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Chapter Text

Thomas wasn't quite sure how he had survived the destruction of his entire timeline.

One moment, he was closing his eyes and accepting his fate as the explosion that was supposed to be his death surged towards him. He had seen Barry and his son, his alive and strong and wonderful son , escape back to their world. There was nothing left for Thomas here.

Between one second next, however, Thomas found himself lying on wet concrete in a dirty alley, still in his full Batman gear.

For a moment, Thomas believed that this was hell, taking the form of the alley where his son, his everything, was taken from him.

As the seconds grew longer, Thomas pulled himself to his feet and looked out at Gotham's skyline, trying to get a sense of where he was.

What he saw... wasn't Gotham. Or, the thought struck with unwelcome hope, this wasn't his Gotham.

Had he ended up in his son's world? How?

He would have credited it to some sort of higher power, but he gave up any hope for a merciful god long ago, in that godforsaken alley. If there were a merciful god in the world, Bruce would have lived that night.

However, perhaps there was a gracious deity overseeing this world, seeing as how Bruce lived to grow into a wonderful man in this reality. Thomas couldn't be prouder.

And, even better, Bruce told him (during his time in Thomas's world) that he had children! Thomas has grandchildren in this world!

Once more, glee bubbled up inside of him before Thomas could stamp it back down.

If this truly was his son's world, then Thomas could have everything he had ever dreamed of since Bruce's death.

He could hug his son. He could have tea with Alfred. He could play with his grandchildren. He could hang up the cowl. Thomas could finally live.

After years of being the Bat, years of bloodshed and killing the scum of Gotham in his quest for brutal vengeance, Thomas could know peace.

The very thought filled Thomas with a warmth he hadn't felt in what might have been an eternity.

But first, Thomas had to know more about this Gotham. Gotham was never a safe place, not in any world, and Thomas needed to collect as much information as possible on this Gotham.

It astounded Thomas just how advanced the technology had gotten in this world. Computers, back on his war-torn world, were a luxury only reserved for the military.

On this world, everyone carried around tiny computers that fit in their hands!

All Thomas had to do to access scores of databases was change out of his Batsuit and walk into a library!

Thomas was severely overdue for a crash course in this technology. Maybe one of his grandkids -grandkids! He has grandkids!- could teach him. The youth on his world were always obsessed with whatever new scraps of tech the military gave the public.

The old Bat wasted no time pulling up as much information of Bruce Wayne's life as he could.

Thomas's heart almost burst with joy when he saw that these computers could easily pull up images.

There was a picture of his family! Bruce and all his children together! Thomas's eyes watered at the sight of the beautiful life Bruce had built. Even Alfred was there, alive and well in this world!

The next focus of Thomas's search was on the Batman. Thomas was not disappointed by what he found.

While this Gotham was still dangerous, Thomas's son had protected it marvelously from its many strange threats.

However, unlike Thomas, Bruce did not operate as the Bat alone.

For nearly every article about Batman, there was an article about Robin, or Nightwing, or Red Robin, or Spoiler, or Batgirl, or Red Hood, or Black Bat, or Signal, or another dozen vigilantes, who all worked at Bruce's side.

Thomas's smile grew even fonder. Bruce had not isolated himself in his search for justice. It was everything Thomas could have hoped for if he ever had imagined Bruce as the Bat. He never wanted Bruce to have to bear the weight of the cowl alone.

So, Thomas started researching the other vigilantes, some of whom he was quite certain were his grandchildren.

Thomas searched the headlines of the articles with a proud smile until one caught his eye that sent ice through his veins.

According to the headline, the second Robin, most likely his second grandchild, had... died?

Grief on Bruce's behalf started pouring over Thomas. Everything Thomas had felt when Bruce died, Bruce had felt it too, hadn't he?

Bruce also knew what it felt like to lose a son.

Thomas had lost a grandson before he even got the chance to meet him.

Had Bruce found closure? After Bruce's death, Thomas was able to deliver justice to Joe Chill with his own fists, but has Bruce been able to bring his son's killer to justice?

Thomas started looking into it. The answer wasn't hard to find, but it was hard to process.

The Joker (thank god it wasn't Martha in this world) had immediately taken credit for the murder of Robin. Thomas's grandson.

And... the Joker was still alive. In Arkham. Where he could break out any time. Where he breaks out frequently.

And he was still a threat to Thomas's family.

Thomas understood Bruce's commitment to not taking any lives, but this man had taken Bruce's son from him. How was the Joker still alive?

For whatever reason, Bruce refused to kill this Joker, even after his son's murder. This Joker could still hurt Bruce's family, Thomas's family, at any moment. He already had.

Turning off the computer, Thomas's mind is already made up.

As much as he wants to meet his family, he has to take care of a few things first.

The Joker could not be allowed to live. Thomas would see to that.

Chapter Text

Seeing how easily the variety of lunatics in Arkham Asylum broke out, Thomas shouldn't be surprised at how laughably easy it was to break into the Asylum.

Well, it's not like Arkham was ever designed to keep people out, certainly not when it did such a bang-up job keeping people in.

After grabbing his weapons, all Thomas had to do was jump over a fence, steal a security guard's uniform from the storage room, and swipe an overworked and tired employee's security card off their person.

At least Arkham's horribly lacking security measures worked in Thomas's favor today.

Half an hour into his impromptu murder plan, and Thomas already has nothing standing in the way between him and relieving Bruce of all the indescribable hate Thomas himself felt towards Joe Chill.

Thomas didn't even have to look at a map to see where the Joker's cell was located.

He could already hear the laughing down the hall. Thomas decided that he hated that sound already. He couldn't wait to be the one to make that sound stop. Forever.

Is that damned laugh the last thing his grandson ever heard?

The thought both saddens Thomas to an impossible degree and fills him with fury more righteous than he has felt in a long, long time.

Thomas knows, distantly, that his footsteps are thundering in the hallway towards the Joker's cell, but he can't find in himself the capacity to care about stealth in that moment.

Not when the possibility to spilling the Joker's blood and making it hurt was so close.

It's only Thomas's years spent as a surgeon that keep his hands steady as he swipes his stolen security card to unlock the door to Joker's cell.

As the door swings open, Thomas only catches a glimpse of Joker's twisted grin before his fist is suddenly connecting with that pale, rotten smile.

If Thomas does his job right, the Joker's corpse would not be smiling. Anything less is a failure to Thomas's grandson.

Thomas's mind keeps conjuring the image of that alley, with Joe Chill under his fists and that monster's blood coating the ground below.

By the time Thomas comes back to his current situation, the Joker's shackled and bruised form is thrown to the ground before him. He's got at least a few broken limbs and ribs. And the clown is still smiling damn it.

Not a bad warm up for Thomas. However, beating the Joker will not cause enough agony to suffice for his actions.

For all he tries to distance himself from his past, Thomas's medical background often comes in handy if he finds a particularly tough suspect who he needs information from. Or, more importantly, if Thomas just wants to make the man in front of him suffer.

Thomas always keeps a few extra scalpels with his weapons, just in case.

That foresight has never paid off in such a satisfying way before.

Peeling the monster's bleached flesh from his bone and messily removing a few of his organs felt almost therapeutic to Thomas. All of the pain the Joker felt will be pain taken away from Bruce's conscience.

Thomas will avenge his grandson and give out the appropriate pain so Bruce will never have to.

Thomas is momentarily pulled from his thoughts by a gurgling sound that wasn't the laughter which filled the room since even before Thomas arrived. Thomas glanced down at the body still pinned beneath him.

It seemed that Thomas cut too deeply into the clown's throat.

Thomas sighed. While the stopping the laughter was nice, it also limited Thomas's time left to torture his well-deserving prisoner. He only had about a minute left before the Joker choked on his own blood.

Sighing and standing up, Thomas pulled out a gun he seldom used. The same gun Joe Chill used to murder Thomas's son.

While the poetic justice was enough reason for Thomas to finish the Joker off with this particular weapon, Thomas also hoped, by using this gun in particular, to send a message to Bruce.

Here, son, he hoped his bullet would say, Here is what I will do for my family.

BANG!

Sure enough, the face on Joker's mangled corpse held not its usual psychotic smile, but an expression twisted in agony, frozen forever by death.

Thomas exhaled deeply, satisfied with his work.

When he walked out of Arkham Asylum, the day seemed a little bit sunnier than before. Not much by Gotham's standards, but still noticeable.

Thomas chose to believe that it was his grandson's angel smiling at him from heaven.

Thomas looked to the sky and peacefully smiled back.

Chapter Text

There are very few things in the world that can truly shock Bruce. Bruce himself takes pride in this.

However, hearing news of the Joker's sudden death through a tapped police radio?

That would be dumbfounding to anyone, not just the Batman.

Since Bruce was patrolling on his own tonight (Tim and Jason were teaming up on a weapons trafficking case and Damian was in Bludhaven, patrolling with Dick, he was so proud of how far his all his little Robins had come), Bruce didn't have to worry about lying to anyone else about what had just happened in Arkham before rushing off in the direction of the asylum.

Bruce wanted to investigate the Joker's death first, before anyone else from his family could hear the news and celebrate the monster's death too quickly.

Thank god Jason hasn't heard the news yet.

Time and too much experience taught Bruce to never assume anything, not even death, with the Joker.

When Bruce arrived, Arkham was as silent as it could be, even with the wailing of police sirens. It was as if a cloud of shock had settled over the asylum, muffling all of the noise.

After wreaking so much havoc, causing so much pain and death, most people had begun to believe that the Joker's madness would never be halted, not even by death.

And yet, the evidence for that supposed impossibility was lying right below Bruce on the blood soaked floor of the Joker's cell.

The Joker's corpse was fresh, probably not even an hour old. For all the horrific injuries on his body, the wound that finally killed the damn clown was a clean gunshot wound right between his eyes.

Security cameras had caught a large, masculine figure entering the Joker's cell and leaving only ten minutes before the body was discovered. However, the figure used the camera's angles and blind spots to keep his face out of view.

With little to no identifying information for the Joker's murderer to work off of, Bruce turned to a reliable piece of evidence left behind at every crime scene involving a gun.

As desperately those gun toting cowards tried to cover their tracks, the bullets they left behind served as damning evidence.

Bruce lifted the Joker's mangled head to see if the bullet was lying on the ground underneath him. The bullet glinted mockingly at Bruce from the pool of Joker's drying blood, and Bruce's blood felt like ice in his veins.

Gasping deeply, Bruce let go of the Joker's head and let it fall back to the floor with a dull thunk.

Bruce would know that type of bullet anywhere. It could only be fired from one type of gun, the same type of gun as the one that Bruce kept locked deep in his office and only looked at when he reached his lowest points.

It was the same type of bullet that killed his parents, fired from the same type of gun used by Joe Chill that night.

The Joker surely had many enemies, both villains and wronged civilians alike, who would want to be the one to finally kill the clown.

But this bullet gleaming menacingly from the pool of blood told a different story.

The bullet told Bruce that this was not about the Joker, not really.

This was about Bruce.

The morning after Thomas's visit to Arkham, the sun was peeking out from behind the smog that always covered Gotham's skies.

By Gotham's standards, it was a beautiful morning. Even the birds were singing outside.

Thomas found that he liked the peaceful weather for a change. He might as well go out into this Gotham to enjoy the pleasant weather while it lasts.

And he knew exactly the place he wanted to visit.

With how readily available information was in this world, it took Thomas only a matter of minutes to locate his grandson's grave.

Here lies Jason Todd.

