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Chapter Text

As Dick Grayson stepped out of his SUV, he spotted something orange out of the corner of his eye and threw himself behind the car door.

The Nerf bullet barely missed his ear. 

“Damn!” Damian’s voice echoed throughout the Batcave.

He heard the plastic of another Nerf gun cocking behind him, so Dick rolled onto the ground and swept his leg, knocking his attacker off his feet. 

“Ow!” yelped Tim.

Normally, Grayson would help him up, but this wasn’t over yet.

The whereabouts of Shooters 2 and 3 have been accounted for, but where’s-

A Nerf bullet smacked him on the back of the head. 

“Headshot!” a grinning Jason triumphantly announced from the upper parking level.

Grayson chuckled as he untangled the Nerf bullet from his hair, “So this is what you three are doing while the others are training, huh?”

Tim dusted his pants as he rose to his feet, “Hey, I offered to go to Atlantis with them, but Bruce said no.” 

“Because he knew you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from helping them.” Damian tutted, “Brown, Thomas, and Cain must complete the training on their own merits solely.” 

“That’s what I don’t get.” Jason scratched the side of his head with his Nerf gun, “Why would Cass need more training?”

“It could just be a formality for her.” Tim suggested. 

“Or who knows? She might have been genuinely excited for underwater combat.” Dick smiled, “One thing’s for sure, if she didn’t want to go, there was no way B could have forced her.” 

Grayson threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders as they climbed the stairs to the Batcave’s main level, “So what’s for lunch?” 

“No clue.” Damian piped up, “Alfred banished us to the Cave until you arrived because someone shattered a window.” 

Dick shot Jason a glare. 

“Don’t look at me!” his brother objected, jumping down from the upper level, “Tim was the one who missed the catch.” 

“But you were supposed to be the responsible adult in charge of them.” Grayson rubbed his temples. 

Jason scoffed, “I have my own methods of keeping them out of trouble, thank you very much. And they were working fine until Drake’s reflexes—or lack thereof—got in the way.” 

A muffled explosion reverberated through the walls. 

Stunned, the four brothers exchanged silent looks. 

“I swear that wasn’t me!” Jason held up both hands.

“Nor I!” Damian intejected.

“All of my experiments are at the Titans Tower now.” Tim explained. 

Dick turned on his heels, “Then come on! I think it’s safe to say that a mystery explosion cancels out your banishment.” 

The four brothers sprinted to the elevator and strategized on their way up. 

“Masks on?” Damian asked, already pulling out his own.

“No!” Dick held up a hand, “Whoever’s up there came for the Wayne family. Civilian identities only.” 

The doors whooshed open and the brothers moved carefully.

“Stay behind me.” Grayson warned Tim and Damian, “Jason, you watch our backs.” 

A loud boom came from the direction of the banquet hall, so the four brothers raced towards it while maintaining formation. 

As they barged through the door, Bruce—also dressed in civilian clothes—yelled out, “Stay back! He’s dangerous!” 

Grayson’s muscles tensed as he quickly scanned the room for the intruder. Based on the seriousness of Bruce’s tone, it could have been any of their A-list targets like Bane or Scarecrow. 

But instead his eyes landed on-

Wait. What is that thing?

“No way!” the small, mysterious creature flew towards him with open arms, “Look at how big you’ve gotten, Grayson!” 

Dick sputtered, “I- I’m sorry, have we me-”

The creature gasped, “And look at the little Blood Son!” it pinched Damian’s cheek, who angrily attempted to swat it away.

“Leave them alone!” Bruce ordered, “It’s me you want.”  

The creature looked to be about 3 feet (91 cm) tall with a mostly humanoid appearance, but based on the ease with which it floated through the air—and the distress in Bruce’s voice—it was clear that it was anything but human.

“Your father may have mentioned me, I’m Bat-Mite!” the creature introduced itself, “A 5th-dimensional imp who happens to be a big fan of all of your work, as you can very clearly see!” it pointed to the makeshift cowl on its head. 

“Whoa, imps are real?” Tim breathlessly exclaimed. 

“That sounds about right.” Jason shrugged, “I’ve seen weirder crap.” 

“Oh, where are my manners?” Bat-Mite slapped its forehead, “I should have set the table for the entire family!” 

Bruce yelled out, “Bat-Mite, don’t!” 

But it was too late. One deafening boom later, the banquet table—which Dick hadn’t even noticed already had some food on it—was suddenly overflowing with appetizers, main courses, and desserts galore. 

“Not to state the obvious, but I think we have confirmation on the source of the two earlier explosions.” Tim shouted with his hands still over his ears. 

Grayson shot Bruce a look.

What do we do? he silently asked.

Bruce waved a hand at him, a wordless signal that meant: Get the others away from here.

But before Dick could grab his brothers, Bat-Mite was already concocting something else. 

“Do you know who would have loved to see this big happy family about to sit down for lunch?” it asked ominously.

No one dared answer, unsure of what it was planning. 

Bat-Mite snapped its fingers and a slice of cake floated up from the table to its lips. 

“No guesses?” it asked, crumbs of cake flying out of his mouth, “Hmph, some detectives you guys are.” 

It waved a hand and produced a napkin out of thin air, wiping its lips, “I’ll give you a clue then. I’m thinking of a sad little orphaned boy, about eight years old-” 

“Bat-Mite…” Bruce snarled, his expression hardening, “Interfering with timelines is no joke.”

Grayson’s eyes widened, “Can it actually do that?” 

The imp let out an ear-piercing giggle that echoed through the room, “Oh Dickyboy, it would be mere child’s play—literally.” it grinned, rubbing its hands together.

A chorus of “No’s!” and “Don’t’s!” rang out before a bright light blinded them all. 

Unsure whether there would be another explosion, Dick and Jason threw themselves on top of their younger brothers to shield them as best as possible.

A strong wind rocked the house as Grayson covered Damian’s eyes, while Jason tucked Tim’s head into his jacket. When the dust had settled, Bat-Mite had completely disappeared. 

“Is everyone okay?” Bruce asked, kneeling down next to them. The older sons instinctively scanned the rest for injuries.

“Hello?” a young voice called just outside the door, “Alfred?”

The five of them looked at each other in disbelief. 

Jason raised an eyebrow, “There’s no way that could actually be-”

“Lower your voice.” Grayson held a finger to his lips, “It has to be a trick, right, B?” 

But Bruce didn’t answer, remaining completely frozen. 

“Bruce?” Tim shook his shoulder, “What’s wrong?” 

“Alfred? Are you in there?” the voice squeaked, accompanied by three polite knocks on the door.

“Father, snap out of it!” Damian tugged on his sleeve. 

Bruce sucked in a deep breath and regained his composure, “It’s not a trick. Get up, all of you, and follow my lead.” 

The sons did as they were told, leaping to their feet as they fixed their disheveled hair and clothes. Bruce nodded at them, before reaching for the door handle.

The door swung open to reveal a young boy, around eight-years-old, dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, cardigan vest, and corduroy pants.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know we had guests over today.” the child exclaimed with wide-eyes. 

Grayson’s heart felt like it was about to explode from the unprecedented levels of cuteness.

“No need to apologize, Bruce.” the adult Bruce said with a smile, “I’m your Uncle Irving Malone and these are my boys.” he gestured towards them, “I’m second cousins with your father, who has told me so much about you.” 

The young child blinked up at him, then at the four brothers. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Uncle Irving.” the eight-year-old beamed, extending a hand, “By any chance, have you seen our butler, Alfred?”

Dick looked over at Jason, Tim, and Damian, all of whom were clearly thinking the same thing he was: This eight-year-old Bruce was from before the night of the shooting, not after it.

“I thought I saw him dusting in the library.” Bruce tapped his chin, “But before you get him, maybe you’d like some cake?” he gestured towards the table, “Sorry for the mess, my boys can be such rascals sometimes.” 

The child chuckled at this, “My dad says there’s a no-rascal policy in this house.” 

“I know.” Bruce smiled weakly, “Now grab yourself a plate and Tim will help you to a slice. When you’re done, we’ll clean up and find Alfred together.” 

The young boy did as he was told and was soon making perfectly pleasant conversation with Tim and Damian at the far-end of the banquet table. 

Bruce gestured for Dick and Jay to join him in the adjoining room. 

As they slipped out, Grayson took one last look at the smiling boy and shook his head. 

This is so messed up. he shuddered—slowly closing the door behind them.

Chapter Text

This is so awesome! Jason Todd thought to himself as he and Grayson joined Bruce in the ballroom. After all, it wasn’t everyday that they got to see Bruce so out of his depth.

“So what’s the plan, B?” his older brother—ever the eager boy scout—asked. 

“Address me as Irving from now on, even when it’s just us. We can’t risk slipping up in front of my younger self.” Bruce—ever the paranoid captain—answered, “And we can call the kid ‘Brucey’ to add an extra layer of distinction and eliminate confusion. He won’t find it suspicious since it’s what relatives used to call us—call me, I mean.”

Jason shook his head, “Alright then, Irv. What do you want us to do?” 

“In short, as little damage to the timeline as possible.” answered his adoptive father, “Now, I don’t remember experiencing any of this as a child, but then again, we know absolutely nothing about how Bat-Mite’s powers interact with the time stream.”

“You don’t remember this?” Jason gestured broadly, “Why? Was discovering new uncles and cousins in random rooms of your house just an everyday occurrence for little Brucey?” 

Bruce sighed, “Trust me, Jay, I’m just as annoyed about it as you are. If I had any memories of this incident at all, we could have used them to help get us out of this mess.”

“If you don’t remember experiencing this, are you sure that that kid is really you?” Dick raised an eyebrow. 

“Positive.” Bruce nodded, “He’s too accurate to be a clone or a copy—especially one created by Bat-Mite, who isn’t the best at paying attention to detail.” 

“Hey!” 

The trio were suddenly enveloped by a cloud of smoke as a frowning Bat-Mite appeared above them.

“As the best Batman fan ever, I pay so much attention to detail!” the imp huffed, “You’ve just never appreciated my efforts!”

It zipped past Jason’s head to pout by the window, “Even now, you’re completely wasting the opportunity I’ve given you.” it spun around to point an accusatory finger at Bruce, “You should be in there comforting the boy personally.” 

“Comforting him for what?” Bruce waved an irritated hand, before lowering his voice, “He clearly hasn’t even lost his parents yet.” 

“But that’s impossible!” Bat-Mite scratched its head, “I’ve meticulously studied everything about that night! Heck, I even know it was a Friday night when your family went to the cinema because you didn’t have school the next-”

“Saturday night.” Bruce corrected it through gritted teeth. 

Bat-Mite’s eyes widened, “What?” 

“I didn’t have school the next day because it was a Saturday night.” Bruce rubbed his temples. 

“Let me get this straight…” Jason chimed in, “Bat-Mite the Brilliant over here assumed that your parents died on a Friday night, so he pulled your kid self from the following Saturday morning. But it turns out your parents were killed on Saturday night so-”

“So this version of Bruce is just about to lose his parents.” Dick gasped.

A cold shiver ran up Jason’s spine as his heart sank in his chest. Nothing was funny about this now.

Bruce let out a deep exhale, calming himself before firmly addressing the imp, “This is a mess—in so many more ways than we initially realized. Bat-Mite, you need to send him back to his own time now.” 

The imp stared straight ahead, his mouth agape in disbelief as he contemplated his blunder. 

Bruce snapped his fingers in its face impatiently, “Bat-Mite, are you listening?” 

The imp took great offense to this and snapped its fingers as well, but it materialized a spray bottle to aggressively spritz Bruce with. 

“Enough, Bat-Mite!” Bruce sputtered, swatting at the creature. 

“Bad, Batsy! Bad!” the imp yelled continuing to spray him down, “You need to learn some manners!” 

As hilarious as it was to see Bruce receive the same treatment as a misbehaving cat, Jason decided that enough was enough and made a grab for their unwelcome guest. 

But to his surprise, his hands completely phased through the creature, who instantly ditched the spray bottle in favor of a massive wooden mallet that it swung at Jason’s head.

“What the- Is the 5th dimension just the Looney Tunes?” he yelled as he dodged out of the way.

“You’re all just a bunch of meanies!” the imp roared, balling its hands into fists by its sides, “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

“Bat-Mite, wait!” Grayson called out. 

