Chapter Text
The portal fizzled out like a firework, but the finality of it felt like their homeworld had slammed the door after them.
Jason had the cape clutched tight around his narrow shoulders with one hand and the other hand tangled in Dick’s shirt. They both knew Dick had no way to protect him but—if the illusion of safety helped comfort Jason, then Dick wouldn’t take that from him.
The new Batman was staring at them. His eyes were a bit grayer than their Bruce’s, but no less intense. His gaze prickled on Dick’s skin as he stared at the bruise on his cheek, but it was worse when his gaze dipped down to Jason instead.
Please, not again. Not tonight. Dick’s fingers twitched on Jason’s shoulder, pulling his brother tight enough to make him whimper. Out of pain or fear, Dick didn’t know, but he silently loosened his grip.
He just wished Bruce would make a move already so Dick could counter. If he’d just ask for Jason to service him, Dick could remind him that Jason had already been used tonight—this Batman had seen it happening right before he beat Dick’s former Bruce Wayne within an inch of his life—and therefore wouldn’t it be so much more fun to fuck Dick instead? Bruce didn’t like sharing, after all.
If they were very lucky, Bruce would be too tired from the fight to get it up. He was actively bleeding, after all, and already looked like he was staying on his feet through sheer force of will.
Maybe he’ll just die, Dick thought spitefully. His empty stomach twisted, and he glanced up at the door into the manor, finding it closed.
Bruce couldn’t die yet, then.
“Come here,” Bruce sighed heavily and limped towards what was the shower in their old cave.
In this cave, it was apparently several shower stalls, each with their own locker and enclosed changing area instead of one large shower stall. Maybe this Bruce didn’t like fucking in the shower.
No, that was unlikely. He probably just liked the smaller space—their Bruce liked to corner them too.
The fact that there were several stalls, though…Dick shuddered, hoping the allies that used those stalls wouldn’t expect their services too.
Bruce fumbled with the latch on one of the lockers, his blood-slick fingers slipping twice before he got it. Dick tensed, waiting to see what kind of toys Bruce was looking for…
A shirt.
It was just a shirt, one of Bruce’s judging by the size.
Bruce turned and held the simple gray t shirt out to Jason.
Bleeding out, Bruce’s first priority had been to haul ass across the cave and cover Jason’s nakedness with something more than just a cape.
Bruce really was hurt. How much blood had he lost?
Dick’s own pulse picked up. If Bruce died in the cave, they’d be trapped in there forever.
Better to play along and hurt things up. Without considering a trap or what this would cost them later, Dick took the shirt. He barely remembered a thank you before he pulled it down over Jason’s head, then down his body over the cape.
Jason dropped the cape, letting it puddle at his feet, and stuck his arms through the short sleeves. The shirt hung down almost to his knees, leaving Jason more covered than he’d been in a long time.
The bloody fingerprints on the shirt were an ominous warning of what was to come, though. Dick glanced back to Bruce, hoping the shirt was a sign he didn’t want Jason’s body tonight. If he could just—
Bruce was holding out a second shirt. Dick frowned and looked down at himself. He was wearing a tank top and shorts he’d outgrown a year ago, almost modest by the standards he was used to. Bruce must not like the sight of the bruises and hickeys on his arms and thighs.
Dick took the shirt, not daring to disobey the implied order, but he shuddered as he pulled it on over his other clothes. If Bruce wanted neither of them tonight…on the one hand, that meant a night’s respite. On the other hand, it meant that Dick had no leverage, nothing to make Bruce want to be good.
Bruce thought he was the only one who could make someone earn something, but Dick knew he was good, knew how to make Bruce feel amazing, and if Bruce wanted that, he had to give Dick some things. Food, for Jason. Clothes when they weren’t being used. A night off every once in a while.
His Bruce knew that, even if they’d never said it out loud. Dick didn’t have a clue what this new Bruce knew. All he knew was that this Bruce was stronger and bigger than the one Dick had spent the last six years a slave to. This Bruce had given them shirts and wrapped Jason in his cape, but that being disgusted at seeing his whores being used by another man wasn’t kindness.
