Chapter Text

[ Gotham City — 5 Months Later ] - [ Terry - POV ]

            Terry lay on his cot at the homeless shelter, eyes drowsily half opened as his mind caught up with his waking. It had been five months since he’d ended up in this Gotham City. He hadn’t been doing nothing. Terry had found the closest library and hunkered down—researching the resident heroes and Wayne family. It had been a bit of a surprise to see just how many extra vigilantes worked with Bruce. Sure, he knew about Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl. However, Red Robin, Orphan, Spoiler, and Signal were new…unless the old man just hadn’t mentioned them to Terry, which was a huge possibility. The real shock came with the realization that he was definitely not in his own dimension anymore. Clue One: Bruce had a biological kid named Damian, which he definitely never had in his reality. Clue Two: Barbara Gordon, the watchful librarian, was in a wheelchair. Lastly, Clue Three: All the extra vigilantes.

            He had to leave the library once it all came together. Terry’s mind had been in panic mode as he strode through the streets wearing clothes, he was absolutely NOT willing to admit he’d taken off a drying line. It’s what ultimately had led him to the Homeless Shelter—he’d been sleeping on rooftops prior—where he’d lived ever since. The only stipulation for being allowed to stay so long was that Terry had to help with just about everything going on in the building. He didn’t care, it kept his mind from rolling back into those bad memories. It was actually kind of calming, and for one shining moment, Terry felt like he’d found something akin to peace…maybe he could even heal? A hand clamped down on his shoulder, jolting him from his pensive and drowsy thoughts. In reflex, Terry’s hand shot out and gripped the mystery hand tightly—shoving the assailant down to the ground. A startled yelp made him release instantly…it was Harper Row. The one responsible for him being able to stay at the shelter. Terry winced apologetically, pushing himself off the cot to help her up.

“Sorry, Harper, bad reflex,” Terry murmured after they both straightened.

“No, no, that’s all me. I keep forgetting some folks in here don’t take surprises too well,” Harper chuckled, dusting her shoulders off, “Which is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You…want me to wake up people who are the equivalent of a bear trap?” Terry half smirked, dragging a hand through his hair, “Alright, but I want a helmet with a face shield.”

“Smart aleck,” Harper scoffed, motioning for him to follow her back into the empty kitchens, “This is about a job opportunity.”

“What kind of job?” Terry responded lightly, not wanting to get his hopes up at the thought of actually getting to go out into the city to do something different.

“It’s only temporary, I’m afraid. It requires discretion, attention to detail, and has the possibility for nighttime hours,” Harper started ticking off on her fingers before Terry cut in.

“This is illegal, isn’t it? Like ‘you don’t see the dead body they want you to bury’ illegal,” Terry deadpanned, one eyebrow rising slightly in concern.

“Oh my god, no!” Harper startled, hands waving hurriedly, “I should’ve started with the fact it’s a good friend of mine. He’s a butler who works with a very prominent family that likes their privacy. He’s got an injury and really needs an extra set of hands. It pays $50 an hour, and—.”

“Stop. Stop. The answer is yes,” Terry interrupted.

“That was…quick,” Harper snorted.

“For $50 an hour, I’ll wear a blindfold AND earplugs,” Terry joked, folding his arms, “Next time, start with the paycheck.”

“Alright, McGinnis, I’ll go call and let them know to expect you,” Harper retorted, socking Terry in the shoulder, “Someone will most likely come to pick you up.”

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[ Jason - POV ]

            Jason couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been suckered into picking up Alfred’s new assistant by Harper. Next time he was going to have to talk faster before she had a chance to hang up on him. At least it wasn’t so bad, Jason was able to grab the nicest car in the garage for this pick up. Bruce be damned—these cars were too nice to keep cooped up inside. He nudged the car around the final corner, eyes squinting to see if he could make out this kid. A 17 year old named…Terry McGinnis. Harper hadn’t really described him too well in her rush to hang up, so he supposed asking the first kid that looked right if they were Terry would be fine. God…he was so getting tasered by cops…you can’t just approach random teens—why the fuck couldn’t Grayson do this!? He wasn’t even that good at talking to the demon brat, Dam—hold on.

            The car pulled to a halt by the homeless shelter as Jason’s eyes picked up on a lone figure standing outside the doorway, holding only a single brown bag. The teen was tall, athletically built, and held himself with a sharpness that screamed “fuck around and find out”. Yet it was the black hair and piercing blue eyes that gave Jason pause. He looked a lot like…no. Curb that thought—the staring from the car was getting awkward. Jason filed away that bit of information for future reference as he pulled himself half out of the car, catching the teen’s sharp gaze.

“You Terry McGinnis?” Jason said gruffly, his own eyes flashing dangerously to dissuade any lies, “I’m supposed to take you to the new job at our place.”

“I’m guessing you’re not the ‘butler friend’ Harper mentioned—cuz your bedside manner sucks,” the teen snorted before nodding, “Yeah, I’m Terry. You got a name other than Amber Alert?”

“You little sh—yes,” Jason choked out, barely keeping a laugh down, “My name’s Jason Todd. Now get in the damn car, I have a shit ton of things I got to get done.”

            Terry smirked at Jason as he ducked around and into the sleek dark car. Jason huffed and floored it before Terry could get his seat belt on, earning a startled yelp from the teen. A smug smile crept across his face as they raced back towards the manor.

“Be honest with me,” Terry gasped, wincing as they clipped an empty trashcan on the outskirts of the city, “Did you steal this car? Cuz you’re driving it like you stole it, and I kind of want to live to see age 18.”

“Technically speaking, maybe a little. Took it from the old man, but I’m bringing it back,” Jason scoffed merrily, taking the final loop up the long driveway—passing the automatic front gate.

“Okay, but—,” Terry started before being lurched abruptly forward as the car skidded to a halt in front of an ornate mansion.

“We have arrived,” Jason cut in, casually gesturing for him to exit the vehicle, “Now get out, I’m busy.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Terry hurriedly asked, throwing himself onto the smooth pavement in front of the entrance walkway.

“Knock on the door, someone will let you in and give you the grand tour,” Jason replied, pointing at the doorway ahead, “They’ll also give you the rules…and expectations. Now…shut the door, I wasn’t fucking around—I got to go do things before sundown.”

“You’re the sweet and gentle one of the family, aren’t you?” Terry said with a smirk, slamming the door shut and stepping back.

“Better fucking believe it, McGinnis,” Jason shouted from the open window as he peeled out of the driveway, leaving a large cloud of smoke behind him—middle finger waving in the rearview mirror.

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[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry watched with mild amusement as the last of the smoke faded away before he allowed himself to turn towards the entrance doorway. As he made the last few steps, hand rising to knock, the door opened sharply. Terry startled slightly, hand still not knowing it should be going back down, as his eyes took in the person before him. An older man with sharp blue eyes, a smart mustache, and balding silver hair stood in the entrance. His clothes were very formal…unlike Terry’s shabby borrowed clothing.

“You are Terry McGinnis, yes?” The man asked, his eyebrow quirking at Terry’s still raised hand.

“Ah,” Terry started to splutter, shoving his hand back down by his side, “Yes, um, Harper said her friend needed an assistant?”

“Splendid, that would be me. Please, come inside,” the man relaxed, his arm shaking slightly as he gestured Terry into the mansion, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, and I am the Wayne Family Butler.”

“Wayne…family…huh,” Terry swallowed tensely, “Never done work for people so well known.”

“Yes, well, that is why I asked she send someone who could be discreet and attentive,” Alfred sighed lightly, slowly shuffling deeper into the manor, “Normally, I wouldn’t be asking for any help, but circumstances require it.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but should you be walking?” Terry asked, brow furrowing in concern at the sluggish movements of the older man.

“I am quite capable of doing my duties, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred said sharply, halting his steps before turning his head to look at the worried teen, “I regrettably must move slower as I continue to heal. It was a car accident, if you must continue this line of questioning.”

“Got it,” Terry responded, disbelief etched in his tone, “So…the duties are…?”

            Alfred let out a small, grateful smile as he launched into the expectations of Terry’s job, which was essentially: do the more labor-intensive cleaning, move the heavier objects, assist with cleaning, and help secure the house. They went floor to floor, so Terry could get the layout down—including a look at his temporary room on the first floor, near Alfred’s room. He could spy several old school cameras, some hidden, scattered all around the mansion. God, this place was as huge as he remembered. Alfred had finished showing him the backyard, and was now heading towards the kitchen. They had just cut back past the entrance interior when Alfred put an arm out for them to pause.

“This is a very important element I need you to see, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred stated, motioning to a disguised cabinet, “The house alarm is located inside of this—if danger arises, you will open this cabinet and hit the red button. The house will go into lockdown, and seal all windows as well as doors. To deactivate it, press and hold the green button.”

“Does that happen often?” Terry asked hesitantly, eyes flicking between the now open cabinet door and Alfred.

