Chapter Text
Getting caught off-guard was standard procedure as Batman, it was a situation all too common when working with aliens, gods and goddesses, and magicks varying from the demonic to the multiversal.
Still, to say he was surprised when he was transported after a debrief with the Justice League at the Watchtower and into an apartment where the walls, floors, everything was painted a bright, blinding yellow was an understatement.
But it was something he had planned for, trained for, made contingencies for. The sudden displacement half of it, at least.
And the first thing he saw was Robin (Robin?) painted in a similar yellow (he had many questions) lunging towards Hal Jordan, who was still at the Watchtower from what he knew, with a chop towards the neck that Batman knew would be lethal. It took a millisecond for Bruce to move forward and grab the back of Jason’s collar and reel him back before he could do something that he would regret later down the line.
Glancing at Green Lantern, Hal Jordan, he analyzed the injured man who looked as shocked as Bruce was. His ring was not visible, either it had some sort of invisible enchantment on it or it was taken. Taken, most likely. This Green Lantern hadn’t done any aggressive moves or attacks beyond posturing defensively. Powerless, at the moment.
Though, he did seem to be looking at Robin in a way that indicated that this moment of peace wouldn’t last if he didn’t interfere further. Still holding an unsettlingly still Robin by the cape, he placed himself between his son and Hal.
Now what, and why was this happening?
Keeping his eyes and senses focused on the ringless yet still dangerous Green Lantern, he barked at Robin. “Robin, report.” Instead of a succinct and timely response from Jason, what instead came out of Robin’s mouth was:
“Report what, old man?” A young Dick Grayson’s voice snarked.
Bruce was taken aback. It took all of Bruce’s willpower to not flinch and reveal Dick’s identity out loud.
Okay. Not parallel universes. He closed his eyes. Time travel? That’s a new one. He should’ve expected it. How far back is this? Bruce didn’t quite remember any adventure with Robin that would have him fighting against the Green Lantern in Gotham while covered in yellow paint. And that was some pretty specific stuff that would have Hal bringing it up to laugh at him for years.
He is so grateful that the knowledge of the color blocked rainbow suit he definitely did wear never made it out of Gotham. He’d count his lucky stars, but with Gotham’s smog, there were hardly any stars to speak of.
With a small puff of laughter, Bruce opened his eyes back to the ongoing situation at hand. First objective, deescalate. Second, gather information and find out where in the timeline he is. He didn’t even want to consider the alternatives to a time displacement. The complications in trust alone that dimensions bring would have him staying up for days on end just to sort things and people through.
If all else fails and this ends up to be another of Scarecrow’s mind games (Unlikely, since that would imply that he had broken out of Arkham Asylum during the crisis in Bosnia and had broken into the Watchtower and planted one of his experimental chemicals in the vents (again more unlikely. Crane didn’t exactly have the funds to reach space around whenever now is anyway) More importantly, he wasn’t exactly scared, just perplexed) then Bruce will have to go back to chemical immunity training again. And update rebreathers, antidotes, everything. What a mess.
And it seemed Hal Jordan’s impatience had snapped while Bruce’s mind was flying through the possibilities. (of which is ruminating if this was a dream illusion conjured from the magical artifact that Bruce had thought was deactivated when they confiscated and isolated it a mission ago but may have a delayed trigger effect.)
“What’s your game now, Batman? Didn’t know you had any contemplation left in you.” Bruce picked up on the note of disgust and vitriol flowing through Hal Jordan’s surprisingly restrained voice. He could have said a lot more worse, goaded for a fight, but at the same time, he’s at a clear disadvantage. Not on good terms but not strictly enemies. Something must’ve happened to drive a wedge between the two.
It’s not evil clones, that’s one thing checked off the list.
Bruce remained silent, still anticipating, still scanning. An apartment. Covered in yellow paint. They were still in Gotham. A trap designed for the Green Lantern. A safehouse. Bruce frowned.
Nothing from his memories told him about any such situation happening in the past. And while it was one contingency plan based on color theory, it was hardly the most time-effective and efficient. The Green Lantern knew Gotham was his domain, so why walk into a trap that the man could’ve easily backed out of?
It was clear that this Batman had sent Green Lantern an invitation, a place to meet at. But why bring Robin at this point of the timeline? It’s reckless behavior.