But it was too late, the creature disappeared in a cloud of smoke. 

Bruce dragged a hand down his—still wet—face, “Great. Just great.” 

“Not to rub it in, but in hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have antagonized the only entity that could reverse this mess.” Grayson rubbed the back of his neck.

“We couldn’t exactly help it when it was the exact same entity who caused this mess!” Jason sighed. 

The brothers turned to Bruce, who was already deep in thought. 

At last, he broke the silence, “I need to contact the Flash, he’s had experience with something similar to this before.” 

“Oh? Is there a Flash-Mite?” Jason teased.

But his joke fell on deaf ears as Bruce was already striding towards the ballroom’s main exit, “In the meantime, you and your brothers must find a way to keep my younger self busy and away from Alfred. He cannot be allowed to realize that this is the future.” 

Bruce opened the door and scanned the hallway.

“I know the word ‘impossible’ isn’t really a part of your vocabulary, Bru- I mean, Irving,” Jason folded his arms, “but don’t you ever worry about the magnitude of the tasks you leave us?”  

Bruce—one hand still on the doorknob—smiled over his shoulder, “Never.” 

The pair of brothers followed their adoptive father out of the room and watched him until he turned the corner at the end of the corridor, leaving them alone to their assignment.

What did it entail again? Oh yeah, to not screw up the timeline by somehow keeping the kid Bruce safe while also pretending to live 30-ish years in the past. 

But as daunting as the task sounded, Jason saw no point in procrastinating and decided to face it like he did with every other challenge: head on. 

He prepared to reenter the banquet hall, placing a hand on the door handle.

“Wait. Let’s think this through.” Dick stopped him, “What if we split into teams of two? The first pair could keep Brucey busy while the other team clears the house of all traces of modern-day technology and other possible signs that this is the future.” 

Jason raised an eyebrow, “In other words, one team gets stuck babysitting while the other gets stuck cleaning? I’d rather help Bruce run experiments on the Flash.” 

“He didn’t say he was going to ‘experiment on’ the Flash.” Grayson snapped, before furrowing his eyebrows, “But then again, he didn’t say that he wasn’t going to experiment on him.” 

Jason nodded, “You see?” 

“Okay, we’re already getting off track.” his brother pinched the bridge of his nose, “I propose that you take Tim while I take Damian. If you agree, we can flip a coin for whose team has to stick with Brucey.”

“This combo again?” Jason frowned, “What? Don’t you trust me to keep Damian on a leash?” 

“Don’t even try to pull that card, Jay.” Grayson raised a hand to stop him, “For crying out loud, our timeline—our very existence as we know it—is at stake! There’s no room for slipups or the petty squabbles that you and Damian somehow always find yourselves in. You’re with Tim.” 

“Alright, alright.” Jason raised his hands in defeat, he mumbled, “Damn, you get so bossy on missions. Flip your stupid coin, then.”

Grayson reached into his back pocket for his wallet. 

But instead of pulling out a coin, he merely stared into his wallet in silence for a few seconds.

“You don’t… have any coins, do you?” Jason sighed.

His older brother flashed him a sheepish look, “Everything’s cashless these days, so… maybe you could lend me a-” 

“Forget it!” Jason extended a fist, “Let’s just Rock-Paper-Scissors this.”

“Masters Dick and Jason?” Alfred emerged from around the corner, “Is it over?”

Dick grimaced, shaking his head, “Unfortunately, we technically haven’t even begun the mission.”

With a completely straight face, the butler added, “And would this mission have anything to do with the young Master Bruce I saw a few minutes earlier?”

“Wait, you saw him?” Dick gasped. 

“I practically almost tripped over the boy.” Alfred explained, “I was running down this very hall to check what on earth was causing all the racket and saw-” he averted his gaze, “I’ll admit, whatever that illusion was, it almost had me fooled. But the boy was too busy knocking on the banquet hall door to notice me slip away.”

“Unfortunately, that was the real deal, Alf.” Jason informed him, turning the poor man as white as a ghost.

The brothers quickly summarized what had transpired so far and what needed to be done, including how it was imperative for Alfred to remain out of sight lest the boy start wondering why his family’s butler aged 30-something years overnight.

“To be extra safe, maybe you should consider staying in the Cave until all of this blows over.” Dick suggested.

“You mean if this blows over.” Jason reminded him, “We still have no means of sending that kid back.” 

“This is… quite a lot—even by our standards.” Alfred pressed a hand to his forehead, “So I might take you up on your suggestion to remain in the Cave until further notice, Master Dick. Good luck.” 

As the pair watched yet another one of their surrogate fathers leave them to handle this on their own, the brothers finally had the chance to have their Rock-Paper-Scissors match. 

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed, his ‘paper’ covering Jason’s ‘rock’.

“Don’t celebrate too early, boy scout. We’re doing best out of three!”

Chapter Text

Timothy Drake watched the young Bruce Wayne cut his cake into perfect little squares before delicately eating each piece one-by-one, tilting his head ever so slightly in delight.

This is the boy who will grow up to be the most revered—no, the most feared—man in Gotham?

Apparently even Damian was struggling to believe his eyes, as he silently observed the child version of his father with utmost seriousness, no doubt scanning for any traces of the Bruce they knew today. 

“I know you said no earlier, but are you sure you’re not going to have any cake?” the child gestured to his plate.

“Oh, we’re so full. Thank you though, B-Bruce.” Tim managed to choke out. 

Damian scoffed at him for stumbling over his words, but in Tim’s defense this whole thing is insane even by the Batfamily’s standards.

At last, Dick and Jay rejoined them in the banquet hall.

“So Brucey,” Grayson, hands in his pockets, approached their end of the long banquet table, “what do you think of the cake?”

“It’s great.” beamed the kid, “But if you don’t mind me asking, why is there so much of it?” 

Grayson rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling: “Unfortunately, you’ll soon come to find that that’s just how our family rolls: overdoing everything.” 

Tim shot his older brothers a look, What’s the plan?

Jason clicked his tongue, basically his way of saying: Shut up and wait.

Grayson slapped his forehead, “Damian! Didn’t you ask for my help with that science project you have coming up?” 

Damian narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “Er…” 

But upon realizing what Dick was trying to do, those same eyes widened suddenly, “Yes, I did, Grayson! Shall we go now?” he asked, rising from his chair.

“Yes, before Dad gets back and you get in even more trouble than before.” Grayson returned his attention to Brucey, “We’re sorry to bounce like this, bud. But Dee’s got his homework and a couple of chores we need to do. You know, cleaning, taking out the trash, and so forth.”

Tim nodded to himself, 

Ah, they’re going to clear the house. Smart, it’ll help us buy time and keep the kid from realizing that this is the future.

“I understand.” Brucey smiled, “Good luck with your science project, Damian.” 

Damian blinked at him, “Thank you, Bruce.”

“But don’t worry, kid!” Jason threw his arm around Tim,  “you, me, and Tim here will have way more fun without those killjoys around.” 

So it seems that I’ve been paired up with Jay… again.

Brucey neatly placed his fork and knife on his plate and dabbed his lips with a napkin.

“What do you want to do next?” Tim asked the lad.

The boy’s eyes lit up, “Your dad said he saw Alfred in the library, shall we go there?” 

“The library? Nah!” Jason hoisted young Bruce out of his chair and onto his feet.

“It’s Saturday, right?” he gestured to the window, “Why waste a rare sunny day in Gotham? Let’s go outside for a bit and then find Alfred afterwards.” 

The boy scratched his head. Evidently, this was a very difficult decision for him.

Timothy held in a snort—even the rhythm with which Brucey moved his finger was an exact mirror of his older self. 

Eventually, their young ward exclaimed, “But the library is just as fun as the garden!” 

“Oh trust me, I love reading too.” Jason assured him, “But remember: you can read anywhere, anytime, even tonight. But I bet Alfred won’t let you out into the garden past sunset now, will he?” 

“That’s a very good point.” Brucey gasped, “To the garden, then! Come on!” 

With this exclamation, the boy grabbed Jason’s hand and began leading him towards the door.

Tim gasped at the adorable scene unfolding before him and debated whether he should snap a quick photo. 

On one hand, it’s an unnecessary risk.  

He chewed his lip contemplatively. 

On the other hand, what are the chances this will ever happen again?  

He reached into his back pocket and carefully retrieved his phone. But just as he swiped to the camera app, Brucey called over his shoulder, “Are you coming, Ti- Wow! What’s that?” he exclaimed, abandoning Jason’s side.

Tim swore under his breath. 

Jason—still standing behind Brucey—frantically placed both hands on his head, silently mouthing: “You. Are. Dead!”  

Timothy felt the overwhelming urge to flip him off, but then remembered the eight-year-old present. 

Brucey looked up at him expectantly.

“It’s a…” Tim racked his brain for tech he was sure existed 30 years ago, “pager…?”

“Cool!” Brucey grabbed his wrist to bring the device closer to his face, “My dad has one too, but it doesn’t look anything like this.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty rare mo-”

“It has a colored screen? ” the child gasped, “Why are the buttons on the sides?”

Looking past the kid, Tim could see his older brother dragging a hand over his face, still silently mouthing obscenities at him. Honestly, it was a very valid reaction.

If the roles were reversed, Tim would certainly be roasting him for managing to royally screw everything up in less than five minutes of being in charge of their target.

Getting on one knee to meet the boy’s eyeline, Tim cleared his throat, “Okay, Brucey, I’m gonna let you in on a secret. But only if you swear you won’t tell anyone, okay?” 

Brucey nodded his head eagerly, “I promise!” 

“This…” Timothy turned the phone over in his hands, “...is the latest pager model out of Wayne Enterprises. But the family is keeping it deep under wraps until all of the flaws have been worked out. We wouldn’t want our competitors to steal our designs and take credit for them, would we?”

“Never!” came the stalwart response, the boy’s eyebrows furrowing. 

From this close, he looked just like a blue-eyed Damian.  

Jason tousled the boy’s hair, “But who wants to stand around talking about pagers all day when we have a garden to explore, right, sport?” 

“Oh yeah!” chuckled the boy, “Follow me, guys!”  

The brothers let him lead the way down the corridor—without letting him get too far from them, of course. 

“Good save.” Jason whispered to him, “I’m still including it in my mission report though.” 

Knowing that Jay wanted to get a rise out of him, Timothy decided to not give him the satisfaction by glossing over his remark entirely, “How long will we be, you know, babysitting?”

“We’ll switch with Dick and Dames every two hours.” his older brother whispered back, “In the meantime, ‘Irving’ and the Flash are working on a more… permanent solution.”

At last, the trio found themselves in Wayne Manor’s back gardens. But as soon as they were out the backdoor Brucey’s bright smile immediately faded, replaced instead by complete bewilderment.

“You okay, bud?” Jason placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yes… it’s just-” Brucey opened his mouth, but then shook his head, “Never mind, it’s stupid.” 

“Go on.” Tim assured him, “There’s no way it’ll be dumber than the things that come out of Jay’s mouth. Trust me.”

The boy let out a dry laugh, “Er, well, it’s just- I think… the trees look different.” 

Tim’s eyes widened in surprise.

Brucey continued, “In fact… even the flowerbeds seem-” he gasped, “Wait a second, there’s a statue missing from here!” 

The brothers exchanged silent looks once more. 

He may just be a kid, but he’s still Bruce Wayne.

This time, Jason stepped in to salvage the situation. 

“Ah, didn’t Alfred or your parents tell you?” he put on his most innocent smile, “They got new landscapers! Our dad’s even helping them redo the manor’s interior. Damn- I mean, shoot, I guess we ruined the surprise, hey, Tim?”

Tim chuckled at his brother’s choice of self-censorship, “Yeah… shoot.” 

“Come watch me do the monkey bars!” Brucey yelled, sprinting full speed ahead, “Oh! Let’s do the hedge maze on our way there!” 

The kid appeared to accept Jay’s explanation pretty easily—either because it was so convincing, or simply because no child cares about what landscapers their parents hire. Tim had a feeling it was the second reason.

The brothers jogged behind their target, but kept a safe distance so they’d have an opportunity to speak freely. 

“So we’re just going to gaslight our adoptive dad harder and harder, huh?” Tim whispered, elbowing him in the side.

His older brother rolled his eyes, “That’s literally the point of our assignment, Drake. At least we now have an excuse in case he notices any differences in the decor when we get back inside.”