“Mercifully, no, but I believe in being prepared,” Alfred replied matter of factly, slowly shutting the door.

            As the cabinet door closed, Terry spied a distinctive lump hidden further back in the cabinet. It didn’t take a genius to realize it was a weapon of some sort. However, he didn’t get to muse on it for long before Alfred was dragging him into the kitchen for the final part of the tour. Terry could feel his eyes starting to bug out at his first look at the kitchen. Slag it, he was screwed. It had taken him a little while to get adjusted to this dimension’s low tech, and a bit more to get used to using real money instead of creds, but this…this was a nightmare. Some of these culinary machines looked like they required a secret fucking handshake to even approach. Terry ran a nervous hand through his hair as his eyes scanned the room once again. He almost didn’t hear the light clearing of a throat. His face twitched as he locked eyes with Alfred again.

“I am very capable of continuing to cook the family meals, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred said, a smile gracing his face, “I just need help with cleaning, and setting out food.”

“Schway,” Terry breathed, placing a relieved hand on the cool marble of the kitchen island.

“Yes…well…on to the last part of our tour,” Alfred returned, confusion lightly gracing his face as he gestured to a clothing bag laying at the edge of the island, “Your work clothing, Mr. McGinnis. Please be sure to wear them while performing your duties. If more are needed, I can acquire them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” Terry nodded, reaching and grabbing the bag towards him, “And you can just call me Terry.”

“As long as you call me Alfred,” the older man smiled gently, “Now, do you have any additional questions?”

“Yeah…um…where is everyone?” Terry asked, gesturing slightly with his free hand, “Isn’t there other people that live here?”

“The Wayne family is very busy, Terry,” Alfred responded, as if that was common knowledge, “But currently, it is home to Masters Bruce, Richard, Timothy, and Damian. Duke, Cassandra, and Miss Brown are across the country, and won’t return for a long period of time.”

“Aaand none of the people currently living here are able to help you?” Terry said in disbelief, “Seems a little odd.”

“As I said, they are all busy, and I am not in a state of uselessness. I simply need an extra hand, which I am certain they would have offered should I made it known to them,” Alfred sighed sharply, drawing himself up defensively.

“Made it kno—slag it,” Terry groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, “You didn’t tell anyone but Harper and Jason that you got an assistant, did you?”

“Go get dressed, Terry,” Alfred ordered, gesturing in the direction of Terry’s new room, “And take your odd phrases with you.”

            Well, that answered that question. Terry threw up his hands in defeat as he exited the large kitchen. Several steps later, his bedroom door slid closed behind him, allowing him to release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. You can do this, McGinnis. Come on. Terry sucked in a breath and stared at the clothing bag he’d chucked onto his bed. First step—uniform. Next step—the Waynes. Last step—Gotham City.

*****************

            Once Terry had changed into his clothes—a white long sleeve dress shirt, black vest, and crisp dark pants with sturdy black shoes—the day went by in a blur. He’d convinced Alfred to let him keep wearing his silver belt. It was a begrudging agreement, but Terry refused to leave the belt behind…it was too important. Somewhere during the third bathroom he was cleaning, and dear lord these guys were animals, Terry suspected Alfred might’ve been lightly punishing him about the uniform tweak. It seems the butler was a stickler for well put together clothing, and much like Terry, the belt stuck defiantly out. He’d smirked to himself as he deposited his cleaning supplies into one of the many closets in the manor.

            Time passed faster as Terry helped Alfred shift furniture, and ready the dining room with all the required plates and cutlery. Terry hadn’t realized how hungry he had become until after they had set the food onto the center of the table. God, the soup and fresh bread smelled heavenly. Retreating back into the kitchen, Terry pulled a small stool over to the island and started pulling the leftover remains of the meal towards him. He could hear the low rumbling of voices inside the dining room—looks like the Waynes had finally shown up. A firm hand clapped his shoulder, causing Terry to choke on the bread crust he’d been absentmindedly chewing.

“My apologies, Terry,” Alfred murmured, thumping Terry’s back firmly until he’d thrown a thumbs up sign, “I thought you might like a fuller meal.”

            The man is a Saint. A hard nosed, well dressed Saint. Terry felt his mouth fall open as a heaping bowl of soup and mound of bread was pushed in front of him, knocking the scrapes out of his reach. Alfred slowly sat on another stool next to Terry with a full meal steaming invitingly back at the elder butler.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Terry whispered gratefully, tearing into his food like he was afraid someone would take it, “It’s so good.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Alfred smiled gently, quietly eating his meal.

            They fell into a comfortable silence, which was only broken by varying tones on the other side of the kitchen door. If he really focused, Terry could just make out what was being said.

“White light…not sure what came through.”

“Could be nothing…temporal anomaly?”

“Keep…eye out.”

            Terry slowed his chewing, making sure his face stayed neutral as he placed his finished bowl down on the kitchen island. So, they’d noticed when he’d come through, but by the sound of it, they hadn’t seen him fall out of it. Small mercies, he guessed. Alfred, who was still eating at a glacial pace, tapped Terry’s arm briefly for his attention.

“It’s time for the dessert to be served,” Alfred stated, gesturing at the refrigerator, “If you would be so kind as to retrieve it and serve it to the rest of the family. I have taken the liberty of saving two pieces of the chocolate cake for us.”

“So just…just go out there…into a room full of people who don’t know I’m here?” Terry asked, brow crinkling as he shifted off the stool toward the fridge, “Shouldn’t I get some kind of introduction, or something? I’m not trying to get tackled tonight.”

“My apologies, Terry, I didn’t realize you were so shy,” Alfred responded smoothly, “I will go in ahead of you.”

“See, I know what you’re doing…and it’s working,” Terry snorted, balancing the cake while he grabbed a serving utensil from a drawer, “You’re a crafty old man, Alfred. I respect that.”

“My life is complete,” Alfred deadpanned, a glimmer of humor sparking in his eyes as he gestured towards the door again.

            Well, here goes nothing. Terry used his side to open the kitchen door and silently walked into the lavish dining room. The table wasn’t completely being used, but the five occupants definitely made the room feel full. Silence fell almost instantly as Terry emerged from the shadows, trying very hard not to grimace at the awkward stares. He locked eyes with Jason, and internally breathed a small sigh of relief—he at least had talked to him. Clearing his throat, Terry placed the cake onto the edge of the table.

“For dessert, Alfred made what he calls his ‘famous chocolate cake’. If you’ll pass me the plates under your soup bowls, I’ll cut it for you,” Terry informed them before gesturing at himself, “I’m Terry McGinnis, Alfred’s assistant.”

“I’m sorry, his WHAT,” a voice from beside him asked in a startled tone. It belonged to a tall man with lightly tanned skin, dark wavy hair, and brilliant blue eyes. That must be Richard Grayson—someone his Bruce never really talked about but so much.

“Alfred doesn’t have an assistant because he doesn’t need one,” another voice from beside Richard scoffed. The young boy had dark hair, piercing green eyes, and wore tight scowl. Based on his research this had to be Damian—Bruce’s only bio kid.

“How did you even get this job?” A third voice cut in from across the table. A teen with sleek black hair, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes leaned forward, trying to get a better look at Terry.

“You break anything yet, McGinnis?” Jason asked wearing the biggest shit eating grin as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

“How’s the car, old man?” Terry retorted, waving the serving utensil around, “Does it still have its wheels?”

“Shithead,” Jason chuckled, stretching before gesturing at everyone around the table, “Beside me is Tim Drake, next to you is Richard Grayson, and next to him is Damian Wayne. Everyone, but Damian is adopted—and despite what the demon brat says, we’re all brothers in this family. Last, but not least, that stunned lump at the head of the table is Bruce Wayne.”

            Terry turned his head slightly, and with an amused look on his face, nodded at Bruce in acknowledgment. His Bruce had joked that women used to crawl all over him, and at the time Terry thought the old man was pulling his leg…but seeing him so young…yeah, he could totally see that happening—not that he’d admit to it. This Bruce was currently looking at him with what can only be described as legitimate shock. His stormy blue eyes blinked quickly before Bruce smoothed his light colored shirt in a calming attempt to collect himself. The man was dressed like a fracking male model—sharp features and all. Nothing like his older mentor, who walked with the aid of a cane. It honestly made Terry’s head hurt, and with an annoyed sigh he prodded Bruce’s arm with the serving utensil.

“Give me that plate, you look like you need this more than anyone,” Terry ordered, quirking an eyebrow critically.

“Yes…thank you,” Bruce coughed, silently sliding the plate over, “And welcome to the manor. I apologize for the confusion. We weren’t aware Alfred needed help. He kept insisting that after the accident he was fine.”

“Understatement, he made it sound like a threat when he told us all to mind our business,” Richard snorted, rubbing the side of his face as his eyes scanned Terry’s face, “But if he’s happy with your assistance, then we’re all happy.”