Thomas found that those innocuous words didn't do justice to the wonderful boy they were supposed to memorialize.

He hoped that wherever his grandson was, he was at peace knowing that the monster who took him from the world would never hurt anyone ever again.

Thomas placed the flowers he brought on the grave and stood up again. There wasn't much else he could do for his grandson now.

Thomas hoped, with all of his shattered heart, that his grandson would have liked having Thomas as his grandfather.

Turning back around to the exit, Thomas's eyes met the piercingly green eyes of a man standing a few meters ahead of him him. Thomas must have really been in his own head if he hadn't heard someone come up behind him.

The tall man in front of Thomas cleared his throat.

"So, did ya know the kid?" The stranger asked.

"No," Thomas answered with a voice rough with unresolved emotion, "I just thought he deserved better."

"Yeah, me too."

Thomas held the other man's gaze for a moment, and Thomas found something unreadable in the man's eyes. Something that wasn't quite pain or even grief. Thomas couldn't name it.

The man finally broke the silence between them.

"Did ya hear? The fucker that killed the poor kid finally got what he had coming."

Thomas merely hummed in response. It seemed like this stranger also held Thomas's opinion on the Joker.

Suddenly, another wave of grief for a child he never met rose inside of Thomas. The man, the tombstone, the entire damn graveyard, it was now too much for Thomas.

Without another word, Thomas walked past the man with vividly green eyes and out of the cemetery.

Now the departed member of his family was taken care of, it was time to attend to the family he still had left.

Chapter Text

Thomas doesn't want to think about what he's doing as stalking. Stalking is such a disturbing word with a malicious implication.

Thomas is merely looking out for his family. Without their knowledge. Thomas would like to think there is a big difference between caring for his family and stalking.

He's gained many insights into his family's lives thanks to his observations. And there's one family member in particular he's worried about.

Bruce, Alfred, and all of his grandchildren are wonderful people, both in and out of their masks. (Thomas has, for the most part, figured out who wears which mask. He just can't pin down who Red Hood is. Maybe he's a family friend they don't see in civvies often?) Plus, Gotham was having a fairly quiet week, so Thomas didn't have to worry about a psychotic villain coming up with an elaborate plan to kill one of his grandkids.

(Gotham was, in actuality, quiet because most of the rogues that weren't in Arkham went underground. After all, whatever power that was strong enough to finally kill the Joker, the worst of them, was evading Batman and still on the loose. If it could off the Joker, any one of them could be up next.)

However, after many days of watching over his family, the doctor that remained in Thomas was... concerned about the health of one of his grandchildren. More so than the others.

Surely his third grandson could stand to get more sleep? Red Robin was swaying on his feet enough as it is.

Thomas sighed to himself as he watched Red Robin (Tim. From Thomas's observations, his real name was Tim.) chug his third energy drink of the night in the middle of patrol. Someone had to have an intervention with this poor child!

Unfortunately, Thomas himself couldn't be the one to do it. Not yet, anyway. He couldn't just insert himself into his family's lives suddenly like that.

He needed to introduce himself to them gradually, so that their family dynamics, as confusing as Thomas already found them, weren't too rattled by Thomas's arrival.

The last things Thomas wanted to do was tear his family apart with his arrival.

For now, Thomas will settle for watching (DEFINITELY not stalking) his third grandson while Red Robin battles with a villain who interrupted his patrol that looks like an overgrown alligator.

Red Robin looked like he had this fight under control, but he was still taking a few hits and got dunked in what looked like sewer water a few times. Between the injuries and the sleep deprivation, Thomas was getting slightly more than concerned.

Thomas let a breath he didn't know he was holding as Red Robin finally got close enough to the crocodile villain to release a can of knock out gas and the rogue fell unconscious.

Pride in his grandchild welled up in Thomas's chest. His son raised such quick-thinking children!

Thomas continued to watch as Red Robin put restraints on the crocodile rogue and called in the police to pick the villain up. Surely the kid would head back to the manor after that?

Thomas soon found his thinking to be overly wishful as Red Robin took off to continue his patrol.

Luckily for Thomas's blood pressure, the rest of the night was relatively quiet. Red Robin only had to stop a few small-time muggings.

All was well until around 2 am, when Red Robin staggered while walking across a rooftop and collapsed.

Thomas's heart thudded louder in his chest with each second that his grandson didn't stand back up. Barely five seconds had passed before Thomas gave up his pretense of non-interference.

His grandson needed his help, damn it. There wasn't anything in the world that could keep Thomas from rushing across the three rooftops separating them and dropping to his knees at his grandson's side, hastily checking him over for injuries.

Thomas found some shallow cuts that might need stitches, but nothing (besides the sleep deprivation, but those damned energy drinks should have kept him awake) that could have caused his grandson to collapse like this.

Thomas quickly undid the security measures around the cowl (Thomas had seen Bruce remove his cowl during his visit to Thomas's timeline, and the security measures on Red Robin's cowl were much the same).

The first thing Thomas noticed was how flushed Tim was. The second thing was how concerningly high Tim's temperature was.

Shit, did the kid get infected with something when that crocodile villain threw him into sewage water?! With how awful Gotham's sanitation was, the kid was probably infected with god knows what horrible bacteria!

Thomas gelt himself slipping more and more into panic and forced himself to take deeper breathes to calm down. Thomas was a doctor. He knew how to treat infections. All he needed were the right tools.

But first, he needed to get the kid somewhere safe. While it wasn't ideal, Thomas's safehouse, where he's been hiding out for the past few days when he wasn't watching over his family, would have to suffice.

Sticking to the shadows, Thomas dragged his grandson's inert form to his thankfully close by safehouse, stopping every three minutes to check the kid's temperature again. His fever was increasing at a worrying rate.

As soon as Thomas had shut the door to the safehouse, he rushed Tim to the cot that served as Thomas's bed since he arrived in this world.

Thomas took off Tim's armor as gently as he could to avoid aggravating his injuries. Thomas needed to get a picture of what he was dealing with.

Looking at Tim's torso, it seemed like the scratches from the villain's claws weren't the source of the infection, adding more credence to Thomas's theory that it was the sewage.

Thomas pressed gauze to the scratches, but it looked like Tim had no other pressing injuries. Even the scratches would likely not join Tim's myriad of scars.

And there were so many scars. Thomas's heart ached for his small grandson.

Thomas took stock of some of the worst scars, but paused at a large, puckered scar on the side of Tim's abdomen.

Thomas knew what a scar left behind from a deep cut from a sword looked like. He had a few himself.

And that definitely looked like one on Tim's side. Right above where his spleen is located.

Wait, with a scar like that, the injury would be fairly deep...

With rushed hands, Thomas pressed against the scar, hoping to feel the slight resistance of the spleen resting underneath. Just to be sure.

Except Thomas didn't feel any resistance underneath the scar. He pressed again, slightly harder. Still nothing. Thomas's faced paled.

This small child, Thomas's wonderful grandson, didn't have a fucking spleen. His body doesn't have an essential organ to fight off infections.

And he was suffering from an unknown infection.

In the back of Thomas's mind, a part of himself that was still a surgeon screamed in terror.

The rest of Thomas wondered where he could steal some high-powered emergency antibiotics. And fast.

His grandson was, unknowingly, counting on him.

Chapter Text

Thomas made his trip back out into the city as quick as possible. He didn't want his grandson's condition worsening while he was away.

Luckily, there was a closed pharmacy a little over two blocks away. A little breaking and entering later, and Thomas had all of the antibiotics he needed in hand and was rushing back to his safehouse.

By the time Thomas returned, half an hour had passed, but Tim's fever had thankfully not gotten any worse.

Thomas ground up one of the antibiotic pills and poured it into Tim's mouth, followed by some water. Now, there wasn't much else Thomas could do besides monitor the kid's vitals and plan his next moves.

Of course, the medication was a stopgap measure. It may help Tim with his current infection, but Tim needed a functional spleen. He wouldn't survive much longer in Gotham without one!

And Thomas has an idea as to where he could find one.

If the Joker was still alive when Thomas got here, then whoever stabbed his grandson deep enough to ruin his spleen must also still be around.

And most likely still had an intact spleen.

Thomas slept on the floor that night as his grandson rested on the cot. He needed it more.

Tim's fever still had not broken by sunrise. Thomas was giving him antibiotics as frequently as was safe, but all Thomas could do was wait.

However, by about noon, the kid started to seem more cognizant, muttering in his sleep.

Thomas heart clenched when the kid's eyes finally fluttered open. Given that his fever was still high, he's probably not in his right mind, but Thomas was still excited to finally meet one of his grandkids regardless.

Tim's eyes opened slightly as he groaned in pain. Thomas quickly made his way over with water for the kid.

Thomas helped Tim sit up and take a few sips of cold water. That would help with his throat at least.

After swallowing the fifth sip of water, Tim's eyes finally focused on Thomas's face. The smile growing on Thomas's face was unstoppable.

After peering at Thomas's face for a few seconds, Tim his grandson! finally spoke with a raspy voice to Thomas.

"Bruce? Did you dye your hair for a case again?"

Thomas's heart stuttered for a moment at the implication that he and his son looked so similar. If it was possible, Thomas's smile grew even fonder.

Plus, Thomas could capitalize on this. Tim would be much less likely to resist treatment if he thought it was Bruce taking care of him, not someone he didn't know. Thomas made his voice as soft as possible (it was something he was out of practice in) as he replied.

"Yes, Tim. Go back to sleep. You'll feel better soon."

Tim's eyes fluttered as his body's exhaustion at fighting off an infection without the help of a spleen caught back up to him.

"Okay. Could you ask Alfred to make some coffee for me when I wake up?"

Thomas chuckled fondly.

"Whatever you need, Tim. I do have a question though."

Tim blinked slowly as the question registered in his mind.

"Hmm?"

Thomas tried to keep all of his panic out of his voice as he posed his question.

"What happened to your spleen?"

Tim's eyebrows furrowed in a way that Thomas found adorable as he thought about the question.

"Ra's al Ghul and his assassins took it. While I was looking for you."

Thomas stored that information for later. He could think of plans to dismantle an assassin organization when Tim was getting better.

Thomas smiled gently at his grandson, his face betraying none of his fury at this Ra's al Ghul.

"Thank you, Tim. You did very well. Go back to sleep."

Tim gave Thomas a small, hesitant smile back. Thomas loved that smile already.

Tim laid back down and once more drifted off into his feverish sleep. Thomas gently swept his hands through the kid's hair, hoping that it would calm him further.

As he tucked Tim back into bed, Thomas started making plans. He knew that there was a League of Assassins headed by Ra's al Ghul in his timeline, but Thomas had never met the Demon's Head.

Thomas did know that Ra's stayed in the fortified city of Nanda Parbat in the desert, which Thomas could not infiltrate by himself. He could not feasibly go after the Demon's Head, not with his current lack of supplies and backup.

However, there were League assassins in Gotham fairly frequently.

Since time was of the essence for saving his grandson's immune system, it looked like Thomas had to settle for option B. His punishment for Ra's would have to wait for another day.

Meanwhile, in the Batcave

"You're certain this is the same guy, Oracle?"

"Positive, Nightwing. He has the same build and clothes as the man caught on camera at Arkham last week."

Dick took a deep, steadying breath. He had hoped, naively, that the Joker's murder would be a one-off thing. That a civilian or thug with a score to settle had found a way to finally rid the world of that damned clown.

Personally, Dick had no problem with that. The Joker took his Little Wing from him and tried to kill so many of Dick's loved ones.

Dick himself was fully prepared to be the one to kill the Joker when the clown had tricked him into thinking he had killed Tim as well.