And Hal Jordan seemed to be taken aback by Batman’s continued silence, clearly anticipating some sort of response. Something Dick mirrored, he was antsy in his grip, Bruce restrained his wince yet regardless let the boy wonder go.
“Well?”
“Shut up, you rube!” Dick cut in to yell. And that was what stunned Bruce out of being Batman to turn his head and stare at him in horror.
Did… did Dick just call the Green Lantern a rube? And that’s not even correct, Hal Jordan didn’t come from or live in a small rural country town. Nor was he, as Bruce may loath to admit to his face, stupid. Maybe there was some other meaning to look into. Not important as of yet.
“Robin,” He scolded, dropping but then picking back up his distinctive growl midway through. “Don’t.”
“Seriously?” Robin protested. “You were fine with talking alllllllllllll the shit in the world a minute ago. But when I do it-”
Well. That was news to Bruce. At least he tried to be accurate about things.
“Hey, what is this?” Hal reentered the verbal ring, wielding excess audacity in absence of his usual weapon of choice. “Are you calling a Time Out? Is that allowed?”
“Mhm,” Bruce - Batman grunted. He’s not liking the conclusions he’s coming to. Nor did he like the fact that this Batman had decided to paint himself yellow, including his teeth and the inside of his nostrils. Perhaps even the inside of his mouth. A feeling and taste that he had been made aware of when the paint had started trickling down his nose or his tastebuds reminding him of its bitter aftertaste. Short-term body paint. Nontoxic, thankfully. Will wear off after a wash.
Bruce must have Hal’s Lantern Ring on his person somewhere. In his utility belt? Though, if it were a recent development, it would be in his grip. Don’t tell him that Jason - he means, Dick had snatched it. But Dick didn’t have the training for it, it’s too early in the timeline if Dick wasn’t able to respond to a ‘report’ command on the spot nor is it too far if he allowed him on joint missions to take on the Green Lantern if he went rogue. And from what it seems, Hal is in possession of both his mind and morals.
“What is the current time, date, and location?” He asked, practically into the air, hoping for any response at all.
Hal, and he should expect a fruit basket for this, mercifully, answers “Late, July 13, 2005, basement of 37 East Robinson, Crime Alley and why am I even doing this? You should know. You’re the one that set it up!”
Okay. Now he’s got the exact time frame and location, but something doesn’t add up. If this was Robin, if Dick was Robin, then Bruce should’ve received a proper report around this time period. Rough and rushed but one without the well-earned snark and sarcasm that would’ve belonged to an older version, where their relationship was drifting towards estranged.
Dread crept up on him. He didn’t show it, of course. But… Time and space go hand in hand. And if this is not just time displacement but also multidimensional travel… Oh, that’s another headache to deal with.
It’s not a headache that he quite wants to reveal that he has, though. Having the right cards for the wrong game the way he does might just flip the table.
“I am very aware of that, Green Lantern.” He lied. Now this next part, this is what everything hinges on. It’s a gamble, but Bruce is confident it won’t come to blows. “Robin, give Hal his ring back.”
Because this universe is similar to his original one. There weren’t any glaring differences between this one and his beyond the obvious comparisons of timeline track. No evil, imperial, or dictator versions where one or if all of the Justice League members went rogue. And he doubted this Batman who had a Robin and decided to paint the whole room yellow was evil. His wisdom being questioned, yes. Morally evil, that is something to ponder over later.
“G-give what?!” Dick spluttered, shocked as Hal who similarly didn’t expect any of this. Strange. Bruce filed this moment away to revisit later. “You told me, you said-” Dick gesticulated wildly, unable to speak his mind properly as he whipped his head back between the two like Bruce had lost his mind.
“Plans change, chum. Now, I believe you still have something that isn’t yours.”
“Chum?!” Robin’s voice cracked. A word that Hal had echoed in amazement. Like the two had never thought the word ‘chum’ would ever be seen in Bruce’s dictionary. “Who are you- are you, the goddamn Batman, calling me, ‘chum’?!”
Bruce gave Robin a disapproving glare. “No cursing, Robin.” He scolded out of reflex.
Robin stared at him like he had grown two heads, visibly gritted his teeth, and handed him a… yellow (of course) tube.