“Wait. Why does Drake get a bigger piece than me!?” Damian cut in angrily, eyeing the slices that had been dispersed.

“Because I don’t have a fraking ruler,” Terry retorted on reflex, “But I’ll be sure to bring one next time. If size matters that much.”

            Jason started coughing on the piece of cake he’d shoved into his mouth—earning an amused thumbs up. Terry internally smacked himself, and slowly started to creep back towards the kitchen.

“Call if you need anything else,” Terry murmured quickly as he bodily shoved himself pasted the wooden door.

            Terry immediately sat down at the now cleared kitchen island, and proceeded to bang his head against the marble. Stupid idiot, got to keep your mouth shut.

“I take it introductions didn’t go well?” Alfred’s voice floated by Terry’s ear.

“Could’ve been better, man,” Terry said tensely, pulling himself up to face Alfred, “Also would’ve helped if they knew I was working here with you.”

“I do believe they’ll survive,” Alfred smiled, “Thank you for today’s assistance. You may go retire to your room now.”

“Don’t you want my help cleaning up?” Terry asked in confusion, letting Alfred tug him up and forward.

“Kitchen rules, Mr. McGinnis, those that eat the meal—clean the meal,” Alfred stated informatively, “Now go get some rest. There will be more to do tomorrow.”

            As Terry made the short walk to his bedroom, one last voice floated into the hallway. “I like him, he’ll fit in well.” Well, that’s promising. At least he hadn’t imploded everything before he’d gotten a chance to really get to know everyone. Terry pushed past his door and closed it silently behind him. Tonight, he would sleep, and tomorrow night….Gotham.

*****************

[ TEXT GROUP CHAT: ]

(Richard added)

(Oracle added)

Jason:  We got to talk.

Richard:  About what…

Oracle:  Any reason why this conversation doesn’t include Bruce, Tim, or Damian?

Jason:  We’re keeping this close for now.

Jason:  It’s about Terry.

Oracle:  He’s Alfred’s new assistant, right? Harper was just telling me about him. Seems reliable…

Jason:  No, he’s fine from what I can tell. Mouthy, but solid.

Richard:  So what’s this about, Jay?

Jason:  It’s been nagging at me ever since I went to pick him up from the shelter…he remind you of someone? Specifically someone WE know?

Richard: …

Jason:  Come on Dickhead, I know you saw it at dinner.

Richard:  Yeah…there’s a pretty strong resemblance. Thought I was hallucinating it until he quirked his eyebrow.

Oracle:  Care to share with the class? A resemblance to who?

Jason:  He looks A LOT like Bruce…not sure how the others didn’t see it too. Or even Bruce—thought he was some “great detective”.

Richard:  Terry’s good at blending, I guess…also, if Bruce didn’t know to look, he wouldn’t waste time on it.

Richard:  What’s the plan for this?

Jason:  O, I need you to dig into his background. Full name is Terry McGinnis—17 years old.

Oracle:  On it. Should have results tomorrow morning.

Richard:  And until then?

Jason:  We’re going to need some of his hair. You’re going to need to get it, Dick.

Richard:  On it. You’ll have to run interference tomorrow.

Jason:  Remember. Keep this to yourselves.

Oracle:  Of course.

Richard:  Will do.

Chapter Text

[ Terry - POV ]

His mother sharply turned her head to her left…His family was disintegrated before his eyes as the aftershock knocked him into an empty neighboring building.

            Terry awoke with a rasping gasp, his breath coming out of him in jagged bursts. It was a dream, McGinnis, just a dream. Oh god, he could still feel the fire and force of the blast. His hand shook as Terry wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. Terry looked at the clock on his wall—4:30 am. He sighed as he pulled himself towards the closet. No point in going back to bed now. After slipping into his uniform, he went into the bathroom to splash water onto his face. A pale, tense face peered back at him after several cold rounds of water to his face. Pull yourself together. Come on. Terry smoothed at his clothes, hands coming to a rest at his utility belt. It had been a small mercy that the belt’s tech allowed it to disguise itself as a normal black and silver dress belt. It contained everything he had left—including his Batman suit. Tonight he would go out and carry on his duties…protect Gotham’s citizens, so no one else had to suffer. Straightening his shoulders he exited the bathroom, passing his unmade bed as he pulled the thick wooden door open silently.

            The house was still, save for a slight rustling noise moving around the kitchen. Curious, Terry pushed through the door and came face to face with a large Great Dane with sleek dark fur that rippled in the early morning light. Its tail started wagging furiously as it let out a thunderous bark and launched itself at Terry’s stunned figure. Terry let out a choked yelp, and bolted out the kitchen with the massive dog following with joyous barks. He tore down the hall and skidded into the main entryway.

“Heel, HEEL,” Terry shouted, trying to pivot across the slick floor and failing. He slipped and smashed into a very expensive looking vase.

            He watched in horror as the vase fell over and shattered with a deafening crash. Oh, he was fraked. It’s barely 5 am, and he already destroyed someth—DOG. A large body slammed down on Terry, pinning his shoulders as he was left unable to stop the dog from licking his face.

“Titus, SIT,” a sharp voice commanded from a nearby staircase.

            Terry made a gagging noise as he sat up, trying to wipe all the drool off his face. By the time he’d cleared his face, his eyes spied the whole Wayne family descending the staircase. Damian was already down, petting the large dog, Titus, lovingly. Terry cleared his throat pulling his body off the ground.

“So…pancakes or waffles?” Terry asked feebly, trying hard to ignore the amused grins on Jason and Richard’s faces.

“They will be having both, Terry,” Alfred’s voice floated from behind him, “While you will be cleaning up the remains of this vase.”

            Terry turned to see the sharply dressed butler holding a broom and sweeping bucket out at him. He nodded quietly, and apologetically began to sweep the shattered pieces into the bucket. The Waynes slowly dispersed, mercifully looking more amused than angry, until it was just Damian and Titus.

“Titus likes to meet new people. He gets very excited,” Damian stated matter of factly, “He won’t hurt you unless you try to hurt one of us.”

“I figured that when he was trying to give me mouth to mouth,” Terry chuckled, pausing his sweeping to give the happy dog a neck scratch, “Reminds me of a friend’s dog. Though that dog was more distrustful—once you got to know him…he was a great dog. His name was Ace.”

“Are you fond of animals, McGinnis?” Damian asked carefully, green eyes sharply regarding him.

“Never had a chance to have one of my own, but my best friend would let me watch her cat,” Terry mused, smiling lightly, “It’s nice coming home and having something happy to see you…even if it was for the food.”

“I agree. One of these days I will show you my other animals. You will like them too,” Damian said firmly as he started towards the kitchen, “Oh, and McGinnis, try not to break the other vase. It’s irreplaceable.”

“You twip,” Terry snorted, continuing to sweep.

“WHAT,” Damian barked, turning his head slightly at Terry.

“I said ‘don’t trip’—the rug’s lumpy on the other side of that door,” Terry countered smoothly, wearing an amused grin as the youngest Wayne huffed loudly out of the room.

*****************

[ TEXT GROUP CHAT: ]

Oracle: You boys free?

Richard: Yes.

Jason: Yeah, you find anything on him?

Oracle:  Nothing. No history, no background, NO FOOTPRINT whatsoever.

Oracle:  He has to be using a fake name. It’s not possible to be this invisible. The kid’s a ghost.

Jason:  Dick. You get the hair yet?

Richard:  Almost. He still cleaning the vase?

Jason:  He’s basically done. Alfred’s called him into the kitchen to dump the pieces into the trash and to have some breakfast.

Jason:  Hurry up Dickwing.

Richard:  Focus on him. I’ll let you know when I need that distraction.

*****************

[ Jason - POV ]

            Jason was starting to sweat as he watched Terry scrape the last of his meal off the large plate Alfred had handed him earlier. Once again it was up to him to make causal conversation—not one of his strong suits. Tim sat at the edge of the kitchen island, tinkering with an intricate radio while Damian read remnants of the newspaper leftover from Bruce’s initial read. Bruce was currently responding to Wayne Enterprise emails, his brow furrowed in concentration. Everyone was inside the kitchen except for Richard…who apparently moves at the speed of a fucking turtle. His absence would be noticed soon. A single buzz from the phone in his hand caught Jason’s attention.

Richard:  I got a good amount. In the cave now. I need as long as you can give me. Distract them NOW.

            Jason popped his spine in anticipation and slid the phone into his back pocket. Causing mayhem was a favorite pastime—mostly due to it pissing Bruce off, but now? Free reign. His eyes caught sight of all the full drinking glasses perfectly aligned on the marble island. Jason sent a silent “forgive me Alfred” and slapped at his glass, sending it flying into the closest glass. The resulting domino effect was spectacular. Water, juice, and milk doused everyone—not him, thank god—within the splash radius. Screwing up his face, he jumped from his stool in mock disbelief.