All Bruce’s features were arranged like he was trying to smile, but his lips were pursed in a dour frown. He nodded, glancing toward the medbay.
“Let’s…” Bruce took a heavy breath, pressing down harder on the wound on his side. “Let’s get you boys patched up.”
Dick could have laughed. They weren’t the ones hurt. Dick had a few bruises, and Jason had a split lip, but that was it. The real problem was the lock on the door that only Bruce could open.
Bruce took exactly one step before his knee buckled. Dick surged forward on instinct to help him, but Bruce caught himself on the wall before he could do more than stumble. His skin was ashen in stark contrast to the blood running down from his temple.
Dick stepped forward. “I—Please let me help you, sir.”
His voice didn’t shake, but it was barely above a whisper. His old Bruce would’ve called it sultry and rewarded it with a kiss.
This Bruce just stared at Dick for a moment before reaching out for Dick’s body. Dick shuddered, bracing his skin to be touched by Bruce, but Bruce braced himself on Dick’s clothed shoulder instead, using Dick as a crutch.
Dick pulled Bruce’s arm over his shoulders and tucked himself against Bruce’s side even though it made his skin crawl. He’d probably get slapped later for impudence, but he needed to get Bruce stitched up fast.
The torture table and the various instrument cases were gone, replaced in this world with four hospital-style beds in some kind of medical area. It was a big step up from one first aid kit.
Dick expected Bruce to climb onto the bed and tell Dick where the supplies were so he could staunch the bleeding. Instead, Bruce let go of Dick and turned back to Jason. Dick’s heart rose in his throat as Bruce swept Jason up like a baby and set him on the bed. His gauntlets left bloody handprints on the sheets as he took a moment to stabilize himself.
Once Bruce caught his balance, he brushed past Dick slowly. Jason looked up at him with wide, questioning eyes, but all Dick could answer back was a silent I don’t know.
Bruce returned a minute later with a washcloth and a bowl of water. Dick watched, dumbfounded, as Bruce soaked the washcloth in the water and dabbed at Jason’s split lip. Jason looked ready to cry; Bruce looked ready to faint.
“I—you’re badly hurt, sir,” Dick interrupted, his voice high and stained.
If Bruce died while they were in the Batcave, it would be their tomb too. The thumbprint scanner only worked if it detected a heartbeat, so they wouldn’t even be able to cut off his hand and bring it up to unlock the door. They’d die, slowly—unless they took one of the easy ways out, slashing their wrists or—or falling. Off the edge of one of the cliffs.
Bruce half-turned his head, confused like he didn’t understand why Jason’s split lip was not as urgent as the giant bleeding wound in his side. Dick hated when Bruce was dumb, because it was so hard to tell Bruce that something was a genuinely bad idea.
“I’m fine,” Bruce said simply. “It’s not that deep.”
Dick couldn’t help but look pointedly at the puddle of blood where Bruce was standing, then back at the trail of blood all over the cave. Maybe his brain had fallen out too somewhere on the cave floor.
Dick steeled his nerve and straightened his spine. He was the older brother, so if someone was going to incur a punishment for saving their lives, it would be him.
“Master, you—” Dick started.
Bruce inhaled sharply like he’d been punched. Dick looked for any new wound, but Bruce just shook his head.
“Don’t—don’t call me that, son,” Bruce said wearily.
Son. Dick’s stomach churned. He’d gotten Bruce to like Master a long time ago, enough that he usually preferred that. Sometimes, though, he would still hold Dick close and make Dick call him Daddy.
Jason whimpered, accidentally drawing the attention back to himself, and Dick got his shit together. This wasn’t the time to get emotional or sentimental.
“Daddy, please let me help you,” Dick said, smiling coyly.
Bruce looked ill. “That—Bruce. Or B. Not—don’t call me that, please.”