Brucey stopped just outside the hedge maze, waiting for them to catch up, “We should race to see who solves the maze the quickest!” 

“We’re not falling for that, kid.” Jason folded his arms, “This is your maze, of course, you would know the way out.”

Timothy couldn’t help but smile. 

It’s good to know that even at eight years old, Bruce was already pretty conniving.

“Okay, okay.” the child giggled, “Then we’ll just play tag before we go to the monkey bars! Both of you can be ‘it’, but you have to count to a hundred first before you can chase me!” 

Jason rolled his eyes, “Typical only child behavior. I’m counting to fifteen, no further than tha- One…” 

“Hey! You’re not supposed to start counting yet!” 

“Two…” Jason smirked, warning him, “If you don’t start moving, I’ll count faster. Three…” 

“You’ll never catch me!” Brucey exclaimed, sprinting with all his might into the hedge maze. 

Jason dropped the count as soon as he was sure the kid was out of earshot, shoving his hands in his pockets as they strolled into the maze.

“You like him, don’t you?” Tim grinned. 

“He’s growing on me.” Jason shrugged, “All the crap- you know, all of our baggage with ‘him’, it begins after this version. But for today, he’s just a kid. Now let’s split up 'cause if we take too long to tag him, he’ll rub it in our faces.”

“I’ll take this route.” Tim nodded to the left, “Bring him to the end of the maze if you find him.” 

“M-hmm.”

Tim spent the next eleven minutes painstakingly combing through the left route’s dead-ends and offshoots. But there was no sign of Brucey, who must have chosen the other pathway.

As agreed, he jogged to the end of the maze to meet up with them. 

But when he got there, he found Jason by himself. 

“Where’s the kid?” they asked each other simultaneously.

“Brucey?” Tim called out, turning on his heels.

“Buddy?” Jay yelled, “We’re not trying to cheat or tag you, just give us a signal so we know you’re okay.” 

No response.

“Bruce?” Tim called again, “Didn’t you want to show us the monkey bars?”

“This isn’t funny, kid!” his older brother pushed past him, “We’ll leave you here if we have to.” 

No response.

The brothers glanced at each other in terror.

Tim silently mouthed to his older brother: “We. Are. Both. Dead.”

Chapter Text

“All clear!” Damian Wayne called out, closing the third guest bedroom door behind him. 

“Clear here too!” Grayson joined him in the hallway with an air freshener tucked under his arm. 

“Seriously?” Damian raised an eyebrow, “You think an automatic air freshener counts as modern-day technology that could potentially raise the target’s suspicions?” 

Grayson shrugged, “I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. The only iconic tech from Brucey’s time that I can think of is lava lamps.”

Damian opened the sack so Grayson could toss the air freshener in. It contained various family photos, portable Bluetooth speakers, sports awards, and anything else that would raise questions.  

His older brother then closed the sack up and slung it over his shoulders.

“From here, you kind of look like a starved and bedraggled Santa Claus.” Damian teased him.

His eldest brother exhaled through his nose, “Yeah? What a coincidence because from here, you look like the most sour-faced little elf.” 

Annoyed, Damian was tempted to stick his foot out and trip up his brother. But his phone buzzed in his pocket, forcing him to set that plan aside.

“Lost Brucey in the hedge maze 10 mins ago. Keep an eye out for him.” read Drake’s message in the family group chat. 

Damian gasped, “Look at what those imbeciles did!” he held the phone to Grayson’s face. 

Dick squinted at the screen before throwing his head back in laughter, “Poor Tim’s probably pulling his hair out. He’s always so hard on himself on missions.”

They arrived at the final two rooms on this floor. As usual, Damian took the door on the right, while Grayson took the one on the left. 

“If that were true,” Damian called out, scanning his assigned room, “they wouldn’t have lost the target in the first place.” he hissed.

“Mistakes happen, Dee. You have to be ready for the unexpected.” Grayson called from the other room, “I’m sure Tim and Jay were taking their assignment very seriously—or at least I’m sure Tim was—but the fact is that setbacks are part of our work.”

“Sounds like something another imbecile would say.” Damian mumbled.

“Hmm?” 

“Nothing!” Damian called back before returning to the hallway, “All clear here.” 

His brother rejoined him in the hallway and picked up the sack in his arms once more, “Awesome, now let’s drop this stuff at the Cave.” 

“You can handle a simple deposit, Grayson.” Damian sprinted down the hallway, “I’m helping the others locate Brucey.” 

“Damian!” his brother called after him in vain, “They’ll be fine! Stick to the plan, Dee!” 

“You should have been ready for the unexpected!” Damian called over his shoulder, before turning the corner.

He launched himself from the top of the stairs to the next landing.  

What were those buffoons thinking? he scoffed to himself.

With another jump, he aimed for the main staircase’s landing, tucking and rolling onto the cold marble to soften the impact.

He rode the bannister the remainder of the way down, where he came face-to-face with Todd and Drake as they barged in through the front door.

“Well, well, well…” he leapt off the railing, “if it isn’t the idiots who just effaced our timeline.” 

“Shut up or I’ll efface you.” Jason snapped, jogging towards the drawing room, “Brucey?” 

Tim didn’t even acknowledge Damian’s presence and bolted in the opposite direction to search the other side of the house. 

With the manor’s interior covered, Damian decided he would scour the grounds for their target. Of course, his older brothers had certainly already done so, but given their incompetence, Damian decided it would be in everyone’s best interests for him to check again.

Deciding to work counter clockwise, he checked the East Gardens first, but found nothing of note besides three little sparrows using the birdbath. 

Next, the North Gardens, the very grounds that his brothers managed to lose the target in. 

This was certainly the most obvious place to search and no doubt where the other two had spent the most time looking for him, but Damian couldn’t risk leaving any square inch unturned or-

The sound of sniffling caught his attention. 

Damian slid to a halt so he could better scan his surroundings, concentrating so he could hear it again.

But it turns out he didn’t need to try so hard because his eyes immediately landed on Brucey leaning against the hedge maze entrance. 

Seriously? he furrowed his eyebrows, Just how useless are those two?

Damian jogged towards the target, stopping a few paces in front of him, “Everyone’s looking for you.”

His voice startled Brucey, who hastily wiped his tears on the back of his hand. 

“I know.” he squeaked.

Damian narrowed his eyes, “You knew? Then why did- Oh. Were you hiding from them on purpose?” 

The boy nodded. 

Damian joined him on the grass, crossing his legs, “Why? Did they do something?” 

The boy shook his head, choking on his sobs, “I just- I couldn’t fi-ind my way through the hedge maze and I did-n’t wa-ant them to laugh at me ‘cause I’m sup-posed to kno-ow the way.”

“So you hid and came back to the entrance.” Damian nodded understandingly, “How’d you evade them despite the dead-ends? Did you crawl under the hedges?”

“Yeah.” Brucey rubbed his eyes, “And then I saw how worr-ried they got and now they’re ma-ad at me.”

“No, they aren’t.” Damian assured him, hesitantly sticking out a hand to pat the other boy’s back, “They just… panicked and ended up raising their voices. Adults do that sometimes. Now come on, let’s put their minds at ease.”

Brucey hugged his legs to his chest, “I don’t want them to laugh at me!” he yelled into his knees. 

“They won’t!” Damian insisted, “If anything, we should be laughing at them for being bested by an eight-year-old.” 

But Brucey didn’t budge, choosing instead to bury his head deeper.

Damian sighed, “Strangely enough, one of my earliest memories with my brothers was also me being afraid that they’d laugh at me.”

He leaned his head against the hedge, continuing, “I had been doodling while watching TV, but I fell asleep like a moron and with my sketchbook open right in front of me.” 

Brucey peeped at him over his knees. 

“I had never shown my drawings to anyone before.” Damian shook his head, “So you can imagine how I felt when I opened my eyes to find all three of them shamelessly poring over the pages.” 

“What happened?” Brucey asked him wide-eyed.

“When I snatched it away from them, Grayso- I mean, Dick scooped me up in a crushing hug and told me I was the best.” Damian chuckled, shaking his head, “Jason complained about his biceps being too small in some of the sketches, while Tim was just glad I had included him at all.” 

Damian ran a hand through his hair, “I still go through that sketchbook sometimes. Everything in it was embarrassingly amateurish, and they certainly knew that back then.” 

He smiled to himself as the memory came rushing back to him, “And yes, they had plenty of feedback to offer.”

Damian met Brucey’s gaze, “But you know what they didn’t do? Laugh.”

“Your brothers are nice.” Brucey finally piped up, lowering his legs from his chest.

“They try to be—most of the time.” Damian shrugged, “Don’t get me wrong, we almost kill each other on a daily basis, but I can never hold a grudge against them for too long because… well, they’re good people.”

“I wish I had a brother.” Brucey sighed. 

His words cut through Damian’s chest. 

He had always known that Father’s childhood had been a lonely one. But this situation opened his eyes to just how all-encompassing that loneliness was, even before he had lost his parents.

“What about friends?” Damian suggested, “They’re like brothers that you get to choose.”

Brucey averted his gaze, “I have one or two. But we don’t get to see each other very often.”

“And your parents are always working, yes?” Damian sighed.

“Yeah.” Brucey answered, before perking up, “But they’ll be free tonight! We’re going to watch Zorro!”

Damian’s hand balled into a fist, “That’s- that’s great, Bruce. I’m happy for you.”

The boy leapt to his feet, evidently forgetting his tears, “We should ask Uncle Irving if you and your brothers can come too!”

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s-” 

“It’ll be so fun!” Brucey pumped an excited fist in the air, “D’you know that my mom made me a cape just like Zorro’s? But Alfred says the cinema might not allow it, so I have to wear a plain suit instead.”

The boy’s eyes widened in realization, “But I can still show it to you!” he sprinted towards the house, “Come on! My room’s this way.” 

“Brucey, wait!” Damian jumped to his feet, pulling out his phone to alert the others.

Maybe I should have just stuck with Grayson after all.

Chapter Text

“Special delivery!” Dick announced, lugging the giant sack out of the elevator and into the Cave.

Barry Allen flashed him a big smile, “Dicky! New part-time job?”

“I wish.” he joked, “I’d take anything to get away from my current boss.”

Bruce didn’t respond to this quip, his eyes remained glued to the Batcomputer, surrounded by several stacks of physical case files. The secondary screen showed the various CCTV feeds from around the house, with Jason and Tim frantically running in and out of various rooms.

“How close are we to sending Brucey back?’ Dick asked, joining them at the computer.

“About this close.” the speedster answered, spreading his arms as wide as possible, “And not just ‘cause the kid’s currently M.I.A.”

Grayson sighed, rotating his shoulder, “Not a lot of research on 5th dimensional imps and their warping of time streams, huh?” 

Bruce finally broke his silence, “Even the Green Lantern Corps’ files on the 5th dimension are disappointingly scant.”

As discussed, Bruce had indeed contacted the Flash for help, but Dick was surprised that he was the only speedster present.

“Where’s Bart?” Grayson suggested, “Call me crazy, but I think an actual time traveler could provide some very valuable insight into our current predicament.” 

“I texted him, but he’s also a time traveler who doesn’t get out of his summer classes until 04:00.” Barry chuckled, “He’s had so many absences this year that it was either remedial summer classes or getting held back a year.”

Grayson inhaled sharply, “Yikes, weirdly enough, I don’t remember my school being quite that strict with attendance.”

“Not surprised.” Barry snorted, “I think your Gothamite teachers had no choice but to play nice with the Bruce Wayne’s ward.”

Bruce mumbled, “It also helped that they got a new gymnasium out of doing so.” 

“And Wally?” Grayson asked, “Quantum mechanics, timestream entanglement, tiny imps that blow things up, this would all be right up his alley.”

“Off-world.” Barry answered, “Manhunter and Supes needed a speedster to take down an interplanetary trafficking ring hub on Mars, and since I did the New Genesis thing last week, this week is Wally’s turn.”

Bruce scribbled something furiously in his notepad with one hand, while switching windows on the screen with the other, “Given the interplanetary time difference, they’re either on mission or fast asleep. Either way, none of them are responding to our hails.” 

Dick’s phone buzzed telling him that Damian had sent a voice note in the group chat. 

He scrambled to unlock the screen and hit play.