“SHIT, I meant to hit that fucking spider!” Jason yelled in frustration, grabbing towels and attempting to put his body in the center of everyone’s line of sight, “Al, I’m sorry. Terry, don’t get up, I got this.”

“It’s fine, I only got water on my arm,” Terry protested, letting out a yelp as Jason pushed him back down onto his stool.

“How fortunate for you,” Damian scowled, milk dripping from his hair.

“Yeah, how lucky,” Tim said in disgust through the orange juice coating his face, sighing in light relief as he inspected his still dry radio.

“Don’t whine,” Jason scowled, rubbing some towels over their heads, “Bruce, what hit you?”

“Everything,” Bruce sighed, hair and clothes sopping with the entire contents of everyone’s drinks, “I need to go change…and grab my back up computer.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” Jason pushed over, smashing a secondary towel against Bruce.

“Jason, I have a meeting at Wayne Towers,” Bruce replied, gesturing at himself, “I can’t walk in like this.”

“Tell them it’s avant-garde. They’ll think you’re so revolutionary,” Jason retorted sarcastically, smashing another towel—he was running out of them, god—into Bruce’s face.

“ENOUGH,” Bruce barked, pulling the towel down to look confusedly at Jason, “What are you doing?”

“Helping, obviously,” Jason scowled, heading towards his seat. Another buzz from his back pocket caused him to pivot to the kitchen door exit, “But since everyone is SO CAPABLE. Clean yourselves up.”

            Not waiting for any response, Jason pushed out of the kitchen and rushed to an enclosed alcove on the other side of the house. Pulling his phone out, he cast one last glance around him before reading the message.

[ GROUP TEXT MESSAGE ]

Richard:  Ran the test four times using Terry’s DNA and the DNA on Bruce we have saved. Also printed the results. Wiped the computer and the cameras before leaving the cave. Back upstairs.

Richard:  Jay…the tests came back a 99.9% match to Bruce Wayne.

Richard:  Terry is Bruce’s kid.

Richard:  Holy shit.

Oracle: Oh god. You’re going to need to tell Bruce.

Jason:  No.

Richard: No? Jay, the kid’s family.

Jason:  I meant “No, go talk to Terry”. We’ll tell Bruce after. Got it?

Oracle:  Got it — tell me how that particular bombshell goes.

Richard: Heading to kitchen now.

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry was in a state of utter confusion. The aftermath of Jason’s rouge spider slap was currently being cleaned up by he and Alfred. Tim and Damian had stomped out of the kitchen, complaining how they were going to be late to school now that they had to shower a second time. Bruce had stooped to try and help mop up the broken glass and liquid. However, Alfred ended up shooing the elder Wayne out of the kitchen to go change his clothes. Now, with all the drink contents wiped, and glass pieces picked up and deposited into the trash can, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Terry briefly leaned against the kitchen island, watching as Alfred slowly sat back down on his stool.

“I promise that doesn’t usually happen,” Alfred assured Terry, a half grin donning the older man’s face.

“I mean, I body checked a priceless looking vase at the crack of dawn, so…it evens out?” Terry laughed, throwing his hands up in the air quickly.

“I feel like I missed something fun,” Richard’s amused voice cut in from behind Terry.

“Oh yeah, sure, if you call ‘fun’ being Jason slapping at a spider, only to COMPLETELY MISS,” Terry responded sarcastically, tilting his head towards Richard, “Then yeah, it was fun. Especially fun since half the room got coated with every drink on the kitchen island.”

“Oh man, I’m so sorry you had to experience that,” Richard said sympathetically, fighting really hard to keep what appeared to be a strong laugh down, “Was it just on the floor?”

“The floor, the island…Tim, Damian, AND Bruce,” Terry smirked, maneuvering himself to heft up the very full trash bag, “The man tried to convince Bruce to tell his meeting group that he was wearing avant-garde. And now…I’m taking this out to the trash bin by the front gate.”

“That’s just…terrible,” Richard replied brokenly, a laugh bubbling through as he fell in line next to Terry, “Hey, mind if I come with you?”

“You don—,” Terry started, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Perfect, let’s go! I’ll bring him back fast, Alfie,” Richard cut in, waving cheerily at Alfred’s equally confused face.

            Richard shoved Terry, trash bag in tow, through the kitchen door and quickly out the front entrance door. Something wasn’t right. There shouldn’t be anything that Richard needed to talk to him about—Terry had been careful. Yet, here they both were, walking in an awkward silence to the trash bin. Once they had made it to the bin and Terry had heaved the straining bag into it, he turned to Richard worriedly.

“Listen, I swear I didn’t mean to break that vase,” Terry said quickly, watching Richard’s face twitch in shock.

“Terry, nobody blames you for the vase—,” Richard started, attempting to calm the tense teen.

“If something is missing, I swear I didn’t take it. You can search my room and all my things,” Terry kept rambling, cutting Richard off, “Please, I really like this job. Don’t fire me.”

“Whoa, WHOA,” Richard responded, putting both his hands on Terry’s shoulders, “This isn’t about any of that. We trust you, Terry. I mean, come on. You give Tim extra desserts, you earned major brownie points with Damian for liking animals, and Jason appreciates someone that doesn’t take anyone’s shit. As for me and Bruce? You’ve been great with helping Alfred. We don’t have to worry about him with you there.”

“So why are you out here with me?” Terry asked, watching as Richard removed his hands to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I…I wanted to come clean with something,” Richard murmured gently, fingers nervously dancing along the edge of the paper, “Jason and I did a background check on you.”

“What,” Terry deadpanned, a flicker of cold fear cutting through his chest.

“Nothing came back. Like, you didn’t have any kind of footprint—like a ghost. It really seems like Terry McGinnis is your real name, but…we wanted to be sure,” Richard continued, slowly opening the paper and flipping it around for Terry to see.

“What…what am I looking at?” Terry rasped, heart rate starting to pick up.

“A DNA test,” Richard said in a soft voice, “We used some of your hair and ran it through a system four times…it came back with a paternal match. 99.9% match to Bruce Wayne.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Terry scoffed, eyes disbelievingly looking at the results on the paper, “This is fake, obviously. That man is not my…father. I know my father, and he’s dead.”

“Terry, I know this is a shock, but you—,” Richard tried to placate.

“Is this a test? A sick fucking test to see how I’ll handle myself under stress?” Terry snarled, voice starting to rise, “What kind of bastards are you people?!”

“STOP,” Richard begged, pocketing the piece of paper before stepping closer to Terry, “This kind of test is high quality and very thorough. We ran it four times to rule out any false positives. Terry, I’m sorry, but Bruce is biologically your father.”

“I don’t…I just,” Terry gasped, squatting down to put his head between his knees. Everything was burning. The old man would’ve said something right…RIGHT?

“Terry, Bruce hasn’t left yet, we can go talk with him now, and—,” Richard started to say, attempting to move down to Terry’s level, but was halted by the teen’s sudden upward movement.

“No,” Terry breathed sharply, eyes locked onto Richard’s gaze, “You don’t tell him a damn thing.”

“Terry, I can’t keep this from him…you’re his kid…and our family,” Richard stuttering slightly under Terry’s fierce gaze. Man, this kid was so much like Bruce…

“I’m nothing to him or any of you. I’m a nobody, who’s going to end up back at the homeless shelter once Alfred is all healed up. I’m a nobody who’s going to carry on with this job because he likes it, and wants to keep doing it.”

“You’re not a nobody, Terry,” Richard tightly, swallowing slowly, “You’re our brother.”

“Please…isn’t there any way you could just sit on that for a while?” Terry begged, eyes brimming with tears, “I get I can’t stop you, but…I just…this is too much.”

“Okay Terry,” Richard whispered, sympathy lacing his features, “I’ll make sure it stays quiet for now, but please understand when the moment comes…I got to tell Bruce.”

“Fine,” Terry rasped, wiping a shaking hand over his eyes as he straightened his spine, “This conversation is done. Don’t talk to me about this anymore. I have my job to do.”

            Terry tore himself away from Richard’s searching gaze, his hands still shaking slightly as he made the walk back to the manor. His lip quivered threateningly. No. You will not cry. This isn’t right. He couldn’t be Bruce’s son…there was no way…right? His shoulders twitched as he threw one last look behind him at Richard’s lone form still standing by the trash bin. A traitorous thought crawled its way through his mind…what if he was? Stop. Stop it. Terry huffed, fixed his face, and pushed his way back into the manor—the door snapping shut behind him.

*****************

Jason:  So…how’d he take it?

Richard:  Pretty badly.

Richard:  He was adamant that we were wrong. Kid was in shock.

Richard:  Then he got really pissed. I swear he looks even more like Bruce when he’s mad.

Oracle:  Yikes…you guys pick a time to tell Bruce?

Jason:  We can do it after dinner.

Richard:  No.

Jason:  No? The fuck you mean, NO. He’s family.