The feeling of beating the Joker's life out of him with his bare fists had been... disturbingly pleasant. Gratifying, even.

Dick still, secretly, wished that Bruce had been too late in resuscitating the Joker. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble if he was.

But now, that monster was dead! And even better, it was someone outside of the family who did it! There would be no familial strife as ideologies clashed, no hidden guilt over actions.

They had finally washed their hands of the clown, and they didn't even have to do anything.

Dick had hoped that whoever did it was one-and-done. Dick was considering sending them a huge gift basket when he found them.

But now, the same person who killed the Joker just took Tim for unknown reasons.

Dick longed to rush into the condemned building that the tracker in Tim's suit led to, but there were too many unknown variables.

They didn't know what this new figure wanted.

Judging by the fear on Bruce's paling face, they both came to the same conclusion.

This person could not want Tim for anything good.

Chapter Text

It was, in Thomas's opinion, disturbingly too easy to find assassins from the league in Gotham.

Especially near Tim's penthouse. He'd dwell on that later as he was planning the downfall of Ra's al Ghul.

In the meantime, he would settle for the assassins who Ra's most likely sent to spy on Thomas's grandson.

By doing Ra's's dirty work, they've more than earned the pain that Thomas has planned for them.

The assassins were well trained, but not trained well enough to pose a true threat to Thomas. Or maybe they just weren't expecting someone wearing the Bat symbol to use near-lethal force.

Either way, Thomas had found and incapacitated three assassins by the end of the night.

He only needed at least one of them alive, but having three would increase the odds that at least one of them had a compatible blood type to his grandson.

After knocking out the last assassin for the night, Thomas started to rush back to his safehouse. He had already spent far too much time away from his ill grandson, between stealing blood typing equipment and surgical tools and kidnapping these assassins.

When he arrived back at his spartan safehouse, he dumped the knocked out assassins unceremoniously on the floor.

Thomas would kill them in a few hours anyway. There was no need for Thomas to concern himself with bedside manner for them now.

After he mixed samples of the assassins' blood with Tim's to see which one had blood that wouldn't congeal with Tim's, Thomas sat down by Tim's cot.

The blood typing would take a few minutes, giving Thomas plenty of time to give Tim his next round of antibiotics and prep him for surgery. Thomas had stolen plenty of painkillers for his grandson to not feel a thing during the surgery. Causing Tim any pain would go against everything Thomas was working to do.

The same courtesy would not be extended to assassins on the floor.

After injecting Tim as gently as possible with the painkiller, Thomas spent a few minutes hugging his grandson, more for his own peace of mind than Tim's wellbeing.

Everything would be alright. Tim would be alright after this. Thomas would make it so.

Reassuring himself that a happy ending was close in sight was much easier with his grandson in his arms.

But before he could have that happy ending, Thomas had a surgery to perform.

Tim had to be alive for Thomas's happy ending, and he wouldn't be there if he didn't have a working immune system during his vigilante work.

Taking a deep fortifying breath, Thomas released Tim from his hug and set him back down on the cot.

What was about to happen had to be done.

Bruce had a sinking feeling in his chest. With each passing second, it got heavier and heavier.

It was the same feeling he had when he was sprinting towards a warehouse in Ethiopia he knew his son was in.

It was the inescapable dread that he was about to lose a son.

It had taken them a few hours to notice that Tim was missing. In that valuable time, had the man who took his son already killed him?

Has Tim already died, believing that Bruce would save him? Has Bruce failed another son without even noticing in time to save him?

Bruce shut down that train of thought. If Tim was still alive, those sorts of thoughts would not help him. Bruce, for Tim's sake, needed to stay focused on this mission.

He and Dick had been scoping out the building that Tim's tracker led to. It was a condemned apartment building in the Narrows, and no one had come in or out in the past hour that they'd been watching it.

Jason, Cass, and Damian were on the ground, searching for an entry point that would give them the maximum amount of stealth.

If Tim's kidnapper caught wind of them, he would most likely kill Tim and flee. That could not be allowed to happen.

Jason's voice, uncharacteristically somber, came over the comms. They had found an open window on the second floor next to a fire escape for access.

Bruce watched as each of his children climbed through the window. Bruce took a moment to steady himself for whatever he may find, and climbed through behind them.

Silently, they fanned out to different floors, searching for Tim.

Bruce searched the first floor, alone with his own thoughts of having to bury another son, until Dick's horrified gasp came over the comms.

Images of the worst possible scenarios flashed through Bruce's head before he could seize control over his own thoughts.

Falling back on instinct in the face of the overwhelming terror that his son was dead, Bruce started to harshly bark out orders.

"Nightwing, report! What did you find?!"

Bruce could hear Dick's shuddering breaths as he tried to find the words.

"Batman... he's alive, but there are other bodies and... and so much blood."

By the end of his report, Dick's voice was barely a whisper. Bruce's heart hadn't stopped hammering, first with the relief that Tim was still alive and then with the familiar terror that Tim would die in his arms from whatever injuries caused so much blood.

Bruce could barely hear the shouts of his other children on the comms over the pounding of his boots on the floor as he sprinted as fast as his feet would carry him to Dick's location.

However fast his feet were running, his mind was running faster with statistics of mortality rates from blood loss.

When Bruce finally reached the room where Dick's gave his report from, the first thing that hit him was the overwhelming stench of blood.

Blood formed puddles on the floor, blood was splattered on the walls, blood covered the three dead bodies wearing League of Assassins uniforms, and blood stained the threadbare cot that Tim was lying on.

It seemed that there was a merciful god answering Bruce's prayers after all, because the only thing in the room that wasn't covered in blood was Tim's unconscious body.

Bruce's knees gave out as he saw his son breathing and uninjured with his own eyes.

Dick was already at Tim's side, methodically checking Tim for injuries. The only one he found was a stitched up cut on Tim's abdomen.

Bruce picked himself up off the floor and grabbed Tim from Dick, pulling his son into the tightest hug he could give without aggravating any of Tim's possible injuries.

His son was alive. All the blood, bodies, and mysterious stitches could wait.

His son was coming home alive. That was all Bruce could ask for.

Chapter Text

Bruce held Tim in his arms for the entire ride back to the manor in the Batmobile. If he could hold his son in his arms, he could reassure himself that he wasn't too late this time.

Tim was here, in Bruce's arms, where Bruce could keep him safe.

Stepping out of the Batmobile, Bruce rushed Tim over to the medbay. They still didn't know what Tim's kidnapper did to him and his son might still be dying from the inside out.

Luckily, Alfred had already prepared all of the medical equipment they would need to see what that madman had done to Tim.

Bruce murmured every reassurance he could think of to Tim's unconscious form as he gently set him down on a bed in the medbay. They would figure this out. They had to.

Alfred worked busily around Bruce, attaching IVs to Tim and setting up monitors for his vitals. However, Bruce could barely notice any of it with his sole focus fixed on the rise and fall of Tim's breathing.

Bruce was only shocked out of his fixation when Alfred walked back into the room wait, when did he leave? and cleared his throat.

"Master Bruce, the others have informed me that they've finished their investigation of the crime scene. They're returning now."

Bruce registered Alfred's words with a shallow nod. Yes, his children would be home soon. He wanted to hold all of them close (both figuratively and literally) while he watched over Tim.

Bruce's focused returned to Tim. He glanced up briefly to take note of Tim's heart rate and oxygen levels. Everything seemed fine, but what if Tim got worse? What if he was given a slow acting poison? What if...

Bruce's thoughts were cut off by the roar of a nearby motorcycle. Good, the rest of his children were back. He would feel better when he saw all of them, together and unharmed.

Bruce dragged himself away from Tim's side and out into the main hub of the cave, where the kids were all gathered and shouting on top of one another.

"Organs.."
"Assassin's body..."
"Transferred..."

Their shouts paused for a moment when they saw him, before coming back in full force.

Their volume rose steadily, and Bruce couldn't make heads or tails of what they were saying and they didn't have time for this, they needed to help Tim.

"ENOUGH!"

Bruce's shout echoed throughout the cave, and it finally got his children to quiet down.

"Now, one of you, tell me what you found."

Dick shuddered slightly, and spoke up.

"When we checked over the assassins' bodies, we found that one of them had an open surgical wound. One of their organs, probably the spleen, was removed from the wound, right before they were killed."

Bruce could feel his face paling with horror at Dick's words. He could see Tim's freshly stitched up wound in his mind and immediately felt ill.

Had the kidnapper taken one of his son's organs?!

Bruce took off towards the medbay in a sprint, with his children close behind. He needed to know if such an awful thing had happened to Tim, his tiny and genius little Robin.

When he reached Tim's bed, he yanked Tim's shirt up to reveal the stitched up and surgically precise cut.

Oh god, please don't let this be true.

"Dick! Grab the MRI machine! Jason! Help me move Tim!"

Bruce needed to see what had been done to his son's body, no matter how much he just wants to grab Tim and drag him upstairs and never let him out of Bruce's sight.

After a few tense minutes of prepping the MRI machine, Bruce now had to wait even longer for the MRI to be completed. No one said a word. The only sound was the hum of the MRI and the chirping of bats overhead.

Finally, after another half hour, the MRI was finished. With shaking hands, Bruce pulled up the results on the Batcomputer.

Bruce looked up at the results and blinked. He rubbed his eyes and looked back up at the MRI results.

Bruce released a shacking breath that he had been holding for nearly the entire night.

Nothing was missing! The MRI looked normal!

Behind him, he could hear a similar wave of pure relief washing over his kids as well.

Tim would be fine!

With Tim's safety and wellbeing assured, many of his children started to get changed out of their uniforms and calling it a night.

Bruce was tempted to follow in their lead, but he still needed to be there for Tim when he woke up.

Bruce changed out of his Batman gear and into a comfortable tee shirt and sweatpants before returning to Tim's bedside, full of relief.

The tight knot that was wound in his chest fell apart now that Tim was safe in the cave, healthy and resting.

Bruce took ahold of Tim's hand and drifted off to sleep.

Bruce woke up to the twitching of the hand he was holding.

His eyes opened slowly at first, not quite remembering where he was or who he was with.

The answer hit him in an instant of clarity.

Tim. Tim is safe and whole. Tim is awake.

"Br'ce?"

A voice shacking with exhaustion and confusion asked from below Bruce.

Bruce smiled down at Tim, who seemed to still be groggy.

"Hi Tim. How are you feeling?"

"Hmm. Tired."

"That's okay, Tim. I'm just glad you're not in any pain."

Tim looked slightly more awake now, and was looking around the room, confused.

"Why am I in the medbay?"

Bruce paused, unsure of how to approach this. How much of his captivity did Tim remember?

"Tim, you were kidnapped by someone we think is an organ trafficker earlier tonight. Luckily, your MRI shows nothing out of the usual. We were afraid that they had taken your spleen for a little while."

Tim's lips upturned in a groggy and wry smile.

"No, they couldn't have taken my spleen anyway. I haven't had one in over a year."

Bruce's breath froze in his chest. But, the MRI clearly showed Tim having a spleen...

One of the assassins was missing a spleen. Tim had a surgical cut right above where his spleen should be. Tim didn't have a spleen before tonight (oh god how had he missed the fact that his own son didn't have a spleen?).

There were many times when Bruce was thankful for his detective skills and his ability to put facts together. Now, though?

The conclusion that his detective abilities just brought him to physically made him nauseous.

Whoever took Tim cut him open and put a new spleen in him.