Damian’s hushed voice crackled over the speaker “Target inbound. Backdoor. He’s heading to his old room.”  

Grayson checked the secondary monitor, Jason and Tim were each making their way to the backdoor, evidently having also received Damian’s voice note. 

“You coming, B?” Grayson sprinted to the elevators. 

“I’m needed here.” his adoptive father answered.

This answer didn’t surprise Grayson, he’d heard it many times before. In fact, a part of him wondered why he even bothered to ask. 

But for some reason, Bruce’s answer didn’t feel quite right this time. 

So when the elevator doors opened, Dick didn’t get in. 

“Are you… sure you’re okay, Bruce?” he turned towards his father.

“Dick, your brothers need you.” 

Grayson’s jaw clenched, “Barry, can you give us a minute, please?” 

“Absolutely.” beamed the speedster, “Hey, since I’m in my civvies, maybe I’ll swing by upstairs and get to meet the little-”

“Just go help Alfred dust or something.” Bruce snapped, before turning to Grayson, “We’re on a clock here, Dick. What is it?”

As Barry skulked away to the lower levels of the Cave, Dick carefully approached the Batcomputer once more. 

“Bruce…” Grayson sighed, “I know it’s probably useless to say this to the control freak that you are, but what if…” he sucked in a deep breath, “...you let Flash lead the research on this for a little bit?” 

His father instantly scoffed, “I want this done right, not just fast.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “Then why’d you bother calling Barry for help if you’re not going to properly utilize his-” 

Slamming a fist on the desk, Bruce cut him off, “That night is what led to Batman, to Robin, to all of us. Sending Brucey back needs to be done precisely and perfectly. Or else… or else-”

“Or else we’ll lose each other, right?” Dick added, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, “I understand, B. And you’re right, as usual. But answer just one more question for me.” 

The older man acknowledged his request with a shallow nod. 

Dick gestured to the open files, “Would the perfect calculations, perfect conditions—perfect everything—absolutely guarantee that you could get Brucey home with no changes at all to our timeline?”

Bruce lowered his head, “No…” he exhaled through gritted teeth, “There’s always a chance—no matter how small—that something goes wrong or gets unintentionally altered. The Flash and Co. always say that time travel is equal parts science and luck.”

“I thought so.” Grayson sighed, “In that case, today may very well be the last day of our original timeline as we know it, right? I mean, there’s a chance that we send Brucey back and very little ends up changing—we might not even notice it.”

Grayson squeezed his adoptive father’s shoulder, “But there’s a much bigger chance that life as we know it—despite Batman’s best efforts—could change forever. Either way, shouldn’t we spend as much as possible of this final day in our timeline together?”

Dick gestured to the second monitor, where the CCTV feed showed his brothers pacifying Brucey near the manor’s backdoor.

“So I’m just supposed to relax with my family while leaving the fate of our lives in Flash’s hands?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“Only until around 04:02 when Bart gets here from school.” Grayson assured him, “Then you can come back and nerd out about solutions as much as you want.”

Bruce exhaled slightly through his nose, “‘Nerd out’? You’ve been spending too much time with Jay.”

“Karaoke nights.” Dick smiled, “You should join us sometime… you know, if we still know each other after this.”

Bruce checked his watch and—after a deep exhale—called out, “Flash! Can you take ove-”

A sudden burst of wind kicked up the files and papers around them.

“You got it, Bats!” Barry grinned, “And don’t worry, I definitely wasn’t eavesdropping.”

“I’ll be back in two hours.” Bruce grunted, setting a timer on his watch, “Ask Alfred for help if you need access to the archive. And pressing this button will summon Oracle.” 

“Copy.” Barry flashed them a thumbs up, “I’ll keep you posted if I find anything interesting.” 

Bruce walked to the railing and leaned over, “Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Bruce?” the butler answered from an armchair on the mezzanine level, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.

“You know what to do.” 

“I shall watch him like a hawk, Sir.” Alfred assured him, before resuming his reading.

Throwing an arm around Bruce, Dick herded his father into the elevator before the other could change his mind. 

Just before the doors closed, they heard Barry ask, “Alfred? How do I call Zatana on this?”  

Bruce stepped forward but it was too late, the doors whooshed shut.

“Hnng.” Bruce grunted, clenching his jaw.

“He’s got it covered, B.” Dick elbowed him in the side, “You know, my mentor says we're supposed to trust our teammates.”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned upwards, “Sounds like a smart guy.”

“Eh, he’s alright, I guess.” Grayson shrugged, earning a side eye from his father. 

Running a hand through his hair, Dick asked, “What do you think the others told Brucey to stop him from trying to get to his room?”

The elevator let them out near the lesser drawing room and East library. 

“I doubt it was anything profound.” Bruce replied, leading the way down the corridor, “It isn’t difficult to lie to an eight-year-old.”

Turning the corner, they realized that the rest of the family were no longer gathered near the backdoor. 

Dick furrowed his eyebrows, “Where’d they-”

A piercing wail rang throughout the house. Running as fast as they could, both men followed the sound to the entrance hall. 

They found Tim and Jason kneeling by a sobbing Brucey’s side, while Damian stood two steps up on the staircase.

“What happened?” Grayson asked, sliding to a halt. 

The child moved his head and Dick gasped at the sight of blood. But thankfully, it didn’t appear serious, just a cut on the cheek.

As Dick stooped forward to help, Bruce asked the question again, but he sounded much sterner than Grayson had, “What happened?” 

“Better start talking, Jay.” Grayson piped up, scanning their surroundings for the nearest tissue box, which he spotted on the console table just outside the drawing room. 

Dick jogged over to it.

“He pushed me down the stairs!” he heard Brucey wail.

“I barely touched him!” Damian blurted out defensively, “He rushed me and I stuck my hand out. It was a reflex!” 

Grayson returned with the tissue box in hand and began wiping Brucey’s cheek. Tim grabbed a handful to help Brucey blow his nose.

“It was an accident, Irving. Brucey happened to cut himself on the baluster’s metal lining on his way down.” Jay explained.

“I wa-ant Alfred!” Brucey sobbed into Jay’s chest, “Where’s Alfre-ed?”

Jason’s face suddenly lit up, “Tim, why don’t you use your pager?”

Grayson’s hand froze in confusion, “Pager?” 

“It’s a pager and a phone at the same time.” Tim added, winking to Dick to play along, “Even if Alfred’s busy, we’ll be able to reach him wherever he is.” 

Grayson and Bruce’s eyebrows simultaneously rose in alarm as they watched Timothy pull out his phone. 

But to their surprise, Brucey didn’t react as expected upon seeing the device, instead he sat patiently as Tim rang Alfred while Dick wiped away the last of his tears. 

“Master Timothy?” the butler’s voice came over the phone. 

“Alfred, Bruce wants to speak to you.” Timothy hastily explained before pushing the phone towards Brucey, “It’s on loudspeaker mode, so just talk like this.” he demonstrated, before handing it to the boy.

“Alfre-ed?” sniffled Brucey, laying the phone flat on his palm, “Where are you?”

A long pause followed. Dick and his brothers held their breaths, knowing that they were springing quite a lot on the poor man.

“I’m ever so sorry, Master Bruce.” Alfred answered, sounding chipper as ever, “I had to dash to the supermarket rather urgently, so I asked your uncle and cousins to keep an eye on you in the meantime.” 

Brucey made a disappointed face, “I see.”

“Why?” Alfred asked, “Are they bothering you? Say the word and I shall escort them off the premises the moment I return.” 

“Yes! Please do.” Brucey let out a giggle, before adding, “Not all of them though… just Damian.” 

“Hey!” Damian piped up, only to have Brucey stick his tongue out at him.

Grayson shook his head, And to think that Bruce had the audacity to accuse me of being spoiled when I was younger.

“What time will you be home?” Brucey murmured. 

“Very soon, Master Bruce.” Alfred assured the child, but his own voice sounded constricted, “However, if I take longer than usual, well, you can thank Gotham’s traffic for that.”  

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry?” the butler asked, his voice more obviously choked up—at least to the rest of them.

“A little.” Brucey admitted.

“There’s some fettuccine carbonara in the kitchen.” Alfred answered, “Your uncle and cousins can fix you a plate.” 

“Okay!” the young boy smiled, “Thanks, Alfred!” he started to return the phone to Tim, before suddenly bringing it close to his face again, “Oh! And can I have ice cream today? Please?”

Another long pause hung in the air.

“No more than two scoops.” Alfred replied.

“Yes! Bye, Alfred!” Brucey exclaimed, passing the phone back to Tim.

“Goodbye, Master Bruce.”

A thick silence filled the air. Except for Brucey, no one seemed able to speak or move after the phone call.

Grayson looked to Bruce. Yes, his expression still appeared largely neutral, but Dick could swear that his eyes looked wet. 

His father cleared his throat before asking, “Damian, don’t you have something to say?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you, Brucey.” 

“Brucey, don’t you have something to say?” Tim nudged the boy. 

“It’s… okay, Damian.” Brucey mumbled.

Grayson fought back the lump in his throat as he lightly pinched Brucey's nose, “So, shall we get ourselves some carbonara?”

“Yeah!” the boy yelled, jumping on to his feet.

As the sons helped each other up from the floor, Bruce told Dick, Damian, and Brucey to go ahead. 

“Are you sure, Irv?” Grayson blinked at him.

“Help your cousin and brother get lunch.” Bruce confirmed, “I have a few things to discuss with Jay and Tim.”  

Dick nodded and led Brucey away by the hand. Damian flashed him a silent look as they walked towards the kitchen. 

It was clear they were both thinking the same thing: 

At least we’re not in trouble.

Chapter Text

Jason closed the drawing room door behind them and sucked in a deep breath before beginning, “B, I can explain-”

“I’ll read it in your mission report, Jason.” Bruce cut him off drily before turning to Tim, “Dick dropped off all our photo albums in the Cave, but I assume you have digitized copies of the important stuff, right Tim?”

Jason’s jaw tightened. The only thing worse than Bruce yelling at you for screwing up, was him not yelling at all. It was his way of saying that you screwed up so deeply that he couldn’t even be bothered to point out everything you did wrong. 

So he called me in here just to shut me up and let me know he’s mad? He’s so damn petty.

Jason shot his adoptive father one more glower before dropping himself onto the closest sofa and pulling out his flask.

“Yeah, Bru- I mean, Irving.” Tim—one half of Batman’s golden boy scouts—answered, taking out his phone, “What do you need?” 

“Pull up the earliest newspaper articles and any press photos of me right after my parents were killed.” Bruce ordered, “If we’re lucky-” their father stopped mid-sentence and blinked, “Jay, it’s 02:00 in the afternoon.”  

Jason met his gaze head-on as he took in another swig, he swallowed and shot back, “Yeah, you don’t have to remind me, Bruce. I have my own watch, see?” he raised his wrist.

In response, his father raised an unimpressed eyebrow. 

Tim piped up, “I’m combing through the digital archive right now, Irving. Is there a pattern that you’re looking for or…?”

“Hold that thought, Tim.” Bruce raised a hand, “For now, just gather all the photos of me you can from that time.” 

Already engrossed in his new task, Tim dropped himself into an armchair on the other side of the room. 

In the meantime, Bruce folded his arms and sat on the sofa opposite Jason. 

“Talk.”

“You start.” Jason added with a sarcastic smirk, “You’re always so great at it.”  

“Fine.” Bruce exhaled exasperatedly, “I’ll start with this: you know better than to drink on a mission, yet here you are. So explain what I’m looking at.” 

Jason lifted the flask to his lips again, “You know, I’m sitting the rest of this one out so you don’t have to worry about your biggest liability anymore.” he tilted the flask in Bruce’s direction, “You’re welcome, I just saved you two minutes of unnecessary conversation.” 

“Jay, that’s not what this is about.” Bruce shook his head, “Yes, you screwed up—big time. But it’s dealt with now and you’ll have time to reflect on it as you write your mission report. I just want to know why you’re taking this so hard.” he nodded to the flask.

Jason threw his hands up in annoyed disbelief, “Seriously? That’s it? You know you could have just said: ‘Hey Jay, what’s wrong?’ and gotten us to this part of the conversation much faster, right?” 

Bruce let out a dry laugh, “And you know that you could have just told me what’s wrong without making me ask, right?”