Oracle:  Can’t believe I’m agreeing with Jason here, but Terry’s part of your family. Not telling Bruce is a TERRIBLE idea. The man is very protective of his family.

Richard:  I promised Terry I would sit on the results for a little while until an opportunity presents itself.

Richard:  I’m expecting you both to say nothing until I give Bruce the results of the test.

Richard:  I need both of your words. Now.

Oracle:  My lips are sealed, boy wonder.

Richard:  Jason. Please.

Jason:  Fine. But I swear if something happens to the kid…

Richard:  We’ll still be there for him.

Oracle:  Don’t wait too long, Dick. This is serious.

Jason:  What she said.

Richard:  Understood. I’ll let you both know when it’s time.

*****************

            The rest of the day passed in a blur. Terry went about his cleaning, lifting, and fixing routine silently. He could feel Alfred watching him with concern as Terry slid into the next task without a wisecrack or offhand remark, but he always left the room before the butler could make a comment on it. As for Richard and Jason? Yeah, he was avoiding them like the plague—no eye contact, or acknowledgement of any kind. By the time night started falling, the rest of the household had noticed Terry’s mood change…and who it was directed towards. Terry caught a snippet of irritated hisses coming from Tim and Damian, each wanting to what the hell Jason and Richard had done to Terry. He hadn’t stuck around to hear what each of the men had told them.

            Dinner went the same way—more silence. A part of Terry felt a little guilty for icing out the rest of the Waynes, but…he found he just couldn’t handle any type of conversation right now.  Once Terry had set out the desserts, Tim got two extra eclairs of course, the mental exhaustion was beginning to affect him. He rubbed his temple and turned to go back into the kitchen, intending to ask Alfred if he could turn in for the night.

“Terry?” Tim spoke softly, voice cutting through the silence, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, I’m just tired,” Terry responded tensely, still facing the kitchen door, “I’m afraid I have to turn in early tonight. I apologize. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Terry,” Bruce said, chair creaking as the man began to rise from it, “If something happened…or the workload is too much, I’d be happy to—.”

“I. Am. Tired,” Terry growled, shoving the door open and moving forward, “The workload is fine. I am fine. Thank you for caring…now if you’ll excuse me.”

            As the door flapped shut, Terry heard Damian’s outraged tone ring out, but not at him. Richard and Jason were really getting torn into…and it sounded like Tim and Bruce had joined in on it. He locked eyes with Alfred, and made to open his mouth. However, Alfred made a quieting gesture and merely motioned for him to head towards his bedroom. Terry made a grateful nod, and slipped away into his room—locking the door behind him. He stood there for a couple minutes to make sure no one tried to knock on his door. When it became clear they were leaving him alone, Terry dragged a chair over to the door and jammed it under the doorknob for extra security. He flicked the lights off and allowed the darkness to shroud him. His hand went down to the belt on his waist, and pressed the center of the buckle. The suit activated immediately—replacing the clothes he’d been wearing with the familiar inky black suit and red bat symbol emblazoned across his chest. Twisting the center ring of the belt, Terry activated the suit’s cloaking feature. He swiftly ran over to the large window, and silently lifted the large pane of glass before sliding out and shutting it behind him. Climbing to the top of the manor had been nerve wracking, but as Terry softly crossed the rooftop, he felt a sense of calm slide through him. He’d taken precautions to deactivate certain motion sensors, like the one on his window and the multiple on the rooftop, during his “maintenance duties”.

            Flicking his wings out, Terry threw himself off the massive home and allowed himself to soar a decent distance away before activating his foot propulsions. He could almost hear Bruce’s old gravelly voice in his ear.

“Focus, McGinnis, Gotham needs Batman. Leave the drama behind for the night.”

*****************

            It hadn’t taken too long before Terry had found some trouble brewing near the docks of Gotham. Perching in the shadows of a nearby rooftop, Terry deactivated the cloaking of the suit. He’d noticed an unusual amount of movement while flying by, and stopped to investigate. He’d wanted to start small, like thwarting robberies or muggings…but this looked too important to just pass by it—they were moving weapons. Terry used the suit’s visual system to scan the faces of each dreg walking around before falling onto one that was well dressed. The suit pinged an ID for the well-dressed man:  Oswald Cobblepot, aka The Penguin. One of Bruce’s old villains—schway. Terry tinkered with the cowl settings, programming it to alert him if any of the bat family were in range of him, before launching himself off the rooftop. He swiftly took down Penguin’s men, twisting and flipping around the gunfire effortlessly. When Terry did land, he fell into the familiarity of the fighting routine. He barely noticed that he’d knocked out or incapacitated everyone attempting to kill him. Huh, definitely different from Neo-Gotham. A sudden noise behind him jolted Terry back into a defensive stance…it was Penguin.

“Great, another one,” Penguin spat, twisting his umbrella in fury, “Got a name I can put on your grave?”

“Batman,” Terry growled back, body tensing in anticipation, “And there won’t be any graves while I’m here.”

“People die all the time, brat. It’s the nature of the beast,” Penguin croaked, an odd laugh warbling from his throat, “And the beast won’t take too lightly to some freak parading as another Batman.”

“I am Batman,” Terry responded gravelly, flicking his wings out and launching himself at Penguin.

            Terry collided with Penguin, tearing the umbrella from the man’s hand, and heaving him up into the sky. It didn’t matter how tough you were, if you suddenly got launched into the sky without any means to catch yourself—you’d be screaming too. A small smirk snuck onto Terry’s face as he flew the frenzied Penguin straight to GCPD headquarters. He dropped the squirming man on top of a police car, where a pack of police grabbed at him the second he rolled onto the ground. Terry landed silently on a streetlight before addressing the police.

“Send some people to the docks. You’ll find a shipment of weapons…and a bunch of unconscious men,” Terry said sharply, nodding at Penguin, “They all work for him.”

“You’re dead, you hear me!? DEAD,” Penguin screamed at him as the police dragged his hulking form through the doorway, “You want to be another Batman? FINE. All of Gotham is going to know about you! Watch your back, BAT!”

            Terry’s cowl sensor pinged an alert—the bat family was coming. Time for him to go. He launched himself into the sky, wings stretched out. Once he was airborne in the clouds, he activated the cloaking feature on his suit, hiding him from any prying eyes as he raced back to the manor in record time. Terry glided down in front of his bedroom window and peeked inside. Good, all clear. Pulling open the glass and throwing himself inside, he closed and locked the glass quickly. Terry pressed the center of the buckle again, and felt the suit retract back inside of it, leaving him back in his work clothes. His heart was racing as he threw himself backwards onto his bed. Yeah…he could make this work. He could keep being Batman, and protect Gotham again. A small smile graced his face once again as he closed his eyes, thinking of his old mentor—I got this Bruce. I promise.

*****************

            As the days passed by, Terry found a rhythm with his daytime job and his nighttime job. He’d even started making small talk with Richard and Jason again—though he informed them each that they were still on thin ice. They’d just been relieved to have him talking to them again, and readily accepted that warning. On the bat family side, though, he knew they were starting to get frustrated by the other Batman’s ability to disappear whenever they got close. He was never able to hear whatever they were saying, but their tones and the dark circles under their eyes were getting sharper. Gotham City was now buzzing at there being two Batman vigilantes, which depending on who you asked could be a good or bad thing. Part of him was a little guilty, but Terry knew they’d never believe he was a Batman from another dimension. This was safer for everyone, he told himself, trying to shake the guilt.

            This morning was no different. Terry walked into the kitchen to find Jason perched on a stool by the marble kitchen island…and lightly snoring upright as his body swayed dangerously side to side. Damian had the look of someone that was two seconds away from murder while Richard blearily caught Terry’s eye, nodding in silent greeting. Tim seemed to be the only one mildly functional as he continued tinkering with his radio.

“What are you trying to do with that?” Terry whispered, leaning in slightly while Alfred cooked the last of the breakfast, “Trying to contact space?”

“Har har, Terry,” Tim muttered sarcastically, his mouth twitching into a small grin, “I’m programming it to pick up all types of frequencies….because I just really love listening to the radio…”

“Uh-huh,” Terry murmured disbelievingly, yeah that was probably to track him, “Well keep at it, I want to listen to some international stations.”

            Tim gave him a short nod and locked back onto his radio. Terry turned back towards Alfred to grab the last plate for Bruce. Sliding the plate across the counter, he’d just finished grabbing some utensils when Bruce burst into the kitchen abruptly. In his hurry, the door smacked against the wall emitting an echoing slap. Jason jolted awake wildly, throwing a fist out wildly. It obviously didn’t connect with anyone, but it did manage to throw the man off balance, sending him crashing to the floor.

“You good, man?” Terry called from the opposite side of the island.

“Fuck,” came a bleary response from the floor.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Terry snorted, tapping the plate to get Bruce’s attention.

“Thank you, Terry,” Bruce sighed, sinking onto the stool briefly as his own weary eyes watched Jason heave himself back onto his stool—still swearing.