Bruce forced himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't cause Tim to panic right now. Tim needed to be recovering, and they would need a lot more supplies than he thought to help Tim recover.

Bruce still needed to know one thing though.

"Tim... do you remember who took you? What did they look like?"

Tim pursed his lips as he thought. Then his eyes widened as he remembered.

"Bruce. The person who took me, he looked like you. I though it was you ."

Tim's eye's were starting to flutter closed again. Bruce forced his face into a gentle smile.

"Go to sleep, Tim. We'll figure this out. I promise."

Tim went back to sleep, and Bruce's mind ran at a mile per second.

Whoever took Tim was probably the same person who killed the Joker and made it clear that this was personal to Bruce. Whoever took Tim had surgical skills good enough to successfully perform an organ transplant. Whoever took Tim looked so much like Bruce that Tim thought that it was Bruce.

For the second time that night, Bruce's detective skills led him to a conclusion he did not want to face.

Personal grudge against Bruce, surgical skills, and looks like Bruce.

They're dealing with Hush again.

Chapter Text

Alfred Pennyworth was not a man who would frequently focus on his own qualities, not when there was more important work to be done. However, one thing he could proudly say about himself was that he was no fool.

Master Bruce had impressive deduction skills, but it was Alfred who first taught him the basics of gathering and organizing facts.

And Alfred himself was quite skilled at putting together facts. While his charges were working overtime, trying to catch Hush, Alfred would assist them in any way possible.

However, Alfred knows that the strange occurrences over the past few weeks have not been the work of Hush. It makes sense that the others would come to such a conclusion, given the evidence that they had, but one thing still did not add up.

The person they were hunting helped Master Tim. Hush, no matter how convoluted his plan was, would never do such a thing.

Alfred himself was stumped for a good few days by that one piece of evidence that threw a wrench into the otherwise clear-cut explanation of Hush. Until he was doing his routine cleaning of the Manor's many rooms and saw a portrait.

The portrait had been covered up by a tarp for many years, as it upset Master Bruce greatly whenever he saw it. However, in recent years, Master Bruce ordered for it to be unveiled once more, so that the children of the Manor could see the faces of their adoptive grandparents.

Alfred always loved that portrait of Thomas and Martha. They looked so young, so joyful, with Martha pregnant and a little boy on the way.

The painting, for whatever reason, caught Alfred's eye when he was tidying up the sitting room where it hung over a fireplace.

Alfred took a moment to enjoy the youthful hope captured in his friends' eyes, when his own eyes widened with realization.

Master Bruce, months ago, returned from a different timeline with Mister Allen and spoke of a world where Thomas and Martha had survived the mugging on that night, and it was Young Master Bruce instead who had tragically died.

Alfred had not thought much of it since then, as Master Bruce said that the other timeline had been destroyed, along with its inhabitants.

Still, Alfred's heart went out to the other version of him. He could not imagine life without the joy (and trials) of raising Master Bruce.

However, looking at the portrait of his friends, Alfred was struck with an idea that was absurd enough to be true.

There are other worlds where Thomas lived. In the other timeline, according to Master Bruce, Thomas had become a murderous Batman. Thomas was a surgeon, and had performed organ transplants in the past. Master Bruce bore a striking resemblance to his father.

Alfred's hands shook with this realization. Of course, his charges would not have come to this conclusion. They had either never met Thomas or, in Bruce's case, never saw Thomas after he had lost someone dear to him.

But Alfred had seen Thomas at those points. He knew Thomas well. He knew that Thomas loathed the mere thought of losing someone close to him, and would most definitely go to extremes to keep his family safe.

Thomas was the type of man to take action into his own hands, including avenging one of his grandsons and giving another one a vital organ.

With a gasp, Alfred dropped his duster. He needed to see if this was true, and there was only one place he could go to find out.

There was a grove, just beyond the boundary of Wayne Property and its security measures. Not very many people knew about it.

Years ago, Thomas and Alfred would come out to the lone bench in the grove and drink tea together. It was here that Thomas confided in Alfred his fears of being a lackluster father, and Alfred would assuage his fears with sound advice and fresh tea.

For Thomas, that was a lifetime ago and in a different world. For now, Thomas came to this place for a little peace of mind. The old wooden bench where he and Alfred used to sit together was falling apart, but it still held his weight as he settled back into his memories of a happy time.

He needed the peace of mind this tranquil place provided after the panic of returning of an empty apartment, void of his grandson who needed post-surgery treatment.

A few batarangs left around his abandoned building gave a pretty clear indication of who took his grandson. Still, he worried. What if Bruce didn't know exactly how to take care of Tim post-operation? It could lead to disastrous consequences for Tim's health.

Thomas let out an audible sigh. There was little he could do now but wait and watch. He would only step in if it was absolutely necessary.

For now, Thomas would allow himself a momentary reprieve from all his worries and enjoy this little grove and all the happy memories it contained. He would have to come out here more often with his family and make new happy memories when he meets all of his grandchildren.

Thomas basked in the peace for a few more moments, or perhaps it was an entirety, he couldn't tell, before his tranquility was shattered by a quiet gasp.

Someone had seen him.

Thomas whipped out his gun and turned around, training it on the approaching threat before who it was registered in his brain.

He hasn't seen Alfred's face in years. He forgot how much he missed the Englishman.

Just as quickly as he pulled out his weapon, he put it away. It was silly of him to bring a gun, anyway. There was no need for weapons, not in this place.

Against his wishes, tears started to well up in Thomas's eyes. Through his blurring vision, he could see Alfred dealing with a similar issue.

They looked at each other and mutually came to the conclusion that nothing needed to be said. Not for now.

Thomas slowly took a seat on the old, crumbling bench, and Alfred took a seat beside him.

Just like old times.

Chapter Text

Thomas didn't know how long he sat next to Alfred with tears silently streaming down both of their faces.

Neither of them wanted to address how long it had been seen they had seen each other.

As much as Thomas hated to break the serene silence that had fallen between himself and Alfred, there was something he needed to know.

His voice was rough with his tears as he spoke.

"Alfred, how is Tim doing? His body hasn't rejected the new spleen, has it?"

Alfred took a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes before responding.

"Master Tim is recovering just fine now that we have him on the correct medication. His prior infection has abated as well."

Thomas gave a deep sigh of relief as his worries were lifted off of his shoulders. He did not expect not being able to see his grandson would cause him so much stress.

However, when he turned to look at Alfred again, Alfred's kind gaze suddenly become very stern.

"I understand the intent behind your actions, but make no mistake, Master Thomas. We will be having a talk about medical ethics later."

A familiar shiver went down Thomas's spine. Yes, there was the sternness he remembered.

"How about I promise to sit through that lecture, and in return you drop all of that 'Master Thomas' hogwash. You know that I've never been a stickler for formalities."

Alfred huffed, both laughing at and disapproving of Thomas's insistence on being casual. Still, he could not deny his old friend's request.

Clearing his throat, Thomas spoke up again.

"I owe you a great deal of gratitude, Alfred. I know that after... what happened to Martha and I in this world, you raised Bruce in our stead.

Bruce has grown to be a wonderful man, and I know much of that is credited to you. Thank you, my old friend."

Thomas and Alfred had to take a moment to stave off their tears again.

"You never have to thank me for raising Master Bruce. It was an honor to watch him grow into the man he is today."

Thomas didn't know would he would do without Alfred. The man was truly a godsend.

However, Thomas knew that his time for this meeting was limited. Alfred was a busy man, and if anyone in the manor noticed his absence, they might come looking and find Thomas. And Thomas was not quite ready for another confrontation.

Besides, he would have plenty of time later to catch up more with Alfred. He had to few more... issues to take care of before he could start to process of integrating himself into the family.

It would only cause unneeded drama if Thomas became a part of the family now, while he was still killing any threats to his family.

With a heavy heart, Thomas stood up from his seat next to Alfred.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. But there's still work I need to get done. I'll see you again soon."

Behind him, Alfred gave a small chuckle.

"I see you haven't gotten any better at greetings or farewells."

Thomas huffed a laugh in response.

"Well then Thomas, I suppose you will get plenty of practice with greetings after your introduction to your grandchildren. I know that they would all be thrilled to meet you."

As much as Thomas's heart soared at Alfred's words, he knew that could not happen, not yet.

"I'm afraid that my introduction will have to wait for a while. I don't want to cause any issues in the family, and I know that Bruce would disapprove of my actions."

Thomas gave Alfred a sad grin, full of bittersweet fondness for the happy ending that seemed so close and yet so far.

"Concerning your handling of the Joker, sir, I believe that everyone, with the exception of Master Bruce, will express their gratitude to you, myself included."

A rare, stormy expression passed over Alfred's face for a split second, before it was replaced with a decidedly neutral look.

"Quite frankly, I would have done much the same to that monster, if I had the opportunity to do so."

"I take it that you still keep your shotguns around the manor, then."

"Ah, yes. It is one of the many benefits of knowing the manor better than Master Bruce: he can never get rid of all of them. I imagine that you will be able to keep your weapons in the manor in the future if you can manage to hide them from Master Bruce."

"No, I won't need to do that. I'm putting all of my weapons down for good once I come back to the manor."

A reoccurring worry once more spread its claws over Thomas's mind.

"I doubt that putting down my guns will make Bruce forgive all that I've done with them."

"If it is Master Bruce's or your grandchildren's disapproval you fear, then I may have a solution."

Thomas turned to look back at Alfred with unwanted hope thrumming in his chest.

"In fact, I know that one of your grandsons will applaud your recent actions, especially regarding the Joker.

I believe it is time that you meet Master Jason."

Chapter Text

Thomas's mind blanked for a minute before he made sense of Alfred's statement.

"Jason? But didn't the Joker kill him?"

Was it all a cover-up? Had Thomas felt all of that rage and grief mistakenly?

"Oh yes, he did. However, by some miracle and perhaps the strangeness of the world, he was brought back."

Thomas nodded silently. Before he met Barry in his own timeline, he would have written anything like that off as nonsense. Now, after being transported to an entirely different timeline?

Thomas is more inclined to believe in the impossible. Especially if it is as fantastic an impossibility as his grandson coming back to life.

"Well, we best get going sooner rather than later. Master Jason will undoubtedly be preparing for his ahem night job by sundown. If we want to meet with him today, we must make haste."

Thomas stood rigidly still as Alfred stood up, dusted off his pristine coat, and started off towards the manor's garage.

See Jason... today?!

Thomas wasn't ready for that! He still had so much preparation to do before he could meet a grandchild he knew so little about!

(Thomas would ideally watch over definitely not stalk a grandchild to get to know them before meeting them, so he wouldn't ruin their first impression of him.)

Alfred broke his stride to turn back around at Thomas, who was still petrified at the thought of meeting Jason so soon.

Alfred, bless the man, seemed to pick up on Thomas's worries.

"Do not concern yourself with Master Jason's reactions. I'm sure that Master Jason will be thrilled to meet you, considering your recent actions."

When Thomas does not seem to register those words, Alfred sighs heavily and takes Thomas by the arm, half-dragging him towards the garage.

"Come along now, Master Thomas. Everything will be fine."

Thomas could barely remember the walk towards the manor's garage and the drive into Gotham.

At first, his mind was clouded by hesitance and anxiety. However, after he realized that Alfred would not turn the car around, giddy impatience bloomed in Thomas's mind.

He was going to meet another grandson! He couldn't wait!

Thomas stared out of the car's window, taking in new sights of this Gotham and hoping that it would make the drive seem shorter.

As Thomas gazed out of the window, he realized that they were heading into the rougher parts of Gotham, until they entered Crime Alley.