Jay took one more sip before closing the flask up, “Honestly, I’m…” he cleared his throat, “...pissed at the way you’re pissed—if that even makes sense. Like yeah, it was a huge mistake, but your tone was- I dunno, you kinda sounded like you expected me to screw up, I guess everyone does.” he mumbled.

“Of course.” his father shrugged, “Everyone expects everyone to screw up.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, “That’s not what I mea-” 

“Let me finish.” Bruce cut him off, “With that said, it’s disturbing to see that that’s still how you think I see you.” he rubbed his temples, “I thought we were past this. I thought things between us were finally going well and-”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck, “They were! You know, for the most part. I just- I don’t know. It’s been a weird day, old man.” he threw his hands up dejectedly. 

Bruce wordlessly joined Jason on his sofa, “Jay, you’ve been angry with me before, so I know what that looks like. But this? It seems to me that you’re actually angry at someone—or something—else.”

Jason opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again as it dawned upon him that his adoptive father was making a good point.

After several moments of silence, Jason finally admitted, “I guess… I just hate this, all of this.” he gestured broadly, “We’re literally a family of—mostly—orphaned vigilantes but the best we can do is twiddle our thumbs as we send this kid back to watch his parents die?” 

“Jay, making any alterations to the time stream would be catastro-”

“I know!” Jason scowled, “I know we’re not supposed to mess with the time stream. I know, old man. But meeting Brucey like this, it’s just… that kid- that scrawny, smiling, clueless kid deserves better. Instead, we’re failing him—deliberately.”

Bruce let out a deep exhale, “We aren’t though, Jay. It’s none of our faults that his parents—my parents—died that night. Yes, he deserved better…” Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, “...but so did you. And Dick, Tim, Damian, Cass, literally everyone in this family. No child deserves to go through any of the things we’ve been through.”  

His father contemplatively pursed his lips before adding, “But what’s done is done. All we can do is make the best of what’s left.” 

Jason acknowledged this with a nod as he absent-mindedly reached for his flask once again, but then stopped himself in time.

Bruce signaled for him to hand it over and Jason obliged. To his surprise, Bruce took off its cover and took a huge gulpful. 

“This isn’t the Irish stuff.” his father remarked, handing it back to him. 

“It’s Danish.” the younger vigilante smiled, “And it’s pretty good considering how new they are to the whiskey game.” he explained, taking the chance to down another swig. 

As he closed it back up, Bruce asked him, “So are we on the same page now?” 

“Yeah.” Jason sighed, “It still just sucks that we can’t help.” 

“You did help me.” Bruce assured him, “It just took a few years.”

Jason lightly punched his father’s arm, “Careful, you’re growing soft, old man.” 

Bruce exhaled slightly through his nose, “Remind me who won our last spar again?”

“For the billionth time, that didn’t count!” Jason snapped, “The Cave’s CCTV literally caught your foot going out of bounds to-”

“No.” Bruce grunted, “It just looked that way because of the angle and shado-”

“Sorry to cut this important deliberation short,” Tim called from the other side of the room, “But Bruc- or Irving, or whatever, I think I found what you were looking for.”

Both men made their way to Tim, who held the phone screen facing them, “The Gotham Herald published this photo of Alfred driving you somewhere about a week after your parents died.” 

Bruce squinted his eyes, “I remember this, it was the day we left to go country-hopping around Europe for a few months to help my grief.” 

Tim pinched to zoom into the limo’s window, “And look at what’s on little Brucey’s right cheek.” 

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, “It’s the cut!” 

His younger brother nodded, swiping to the left, “You can also see it in this photo, and in this one too. In this one, it’s almost healed, but the position, length, and thickness all match the cut that we saw Brucey get from the baluster earlier.” 

Jason slapped a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, “That’s awesome!” he turned to Bruce, “Right? That means we definitely found a way to send Brucey back, doesn’t it?”

“It’s… a good sign.” Bruce hesitantly admitted, “But like I said before, we still have no idea how Bat-Mite’s powers interact with the timestream. Depending on how they work, we could potentially create a variant of the bootstrap paradox.”

“Well, there’s a pretty easy way to check that.” Jason folded his arms, “If you don’t remember receiving that cut from the baluster today, then what do you remember caused it?”

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows, “I- I just don’t remember getting cut at all.”

“What about what you did that Saturday?” Tim prompted him, “Like do you remember eating lunch, getting dressed, driving to the cinema? Anything?”

The brothers watched Bruce’s jaw tighten as he concentrated, eventually replying, “Nothing. Apart from the murder itself, I can’t think of anything else that happened that da-”

“Uh-oh, that’s not great.” Barry Allen’s voice crackled from the speaker above them. 

Bruce looked towards the CCTV camera discreetly nestled in the house plants on top of the tallest bookcase in the room. 

“Flash? Did you get all of that?” 

“Yeah, Bats.” the speedster replied, “Also a side note, why does a paranoid guy like you have recording devices around his own house anyway? I mean, an announcement system makes sense in case of emergencies, but constantly recording hidden cameras and microphones? Like that has to be a crazy security risk, righ-”

Bruce waved an impatient hand, “Flash, focus! What were you saying earlier?” 

“Oh yeah!” the sound of shuffled papers came through the speaker, “You know how after the Flashpoint incident, I retained memories from both timelines: the messed up one and the restored one, yeah? I told you about it in- Ah! Here’s the file.”

The speedster paused, likely because he was rereading the incident report.

“Even though I initially retained memories from both timelines, the more time I spent in our restored one, the less and less I remembered about the messed up one.” the sound of a page turning came over the speaker, “See, there’s stuff I told you in this file immediately after my return that I don’t even remember speaking about—let alone witnessing during the incident. So I doubt your sudden selective memory loss is due to old age, Bats.”

“In other words,” Bruce stroked his chin, “our timeline is in flux, and so are my memories.” 

“But shouldn’t you have knowledge of both timelines like Barry did?” Jason frowned.

“Negative.” Tim chimed in, “I think they're saying that Barry retained both timeline memories after the temporal incident was resolved, whereas we are still stuck in the middle of ours.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” the Flash concurred, “Bruce’s memories of our timeline before Bat-Mite interfered are being messed with by the new potential memories and outcomes of our- how did Tim say it? Oh yeah, our ‘temporal incident’. Once it’s resolved—if it’s ever resolved—Bruce should also temporarily have memories from both timelines.”

“And if we end up failing to resolve it? Like if we fail to send Brucey back to the past?” Jason asked out of curiosity.

Barry sucked in a deep breath, “That’d create a paradox that would cause our timestream to collapse in on itself. So… maybe let’s not do that.”

“Flash, I’m coming back to the Cave now to help you research what we can do given this new information.” Bruce grunted, striding towards the door. 

“Not happening, Big B.” the speedster tutted, “Besides me, you’re the only other person in this house familiar with everything relevant to Flashpoint. So your time would be better spent observing the kid and gathering intel so that I can keep up the research. We’ll compare notes once Bart gets here.”

“My boys can more than handle recon and note-taking.” Bruce rolled his eyes.

“They wouldn’t know what to look for.” insisted the Flash, “Besides, can anyone take notes as detailed as yours, Mr. Obsessive-and-Controlling?”

Bruce—begrudgingly—acquiesced with a “Hnng.” prompting the Flash to declare that he’d check back in with them 30 minutes from now before the speaker went quiet.

“I never thought I’d see you getting bossed around by Allen.” Jason teased. 

“It’s the fact that he’s using the Batcomputer.” Timothy chuckled, “Just touching the keyboard triples the size of your ego.” 

Bruce’s stoic expression didn’t stop Jason and Tim from sharing a good laugh. 

“Cheer up, old man.” Jason threw one arm around his adoptive Father and guided him towards the door, “We may not be out of the woods yet, but after lunch we could initiate the Cave’s lockdown sequence and freak Barry out.”

“Wouldn’t he just be able to vibrate through the walls?” his younger brother raised an eyebrow. 

“Fine,” Jason rolled his eyes, “we’ll initiate the self-destruct sequence as well then.”

Chapter Text

“Are you absolutely sure about this, Brucey?” Tim asked nervously. 

“Yeah, of course!” the young boy beamed at him from across the table. 

“Tim’s right.” Bruce cleared his throat, “This doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Why not?” Jason put down his fork with a taunting grin, “Scared that Brucey won’t be able to handle it?”

“Stop trying to interfere, Father.” Damian cracked his knuckles ominously, “Brucey is more than old enough to decide for himself.” 

Dick sighed, “If this is really happening, I guess we might as well get the milk.”

Technically, they were all sitting at what was considered the family’s “breakfast table”. 

But since Alfred needed to stay in the Batcave for the time-being, and thus couldn’t be around to set the main dining table for them, the family collectively yielded to their laziness and chose to have lunch here instead. 

And lunch had been going quite well until Brucey suddenly noticed that Damian’s carbonara had sliced chilis in it and decided that he wanted a taste as well. 

Of course, Damian had worriedly insisted that it would be too spicy for the young boy who, when asked, admitted that he wasn’t used to spicy foods at all. But the more that Brucey persisted, the more competitive Damian became. 

Now even the adult Bruce was powerless to prevent the showdown that was about to happen as both boys insisted that this was the only way they would allow lunch to end.

Jason cleared a space on Brucey’s plate and dumped half of Damian’s spicy carbonara onto it.

In the meantime, Dick retrieved two cartons from the fridge—a carton of cow’s milk for Brucey, and a carton of almond milk for Damian.

Timothy opened his mouth to protest once more but then remembered that it would only fall on deaf ears at this table.

After all, at Brucey’s age, Dick was already a professional acrobat, Jason had been a pickpocket, and Damian was scaling mountains with the League of Assassins. 

Even Tim—who had had a relatively sheltered childhood prior to meeting Bruce and the others—was only eight years old himself when he was desperately trying—and failing—to convince his uninterested parents that the Batman had found a new Robin to take over from Dick Grayson. 

Dick filled each of the young boys’ glasses with their respective milks and carefully passed them along, setting the rules that either one could win by either: (1) being the first to finish all of the spicy carbonara on his plate, or (2) being the last to resort to his milk.

Brucey listened intently, his right hand holding his fork, while his left hand was wrapped around his glass.

Damian, on the other hand, eyed his glass of almond milk with disdain, knowing full well he wouldn’t need it at all.

“Tim, get your pager and start recording.” Jason nudged his side as he scooted his chair closer to the showdown.  

“Recording?” Brucey’s eyes widened in surprise as he turned to Tim, “Can your pager do that?”

Tim kicked his older brother under the table, eliciting a stifled grunt in response. 

“Er, yes, Brucey…” he answered, “I forgot to tell you that it’s actually a pager-slash-phone-slash-camera all in one.” 

“So cool!” the kid exclaimed with a toothy grin, “I can’t believe my dad never mentioned Wayne Enterprises had such an awesome invention coming!” 

“If there’s one thing the Waynes are good at, it’s secrets.” Timothy winked, And lying. he silently added.

“No more delays!” Damian snapped, picking up his fork, “Brucey, I shall count down from three.” 

Tim scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket. 

“Three…” 

He swiped to the camera app.

“Two…” 

The app opened to show his own face. Tim let out an irritated “Tsk!” and hit the camera icon to record with the back camera instead.

“One!”

Tim watched through the screen as both boys heaped giant spoonfuls of chili-filled carbonara into their mouths. 

Three spoonfuls in, Brucey was already turning as red as a beetroot, whereas Damian, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed as he swallowed bite after bite. 

Timothy was equal parts sorry for and in awe of Brucey’s plucky courage. Although not moving nearly as quickly as Damian, the young boy kept up a steady pace as he pushed through the discomfort.

Instead of speed, maybe Brucey’s strategy is waiting for Damian to overwhelm himself and need milk first. Tim deduced, chewing his lip anxiously as he panned the phone’s camera back and forth between the contestants.

But Damian’s already a third of the way done and isn’t showing any signs of-

Tim’s worries were interrupted and cut short as Brucey finally let out a yelp and brought the glass of milk to his lips. 

But even though the competition was over, their youngest brother continued to eat his pasta—albeit at a more normal pace now.

Timothy pinched the phone screen to zoom in on a half-mouth-full Damian, who triumphantly declared: “Told you so!”