            The rest of breakfast passed without further incident, and once again Terry fell into routine. He’d barely noticed that the sky was getting darker as he helped Alfred refresh each of the rooms being used. He knew the rule, don’t touch anything on the desks. Terry had made that mistake once, and it resulted in a small electrocution. He learned really quick after that. Once they’d finished with Richard’s room, Alfred gestured for Terry to follow him back to the kitchen. They were halfway through dinner prep when the kitchen phone ran suddenly. Terry turned to watch Alfred answer it swiftly—mostly answering in short responses.

“I see. Well, we shall ensure there are leftovers placed into the refrigerator upon everyone’s return, sir,” Alfred stated, gesturing at Terry to start pulling Tupperware out, “Do tell the boys to be careful returning home as well.”

“Is everything alright?” Terry asked in confusion, watching Alfred hang up the phone, “Are they going to be late for dinner?”

“I’m afraid they will not be able to eat at a normal hour tonight, Terry,” Alfred responded, beginning to place steaming mounds of food into the Tupperware, “Master Bruce must work late at Wayne Towers, and the boys will be back at a later time as well. Traffic was diverted due to a breakout at Arkham Asylum.”

“WHAT,” Terry responded in a startled tone, “Back up…did you say there was a breakout at freaking Arkham?!”

“Yes, unfortunately. Several well known criminals escaped as well,” Alfred hummed in concern, sealing up the containers, “But never mind you, Terry, they’ve been caught before by Gotham’s vigilantes. Everything will be fine.”

“But—,” Terry started to say as he transferred the food into the fridge.

“Eat this, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred interrupted, shoving a delightful smelling sandwich into Terry’s hands, “It is not worth dwelling on the unknown.”

            Terry knew better than to respond to Alfred when he had that tone in his voice. While he ate the sandwich, Terry mused over a new predicament. If he went out as Batman tonight, he ran a very real risk of encountering the bat family trying to corral the Arkham breakouts. Yet…he couldn’t just leave the rest of the city to fend for itself while all this chaos was happening. Popping the last piece of sandwich in his mouth, he began to go towards his room.

“Tired, Terry?” Alfred inquired, crossing his arms thoughtfully.

“I, uh, just assumed since they weren’t going to be in anytime soon that I was done,” Terry answered sheepishly, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair, “I’m guessing I was wrong about that, right?”

“You would be correct,” Alfred responded, a half grin donning his face, “This will be a perfect time for you to clean the bathrooms while I dust and sweep the halls.”

“Sounds great,” Terry returned, internally grimacing at the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to slip away from the manor. He just had to have faith that the bat family was alright…and that Gotham’s citizens could protect themselves as well.

Chapter Text

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry jolted awake, eyes tracking the room trying to find the reason for his waking up. His clock indicated that it was currently 2 am. He’d passed out onto his bed without changing after cleaning all the bathrooms. A snort startled him and with a small grin he caught Titus snoring at the end of Terry’s bed. The dog was sleeping like a rock, each leg twitching in his sleep. Yet he knew that wasn’t what had woken him up. Carefully sliding off the bed and out of his room, Terry padded down the hall and listened hard for any odd sounds. There. It was coming from the kitchen. He used the tips of his fingers to quietly open the kitchen door and duck in. There, sitting in the dimly lit room, was Bruce—facing away from Terry. He didn’t have a shirt on, and appeared to be struggling to reach something on his back.

            It was a deep gash, which was still bleeding. Terry spied the open medical kit on the kitchen island and moved quietly closer to the injured Wayne. Mentally, he thanked his old mentor for insisting Terry learn how to patch himself up the “old fashioned way”.

“Need some help, Bruce?” Terry’s voice rasped, sleep still clinging to his throat.

            He didn’t flinch when Bruce spun around wildly, breath coming out in jagged gasps. Man, he looked worse from the front. Bruises and cuts dotted Bruce’s torso. He looked so tired. Terry reached for the thread and needle within the kit, and wordlessly gestured for him to turn around. He could tell Bruce had concocted a good explanation, but Terry found he didn’t want to hear it and threw up a silencing hand. The man didn’t make a sound as Terry sterilized and cleaned the gash. He didn’t even hiss at the sting of the needle threading through his skin, quickly stitching the wound together. Terry applied a layer of antiseptic and a bandage over the stitching, and motioned for Bruce to turn back around so he could see the other cuts. But it was Bruce who stopped him now.

“These are superficial cuts. I just need to run some water over them, it’ll be fine,” Bruce murmured as he stared at Terry carefully, like he was weighing his next words, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Friend of mine said it was important to know the basics,” Terry responded shrugging. It hadn’t been a lie…his Bruce had insisted.

“Smart friend,” Bruce huffed, pulling his shirt back onto his shoulders.

“Yeah. He was,” Terry sighed, turning to wash his hands clean from all the blood.

“Terry…may I ask…,” Bruce began softly, picking his words carefully.

“You want to know why I was living at the homeless shelter?” Terry cut in, casting a knowing look at Bruce—who nodded as he buttoned up his shirt.

“Simple answer? No one left. It’s just me,” Terry stated, leaning against the sink.

“And the non-simple answer?” Bruce inquired, placing a hand on the cool marble.

“Dad’s been dead for a year or so. My mom and little brother passed away recently,” Terry answered, swallowing as he glanced away from Bruce’s probing eyes, “And no, they didn’t die of ‘natural causes’.”

“What—,” Bruce started to ask, leaning more towards Terry.

“You like talking about your dead parents, Mr. Wayne?” Terry said sharply, earning a conceding hand from Bruce—silence quickly fell between them for several moments.

“…does it…,” Terry whispered thickly, hands flexing at his sides, “…does it ever stop hurting…?”

“Time helps…but no…it never will,” Bruce rasped, pain flickering in his eyes, “You can only keep living the life they would have wanted you to lead…a happy, fulfilling life.”

            Terry shivered, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them once more. He knew he would hate that he asked this…but…

“Are you happy, Bruce?” Terry asked, fighting hard to keep the familiar burn of tears back.

            Bruce’s face crumbled into something close to devastation. Terry had never seen this expression on his face, or even his older mentor’s face. He suspected that no one had ever truly asked Bruce that question…and it scraped raw against something inside him. Terry could see the beginnings of tears in Bruce’s eyes, and found he couldn’t do this to the man. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine before moving towards the kitchen door.

“Good night, Bruce,” Terry murmured, pushing his body roughly through the wooden door.

            He barely made it to his own bedroom, and after the lock engaged, he doubled over onto the floor in pain. Terry let out a low moan as the tears started falling. He covered his mouth in a failed attempt to silence the noise as he visibly shuddered from his spot on the floor. It barely registered that a cold nose was pressing against his head, whimpering urgently. That’s right…Titus had been sleeping on his bed. Terry threaded his fingers through the dog’s fur and pulled the large dog close, sobs muffling against its body. He stayed that way for a long time—listening to Titus’s breathing and the faint click of the clock on the wall.

*****************

            Terry woke up a few hours later on the floor—the clock now reading 6 am. A warm body was pressed up against him, tail thumping the floor merrily. It seemed like Titus was aware Terry was now awake, and let him know it with an echoing bark. Terry groaned and heaved himself up onto his legs. He quickly went over to his closet, and switched out his old white shirt and vest for a new set. A happy Titus followed Terry to the bathroom where he splashed his face and ran a quick comb through his hair. Okay. He at least looked mildly presentable. Titus barked again, hopping around Terry’s legs as he approached the locked door.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you out,” Terry yelped as the large dog bodily threw itself past him, dashing down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

            Terry quickly down the hall and into the bustling kitchen. The second he burst into the kitchen all sound died down.

“I’m not in trouble, am I? Because I thought I was still early,” Terry asked, putting his hands up helplessly.

“You’re not in trouble, Terry,” Alfred answered while flipping some pancakes, “Master Richard wanted to help set up. You may begin passing out the pancakes, though.”

“Oh, thank god,” Terry wheezed, jumping forward to take the towering stack. He could feel Bruce’s eyes burning a hole in his back, but he kept his eyes on the stack of food.

“Rough night?” Jason snarked, watching Terry fight to keep the pancake tower from toppling.

“Titus slept on my bed,” Terry retorted, placing the plate down and helping to hand out pancakes, “Think he kicked my ass and stole my wallet.”

“Hmph,” a voice from his side muttered, Damian of course, “That explains his absence last night. It seems that he likes you.”

“So, who got the bed, him or you, McGinnis?” Jason smiled wickedly through his first bite of pancake.

“We shared,” Terry bit back, flicking a blueberry at the man, “Otherwise, I slept the whole night…that is…until he started barking.”

“That’s how you know you’ve made it in this family, Terry,” Richard smiled, cutting his food swiftly, “One of Damian’s pets like you.”

“Hmph, don’t make it a habit, McGinnis,” Damian muttered, giving him an approving head nod regardless.