“You cannot seriously be parenting the hellion you kidnapped right now,” Hal deadpanned as Bruce grabbed the tube, uncapped it and paused. Because wasn’t that a lot to unpack?
And while Bruce had many rumors written about Robin, the newest sidekick to Batman floating around, condemning the pair of vigilantes for child endangerment and the possibility that the caped Crusader had kidnapped a child and forced (he refused to use the other word that was often used to smear Batman’s reputation regarding his relationship with Robin and imply illicit behavior) him to become a vigilante to fight in the streets of Gotham, Bruce didn’t expect that Hal would fall to believing such slander. Not after meeting him, especially.
“I didn’t kidnap Robin,” Bruce ignored the way his eyebrow twitched underneath the cowl as he plucked the ring out carefully. “Nor is Robin a hellion.” A hellion in attitude? No. A menace to his heart? Absolutely. Bruce has gained thrice as many gray hairs in keeping track of Dick and trying to prevent him from breaking his neck. Not that the talented acrobat would allow himself to but Bruce cannot afford to be not paranoid about Dick’s safety. (This included Bruce being used as a landing pad one too many times. Well, not too many, never too many, as long as he could catch him.)
Bruce didn’t bother to tell him Hal to catch as he tossed it over.
The former pilot snatched it out of the air, in a swift motion, slipped the ring back on. His form pulsed with green energy as his Green Lantern powers reactivated, the man flexing his powers when he conjured a small spherical construct that weakly held up under the sheer amount of yellow dampening its strength and dissipating. Hal grimaced but gave a stiff nod of thanks to Bruce.
Massaging his yellow painted jaw (Batman, Bruce reminded himself to not get distracted from the sheer hilarity.), Green Lantern spoke: “Fine, I’ll let it go, but you need to cool it with the brutality. The whole world is watching you, and next time, and I hope there’s no next time, I won’t be dropping in just to talk.”
Bruce grunted in affirmative as if he hadn’t scolded his Robin about breaking collar bones not all that long ago.
Hal backed away to the exit, watching the both of them with steely eyes, waiting for the two to attack the moment he turned his back. When he reached the threshold, hand turning the knob, the Green Lantern booked it with his flight.
Marching over to the window, Bruce ripped open the also yellow-painted curtains, they’re not even yellow, just yellow paint soaking the original musty green color. Why the hell would he have painted curtains instead of just getting ones that were yellow, he had no clue, and he was beginning to suspect that no one did.
He saw a flash of a green sonic boom signaling Green Lantern’s departure as the view that greeted him, thankfully. Not an arsenal of green constructs aimed to crush and demolish the apartment block that Batman and Robin were in. This aligns with Bruce’s facts. Green Lantern is not hostile or a villain, just someone whose feathers were ruffled and aimed to negotiate with the other Batman.
Bruce let his mask drop and let out a vocal sigh of relief now that no one is watching. He’s in one of his safehouses. One where everything was painted yellow. And he means Everything. Ugh.
Now Bruce has to wash himself off and cut this patrol short, assuming there even was one, get his bearings in order, and figure a way back to his time AND original universe.
“What the hell was that, boss?” Robin- Dick questioned the moment Green Lantern fully exited their sightline.
“No cussing, both on the field and off the field, Robin.” Bruce reminded him again, walking towards the kitchen sink, turning on the yellow painted faucet. (At this point, it’s actually impressive that even the crevices were painted a fine yellow. So evenly too. Almost like a paint bucket tool was taken to the world) Because even if he is an official vigilante who does stop crime and can go toe-to-toe against villains that adult men can struggle against, it doesn’t give him the right to say such coarse language as a 12 year old child.
“Okay, now it’s just weird. Why are you saying this pansy-ass queer stickler shit? You turn retarded now from the paint? Or is this some sort of test?” The most horrible, and he means horrible words came tumbling out of Dick’s mouth like a pipe bomb had come skidding across the floor to detonate.
At first Bruce hadn’t registered it, concentrating on washing the paint off his gloves and gauntlets. And when it did, Bruce snapped his head over to stare at Dick in shock and horror. A pair of emotions that has been made very familiar to him today and will remain constant for his entire stay.