Bruce hesitantly reached out a hand to gently pat his younger self’s back as the latter gulped down the entire glass of milk, “Don’t worry, Brucey. Practice makes perfect.” 

Lighthearted chuckles and similar assurances for the boy rang around the table as Tim ended the video recording. 

Timothy contemplated how crazy it was that he now had a video documenting his adoptive father meeting—no, not just meeting, having lunch with—his younger self, and decided he needed to save the video to the cloud archive right away. 

“My dad says it’s bad manners to gloat.” Brucey huffed, dabbing at the milk around his lips with a paper towel.

“Oh yeah?” Damian raised an amused eyebrow, “Well, my father lets me do what I want.”

Bruce cleared his throat. 

Damian rolled his eyes as he mumbled, “...most of the time.” 

Tim tapped on the cloud archive and input the passcode.

It unlocked, displaying the most recent photo he had accessed—a photo that the paparazzi had secretly taken of young Bruce and Alfred crossing a random street in Paris; it was one of the few photos that clearly showed Brucey’s right cheek and the cut on it.

“You’re too old to be so proud about winning against me anyway.” Brucey argued before asking, “Wait, how old are you?”

“Twelve.” 

“Twelve?” the younger boy exclaimed with a scoff, “That’s so old! It’s no wonder you won.” 

Tim hit the back button on his screen to exit the photo and go back to the main page. In the meantime, his older brothers guffawed at the idea of Damian being “so old”.

Timothy glanced up from the screen just long enough to note that their youngest brother was not as thrilled about the notion, however. 

“Age has nothing to do with it.” Damian answered through gritted teeth, “Even if we were both eight, I’d still win any and all challenges you dared to pose.”

Tim shook his head at the squabble, but froze as he realized something, his finger hovering above the archive’s “+” button.

Wait. Did I… see that correctly? he asked himself, his palms beginning to sweat.

“Yeah, but you’re not eight.” shrugged Brucey, “So you still have no reason to be so puffed up.” 

“But you challenged me!” Damian exasperatedly reminded him, “The only reason you’re complaining right now is because I won.” 

Tim scrambled to pull up the photo of Brucey in Paris once again. 

When it loaded, his heart dropped when he saw that he hadn’t been mistaken after all: the cut on Brucey’s cheek was now gone. 

Tim checked the file’s metadata to make sure this really was the same photo he had shown Bruce and Jay.

“You should’ve said you were twelve earlier.” Brucey huffed.

Damian let out a frustrated “Ugh!” as he rubbed his temples.

Grayson threw an arm around him, “Turns out it’s not so easy having a younger sibling, is it?”

Tim frantically swiped to the other photo, the one of a moody Brucey looking out of a limo window. 

The blood drained from Tim’s face, there was no cut on the boy’s cheek in this photo either. And once again, the file’s metadata confirmed that this was the exact same picture from before.

But when he looked up from his phone, there the cut was, clear as day, on Brucey’s face. 

Jason reached across the table to lightly tousle the boy’s hair, “There’s no need to be so defensive, kid. You did pretty well, all things considered.”

Tim’s leg began to bounce from the anxiety as he tried to figure out what this meant.

“Thanks, but I’ll definitely win next time though.” Brucey defiantly lifted his chin up. 

Now it was once again Damian’s turn to scoff, “Your cordial politeness from when we first met at the banquet hall was much preferable to… whatever this is.” 

“It’s the highest compliment a kid could give you, Dames.” Dick lightly elbowed their youngest brother, “The less polite they are with you, the more they like and trust you.” 

“Or… you could just be a bad influence.” Jason chimed in, “Either way, it’s nice that you’re finally getting a taste of what we have to go through.” he teased. 

“Are you okay, Tim?” Bruce asked in a lowered voice.

Tim blinked back at him before handing him the phone, “Yeah, it’s just- someone paged you, Irving.”

As Damian argued with their older brothers and Brucey simultaneously, Tim scanned Bruce’s expression as he swiped back and forth—his lips remaining pressed into a thin line for what seemed like an eternity before he finally passed the phone back to him.

“Tim, let’s get started on the dishes.” his adoptive father nodded towards the sink, already collecting Dick and Jay’s plates.

“Sure.” Tim rose from his seat, collecting his brothers’ cutlery onto his own dirty plate.

Bruce handed Tim a dish towel before turning the tap on. 

“Should we tell Barry?” Tim whispered, squeezing some dish soap onto his palms to wash his hands before getting started. 

“Yes.” his adoptive father answered, patiently waiting for Tim to finish rinsing his hands before wetting the sponge under the running tap water. “This lines up with everything Barry said before—infinite possibilities and outcomes that are warping my memories and now… affecting our reality as well.”

Timothy squeezed some dish soap onto the sponge that Bruce was holding, “But why? It’s not like we’ve treated Brucey any differently compared to when he first arrived.”

His father squeezed the sponge several times to lather the soap, sighing, “He’s an anomaly. The longer he stays, the longer he interferes with the flow of our time stream.”

Timothy eyed the table again to make sure Brucey was still distracted, “In other words, his presence alone is enough to warp the fabric of our space-time continuum. The longer he stays, the deeper those wrinkles in the fabric grow.” 

“At this rate, we’ll have a timeline-collapsing-sized paradox on our hands by tomorrow.” his father grunted washing one of the plates, “I just can’t believe how rapidly this is happening. For the Flashpoint incident, Barry was able to spend months in the other timeline without it collapsing.” 

Timothy accepted the wet plate his father passed him, “But then again, speedsters have always had unique relationships to the timestream thanks to the speedforce. Brucey on the other hand…”

“Exactly.” Bruce sighed, scrubbing another plate with a little too much force than necessary as he let out a deep exhale, “How did I not realize this sooner? I knew I should have been in the Cave with Barry instead of giving in to Dick’s sentimenta-”

“Hey.” Tim reached up to place a hand on his shoulder and reminded him, “It’s neither yours nor Dick’s fault that we’re struggling to figure this out. I don’t know about you, but this is certainly my first time facing a temporal incident caused by a 5th dimensional imp.”

“Even so,” Bruce put the plate down and grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands, “I need to get back to the Cave. Find a way to update your brothers and stand by for any updates the Flash and I may have.”

“Will do.” Tim nodded, taking over the dishwashing, “Good luck, B.” 

As Bruce left the kitchen, Brucey came up with both his and Damian’s plates in hand, “Could you please wash these too, Tim?”

“Of course.” he smiled at the kid, nodding towards the sink, “Just add ‘em to the pile. I’m just surprised you managed to finish your pasta at all.”

“Damian took back the spicy half of it, then Jason helped me finish the normal half.” the boy explained, propping his head up with his elbows on the counter next to the sink, “You wash dishes fast.” 

“Naturally, we live fast in this family, don’t we?” Timothy winked at him.

“Yeah. But there’s just one thing I don’t get though.” Brucey slowly traced the counter’s marble pattern with his finger, “Why do you call your dad ‘Irving’ instead of just saying ‘Dad’?”

“Oh, it’s an inside joke.” Timothy cleared his throat, “Back when our mom was alive, it was easy to tell whenever he was in trouble by the way she said his name, so we started copying her as a joke and I guess it just sort of stuck.”

Brucey nodded, continuing to trace the counter’s pattern, “See, that’s weird because I asked Dick and Damian the same question when we first came to the kitchen earlier and they said it was because Irving isn’t your real dad, just Damian’s.” 

“Oh yeah, well, you see, when I say ‘our mom’, I just mean-”

“I think you’re great, Tim.” the child cut him off before meeting his gaze head on, “But if I asked your brothers separately about how the ‘mom’ you mentioned died, I’d receive totally conflicting answers, wouldn’t I?” 

Tim’s hand froze, holding the sponge mid-air, “What do you mean? Why would tha-”

“And Jason said earlier that my parents hired new decorators and landscapers.” the kid knocked the counter with his knuckles, “But when I came to the kitchen yesterday, our counters were made of granite, not marble.” 

“Well, your parents are rich enough to hire only the best of the best-”

“And the best of the best redid our entire house while I was still asleep? Moving in new furniture, painting walls, installing fixtures and appliances without the slightest noise?” Brucey shook his head, “Tim, please… what’s really going on?”

Chapter Text

“So… how long have you been suspicious of us?” Grayson asked, clearing his throat. 

Brucey now sat at the head of the breakfast table, a bowl of ice cream containing no more than two scoops before him. The boy averted his eyes, “I’m kinda embarrassed that it took me so long to figure it out.” 

“You should be.” Damian mumbled. 

“Dames…” Grayson rebuffed, “Not now.” 

Damian eyed his brothers, each of whom were expressing their agitation in their own way. Grayson ran a hand through his hair, Todd drummed his fingers on the table, and Drake gnawed at the end of his spoon.

Brucey dug his spoon into one of his ice cream mounds, “Because like, everything in the garden looked weird when Jason and Tim brought me there, and then when I couldn’t find my way through the hedge maze, I wondered when my parents had time to change its layout.” 

He inserted the spoon into his mouth, causing his eyes to momentarily light up with joy. 

The rest of the table waited for him to swallow his ice cream before he continued, “But I think I finally realized all of you were suspicious when Damian kept making excuses to stop me from going to my own room and then he went as far as pushing me down the stairs! Like, what kind of guest does that—even if he is your cousin, y’know?” 

“For the last time, that was an accident, Brucey.” Damian shook his head.

Now Jason’s face lit up too, “Well, well, well, turns out even the precious Blood Son isn’t completely blameless for this mess after all.” 

Damian glared at his older brother—but didn’t bother to respond because he knew Todd just wanted to get a reaction out of him. Even so, Damian couldn’t help but throw a “TT!” in Jason’s direction.

Dick began to reply, but Brucey cut him off at the last second, “Plus!” he pointed past them, “I’ve never seen a fridge that looks like that. What happened to our normal fridge? And this table is new.  And hey! Is our toaster also gon-” 

“Slow down, kiddo, one thing at a time.” Grayson chuckled—unable to reveal that he and Damian had hidden their modern microwave and toaster in the pantry when they swept through the house earlier. 

Damian and his eldest brother had briefly discussed the possibility of the fridge raising suspicions but then decided that moving the hefty appliance would have been far too time-consuming so they had let it remain where it stood in the end—a decision that had now come back to bite them.

It seems that the kitchen is one of the worst possible rooms we could have brought a time traveler to. I’ll be sure to say so in our mission report.

Grayson absent-mindedly stirred the ice cream in his bowl as he asked,  “If you had all these questions, why didn’t you say anything earlier? I mean, who did you even think we were?” 

“You didn’t seem like crooks or anything like that.” Brucey shrugged, “And I knew there was no way Alfred would’ve let you into the house if we couldn’t trust you, so I didn’t think there was any reason to be afraid of you.” 

Putting his spoon down, the boy leaned forward excitedly, “But after everything being so weird today, I have to ask: are you guys in the FBI? Or some other team of good guys? Because why else would Alfred lie for you and say you were my cousins earlier?” 

“Trust me, kid.” Jason shuddered, casually gesturing with his spoon, “The FBI are not the good guys.” 

This remark earned Todd deadly glares from Dick and Tim, prompting him to add, “What? He’s gonna figure it out eventually, we’re saving him a ton of time by letting him know sooner rather than later.” 

Tim rolled his eyes, “Well, Brucey, regardless of our brother’s opinions on the FBI—and the government in general—I think at the very least, you deserve to know that we are not government agents.” 

“But if not, then who are you?” Brucey furrowed his eyebrows, before lifting them in fear, “And if you’re not from the government, how’d you get your cool pager thing?” he gasped, “Is that actually an invention of Wayne Enterprises?”

“You don’t need the details, Brucey.” Damian replied bluntly, “All you need to know is that you were right about us being the good guys.” 

Brucey blinked at him, before shrugging in agreement, “Okay, I guess you can’t be with the government after all because there’s no way Damian’s old enough to be a spy.” 

“Please. My skills would be wasted in such a menial position.” Damian scoffed, taking a spoonful of his ice cream in the hopes it would help cool his irritation.

“By the way…” Brucey ignored him, choosing to address Dick instead, “Why does Damian get special ice cream?” he asked, pointing to his bowl.

“It’s not ‘special’, it’s dairy-free.” Damian snarled, “And stop trying to compete with me!” 