“Sure thing, Damian,” Terry laughed, turning to wash some utensils in the sink.

            Tim, who had been quietly finishing up working with his radio, finally leaned back with a satisfied grin. He cracked his fingers in unison, and proceeded to flip the switch on the machine. The lights in the kitchen gave a mighty flicker before stabilizing. The stunned look on Tim’s face told everyone that the lights were definitely not supposed to do that. A loud crackling came from the radio, and the local Gotham City news started playing. Terry sighed, and carried on washing in the sink.

“…Current news coming out of Arkham Asylum. Batman, Nightwing, Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood were able to capture most of the criminals that escaped yesterday. However, Bane and Joker remain on the loose…gangs of people “inspired by the escapees” have been spotted causing chaos. Be careful out there, Gotham City…it’s getting worse out there…”

            Terry dropped the handful of silverware clutched in his hand in shock. The Joker…of course he was here. The clown was Bruce’s worse villain during his time as Batman. Rage flickered deep in his chest at the thought of that son of a bitch doing a repeat performance on this current family. Terry blinked, and looked behind him at the curious faces staring back at him.

“Sorry, was just surprised. Aren’t those guys, like, the worst ones?” Terry covered, hand grasping at the cleaned utensils once more.

“Don’t worry, Terry,” Tim said gently, helping to put away several items on the marble island, “Batman and his crew always catch them.”

“Going to hold you to that, Tim,” Terry smirked, placing the last of the silverware out to be dried.

“Terry, leave that for the boys, Master Bruce and I need to have a word with you outside the kitchen,” Alfred stated, gesturing for him to follow.

            Terry dried his hands, and followed the two men, confusion etched into his expression. This couldn’t be because of his and Bruce’s conversation from earlier this morning. Maybe the stitches broke? He thought he’d done it correctly. The three came to a halt in front of the main entryway.

“Master Bruce informed me that earlier this morning, you assisted him with a back injury sustained from a failed mugging, is that correct?” Alfred asked, raising a critical eyebrow.

“That sounds about right,” Terry responded, eyes never leaving Alfred’s sharp gaze, “I didn’t want to wake you for something like that. It was barely a scratch.”

“Was it now?” Alfred returned coolly, ignoring Bruce’s uncomfortable shifting, “And should this happen again…?”

“I would 100% still do the same thing,” Terry said honestly, shrugging, “But I’ll tell you immediately after.”

“Very good, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred murmured warmly, like a test had been passed, “Now, on to why we wish to talk with you. Master Bruce, if you will?”

“Jason and Richard have some business in downtown Gotham, so Jason has offered to drive Tim and Damian to school. Then drop myself and Alfred off to his doctor appointment,” Bruce began, a light smile gracing his face while talking to Terry, “You’ve gone above and beyond with your assistance to the family. Alfred also agrees that not only are you hardworking, but trustworthy.”

“That is Master Bruce’s long-winded way of informing you, that it will be your duty to stay in the house while we all are away,” Alfred cut in, wearing an amused look on his face, “I have left a large list that will be expected to be completed upon our return. Additionally, Master Bruce’s study is off limits, and any form of tampering to the door will set off a rather loud alarm…among other things.”

“Okay…?” Terry said, his eyes widening at the last part, “You can count on me, Alfred.”

“Very good,” Alfred nodded knowingly, before heading back towards the kitchen, “I will gather the boys now. Stay here, Terry.”

            Bruce and Terry watched as the butler disappeared behind an ornate side door. He rubbed his neck, and slowly looked up at Bruce.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Bruce,” Terry grimaced, expecting some form of wrath. It had been such a personal question, Terry wouldn’t blame the man if he was pissed about it now.

“No one has ever asked me that question outright, Terry,” Bruce said softly, eyes reflecting a warmth in them as he placed a hand on Terry’s shoulder, “I will admit, you surprised me. But yes, I am happy, Terry. My family makes me feel whole and happy. What about you—are you happy?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that, Mr. Wayne,” Terry answered, swallowing slowly as he avoided Bruce’s sad gaze.

            A flurry of noise prevented Bruce from saying more, but the man kept his hand on Terry’s shoulder as the footsteps came to a halt behind them. Terry knew they all were wondering what the hell they’d just walked into…and he wasn’t sure he had a good response. So he opted to step out of the gesture and went to stand by the stairs quietly, his mouth setting itself into a tense line.

“Everything good, Bruce?” Richard inquired, eyes never leaving Terry.

“Yes…yes everything is fine. Terry? We’ll continue our talk later, yes?” Bruce responded, eyes locking onto Terry’s carefully.

“With Jason driving, yeah, good luck on that,” Terry chuckled hollowly.

“Hey, asshole, you got here fine!” Jason barked, making a rude gesture as Alfred corralled all of them out the door.

“Remember to look both ways, old man,” Terry snorted, shaking his head as the wooden door clicked shut behind the group. If he strained his hearing, he could almost make out Jason’s outraged response.

*****************

            Three hours later, Terry was still trying to make a dent in the large list Alfred had left him to do. Titus wasn’t making it easier. The large dog was constantly following him, and at one point even tried to tackle Terry in excitement. He’d ultimately made a compromise with the canine—don’t trip or tackle, and he’d get an extra scoop of food along with treats on top. So far, Terry was pleased to see it was working…though he could still hear the happy thumping of the dog’s tail behind him as he wiped down a baseboard. He let out of huff, and slowly stood, turning to leave the room. It had been really peaceful working in the empty house. Terry wondered if they’d be willing to do it more often.

            Titus’s low growling pulled Terry out of his hopeful thinking. He stopped out in the hall, and turned to look at the large dog. It was staring out the window, teeth starting to show as the growling was starting to turn into full force barks.

“Titus? What’s wrong?” Terry called, running back towards the large window that overlooked the front entrance.

            From this vantage point Terry could see two black SUVs tearing up the long driveway to Wayne Manor. They hadn’t made it to the gate yet…but something told him it wouldn’t matter.

*****************

[ Richard - POV ]

            Richard stared at Bruce from his seat in the limousine, his fingers toying with the paper in his pocket. Jason had picked up Bruce and Alfred from the doctor’s appointment, and they were currently heading back to the manor. It had been days since he’d promised Terry he wouldn’t tell Bruce, but seeing the look on Bruce’s face earlier in the day had only cemented the urgency to tell him. He’d been so relaxed, and damn it, happy while talking with Terry. His eyes caught Jason’s gaze flicking between Richard’s and the road. Jay could tell what he was about to do. Bruce slowed his talking with Alfred to look between Richard and Jason—sensing something was going on.

“Is everything okay, boys?” Bruce asked, brow furrowing with concern.

            Richard swallowed slowly, eyes looking back at Jason’s before he shifted to pull out the piece of paper. He once again toyed with the edges, nerves starting to creep in. This had to be done. Terry was family, and hell, by the looks of it, Bruce seemed like seconds away from drafting yet another set of adoption papers. He raised his eyes to meet Bruce’s probing gaze.

“You sure now’s a good time, Dick?” Jason called from the front, his own voice laced with nerves.

“Is what a good time, Master Jason?” Alfred asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Richard? What is that? Is it something about the breakouts?” Bruce murmured softly, holding a hand out to receive it.

“No, Bruce…but it is about you,” Richard swallowed, handing the paper over with a shaking hand, “And it’s about Terry too.”

“We had our suspicions in the beginning. Had Oracle run a check on him, and it came back with nothing. The kid was a ghost…so we figured he was using a fake name,” Richard stated, rubbing his hands as he watched Bruce open the paper, “So we used the cave computers to run a DNA test—did it four times to be sure.”

“Good heavens, how did I not see this?” Alfred whispered in shock as he leaned to read the test results, “99.9% match…He’s Bruce’s son…”

            Bruce’s gaze had locked up on the words typed out one the paper. Richard saw a strangely pained expression grace the man’s face, sadness flickering briefly into his eyes before anger started to bleed in. In an expression very similar to Terry’s when he was pissed, Bruce looked over at Richard.

“How long have you had this?” Bruce growled, hand squeezing the paper tightly, “And why am I just finding out about this?”

“We’ve had it for days, Bruce,” Jason called from the front, a disgruntled frown starting to form on his face.

“Terry asked me not to say anything to you,” Richard continued, heart starting to ache from the memory, “He kept saying he was just a nobody to us…that he was nothing…and that once Alfred got better, he was just going to end back up at the homeless shelter. Kid honestly believes he doesn’t belong with anyone…I don’t know what’s happened with Terry, but he…he shouldn’t be alone. Bruce, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you.”