Thomas's eyes went wide in shock. Why the hell does his grandson live Crime Alley?!

This would not stand. Thomas would remedy this immediately, once he had somewhere to stay.

After what seemed like an eternity, Alfred pulled their nondescript car into a garage of what looked like a normal house.

As Alfred knocked on the door, Thomas tried (and failed) to stop himself from fidgeting in nervousness.

He could faintly hear heavy boots stepping towards the door and locks unbolting, and his heart raced with excitement.

The door creaked open and...

Bright green eyes glowed in the darkness, locking with Thomas's.

Before Thomas's shock at the recognition of this man he had met him at his grandson's grave the day he killed the Joker could fully register, the man spoke up.

"Alfie? What're you doing here? Who is that guy?"

"Master Jason, I apologize for our unannounced arrival. I'm afraid there is a topic we need to discuss that would be addressed in private. Could we come in?"

The green-eyed man Jason. That was Jason at his own grave that day, wasn't that just heart-wrenching to Thomas. let them in and locked the door behind them.

"So, Alfie, not that I don't love seeing you, because I do, but why did you show up at my house with the Joker's killer?"

Jason's words jolted Thomas. His grandson knew?!

But... his words were not said in contempt. He sounded more amused than vengeful.

Jason looked back at Thomas's shocked face and snorted.

"Some random guy shows up at the grave of Jason Todd, one of the Joker's most famous victims, a couple of hours after the Joker's death and says some vague things. I knew the minute that I saw you that you were the one to finally end that damn clown..."

Jason was stepping closer now, looming with his glowing green eyes fixed on Thomas. Thomas knew that others would find that intimidating, but Thomas stood his ground. He had a plan.

"...The only thing I can't figure out is why. Why did you do it? Did you lose someone to him? Or were you just the first person in this goddamned city to grow a pair and take care of that problem yourself?"

As Jason finished speaking, he was within an arm's reach of Thomas. His eyes had not gotten any dimmer, and his entire body language screamed I am a threat!

But Thomas knew intimidation tactics when he saw them. He knew exactly how to react.

Faster than Jason could react, Thomas snapped his arms put, grabbed hold of Jason's shoulders, and pulled him into a hug.

There, Thomas thought to himself.

Much better.

Chapter Text

Thomas hummed pleasantly to himself as he held his grandson in his arms.

Jason is so big and strong! Thomas is so happy to see his grandson so healthy!

Thomas risked a glance down at Jason's face. He had to hold back a coo at how adorable his grandson's shocked face was. Thomas was so lucky!

"Ahem. Now that I see you've met Master Jason, I believe it is time that you introduce yourself properly, sir."

Thomas shot Alfred a sheepish look at he reluctantly let go of his grandson.

"Hello, Jason. It's very nice to finally meet you. My name is Thomas Wayne, and I'm your grandfather."

Jason was only jostled out of his shock following the sudden hug when Thomas mentioned his own name.

Thomas watched as Jason's head whipped around to gaze at Alfred, probably sending him a confused look.

Alfred, god bless the man, spoke up again at Jason's confusion.

"This is Master Thomas from another timeline, where he survived that night and became Batman instead of Master Bruce."

Something about Alfred's confirmation must have put Jason at ease, as the tension in Jason's shoulders, which Thomas hadn't even noticed, released, and Jason sighed deeply in what Thomas assumed was relief.

"Well, Bruce's dad from an alternate timeline sure as hell beats having to deal with Hush. You sent the rest of us on one hell of a wild goose chase, old man.

But this still doesn't answer my question. Why did you kill the Joker?"

Thomas tilted his head slightly in confusion. Wasn't Thomas's introduction self-explanatory on that part? It seemed pretty clear to Thomas.

Jason was Thomas's grandson. The Joker killed Jason. So, Thomas killed the Joker.

Maybe Jason was expecting some other reason? Was he expecting some grand tale of Thomas's battles with his own Joker and deciding to kill this world's Joker?

Whatever the reason for Jason's confusion, Thomas knew that he had to set this straight.

After all, Thomas's actions against the Joker hadn't been about Thomas himself. Thomas killing the Joker was about Jason.

"I already answered it. I'm your grandfather. The Joker hurt you, so I killed him."

Thomas kept his face neutral as he spoke. The last thing he needed was his anger bleeding out and upsetting his grandson.

However, from the tears brimming in Jason's eyes, it seemed Thomas already failed at that.

Five minutes with his grandson and he already managed to trigger him. Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a grandfather after all.

Thomas ached to comfort his grandson, but he held back. He couldn't provide comfort while he was the one that upset his grandson.

Alfred came up to Jason and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Thomas looked at Alfred, desperate but unable to help.

Alfred spoke to Jason in a low, calm voice and started to guide him towards the kitchen, away from Thomas.

Jason's quiet sobs silenced after a moment of Alfred's comfort. The two older men heard Jason take a deep, steadying breath...

Jason threw himself at Thomas, wrapping his arms around his grandfather and crying into his shoulder.

Thomas stood petrified for a moment, unsure of how to process what just happened.

Another sob from Jason jolted Thomas out of his daze. Right, he needed to comfort his grandson.

Thomas placed his arms around Jason again, holding him tight.

Thomas didn't know how long he stood there holding Jason until his tears stopped flowing. Quite frankly, he didn't care how long it took. He would stand there all day, in that one spot, until his legs gave out to comfort his grandson.

By the time Jason's eyes were dry again, Alfred had three cups of steaming tea prepared, and Thomas half-carried Jason over to the kitchen to sit with Alfred.

"You... you really did it. For me?"

Thomas brushed back some of the hair falling into Jason's eyes with a smile before responding.

"Of course, Jason. There's nothing more important in the world to me than you and all of your sibling being happy and healthy."

Jason snorted sarcastically, and his voice no longer sounded rough with tears.

"Yeah, you sure proved the "healthy" part with Timmy. We thought he got abducted by some organ trafficker or something, like Black Mask."

First the name "Hush" and now "Black Mask." From the way Jason said their names, they had a history with the Bats, and they were still active threats. Thomas would need to do more research later.

"I'm sorry for causing all of you such a fright. I promise not to do anything as... drastic again in the future."

The unimpressed glare Alfred gave him halfway through his statement told Thomas that his old friend highly doubted his words.

If Thomas wanted any more of Alfred's amazing tea, he needed to switch topics quickly before he dug himself into an even deeper hole.

"So, Jason, could you tell me a little bit about your work? You're the Red Hood, yes?"

"Yeah, I am. I look out for Crime Alley and some of the surrounding areas. Bruce doesn't really approve of my methods though."

Thomas has triggered enough of Jason's emotional issues for one night. Thomas is definitely not going there.

Although Bruce ought to know better than to push his own son away over differing morals.

"Are there any cases you're working on right now?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Black Mask has another drug shipment coming in tonight that I've got to bust, but it's a regular patrol other than that."

Thomas notes that it's the second time Jason has mentioned this Black Mask. Thomas's eyes narrow slightly, but he keeps his smile on his face.

"Is this Black Mask guy someone you have to deal with often?"

"Fairly often. His gang is weaker now than it used to be, so he's easier to take down now. But he stays really high on the Bats' list of dangerous criminals, mostly because of... what he did to Steph."

Stephanie Brown. Thomas had seen her regularly in the Manor and on the streets with the Bats. From his research online, he found that she is considered one of Bruce's children emotionally, but not legally.

Stephanie is Thomas's granddaughter, and Black Mask had done something so awful to her that it made the rest of the family consider the crime lord a dangerous threat.

Suddenly Thomas's easy smile felt infinitely more forced.

"Hey Jason, how would you feel about having some backup for taking down Black Mask's operation?"

Jason's eyes, which had dimmed to a light teal, flash brightly in a toxic green color.

"Why, grandpa, I'd be delighted to have some backup."

Thomas and Jason smiled at each other with grins promising malice.

Chapter Text

It had been a long, long time since Jason had worked towards a common goal with someone who was... like minded.

Sure, Jason frequently worked with the Bats, but there was always an undercurrent of tension that came along with their moral differences. They were worked towards the shared goal of a safer Gotham, but they had very different ideas on how to get there.

However, they were still the closest thing Jason had to a family, and he loved them.

Jason had also worked with many criminals during his more active days as a crime lord, who shared similar views on using fear and lethal violence to control crime.

The problem with working with them was that, while their methods were the same as Jason's, their end goal differed greatly. Those men didn't want a safer Gotham; they just wanted power.

Roman Sionis, the Black Mask, was one of those men.

Jason always hesitated when going after Black Mask. Despite how much he wanted to bathe in that monster's blood, he needed to be strategic about taking him out.

Black Mask was one of the most well-guarded and heavily armed crime bosses in Gotham. Jason couldn't go after him alone without risking certain death, he couldn't go after him with the criminals under his employ without risking heavy civilian casualties in the resulting gang war, and he couldn't take him out permanently with the Bats.

When it came to Sionis, Jason's hands were frustratingly tied. Until today.

Jason dared to say that Thomas (his new grandpa, wasn't that a shock?) looked even more murderous than Jason himself. It was quite an impressive sight to behold.

Jason doubted that Sionis was as impressed as he was, considering that Sionis was currently trembling in fear on the floor of his own penthouse.

For good reason, too. Jason believed that he would do something similar if Thomas was looming over him, armed to the teeth in his Batman gear (which looked far more badass than Bruce's batsuit in Jason's opinion) and was vividly describing all the... creative ways Thomas could kill him.

For now, Thomas seemed to be content with continuing to beat Black Mask into the ground with his gauntlet-reinforced fists while listing out the painful deaths he could give to Sionis, but Jason knew better.

The thorough beat-down that Thomas was handing to Sionis was getting right now was just the beginning. This was all just theatrics to build up Black Mask's fear before moving onto the main event. Bruce did something similar, just with regular intimidation, not deadly blows.

Jason was snapped out of his thoughts by the sudden movement of Thomas hauling Sionis off the floor by his jacket. At this point, Jason was half tempted to start taking notes on this.

"I've made up my mind."

Oh, it seemed like Thomas finally got sick of hearing Sionis whimper and was moving on to the main event.

"Well, gramps, how will you be doing it? You certainly outlined a lot of options."

Sionis started gasping in pain again. Good. After everything this man put Gotham, put Steph through, Jason wasn't feeling particularly merciful. And by the looks of things, neither was Thomas.

"I'm lucky that I brought my good knives with me. I was thinking about taking a few... parts off of him.

You once delivered a bag full of heads to send a message, right? The message that I have in mind only requires one certain head."

Yes, certainly liked working with Thomas. This was turning out to be the start of a wonderful partnership.

Bruce was halfway across Gotham when the Batsignal went up over the GCPD.

That was strange, considering that there was no news of an Arkham breakout or any activity from the Rogues. Bruce found his anxiety spiking as he drove across the city. What could have happened to warrant lighting up the signal with no Rogues around?

By the time he finally arrived at the GCPD, there still had been no word of any major attacks or Arkham breakouts.

However, by the look on Gordon's face, this news would be just as disturbing as any Rogue attack.

"Batman, I'm glad you could make it. I'm afraid that the GCPD has received a... disturbing package earlier tonight."

Gordon pointed over to a box that was set on the roof, just a few feet from the Batsignal.

"We opened it, but we haven't moved it. I thought that you might also want a look inside. I have to warn you though: it's gruesome, even for Gotham."

Bruce nodded and made his way over to the box. What could have possibly have spooked Gordon so badly?