“Damian’s a vegetarian who isn’t fond of dairy.” Tim hastily explained, “But just to summarize: you suspected we’ve been lying to you, but you didn’t call any of us out on it until now partially because we didn’t seem threatening, but also because of what Alfred said earlier, yes?” 

“M-hmm.” Brucey nodded, tucking into another spoonful of ice cream, “That’s pretty much it.”

Damian’s jaw dropped in disbelief, “How is it possible for someone to have absolutely zero survival instincts?” he muttered, furrowing his eyebrows.

“There’s nothing for him to survive against.” Todd reminded him with a shrug, “He lives in a cushy manor with his parents and butler.”

“But even so…” Damian side-eyed the younger version of his father, “He’s far too trusting for his own good.”

“Hey dimwits,” Tim interjected, “you realize you’re having this conversation out loud, right?”

Brucey piped up, “I’m not dead right now, am I?” he flashed Damian a smug smile, “So it looks like I was right to trust you after all.”

“TT!” Damian slammed his fist down on the table, “You trusted complete strangers based on nothing but asinine assumptions and a brief phone call to Alfred—who you haven’t seen all day. What if that was simply a recording made to trick you, hmm?”

A chorus of “Dee!”, “Ian…”, and “Damian!” rung out from his brothers simultaneously.

Brucey’s eyes widened in terror, his spoon frozen mid-air, “You mean that wasn’t really Alfred?”

“It was Alfred.” Dick reached across the table to reassure him, “He’s just teasing you to make a point, right Dee?” his eldest brother prompted him through gritted teeth. 

“I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Damian rolled his eyes.

Despite his sardonic reply, the young boy appeared visibly relieved and resumed his carefree munching of his ice cream. It took all of Damian’s self-control to not face-palm. 

That’s it? He isn’t even going to demand to speak to Alfred once again to see if it really was him? It’s a miracle Father survived to be eight years old at all.

“I’ve answered all of your questions.” Brucey reached for a paper towel to wipe his mouth, “But you keep avoiding the only one I have for you: who are you people?”

“I might have an answer.” a voice boomed from the doorway. 

Damian turned his head to find Father leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed and shoulders tensed. 

“Irving.” Grayson cleared his throat, “We were just about to call you to-”

“I heard it all, Dick.” he said with a nod, “Less than a minute after I left the kitchen, Barry pinged me to come right back.”

Jason looked right at the CCTV camera positioned near the pantry door and called out, “Snitch!”

An uneasy silence fell as Father pulled up a chair. Two Bruce Waynes now sat at opposite ends of the table facing each other.  

“Brucey,” Father began after a deep exhale, “This is the truth: you’ve accidentally arrived in the future, and it’s our job to send you back.”

The boy chuckled at this remark as he glanced around the table, probably expecting the others to laugh along. But when not one of them so much as smiled, his expression fell. 

“But I- That’s not-” he choked.

“It’s the truth.” Father repeated once again, “This is the future. That’s why the house looks so different, that’s why Tim isn’t the only one with a ‘pager’,” he pulled his phone out of his shirt pocket as he said so, “and that’s why you’ve noticed some… discrepancies in our stories.”

Damian nodded along to everything Father said. 

A wise move. he thought to himself, By disclosing that this is the future, Father has addressed Brucey’s topmost concerns while distracting him from the fact that we're actually revealing as little as possible about our true identities to the target.

“I know this is a lot to process.” Father carried on, “That’s why we tried to hide it from-”

“But how far into the future is this?” asked a wide-eyed Brucey, “Like, what year is it right now?”

Damian and his brothers exchanged silent looks, unsure what direction their father wanted to take from here. 

“Just tell him!” Jason urged, “I’m assuming we’ll have to wipe his memory before sending him back—if we ever figure out how to send him back. So just tell the poor kid the truth, or I will.” 

Father rubbed his temples and let out a deep exhale. 

“Brucey, could you do me a favor and roll your left sleeve up?”

“Um… okay. Just a second.”

Grayson helped the boy unbutton his long sleeve’s cuff and start rolling it up his arm.

“All the way up?” Brucey asked.

“Just a bit higher than your elbow’s fine.” Father confirmed with a nod, unbuttoning his own cuff.

The boy did as he was told and held up his left arm, a small, brown splotch of skin visible on his inner bicep. 

Father returned the gesture. His arm was, of course, much heftier and covered in scars, but even they could not hide the same birthmark.

“My name isn’t actually Irving Malone.” he confessed, meeting the boy’s gaze, “It’s Bruce Wayne.”

Chapter Text

“So how did my wife die?” Brucey’s voice squeaked beside him.

Dick almost choked on his saliva, “I’m sorry?” 

The boy was currently holding onto Grayson’s hand, mindlessly swinging their arms back and forth as they made their way down the corridor. 

Brucey averted his eyes, “Tim said earlier that your mom- or um, your step-mom died. I was wondering how that-”

“Oh. Tim was just making that up, don’t worry.” Dick cleared his throat, “Irvi- I mean, Bruce has been doing fine without a wife.”

“Eh…” Jason piped up from behind them, “depends on your definition of ‘fine’.” 

Brucey silently acknowledged these remarks with pursed lips and slow nods. Just ahead of them, the adult Bruce led the way down the corridor and to the closest Cave elevator with Damian by his side. 

Grayson suddenly felt a tug on his arm. Looking down, he found Brucey gesturing to come closer. 

After he had lowered himself onto a knee, the boy cupped his ear and whispered, “Dick, am I in trouble?”

“No, of course not!” he whispered back, “Like we said, now that you know this is the future, we can take you somewhere even safer until we figure out the best way to get you home.”

“It’s just that he doesn’t seem happy to see me.” Brucey mumbled, discreetly nodding towards Bruce, “I think he’s mad.”

“Oh, that’s just how he comes across.” Dick replied with a hesitant laugh, “He’s just under a lot of pressure today, what with- well, you know. Just… try not to take it personally.” 

Dick had lost count of how many times he’d said something similar before. How many times had he spewed similar excuses for Bruce’s indifference to his siblings, the Justice League, or even to Two-Face that one time?

They caught up to the rest of the family standing near the hidden entrance and Brucey let out a gasp when the bookshelf moved to reveal the elevator behind it. 

“Got it!” Tim announced with a giddy grin, tilting his phone to show off the picture he’d taken of the young boy’s reaction. 

Elbowing the older Bruce in the side, he continued, “We now have documentation of what is technically your ‘first time’ seeing one of our elevators. Adorable.” 

“And make sure to get his reaction to the Cave itself.” Jason reminded, “Whatever it is, we’ll get it framed.” he joked. 

Dick laughed along with the others until he realized that Brucey was now behind him instead of next to him, staring at the floor in red-faced embarrassment. 

“Guys,” Dick stretched his left arm around to bring Brucey back to his side, “maybe we’ll hold off on the photos for a little bit. He’s still taking it all in.”

Jay and Tim immediately dropped their smiles, apparently just now noticing the boy’s wariness.  

Since learning the truth—or at least a sizeable chunk of it—the young child’s demeanor had shifted entirely. His toothy grin and wide-eyed curiosity were now replaced with sloping shoulders and trudging feet. 

The elevator arrived and Brucey looked up at Dick hesitantly.

“It’s perfectly safe.” he smiled, “Safer than most mall elevators, and definitely more than the rusty one in my apartment building.” 

Once everyone had piled in and the elevator started, Brucey’s grip on Dick’s hand tightened once more. 

Dick had to remind himself that not everyone was used to the speed at which the elevator plummeted towards what felt like the center of the earth.

Even so, Brucey put on a brave face, staring straight ahead with one hand on his stomach.

Poor kid’s probably got that sinking feeling people get on rollercoasters.

When the doors finally opened, Dick gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance, “Welcome to the Cave, kiddo!” 

Finally, some of the boy’s spark returned to him as he gasped at the sheer size of it all. 

Dick had already witnessed his fair share of Cave reveals over the years, so he didn’t have to be a telepath to know what the kid was thinking. But whatever it was, it was immediately interrupted by a voice exclaiming, “No way!” 

“Hi Brucey!” Barry Allen exclaimed in delight, jogging from the Batcomputer to extend a hand towards the boy, “I’m Barry, one of your friends from the future!” 

“A colleague from the future.” the adult Bruce corrected, even as his younger self shook hands with the speedster. Checking his watch again, Bruce grunted, “It’s 04:04, shouldn’t Bart be here by now?” 

“He’ll be here.” Barry defensively huffed, “It’s not like your kids are the only ones who take their jobs seriously.” 

“Call me crazy, but ‘serious’ isn’t the first word that springs to mind when we’re talking about your family, Allen.” Jason teased, stifling a yawn as he descended towards the mezzanine level.

“So what do you think, kid?” Tim gestured with one hand while placing the other on his shoulder, “Oh! Wanna sit in the Batmobile?” 

Dick elbowed his younger brother, “Why? So you can sneak another photo for your Brucey album?” 

“No!” Tim scoffed—albeit with a twinge of guilt in his voice, “I’m just trying to be hospitable— properly hospitable now that he knows the truth.” 

“Why’s it called the Batmobile?” asked the boy. 

The two brother’s exchanged silent looks.

“Because it has a bat symbol on it.” the older Bruce answered, “And if your next question is ‘why does it have a bat symbol on it?’, the answer is that it just does.” 

“There’s no need to be snippy. He was only asking a question, Bruce.” Grayson shot him a look.

His adoptive father pulled up his chair at the Batcomputer, “Well, he’s asking far too many questions considering that he’s already aware that this is the future. He’s seen enough movies to know that time travelers should be careful where they stick their noses.”

“Whoa, uncalled for, B!” Dick protested, “He’s eight, it’s not like he’s intentionally-”

“Just make sure he doesn’t touch anything that could hurt him.” Bruce cut him off, already skimming through the files on the monitor. 

Dick started towards the console, but Damian stepped in front of him, “Father is right. It was fine when we could lie to answer Brucey’s questions, but since the boy insists that we’re now honest with him, he should also be more careful with what he asks about.” 

“Dee, even you have to admit that Bruce is being just a bit-” 

“We need to get the target home, Grayson.” Damian snapped, “Don’t let your sentimentality get in the way of the mission… again.”

Dick fought back the urge to tackle his little brother and hang him upside down by his legs—which was how a lot of their disagreements ended anyway. 

Besides, he already knew it was just Damian’s way of hiding his own anxiety from seeing their father so on edge.  

Dick glanced at Bruce—already immersed in Barry’s work and making annotations of his own—one last time before letting out a deep exhale, “Come on, Brucey. Let’s go speak to the only person around here who isn’t emotionally repressed.” 

Leading the boy to the mezzanine level, they found Jason doing pull-up reps next to the emergency arsenal while Tim sat completely upright in an armchair on the other side of the level, poking at his phone in deep concentration—likely adding more photos to the cloud archive. 

Dick scanned the rest of the floor, “Alfred?” he called out, “Didn’t Barry tell you? You can come out now.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s a good idea, Master Dick.” the butler’s voice answered from the med-bay to their left. 

“Alfred, please.” Dick’s voice caught in his throat a little, “He needs you.” 

A short pause later, Alfred finally appeared in the med-bay’s doorway, arms at his sides as he greeted with a polite smile, “Good afternoon, Master Bru-”

Within a split second, Brucey had his arms around him, sobbing as he buried his face in the older man’s torso. Alfred’s expression softened, wrapping his arms around the child, he cooed, “It’s alright now, everything’s alright.” 

Dick was initially surprised that Brucey didn’t comment on this Alfred probably looking considerably older than the one he knew. But perhaps the kid was so relieved to see a familiar face, he didn’t care how many wrinkles it now had. 

Grayson raised his eyes towards the upper levels to see what the others were up to. Damian watched expressionlessly from over the railing while Bruce and Barry were locked in what appeared to be a serious discussion. 

“How about a cup of tea and some biscuits to dry those eyes?” Alfred suggested, gesturing to a tray on the side table next to Tim’s armchair. 

Brucey shook his head, looking like he was trying to burrow into the surface of Alfred’s coat.

“You can thank Mr. Emotions up there for getting the kid in this state.” Dick nodded overhead, crossing his arms. 

“Are you… complaining, Master Dick?” Alfred raised an amused eyebrow, “Surely you must be used to your father’s antics by now.” 