“Robin. You don’t… you don’t say that. That’s derogatory language.” His Batman growl had dropped, but also his scolding tone had weakened, a creeping tone of uncertainty was riddling his words because he was in unfamiliar territory, a fish out of water.
Bruce didn’t have all the facts, the basic foundations of this world, and that frustrated him. All he does know is that there’s a sinking feeling inside of him that told Bruce that this outlier of the equation was him. Which he hoped, he desperately hoped it wasn’t. Because please tell Bruce that his paranoia was just fantastical paranoia, paranoia that had come to an absolute impossible extreme to come to the likely hypothesis that this version of Batman would say such offensive words around a 12 year old child. Or teaching him such bigoted behavior was normal.
Dick scoffed. It was such a stark contrast between this sour and angry, so painfully angry version of Dick Grayson compared to the more cheerful one in his home universe, mad as the young man may be at him these days. “So this is the test? Be a man, stamp down pussy shit like feelings? Stupid fucking test if you hadn’t stopped me from killing the Green Lantern! That’s what you wanted right?!” Okay, Bruce needs to shut this down. And scolding Robin about language, while quickly becoming a habit, would blunt the delivery of his message.
“I never wanted you to kill. Never.” One rule, and if the little kid before him broke it under his watch, Bruce’s heart might just shatter right alongside it.
Dick looked at him as though he heard the biggest pile of shit in his life. He gestured towards the whole room around them. “Then why the yellow paint? Why use his weakness if we’re not going to kill Green Lantern in this war of yours?”
Now that’s a good question. Bruce cupped his hands and splashed water onto his face. The paintwork was definitely impressive. Terribly bitter (not to mention most likely unnecessary) but impressive. “A show of intimidation,” was the best he could come up with, and it was probably the truth, too.
For what plan– war? That, he did not know. (The war against crime? Against injustice?) Whether it's because this Green Lantern was attempting to move into his city, or judging from the reactions of both Hal and Dick, it’s that this alternate version of Batman… doesn’t hold the same moral standards as he does.
Washing out his mouth filled with paint was not the most unpleasant experience he had, but it was climbing up the ranks. He never thought he’d be grateful for Gotham tap water. Bruce was going to be tasting paint for the rest of the month, and the flavor will haunt him forever.
He took off the cowl, both to make an attempt at rinsing it off in the sink and to more thoroughly remove the yellow paint from the lower half of his face. At least the underside hadn’t gotten the same treatment. That would be hell.
“A show of intimidation…” Dick repeated in disbelief. “You had me paint the whole safehouse yellow for 12 hours, yell at me for not being fast enough the whole time, steal Green Lantern’s ring, and beat him up for a show of intimidation?”
Bruce grunted. “We’ll debrief back at the cave. Agent A, could you pull the car up to our location?” This safehouse is clearly burnt, no use in being discreet.
“On its way, sir.” Came the terse response from this world’s Alfred, though a bit delayed from its usual immediateness. Confused, perhaps?
Bruce is going to have to go through some identity verification tests isn’t he. He has made some in the past if his behavior doesn’t align with what the others assume to be his normal behavior. And this is no exception from the details he gathered about his alternate self. What a mess.
“The cave. The car,” and apparently even that was something he’d gotten wrong, judging by how Dick has started on another tangent. “You insisted that it was the Batmobile and Batcave and now you’re just what– pretending to be normal? After this?” With that tone, Bruce can envision Nightwing gesturing wildly back home, and he’s willing to bet Robin is doing the same here. “Everything you do has been so batshit insane that I can’t even think straight!”
After thoroughly rinsing his face, especially the inside and outside of his mouth, he turned around. An excuse, rough as it is, on the tip of his tongue when Dick pointed a mad finger at his face and yelled.
“You’re Bruce fucking Wayne??????????” He could hear the numerous question marks in that exclamation. The fact he didn’t know that beforehand was just another thread in what was shaping up to be a red flag the size of the entire Wayne Estate, and a perplexing one at that.
Blessedly, he could hear the approaching rumble of the Batmobile drawing near. Whatever else needed addressing, it could be done at the manor. After a shower, preferably.
“Language.” Came the strangled, sad, defeated retort. And then a sigh. “Car– Batmobile. Now.” That was going to be ten quarters in the swear jar. Bruce could practically hear his own Robins cackle at him in his head. What a story he’s going to tell when he gets back.