Bruce flipped open the box's lid and took a deep, measured breath.

There was little doubt whose head was in the box, considering that he named himself Black Mask due to his disfigurement.

What was left in question, however, was why an address was written in blood on the inside walls of the box.

"Have you found any other evidence?"

"There were no fingerprints on the box, and the blood is all Sionis's. The security cameras didn't pick up anything either.

We haven't sent any squad cars to the written address yet. We're opening an official investigation and checking out that address tomorrow. No one is really in a hurry to bring justice to a man like Black Mask.

If you want to take a look at that address before we get to it, tonight's your chance."

Bruce closed the box back up. He had to get to that address.

The severed head, the messages written in blood, and a grudge against Roman Sionis. All of these point to Jason doing this. Jason, who was finally doing better. He was finally starting to accept that he is family.

Bruce has to prove to himself that Jason wasn't behind this. And the evidence he needed was at that address.

"Thank you, commissioner. I'll let you know what I find there."

"Take care, Batman"

Bruce would like to thing that the scene in front of him was something he wasn't too used to seeing.

However, he knew that he had long since been desensitized to sights like these: a corpse, shackled to the floor of a crappy, run-down shack on the edge of Crime Alley, with blood smeared on the floor, walls, and even the ceiling.

The only difference between this sight and the ones that he had seen before was that this corpse was lacking a head.

Bruce circled around the room, looking for any evidence left behind by the killer.

Looking for any evidence that would prove that it wasn't his son who did this.

Black Mask's corpse was covered in a variety of injuries. Bruises, gunshot wounds, and deep knife cuts were all present on the body's arms, legs, and exposed chest. The body's knees and elbows had been shot, so the killer had wanted to make Sionis's death slow and painful.

There was a large gunshot wound, possibly the fatal wound, if Sionis's head hadn't been removed beforehand, on the corpse's chest, right above the heart.

Perhaps the killer left a bullet behind? If it was a type of bullet fired from a gun that Jason didn't use, it would clear Jason of any guilt.

Bruce turned Black Mask's corpse over, hoping to find any bullets underneath that would prove Jason's innocence.

Bruce turned on his flashlight and peered down at the floor, searching for the gleam of a bullet.

There.

Bruce picked up the blood-covered bullet lodged in the floor. As he held it up to the light, it seemed as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room.

Well, at least he knew that it wasn't Jason who did this.

Jason didn't carry a gun that could fire the same type of bullets that killed Bruce's parents.

The same type of bullet that killed the Joker.

The same type of bullet Bruce was holding.

Chapter Text

Steph wasn't quite sure she heard the news correctly. Maybe her comm was malfunctioning?

She surely didn't just hear Babs correctly when Oracle alerted all of the Bats over their comm network that Black Mask was found dead.

Not just dead, but murdered in a slow and grizzly fashion. That monster, who she had woken up in a cold sweat after having nightmares about, was just gone, with no explanation.

A part of her had always irrationally feared that Sionis's evil would never die, that he would always haunt Steph. That his actions had turned him into an inescapable presence in her life that she could never wash away.

And yet, here they were. Black Mask was dead and gone and could never reach her again. All of that pain and fear never had to be relived.

That monster could never touch anyone ever again.

"Hey, Babs?" Steph heard her own voice say, "I think I need to call it a night."

Steph needed time to think through this.

The green in the back of Jason's mind was never quite as happy as it was right now. Hell, it was practically purring.

Both Jason and Thomas had washed off Sionis's disgusting blood, but there was still some under Jason's fingernails, reminding him of how right it felt to end Sionis, after what he did to Jason's family and to all of Gotham.

Good riddance to that shit stain. Gotham would forever be better without his influence.

And now, Jason and his grandpa relaxed on a couch in one of Jason's passably clean safe houses, eating cheap Thai takeout from the place on 4th street and watching Princess Bride. Jason looks over at Thomas, whose eyes are practically glued to the screen, and contemplates how much happier he's been lately.

In these past few weeks, with the support and company of his grandfather, Jason has felt happy in a way that he hasn't ever since Ethiopia. He has someone, a quite literally Bruce-shaped figure, who gives him unconditional support and love. Someone who accepts Jason's point of view without arguing with him over morals and making Jason feel like a monster for sticking to what he believes.

Jason now has a father figure who will help him without question or delay. He hasn't had that since Bruce, from before his death.

Jason had forgotten how good it felt to have that supportive figure, waiting in the wings at all time to provide comfort.

And, as great as having Thomas all to himself is, Jason knows that most of his siblings have also forgotten what it felt like to have that figure. Bruce wasn't exactly the most comforting person these days, being too wrapped up in his damned crusade and his emotional constipation to give one of his kids a hug. Alfred came close, but he had too many responsibilities to also be the lone emotional safety net of nearly a dozen teenage vigilantes.

With that in mind, Jason knows that he will, eventually, have to share Grandpa with the rest of his siblings. They all needed treatment like this, not just Jason. All of them deserve to feel safe and loved, and Jason was confident that Thomas could provide both.

Hmmm... now there's a thought. Which one of his traumatized siblings needed a homicidal emotional support grandpa the most?

"Hey Grandpa, how would you like to take a trip to Bludhaven? I think it's past time you met another former Robin."

Thomas gently put down his takeover box onto Jason's crappy little coffee table, careful not to spill any food onto the cheap-ass furniture.

Grandpa turned towards Jason and gave him a loving smile, the kind that made Jason's memories of a happier time with Bruce resurface and superimpose Bruce's smile on top of Thomas's.

"Why Jason, I would absolutely love that."

If there was one word Slade could use to describe The Iceburg Lounge, it would be gaudy, but tacky would be a close second.

The entire place just reeks of insecure posturing and flaunting. Slade's lips curl back behind his mask. The entire nightclub is disgusting and almost as revolting as its owner.

The Penguin, in all his greasy, grubby glory, sat relaxed in his lounge chair, trying to appear as at ease as a king surveying his lands. In Slade opinion, he's doing a piss poor job at it.

"So, eh, I hear that you an' that Nightwing bloke got some history?"

His voice is as oily and grating as his presence. Slade narrows his eyes. God, he can't wait to get out of here.

Slade only showed up in the first place because his usual contractors in Gotham have gone silent. In this job, that many people going quiet all at once means that some major power shake up has occurred, and Slade needs to be on top of such information to stay ahead in the business. Hence, Slade needs to pick up a job in Gotham.

But, god, why did the first job out of Gotham in weeks have to be with the Penguin of all people? Couldn't some crooked CEO have some vendetta they needed settled instead? Someone, anyone, who is more professional than this sweaty weasel?

"Yes, I have a history with Nightwing. What's it to you?"

Penguin chuckles, and Slade clenches his jaw at the sound.

"Well, you see, my operations here in Gotham have become a bit stagnant recently. I'm thinking about moving some of my business to Bludhaven, but I need that annoying vigilante out of the way first. I deal with bats enough here in Gotham."

Slade hums and leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. Unlike the pretender desperately grasping at power in front of him, he's the perfect picture of a powerful predator, in charge of the whole situation.

"You're asking me to kill Nightwing, who's a member of Batman's little team. You better be offering a hefty sum for such a job."

The Penguin huffs, probably trying to come off as indignant.

"Of course! I have the money, and you'll get most of it when the job's complete. Does a down payment of thirty percent work for you?"

If Penguin were asking for any other target, Slade would already be pointing his pistol at Cobblepot's forehead for trying to scam him like this and demand all of the money up front.

But for Nightwing? For the little ingrate who was foolish enough to throw away the chance at greatness that Slade so generously offered? For the little shit who should have been Slade's apprentice? He'd do this for free. Not that he'd let Penguin know that, of course.

"That works for me. It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Oswald."

Slade turned his back and was out the door before he could hear the Penguin's reply.

After all, he now has a job to complete.

Chapter Text

Dick knew that something was about to go horribly, horribly wrong. All the usual signs were there.

Rising tensions due to a new, unknown, and dangerous combatant in Gotham? Check.

Heads of currently well-established bad guys starting to roll?
Check.

A former Robin being targeted? Check. Dick's pretty sure that Bruce was still having blood pressure issues due to the stress of Tim suddenly being "gifted" a new spleen.

God, the last time something like this had happened, Jason had just returned to Gotham as the Red Hood.

This sort of tension, with these signs, point to something awful coming up on the horizon, but none of them can quite see what it is yet, and they're all holding their breath.

But no, that's not quite what has Dick's nerves on edge. Whenever there's tension like this in the air, it means that there is something coming, yes, but also that it's personal. This whole thing is revolving around Dick's family, and none of them have any idea why or what it means.

And that scares Dick, unlike anything else.

The tension in Gotham and in Dick's family has been rising with this new force, and he knows that it's only a matter of time until something sparks the powder keg that is his life right now.

And that spark that was about to throw everything into chaos decided to take the form of Slade Wilson.

Because who else could possibly ruin Dick's life more by showing up suddenly in Bludhaven at the most inopportune time?

But for now, Dick has to not think about the situation in his family and instead run for his life through the south end of Bludhaven all because Deathstroke decided to hold a grudge.

"Slade," Dick grunts, barely dodging Slade's valiant effort at skewering him with his blade, "I think we can work this out. I mean, do you really want to get in bed with the Penguin?

You know that he's just going to double-cross you as soon as your job is over, right?"

Slade lets out a growl. Oh good, Dick must already be getting to him. It was always oddly amusing watching Slade lose his composure.

"I don't give a damn about Cobblepot, Grayson! All I want is to put you in the ground, as I should have done years ago!"

Dick rolled back from another swing of Slade's sword, only gaining a small cut on his leg, and prepared to start running again as Slade reached for his guns. All he has to do was keep Slade distracted until backup arrived from Gotham, or until he could hide from Slade.

Dick had gone up against Deathstroke enough times to know that cooperation is key in taking him down.

Their fight continued across Bludhaven's neighborhoods, with Slade slashing and shooting and progressively getting sloppier in his rage, and with Dick dodging and evading his attacks, getting slower and slower.

Until finally, Dick wasn't quick enough, and one of Slade's bullet's found its mark in his shoulder, knocking Dick down to the ground.

Dick quickly tried to stand back up, but a heavy boot quickly came down on his wounded shoulder, pinning him to the sidewalk and causing him to grit his teeth through the pain.

"I would normally take a moment to bask in this victory, but I'm not about to risk it. Not with you."

Suddenly, Dick was staring down the barrel of Slade's pistol. Ice ran down his spine as he became unnaturally still.

"Good riddance, you little shit."

"Funny, I was thinking the exact same thing."

Dick watched, paralyzed and pinned down, as Slade's head whipped to the side to stare down an alleyway to their right, where the new voice had come from.

Dick couldn't turn his head without straining his still bleeding shoulder, so he couldn't get a glimpse of the speaker.

"And who the hell do you think you are?" Slade ground out, sounding pissed as all hell. Dick almost wanted to chuckle. Dick thought that only he could make Slade sound that pissed off.

A deep chuckle sounded from the alleyway. "That is the question, huh?" A low and deceptively warm voice answered.

"You think interrupting my business is funny, huh?" Slade removed his pistol from between Dick's eyes and aimed it at the newcomer. "I'll show you funny, you fucker."

Now, a sigh came from the alley. "You know," the stranger said, "the clown was more intimidating than you. You're just irritating. Now, hold still, and maybe I'll make this less painful for you."

Dick's eyes widened at those words. It was vague, but could the stranger be the Joker's killer? The one who kidnapped and operated on Tim? Why was he here? Was he after Slade or Dick?