            Bruce had fallen silent while Richard was talking, his eyes back on the paper in his hand. Richard could see a range of emotion flashing across the man’s face. Family meant everything to Bruce, and he’d just found out that Terry was part of it…and that he hadn’t even seen the similarities that Richard and Jason had picked up on. Richard didn’t know what the two had been talking about prior to the group arriving in the entryway, but it seemed pretty heartfelt, even for Bruce—having left his hand on Terry’s shoulder. The man may be emotionally awkward, but there were times Bruce was able to convey what he was feeling. Each member of the house had seen it multiple times, but Terry…man, somehow that kid had gotten Bruce to really open up. Richard had marveled at the warmth that broke out on Bruce’s face whenever Terry was nearby. It felt just like when Richard had first met Bruce—before all the hard edges from being Batman long term had creeped in—the man was happy, and so was the whole family. God…he should have said something sooner.

            Now, he had to tell Terry. Richard pulled out his cell phone and starting dialing the house. The movement caught Bruce’s eye, and he watched as Richard tilted the phone forward, hitting the speaker phone for everyone to hear.

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry shot down the stairs towards the sound of a phone ringing. Titus followed closely, only stopping by the front door to continue his loud barking. Panting, Terry found the phone in the kitchen. He tore it off the receiver and moved in front of the window again—the SUVs were so close now.

“Wayne residence, please call back later,” Terry said sharply, eyes watching as the SUVs made the last turn up the road.

“Terry? It’s Richard, I’ve got you on speaker phone now…we need to talk,” Richard’s voice floated through cautiously, “It’s about—.”

“STOP. Stop right now,” Terry shouted wildly, watching the leading SUV pick up speed, “Are you guys expecting anyone at the manor right now?”

“No one is on the schedule to arrive, Terry,” Alfred’s voice answered curtly, “Why do you ask?”

“There are two black SUV’s tearing up the—OH SHIT,” Terry yelled, as a loud bang echoed outside and even into the house.

“TERRY, TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING. WHAT WAS THAT SOUND!?” Bruce’s voice shouted loudly through the phone.

“They just rammed the front gate, I got to hit the alarm!” Terry rasped, running with the phone gripped tightly in his left hand, “TITUS, GET BACK NOW!”

            The dog’s barking had evolved into straight howling as the dog moved back and forth in agitation. He was almost there…he just needed to get to the button. He could still hear voices on the phone, but Terry wasn’t registering them. His heart was racing so hard all he could hear was the sound of his own blood beating violently through his system. His right hand was reached out, tearing open the cabinet to punch the red button. Too late. Another loud bang tore into the front door—the front end of a vehicle had shattered the ornate wooden door, revving its engine as it pulled back abruptly to allow people dressed like clowns to stream in. Terry threw the phone down in alarm. Slag it, this was going to be a fight.

“HEY, GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE, YOU FUCKING DREGS!” Terry screamed in rage, swinging a swift punch at the first clown that came at him.

“Awww, the baby butler’s got some fight in him! Don’t know what a ‘dreg’ is, but rest assured, kid, we’re going to take it personally,” the clown closest to Terry snarled, launching at him, “Tear this place up, and beat the HELL out of this brat!”

            A large swarm of clowns continued to flow in, surrounding him as he fought hard to keep them back. Titus’s loud snarling punctuated the din of noise, and with quick satisfaction, Terry could hear the frantic screams of clowns being chewed on. He and Titus were managing to keep them on the first floor entryway, and partially in the side hallway. However, Terry wasn’t stupid, they were overwhelmed. He was taking a beating, his clothes were tearing and he could feel blood starting to coat his forehead. The clowns were spray painting the damaged walls, and somewhere during the fight, Terry had gotten clipped by a wayward spray paint can—coating his vest with a light splatter of neon green. He locked his eyes on the alarm panel. Terry knew there was a weapon in there. Bruce Wayne may not like guns, but no one said Alfred would follow that same mantra should danger befall his family.

            Terry launched his body forward, deflecting as many dregs as possible as he fell against the cabinet. His hand scrabbled deep into the tall box, and closed around a long, cold metal. Tearing it out while ducking another vicious hit, Terry spun around and pointed the gun into the air. Mentally, he thanked Max for always making him play those old western VR games otherwise he’d have no idea how to even handle this thing. God…he hoped Alfred kept it loaded. Swinging the long gun up at the ceiling, Terry pulled the trigger, a loud bang reverberating across the crowd. He’d almost knocked himself down, but at least no one got hit. A stunned silence fell over the group of clowns.

“NEXT ONE IS IN EACH OF YOU,” Terry snarled breathlessly, pointing the weapon at them violently, “OR YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE—NOW!”

            The crowd started surging out the doorway in a panic, leaving Terry to push himself back towards Titus, whose whole back was covered in purple paint, but otherwise unharmed. Looks like the clowns hadn’t brought guns…just spray paint and hammers. They must’ve thought this was a game…and anyone in the way just had to be beat down. The last of the clowns raced out of the manor, and the sounds of tires peeling away echoed through the torn entryway. Terry could feel his hands shaking as he slowly lowered the long gun. A faint static noise was starting to ring in his ears.

“Titus, SEEK. Make sure no one’s left,” Terry ordered hollowly, hoping the dog understood what he was saying—Titus gave a sharp bark and tore off around the house. Terry let the gun fall to the ground, it clattering loudly as it landed.

            Terry’s eyes took in the damage as his body started shaking at the sight of the spray paint marked everywhere: HA! HA! HA! A terrible moan tore out of his throat as he stumbled forward down the side hall, which also bore more of the spray painted laughter. He…he had to wipe it off. He had to make it go away. This…this couldn’t keep happening. Tears were starting to fall freely from Terry’s eyes as he robotically went to the kitchen to grab a bucket of soapy water and a thick sponge. Once he’d filled it enough, Terry dragged the bucket along the ground to the vandalized hallway. He sank to his knees, and started scrubbing, tears still streaking his face. The static noise was so loud now…he couldn’t even hear the light whimpering of Titus, sitting close to Terry’s body.

*****************

[ Bruce - POV ]

            Cold fear tore through Bruce as gripped the edge of the car seat, urging Jason to drive faster. He could see the horror and concern on everyone’s face as Jason took the final turn to the manor. He’d just found out Terry was his son…his son. This whole time, and Bruce hadn’t even made the connection. He’d been so focused on the other Batman and then the Arkham breakout. Some detective…he couldn’t even see what was right in front of him. Thinking back, he should have seen it. The boy had his face, and even mirrored some of his expressions. God, if he died and Bruce wasn’t there…no. Stop. Terry could do it. They were going to make it in time. They were…no. The remains of the front gate lay twisted on its side as Jason sped closer to the manor. Bruce could see a gaping hole where the front door used to be, like a large vehicle had rammed it open. There were pieces of random items from inside scattered across the grass and along the walkway.

            Jason had barely hit the brakes before Bruce had launched himself out of the limousine. The fear was ramping up even more as Bruce jumped through the shattered wooden doorway fists ready to fight if any remaining clowns lingered. His eyes took in the damage, the spray paint coating the walls…the gun on the ground…Oh my god. Bruce could hear the others bursting in, swears falling from their mouths as they also fell into defensive stances. Bruce’s ear picked up on a light whimpering coming from the side hall, and a small movement caught his eye—Titus. The dog had purple paint across its back, and was stomping its feet in anxiety. Bruce’s heart stopped…was he too late? Titus barked once and took off back down the hallway. Bruce followed, not caring if he got caught on fallen debris. The large dog skidded to halt next to a kneeling figure, and let out an anxious huff.

            It was Terry. Bruce noted the torn clothing that was spattered with green paint, and the boy’s lightly bleeding forehead. The young teen was scrubbing at the wall, trying to get the wet HA! HA! off the wall. It wasn’t working…the paint only smeared more. Bruce fell to his knees, and placed a firm hand on Terry’s shoulder—forcing the young man to stare back at Bruce with hollow, lifeless eyes…no, traumatized eyes…he’d seen it before in himself, Richard, and so many. The others turned the corner, Alfred now between them, and watched in pain at the scene unfolded before them.

“Terry…it’s okay. You don’t need to clean this,” Bruce rasped, pulling the sponge from the young man’s fingers, “I can have it all fixed by tomorrow morning.”

“Terry, please say something,” Bruce whispered, turning the young man towards him with both hands now resting on Terry’s shoulders.

“When my dad died…this crap was all over the walls,” Terry gasped wetly, shuddering at the memory, “And…and a good friend was attacked…again this crap was all over the place. It keeps following me…just keeps taking people from me…I got to take it off, please, please, let me get rid of it.”

            Terry let out a sob and made to cover his face with his hands, but Bruce pulled the boy in tightly. He felt the young man’s body heave as sobs started coming out harder. Bruce used his whole body to keep Terry close, trying to comfort him in some way. He looked over at Alfred helplessly. Alfred straightened, and grabbed Richard and Jason to follow him to help with clean up preparations. Bruce placed his chin on top of the shuddering boy’s head and held him tightly.

“It’s going to be okay, Terry. You’re safe here,” Bruce whispered brokenly, eyes starting to glitter with his own tears, “I’ve got you.”