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The guy looked between them, incredulously. “This is my fucking house, dipshit.”
Dick’s jaw fell open. “Bruce?”
He was younger than Dick had ever seen him in person. Doing the math in his head, the Bruce before him would have been about nineteen. His hair was long and greasy, almost brushing his shoulders. Choppy bangs laid across his forehead and kept falling into his eyes. He was so pale. Even for Bruce. His cheeks were sunken in and the bags under his eyes were so dark they could have been bruises.
“No way,” Jason gibed. “This skinny rat is Bruce?”
Bruce scowled. “Who’re y'calling a rat, ya' fuckin' jagoff?”
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
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Jason and Dick find themselves eleven years in the past. They thought their night could not get any worse. Until they make contact with a Bruce that seems to be in an even worse position than them.
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