"What in the hell are you going on about? Give me one good reason not to shoot you dead ri-"

Slade's threatening was cut off by a gunshot and a wet sound, followed by screaming.

It took Dick a moment to realize that it was Slade's screams that he was hearing, not the stranger's.

Slade staggered backwards out of the alley, and Dick got a look at him. Not that Dick could see much of Slade's face, with it being covered on blood.

And the batarang sticking out of Slade's one good eye also covered a lot of his face.

Dick watched Slade scream and claw at the batarang puncturing his eye as he tried to get up, staggering from the pain in his shoulder and his own blood loss.

He had to prepare himself. Whoever was in the alley was incredibly dangerous and unpredictable. This stranger killed the Joker and Black Mask and was targeting his family! Dick wouldn't let this new threat take him down. He couldn't let that happen.

The figure that strode out of the alley matched the blurry figure seen on Arkham's cams the night Joker died. He was massive, tall and muscular, with pale skin and gray hair. He was wearing a simple black domino mask and kevlar body armor. And, most alarmingly, he was armed to the teeth with firearms, batarangs, and blades. Dick clocked all these details for the file the Bats were building on this new threat.

The stranger walked right up to the screaming, bleeding Deathstroke and threw him to the ground. After shooting him in the kneecaps multiple times, the stranger grabbed one of his many sharp batarangs and held it to Slade's neck.

Oh, he's actually going to kill Slade.

Dick blinked, almost not believing what he was seeing, but yes, this stranger was about to kill Deathstroke. And as much as Dick hates Slade for trying to ruin his life at every turn, he can't let a murder happen under his watch. Not in his own city.

Not after how that ended with Tarantula.

Suddenly, Dick starts running at the stranger. He needs to stop this.

Thomas was so thankful that Jason suggested a trip to Bludhaven.

Whatever benevolent deity that brought Thomas to this world must be smiling on him yet again, because Thomas arrived his eldest grandchild's city just in time to prevent this filth from killing him.

Thomas's panic when he saw Dick's fight with this "Slade" fellow, as Jason called him, soon gave way to a plan. He and Jason would follow the two fighters, and, when the time was right, Jason would distract Slade by shooting him while Thomas went in for the kill.

After all, the eyes are generally very vulnerable targets, and according to Jason, Slade already is missing one. All Thomas has to do is target the other one, and the hard part of his job is done!

So, when Slade put his disgusting boot down on Dick's shoulder and stood still long enough for Thomas to approach him, Jason took the shot, hitting the mercenary in the ribs (his grandson has such good aim!) and allowing Thomas enough time to pull out a batarang and throw it into Slade's working eye.

If the mercenary's screams weren't so grating on Thomas's ears, he would take a second to savor them. However, he has a wounded grandchild to attend to, so he has to, unfortunately, make Slade's death quick. A pity.

Thomas grabbed the blinded mercenary by the shoulders and threw him roughly onto the street. After unloading a few bullets into his knees just for the satisfaction of it, Thomas grabbed another batarang and prepared to slice Slade's head off with it. No brain attached to his body, no healing factor for the enhanced soldier.

Just as Thomas was about to slice open one of arteries in Slade's neck, he heard rapid footsteps approaching him and turned around. His rage melted into concern as he saw Dick running towards him.

He hoped that his grandchild would be eager to meet him, but Dick really not ought to be moving while he was bleeding that much! He needed to let Thomas patch him up before they could hug!

Thomas shifted, angling himself to catch Dick if he wanted to fall into a hug, when instead, his grandson grabbed Thomas's hand and tried to yank the batarang away from Slade's neck. Thomas frowned in confusion. Was Dick going silly from blood loss?

Not wanting Dick to cut himself on the batarang that he was trying to wrest out of Thomas's hand, Thomas gave released his grip on the batarang, letting it clatter to the ground.

Dick then jumped back, swaying a bit, but still keeping his combative stance. Thomas stood from where he was crouched before Slade, dusting off his body armor, and turned to face Dick. If his grandson truly was being affected that much from the blood loss, then the mercenary's execution could wait until Dick received proper care.

Thomas took a step forwards, ready to grab Dick and carry him back to Dick's own apartment for medical care (Thomas already had copies of the keys for all of his grandchildren's residences made, just in case), when Dick suddenly stiffened. Oh god, was Dick about to faint?!

To Thomas's relief, Dick stayed upright and started speaking.

"I don't know who you are or what you want with my family, but your murder spree is ending here!"

His words took Thomas aback slightly. How could he take Thomas's actions as threatening towards him? Perhaps Thomas's family has been misinterpreting his acts of protection for them.

Hmmm... Thomas will have to be more obvious in his motivation going forwards. While he didn't want to reveal himself yet to all of the Bats and cause unnecessary drama and tension in the family, he also didn't want to cause unnecessary stress and fear for his family.

"Relax, Nightwing. I'm not here to hurt you, or any of the Bats."

"Then explain what you did to Red Robin! How was performing a risky and unnecessary surgery without his consent not hurting him?"

Thomas sighed. He had already been lectured by Alfred on the while mess with Tim's spleen. It wasn't his brightest idea, Thomas would admit, but the boy was doing fine now!

As Thomas prepared a response that hopefully wouldn't upset his grandson even more, he saw a movement behind Dick. It was Jason, sneaking up behind Dick with a tranquilizer. Ah, it was good to see the lad looking out for his brother. He just had to keep Dick occupied for a few more seconds.

"All you have to worry about right now is taking care of yourself, Nightwing."

"Sorry, but I can't let you go around killing people, even if that includes Deathstroke."

Thomas fought back the urge to sigh even harder. It looks like Bruce's ideology rubbed off strongly on this one. Oh well.

Thomas will bloody his hands so his grandson doesn't have to.

Thomas faked an combative stance, pretending to fall for Dick's invitation to fight. He just needed to keep Dick's full attention on himself for a little while longer...

There. Dick gave a surprised shout as Jason stuck him with the tranquiler from behind and fell into Jason's arms, unconscious.

"Nice acting there, Grandpa."

"Why thank you, Hood. I'll never measure up to Agent A's talent for acting though. Now, why don't you get your brother back to his safehouse and patch him up. I'll finish up down here."

Jason nodded and grappled away, carrying the sleeping body of his brother over his shoulder.

With Jason safely on his way back to Dick's safehouse, Thomas turned back to Slade, still writhing in pain on the ground.

Thomas picked up the batarang again and got to work.

Chapter Text

Dick woke up, surprisingly, in his own bed, which led him to immediately question the reality of the previous night. Had it all been a dream?

Dick closed his eyes and kept his limbs loose, in case he was still in danger. Last night had felt too real, and his luck was too shitty for all of last night's fight to be a dream.

The pain throbbing in his shoulder from where he was shot last night certainly felt real.

How did he end up in his own bed? The last thing he remembered was facing down the mysterious new rogue. Oh god, had that maniac performed surgery on Dick too?!

Dick focused on keeping his breath even and taking stock of his injuries. Besides his shoulder, he couldn't feel any new pain or numbness, so perhaps he had gotten lucky. Maybe the rogue hasn't started whatever nefarious plans he had in store for Dick.

But Catalina hadn't had to cut Dick open to break him.

Dick shoved those thoughts away into the untouched box in his mind where he kept his most traumatic moments as roughly as he could. Memories like those wouldn't do him any good in his current situation. He needed to take stock of his situation and assess his surroundings.

He could hear sizzling coming from his kitchen and could smell bacon and eggs, which narrowed down who had taken him home down to two categories: either a friend or a maniacal stalker.

Given what happened last night, Dick really wasn't sure which one was more likely. Either way, Dick would keep feigning sleep until his rescuer (or stalker) came to wake him.

Dick didn't have to wait too long before he heard the familiar sound of steel-toed combat boots walking on his hardwood floors, followed by his door slamming open with a gruff voice booming, "Rise and shine, Dickhead! I hope you got your beauty sleep in!"

As soon as his mind registered Jason's voice, Dick released the tension in his body. It was his Little Wing! He was safe.

But his heart was still irrationally pounding with fear.

Smiling at Jason's antics, Dick let out a theatrical yawn and stretched.

"I dunno Jason, I think I need a bit more sleep to look my best. You could certainly use some too!"

Jason rolled his eyes and huffed, trying to look put upon, but Dick knew his little brother well enough to see his amusement.

"Well I guess someone isn't getting any breakfast. That's such a shame. I even made Alfred's special scrambled eggs recipe."

"Wait, Alfred's recipe?"

"Yup. And I guess it's all for me now."

"Alright, alright! You've twisted my arm enough. I'll get up."

Jason shot him one last secretly amused glare and stomped back over to the kitchen.

Dick gave a genuine smile at his brother's back as he left, something that felt rarer and rarer by the day. He was so glad that Jason was feeling comfortable around his family again!

It was a sign that Dick wasn't a failure of an older brother. Those were few and far between recently.

As he threw on the nearest shirt and sweatpants, Dick started drawing up ideas for what to talk to Jason about. He didn't have very many opportunities to have a conversation with Jason outside of their masks, so he couldn't screw this up. He'd do some catching up, maybe some light jokes, and then get down to asking Jason about what happened last night.

Talking about personal wellbeing always came before business talk. Dick wouldn't be like Bruce and skip over bonding to go right to business.

Nodding to himself, Dick strolled out of his bedroom towards the mouth-watering smell of breakfast.

After Dick took a seat at his counter and winced slightly at the pulling pain in his shoulder, Jason placed a plate overflowing with bacon and Alfred's special scrambled eggs in front of his face. All thoughts of pain and mysterious assassins flew out of Dick's head as he shoveled Jason's cooking into his mouth. He only paused when Jason cleared his throat.

"So, Dickie-bird, want to explain why you were running from Deathstroke on a random Tuesday night?"

Well, so much for not skipping to business. At least he'd have time to catch up with Jason later.

"The Penguin apparently wants to expand his business into Bludhaven, so he hired Slade to kill me, which I'm sure Slade was very happy about."

Jason hummed slightly, looking almost like he was planning something.

Dick narrowed his eyes. What was Jason up to? It better not be another prank while on patrol!

Or maybe it was connected to last night's events...

"Not that I'm not happy to see you Jason, because I always am, but what are you doing in Bludhaven? How'd you rescue me from that new rogue?"

Jason stiffened slightly before giving Dick a mischievous grin. It almost fooled Dick into thinking that there wasn't much more to the story besides a rescue.

"Well, I came to Bludhaven to check in on you. I heard about Penguin's business ventures into the 'Haven and thought he might try something here. Guess you're in luck that I was right!"

Dick gave a convincing laugh and played along. Jason was hiding something, and Dick was certain that it was connected to last night.

"What about that new rogue? How'd you rescue me from him? Did he kill Slade?"

Dick tried to keep his voice mildly questioning and not panicked. If that new rogue had managed to kill Slade, then Dick had failed. Dick had vowed to not condone any murder in Bludhaven, regardless of the victim.

Because he could still feel the crunch of the Joker's bones beneath his fists and can still remember how satisfying it felt. Because he didn't want to become the monster he saw in the mirror that day.

Dick watched as Jason paused from cleaning the dishes and took a deep breath.

"The new rogue is not a concern right now. Besides, he was after Deathstroke anyways, not you, so I was able to just grab you and grapple away.

I didn't go back for Slade, but I wouldn't put any money on the odds of him surviving."

Dick had to consciously keep his body from stiffening at Jason's words. Had he truly failed again?

But was it so bad? Wasn't a rogue exclusively targeting the monsters that have threatened his family for years a relief?