Dick nodded, taking it in stride. Different Bruce, different kinks. He could worry about that later. “Can I help you, Bruce? Please? You’re bleeding a lot.”
“I’m fine,” Bruce said, glancing over toward a medical cabinet. He took a step toward it only to stumble immediately, barely catching himself on the foot of the bed.
“I’m fine,” Bruce repeated, slowly pulling himself up. He removed a piece of his armor, revealing shredded flesh, and hissed. He walked past Dick to the next bed and finally at least laid down, but when Dick went to assess the wound, Bruce shook his head.
“Press that red button, would you?” Bruce asked.
There was a red button near the head of the bed. Stomach sinking in apprehension, Dick pressed the button. He braced for alarms and the sound of deadbolts slamming into rock to keep them trapped down there with Bruce’s corpse forever in a final vindictive act of malice, but nothing happened. Dick couldn’t tell what the button did, but Bruce seemed to relax somewhat and let his head fall against the pillow. For a moment, Bruce stared up at the stone ceiling above them, then his gaze shifted, first to Dick, then to Jason.
Bruce’s face was hard to read at the best of times, but if Dick didn’t know better, he’d say Bruce looked sad. Maybe dying just did that to his face. If he died, would it be better to starve or jump off the cliffs in the cave?
Dick thought of pulling his little brother to the edge of one of the cliffs. He’d tell Jason it would be quick, that he wouldn’t be scared, that it wouldn’t hurt. Dick would be lying, maybe. There was no way to know until you landed.
Bruce loved to tell Dick that his mom didn’t die on impact. She got to watch her husband’s brain leak out of his skull before drowning to death in her own blood. Then Bruce would kiss Dick’s tears off his face and tell Dick he didn’t know if she’d seen Bruce snatch Dick off the platform and disappear with him, but Bruce bet that his parents were looking down, watching.
And then Bruce would fuck him while he cried.
Dick wouldn’t kill Jason with falling, he decided. If they were locked in, he would break into the medical cabinets to find pills and combine everything till something killed them, or he’d slash their wrists with a batarang and hold Jason till the lights went out.
Bruce took a deep breath and raised a bloody hand, pointing to a minifridge across from the bed. Dick perked up and immediately went to the fridge, opening the door to find…water bottles. He’d assumed Bruce was showing him where the drugs were kept, but no such luck.
Dick picked up a water bottle and brought it over to Bruce, cracking the seal before holding it out to the man.
Bruce shook his head and didn’t take it. “Get one for you and Jason. There’s some snacks in the basket on the counter too, you should eat.”
Dick glanced at Jason, who looked just as afraid as Dick. Still, that was a clear order. His muscles tensed painfully at how wrong it felt to pass the clean, crisp water into Jason’s hand. Danger, danger, danger! played on repeat in his head as he walked back over to the minifridge, even the small act of opening the door and removing another water bottle seeming fraught with peril.
He could’ve drugged it, Dick thought to himself as he cracked the seal. It wasn’t impossible to drug a seal bottle, but why would he do that? He probably didn’t even know he was going to be getting Dick and Jason.
Dick still took the first sip of water, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment. He didn’t taste any chemicals or strange aftertaste, but that didn’t mean it was safe. Still, he glanced at Jason and gave the barest tilt of his head in an almost imperceptible nod of approval.
Jason wasn’t looking at him, though. His little brother was staring straight at Bruce with a fear in his eyes that Dick understood but wished Jason would tone down. Bruce was going to get mad or aroused, and either way, that would be bad for both of them.
Dick grabbed two bars from the basket and walked back to Jason as quickly as he dared and laid the bars on the bed by Jason’s leg. He hoped food would draw Jason’s attention, but it didn’t.
Worse, for as blatantly as Jason was staring at this new Bruce Wayne, Bruce was trying not to overtly stare back. He’d glance at Jason and Dick then quickly look away, repeated too many times to be anything less than nerve-wracking.