Dick shoved those darker thoughts away again. While this new rogue was akin to one of Dick's darkest wishes coming true, he couldn't trust that this newcomer wouldn't eventually target innocents.

Killing villains is a slippery slope to become one yourself, and no violent killer could be allowed to run loose, no matter who they're targeting. Dick learned his lesson after Tarantula.

Jason's voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts again.

"Hey, Dickie, I did come to Bludhaven for another reason too. I wanted to introduce you to a friend of mine."

Dick's head shot up to meet Jason's mischievous look. It wasn't often that Jason had a friend that Dick didn't already know, and he needed to get his mind off of Slade's fate anyways.

"Why didn't you say so earlier! I'd love to meet them!"

Thomas couldn't contain his joy when Jason messaged him that Dick agreed to meet him. He was going to meet another one of his grandkids today!

Thomas hurried about his small safehouse, trying to make it look as cozy and welcoming as possible.

Maybe he should try to cook something? Jason said that Dick already ate breakfast, but both of them were growing boys, so surely they could stand to eat a little bit more?

Thomas glanced at his watch and cursed. There was no time to cook before they arrived!

Bemoaning his own lack of foresight, he settled for having some healthy snacks out on the table for the boys to enjoy.

Thomas spent the rest of his time awaiting the boys' arrival skittering around, fluffing up pillows, and trying to keep his mind off of his anxieties about Dick not liking him.

After what feels simultaneously like only a few seconds and several long hours, he heard a knock at the door.

Thomas sprinted over to answer it, throwing the door wide open with enthusiasm to see Jason's grin and Dick's...

He sees Dick's small smile drop as soon as Dick's eyes register his build and his face, and he sees Dick's face morph into an expression of horrified realization.

Oh no.

Chapter Text

There had been many times in Dick's life when he didn't want to believe his own eyes. Looking down at his parents' broken bodies from the top of a trapeze platform, staring down at his little brother's tombstone, and blinking through tears at Barbara lying motionless in a hospital bed only scratched the surface of the images that he wished would be forever purged form his mind.

Unfortunately, despite what Dick wished for, these memories were permanently seared into his mind like a red-hot brand. His detective training from his time with Bruce ensured that Dick's mind catalogued every little detail of everything he laid his eyes on, for better or for worse. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of gruesome cases that he had investigated over his career as a vigilante that he wished he could simply forget, but they were always there in the back of his mind.

There were so many things that his traitor of a mind would not let him forget.

So, when the door that Jason had led him to opened only to reveal a man who looked eerily familiar to Bruce, his mind, without his permission, took off immediately, making deductions based on what he was seeing.

Face structure identical to new rogue's, but not identical to Bruce. This man is the rogue he faced last night, but he isn't Hush. They've been searching for the wrong man.

Dick whipped around to face Jason, ready to yell at him to run, to get away from the threat that must have set this up as an ambush, but he stopped, frozen with horror, as Jason just looked back at him with a calm smile.

His little wing had betrayed him. Jason had been compromised.

The realization punched all of the air out of Dick's chest, even as the part of his mind that always sounded like Bruce screamed at him to run. His legs obeyed the order, even his his mind was still reeling from the betrayal. The hallways blurred past Dick as he ran, blindly searching for an escape route, and he vaguely registered the sound of two heavy footsteps chasing after him.

The worst thing about it was that it made sense, why Jason would sell Dick out to this new threat. This rogue had finally killed the Joker after all, so why wouldn't Jason turn his back on the Bats in favor of someone who had actually avenged him in the way he always wanted?

Yet another reason why Dick should've killed the Joker when he had the chance. If he had, Jason wouldn't have felt the need to ally himself with this new rogue.

Dick pushed that thought aside for later as he jumped through a second-story window with practiced precision. He rolled out onto the concrete, breaking his fall, and began running in the back alleys of Bludhaven, where he would have the advantage of familiarity over Jason and the rogue. He was only about five minutes away from his nearest safehouse, where he could grab weapons to defend himself and his comms to warn the other Bats about Jason's betrayal the presence of the new rogue.

Informing the others that the rogue wasn't, in fact, Hush, would also allow them to start their own research on who exactly this new threat was. He looked far too much like Bruce for their resemblance to be some sort of coincidence. Could he be some version of Bruce from an alternate dimension? That would certainly explain how skilled he was with a batarang while he was fighting Slade. Or, even worse, could he be a version of Bruce form some dark future? He looked quite a bit older than the Bruce that Dick knew, so a time traveler wouldn't be out of the question.

But what could have possibly pushed Bruce to give up on his two biggest rules so callously? To murder the Joker with a gun? Something terrible must have happened to break this version of Bruce so thoroughly that he would even consider such an action.

But, Dick thought to himself as he punched in the code to his safehouse on muscle memory, such theories would have to wait until the threats was contained. His knowledge of Bludhaven gave him an advantage, but he likely wouldn't have more than one shot at getting the drop on both of them.

It took him almost no time at all to change into one of his spare Nightwing uniforms and grab his electrified escrima sticks, his body moving mostly on autopilot while his mind was running wild, plotting out what routes he would take to try and seek them out. It would be best if they had split up, so that Dick wouldn't have to fight his little wing he could take down the rogue and then try to reason with Jason.

The new rogue would be his first target, but he was still a mostly unknown variable. Dick didn't know anything about his usual modes of transport or his objectives.

However, Dick did know Bruce very well. He knew Bruce's mindset through and through, and he knew where Bruce would be looking for him. If this rogue really was some twisted version of the Bruce he knew, then tracking his movements would be a breeze.

After he was finished gearing up, Dick picked up his comm, typing out a message to the rest of the Bats with a heavy heart. 'Hood's been compromised by newest rogue. Not Hush, large resemblance to Bruce. Requesting backup in Blud-'

BANG!

The comm was shot out of Dick's hand, blown into pieces by the impact, before he could finish his message. Dick jumped back in shock, but the bullet hadn't even touched him, only hitting the comm itself. Dick grabbed his escrima sticks, holding them at ready, as a little sliver of hope welled up in his chest. Jason had most likely taken that shot, since it was expertly aimed not to hit Dick. If Jason didn't want to hurt him, then he could still be reasoned with, right?

Dick out the window, where the shot had come from. There, on top of the adjacent building, he could see the outline of a large figure, and... were they getting closer?

Dick's eyes widened with realization as he ducked out of the way as swiftly as he could, only seconds before the figure crashed through his window, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Dick covered his face to protect himself from the glass, but when he looked at the intruder, his eyes went wide with shock.

For a split second, Dick thought that Bruce had somehow gotten his message, because the sight of a dark cape and cowl always put Dick at ease, no matter how tense his relationship with Bruce could be at times. However, as the figure turned around and revealed a Bat symbol outlined in a deep, blood red, Dick tensed up again because this wasn't his Bruce.

Dick slid into a fighting-ready stance as he activated the tasers on his escrima sticks with the press of a button. If this truly was some other version of Bruce, he would likely know Dick's fighting style, so he had to keep his guard up, ready to defend against any attack.

Dick and the not-Bruce stood there for a few tension-filled seconds, staring at each other and waiting for one of them to make the first move. Oddly, Dick noted, the not-Bruce never took up a fighting stance, simply standing still with his arms by his side, not even reaching for any of the numerous weapons that Dick could spot on him. Was this some different fighting style, or perhaps a ploy to get Dick to lower his guard?

After what felt like an eternity of their tense stand-off, Jason swung into the safehouse through the same window, fully decked out in his Red Hood gear. Dick's heart sank at the sight, but he didn't let himself falter, mentally shoving his heartbreak to the side. He could deal with Jason later, after the threat had been neutralized.

To his shock, however, Jason took off his helmet and stepped in between Dick and the not-Bruce. Dick risked taking his eyes off of the threat for a split second to stare at his little brother in shock. What on earth was he doing now?!

"Alright, it looks like you two got off on the wrong foot. So, how about we try this again like civilized people who don't run halfway across a city at the drop of a dime?"

Dick fixed Jason with an unimpressed stare at his condescending tone. Jason led him straight to a rogue! How the hell else was he supposed to react, by giving the clear threat in front of them a hug or something?!

Jason, unphased by Dick's glare, turned around to face the not-Bruce rogue. Dick's heart jumped up to his throat with alarm at the sight, but he couldn't risk moving and starting a fight with a deadly rogue with Jason in between them!

"Come on old man, you can take off the cowl. There's no need for it here, and it's only going to wig Dickiebird out more if you have it on the whole time."

The not-Bruce grunted in a very Bruce-like fashion as, to Dick's shock, he raised his hands and removed his red-eyed cowl, revealing the same eerily familiar face that Dick had seen earlier that day.

"There, that's better. Sorry that I didn't warn you earlier, Dick! We wanted it to be a surprise, but I can see why you'd maybe panic without knowing the full story."

Dick stared wordlessly as Jason and the not-Bruce both looked at him with almost sheepish, apologetic expression. What the hell was going on? What did Jason mean by 'the full story'?

Probably seeing that Dick wasn't moving out of his battle-ready stance, Jason continued.

"Dick, I know that this might sound unbelievable, but this is Thomas Wayne from a different timeline, one where Bruce was killed in the alley instead of his parents. Thomas's timeline was destroyed, and he was spat out into this one. Alfred confirmed that it's really him. Hell, Alf was the one who introduced the two of us!"

Dick narrowed his eyes. If Alfred vouched for him, then this version of Batman would be trustworthy, if not for his prior actions.

"If he really is Bruce's father from some other dimension who found his way here by sheer accident, do you know what he wants? Why target the rogues? Why would he hide himself from us and perform a dangerous surgery on Tim? As much as I want to believe Alfred's word, how do you know that he doesn't have some ulterior motive?"

Dick watched as Jason opened his mouth to respond, no doubt to defend Thomas, but Thomas put his hand on Jason's shoulder, stopping him. Dick tightened his grip on his escrima sticks as Thomas began to speak.

"I know that you don't have much reason to trust me, especially considering your own aversion to lethal force. But all I want is for my- is for your family to be safe. I know that you don't agree with my methods, but I only ask that you believe in my motivation."

Dick did understand Thomas's motivation. He understood it perfectly.

And that was exactly the problem. Dick knew firsthand how the desire to protect your family drove people to twisted places. It drove Dick to almost bash that damned clown's face in with his own fists.

Dick slowly lowered his arms, making a show of slowly relaxing his guard. He had to time this perfectly, as he only has one shot at this.

The second that he saw the tension release from both Jason and Thomas's shoulders, Dick lunged as hard as he could, diving right past both of them and out the shattered window before either of them could even process what had happened.

Dick was thankful for Bruce's insistence on having backups of everything. By the time Jason and Thomas realized that Dick had left, he was already halfway down the street and done typing out a message on the backup comm hidden in his suit.

'New rogue is Thomas Wayne from alt timeline. Alf and Hood compromised. Requesting backup in Bludhaven.'

In his haste to escape, however, Dick had not grabbed a grappling gun. He knew that he couldn't outrun Jason and Thomas for very long, but he didn't need to.

Sure enough, by the time a tranquilizer dart hit his neck, shot from two rooftops away, his comm had already transmitted his message to all of the other Bats.

It only took a couple of seconds for the dart's effects to take hold, his arms suddenly feeling like cinderblocks weighing him down. As darkness crept into his vision, Dick could feel himself fall into the arms of someone else.

As the world went dark around him, Dick's treacherous mind transported him, just for a split second, back into his memories as Robin, being held in Bruce's arms.