When Jason didn’t pick, Dick unwrapped one of the protein bars and held it to Jason’s lips. Jason turned his head away on instinct, then blinked and bit down on the bar, anxiously nibbling without looking away from Bruce.
“You don’t have to be scared,” Bruce said, making Dick jump at the sudden, soft break of the tense silence. “I won’t hurt you.”
Dick’s skin crawled, god he hated the nice act. Dick learned quickly that the niceness was fake every time. When he was little, Bruce would toy with him, pretending to be sad that he was hurting Dick or pretending he was going to be nice now. Dick would fall for it time and again as Bruce pretended he was so close to learning how to be good.
Dick was stupid for ever believing Bruce. He couldn’t even use his age as an excuse; Jason had never trusted Bruce, not for a second.
Footsteps coming from the main cave made him jump. Dick turned, finding an older man approaching them.
His eyes widened. He hadn’t seen anyone other than Bruce and Jason in—he didn’t even know how long it had been. Years. What did you even say to new people? Hi, please don’t rape me till tomorrow at least?
The man’s eyes widened when he saw Dick and Jason, but his alarm quickly turned to fond amusement.
“My dear boys, what has happened to you?” the man shook his head. “Master Bruce, what has happened to turn Master Jason and Master Dick to children again?”
“Alfred. There was an…” Bruce grunted, sitting up. “An incident with an alternate universe.”
The man’s smile faltered back to surprise. He looked back on Dick and Jason as though seeing them for the first time. Dick supposed he knew the other versions of Dick and Jason from this world. Were they really older? Old enough to call them children again?
Bruce twitched, and Alfred’s gaze turned back to him.
“Master Bruce, have you been stabbed?” Alfred walked over to Bruce and forced him to lie down.
He made quick work of the armor, belt, and the shirt of the suit to reveal the wound. The big stab wound looked bad enough, but Bruce had plenty of other injuries too.
“You’re lucky you didn’t hit anything vital. Are either of you injured, my boys?” Alfred glanced over to Dick and Jason.
Dick shook his head, because neither of them was injured badly enough to warrant pulling the attention off Bruce while the doors…were…
Wait. If Alfred he been able to come downstairs, he must have unlocked the door. It had definitely been closed before.
Then it wouldn’t matter if Bruce died, Dick thought silently.
Dick tried not to let the traitorous thought show on his face. Instead, he made himself useful before he was asked, grabbing the bits of discarded uniform off the ground to get it out of Alfred’s way.
The shirt was ruined, as was a good part of the armor, but Dick wasn’t brave enough to throw anything away. Instead, he piled it all on the counter, first the shirt and armor, then the belt.
Dick paused. A quick glance back showed Bruce had his eyes shut while Alfred stitched up his wounds. Even Jason’s eyes were firmly locked on their captors.
No one noticed as Dick slipped a batarang from one of the pockets on the belt. He lifted the hem of the shirt to tuck it in the pocket of his shorts. When he let the shirt fall free again, he was pleased to find the oversized shirt was loose enough the outline of the knife couldn’t be seen.
Dick turned back around and walked over to Jason, his heart hammering in his chest loud enough he expected someone to call him on it, but no one did.
Once Alfred finished the stitches, Bruce laid a hand on his.
While Alfred stitched up Dick, Bruce was clearly trying not to look straight at Dick and Jason. Once Alfred was done, Bruce laid a hand on his.
“I’ve got the rest. Take the boys upstairs, get them settled. They’ve had a long day,” Bruce said.
Alfred hesitated, but he nodded. “Of course. Boys, if you’ll follow me.”
Dick helped Jason down and held his hand as they shuffled a respectful distance after Alfred. The stolen batarang hung like a lead weight in his pocket.
As soon as Bruce counted up his knives, he’d know Dick had taken one, and then there would be hell to pay. What was he even going to do with a blade? He was just asking for trouble, but there was no way to put it back now without getting caught.
He was stuck with the knife, just like he was stuck with this new Bruce.
And now, apparently, he was stuck with Alfred.
Only time would tell what the consequences would be.