“To most of them, yeah.” he sighed, “But you know what he’s like,” he stole another glance through his periphery, “always full of surprises.” 

“I’m sorry, Dick.” squeaked Brucey, rubbing his eye with one hand while still holding onto Alfred with the other—almost as though he was terrified the butler would disappear if he let go, “I’m sorry that future me is so mean to you.” 

Dick closed the distance between them, “Hey, it’s not your fault.” he gently patted his head, “And future you isn’t ‘mean’ per se, he’s just-” 

He sighed, unable to find the right word, “He’s trying his best and well, his best looks different on some days than on others.”

“And he’s a good man who helps the people around him.” Tim added, pushing himself up off the armchair, “You should be proud that you’ll one day become him.” 

“He’s got an ego big enough to fill this cave.” Jason grunted, dusting his hands as he dismounted the bar, “But people respect him—and for good reason too.”

Brucey accepted a handkerchief from Alfred—the gloom slowly lifting from his face, “Even so, I promise I’ll be less angry when I grow up again.” 

Dick felt his chest tighten upon hearing this well-intentioned—but impossible—vow, “That’s very sweet, Brucey. Thank you.” 

An electronic beep rang through the Cave, all heads turned to the computer where the camera feed showed Bart Allen waving at them from just outside the Cave’s shutters.

The shutters had barely started moving when a sharp gust of wind hit their faces and Bart was suddenly standing in front of them, “Sorry I’m late guys, traffic was crazy!” he joked. 

But no one in the Cave laughed, no one even dared to move a muscle as Brucey exclaimed, “Wow! Do you have superpowers?”

Chapter Text

“...and that allows the Justice League to bring truth and justice across the world so we can build a better tomorrow for all.” Barry grinned, moving to the presentation’s final slide, “The end! Any questions?” 

Brucey’s hand shot up, “Oh, I have one, Mr. Flash!” 

“It’s just ‘the Flash’.” Barry let out a chuckle, “But yes, Mini Mr. Wayne, how can I help you?” 

“Can you teach me how to use the speed force?” Brucey asked in all seriousness from his seat at the conference table—looking as though it was Bring-Your-Kid-to-Work Day at Wayne Enterprises.

“Uh… I wish I could, Brucey, but I’m afraid that’s not how it works.” the speedster answered with a sheepish smile, “But hey, I can give you piggyback rides instead. Those are even better because you get all the speed without having to do any of the work.”

“Yes!” Brucey exclaimed, “Oh! And how long does it take to run around the entire world?” 

“Seconds.” Flash gloated, “Milliseconds if I’m using both my legs.” he added with a wink.

“No way!” Brucey gasped.

“And he’s not even the fastest.” Bart jerked a thumb towards his grandfather, “Wally and I can smoke him without even breaking a sweat.”

“Wally definitely can.” Tim rolled his eyes, “But you on the other hand…” 

“Oh that’s rich, Batboy.” the younger speedster narrowed his eyes at him, reaching for a biscuit, “Remind me again what cool abilities you bring to the table?”

“The ability to chew with my mouth closed for starters.” he answered with a disgusted face, sliding the platter away from his friend.

“I can sense we’re starting to get off track, so any final questions before ole Batsy here loses his temper?” Barry asked with a grin.

“Last one! I know I won’t get powers in the future, but I’ll still be allowed to join the Justice League, right?” Brucey exclaimed, leaning forward in his chair at the head of the conference table.

“For sure.” Dick answered, “Actually, you’ll even help start it.”

“So cool!” the boy squealed, “I can't wait to get a proper look at all the suits on display!” the boy pointed towards the upper level, “I really wanted to ask about them earlier, but future me said to stop asking so many questions.”

“That still applies.” the older Bruce chimed in, tugging on the projector screen and causing it to roll back up, “In fact, the only reason we’re telling you all of this now is so that you won’t object to this next part.” 

Jason furrowed his eyebrows, “Maybe it’s because paranoia is an inescapable part of this family, but I don’t like the sound of that.”

His adoptive father ignored him and continued, “Brucey, we need to sedate you for the next few hours to run a couple of tests and-”

“Cut the crap, old man.” Jason snarled, “This isn’t LexCorps, so whatever tests you need to run will be humane enough for the kid to take while fully conscious. That means you’re trying to knock him out for something else entirely.” 

“Shut it, Todd.” Damian hissed from two chairs over, “You should know by now that Father’s precautions are always necessary.” 

“Actually!” Bart raised his hand, “I’m with Jason on this. I mean, we’re gonna have to wipe his memory anyway, so if you’re sedating him to prevent him from learning too much or whatever… isn’t that kinda pointless?” 

“That’s not the main reason for sedating him, Bart.” Barry sighed, “Sure, we’ll be erasing them later, but it’ll be better to jus-”

“No!” Brucey gasped, “I don’t want my memories erased!” 

“Everyone quiet!” Bruce’s voice boomed, “I understand all of your objections, but the fact is that we don’t have a choice. Besides, sedating Brucey isn’t just about making this easier on us, it’ll make it easier for him too.” 

Brucey contemplated this for a moment before saying with a deep exhale, “I’ll do it as long as I get to keep my memor-”

“You can’t.” Bruce insisted to his younger self, “And I know you’re young, but you’re smart enough to understand why you can’t. I promise we’ll only remove the last 24 hours.”

“But without those memories,” the boy worried, “how will I know that I’m supposed to join the Justice League when I grow up? What if I never become Batman?” 

“You’ll know.” the adult Bruce answered coldly, “Even without your memories from today, I’m sure you’ll know what needs to be done.”

Brucey looked to Dick for reassurance and then to Jason. 

“Is it true?” he asked, “Even if I lose my memories, can I still become Batman?”

Jason exchanged a wordless glance with his older brother before nodding, “Yes, you definitely will. And for the record, that wasn’t why I was objecting, I just didn’t want you to leave without learning the whole truth and what drove you to-”

“Jay,” Dick shook his head from across the table, “I admire you for standing up for the kid, but don’t you think that your way would just put him in so much unnecessary pain? Like Bart said, we’ll be erasing his memories anyway, so-” 

“At first, of course, it’ll hurt!” Jason answered, his voice involuntarily growing in volume, “But then we can show Brucey what became of the pain, what all of this…” he gestured broadly to everything around them, “...means—what we mean to him. Wouldn’t that be so relieving for the kid?”

“It would have been, if Bat-Mite hadn’t screwed up.” Tim answered, “But with the way things are right now, we’ll have to hurt Brucey first before we get to console him.” 

“I don’t mind.” Brucey piped up, giving Jason a reassuring nod, “I can handle it.” 

“No.” the adult Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s not worth it, Brucey. Trust me.”

“All you’ve done is hide things from me and be mean.” the younger Bruce snapped, “It’s too late to ask me to trust you.”

Jason pursed his lips in amusement, noting how Brucey and Damian were practically identical when he was burning with rage like this. 

“We’re the same person.” Bruce retorted, “Technically speaking, I’m the only one you should be able to completely trust.” 

“By that logic, why didn’t you trust me?” the boy slammed a fist on the table, “Even after you revealed that this was the future, you still hid the fact that you—we—became heroes! And now I find out there’s even more that you’re hiding? I'm hardly surprised.”

“Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve asked my boys to do, was to protect you.” Bruce answered through gritted teeth, “I won’t apologize for trying to give you a few extra hours of blissful ignorance before your childhood—everything you are right now—gets ripped away from you!” 

“I said I can handle it!” the kid rose from his chair, “The fact that we’re having this argument—the fact that you’re standing here at all—proves that.” 

“But you don’t know what it took to get here!” came the adult Bruce’s hoarse reply, “You’re in such a hurry to find out what did this to me but don’t worry, it’ll find you soon enough. And just like I did, you’ll have no choice but to watch as it consumes your life—your soul—leaving you with nothing but rage and inescapable anguish.”

The boy balled up his hands by his sides, “I’m ready to risk it. Besides, whatever happens, I already know that everything turns out better than I could have ever hoped." he gestured to his surroundings before meeting Bruce's gaze once again, "So just tell me!”

“Perhaps the younger Master Bruce is right.” Alfred interjected, speaking up to everyone’s surprise, “Sir, do you still remember what you asked me all those years ago on our flight to Spain?”

Bruce nodded once, but didn’t elaborate any further. 

Seeing that his surrogate son wasn’t going to restate the aforementioned question, Alfred did so for him, “You turned to me and asked, ‘Alfred, when does the pain-’” 

His voice grew restricted, so he cleared his throat and repeated, “You said, ‘Alfred, when does the pain end?’ And I—regrettably—didn’t have an answer for you back then, and I know how heavily that uncertainty weighed on you. But now Master Brucey is saying he isn’t afraid of the truth because whatever it is, he already knows where it leads.”

“He’ll regret it, Alfred.” Bruce answered, “He’s making a huge mistake without even realizing it.”

“Perhaps.” Alfred flashed him a weak smile, “But I can vouch from experience that the lad’s stronger than you may expect, Sir.”

Just as Jason flashed Brucey a reassuring smile, the adult Bruce leaned on the conference table with both his palms as he sighed, “Barry, Bart, could you give our family a few minutes?” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” Barry replied, grabbing his grandson by the shoulders, “C’mon, we’ve still got work to do anyway.”

With the speedsters out of the way, Bruce gave his younger self one more chance to change his mind, “After all of this, we’ll still need to erase your memory before sending you back, so you really don’t have to do thi-”

“I want to do this.” Brucey answered unwaveringly.

“Who would have guessed he’d be this stubborn, huh?” Dick joked.

The adult Bruce pulled up a seat and for the second time today, two Bruce Waynes sat across from each other at opposite ends of a table. 

Jason tapped his fingers on the desk, “So… how do you want us to do this, kid? Do you want everything all at once or to be let down gently?”

“Just give me the truth.” Brucey answered, locking eyes with his older self, “The whole truth.” 

Everyone seemingly held their breaths at the same time. 

Jason even stopped drumming his fingers because they sounded thunderous in the vacuum of silence they currently sat in. 

“The truth…” his adoptive father began, “is that your parents are going to die tonight, Bruce.”

All heads turned towards the other side of the table where Brucey sat in an almost catatonic state, “H-How?” he managed to choke out.

“By a mugging gone wrong.” Bruce clenched his fists, “There was nothing I- nothing you could have done.”

Brucey’s eyes began to well up, “Did they-”

“They didn’t suffer.” Bruce didn’t need to wait for him to finish, “They were just… gone. We didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Tears were already streaming down the boy’s face when Alfred rushed to his side, producing tissues seemingly out of thin air.

“Just let it out, kiddo.” Grayson leaned over to pat his back, “Let it all out.” 

For the next few minutes, the only sounds to be heard were Brucey’s sobs and the Cave’s centralized air-conditioning. The boy’s body shook so severely with every sob that he ended up inducing hiccups.

Jason briefly considered giving the kid a hug, but decided against it in the end. 

Since the Pit, physical touch had never really been his department.

“I’m sorry if this is more than you were expecting, Brucey.” Jason cleared his throat guiltily, “I just hope you know that I was only-”

“It’s o-okay.” Brucey mustered a smile through the sobs and hiccups, “Thi-is was my ch-choice, and I don’t regret it.” 

“You’re doing great, champ.” Tim reached for the pitcher of water and began filling a glass. As he slid it across the table, he added, “Alfred was right, you’re much stronger than we initially gave you credit for.” 

“Even so, we’re sorry for your loss, Brucey.” Damian chimed in, keeping his eyes focused on the table, “To this day, socialites and gala attendees we run into always speak about what upstanding people your parents were.”

The adult Bruce shook his head, “I’m sorry but I tried to warn you, Brucey. And I know you’re in pain now, but that’s nothing compared to when you have to witness it firstha-”

“That’s it, Bruce!” Jason angrily jumped to his feet, “What is your problem today, old man? You’re usually great with kids—not ‘big-cuddly-teddy-bear great’, but you’ve always looked out for them! Why’d that suddenly go out the window for Brucey?”

When their father didn’t answer, Dick spoke up instead, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess that Brucey’s earlier suspicions were right and that B actually is mad at him.”  

“I know Father has his regrets,” Damian scoffed, “but what could he possibly have against this version of himself?” 

“Nothing.” Bruce answered through gritted teeth, “First you all complained that I was shielding him from too much, but now you’re complaining I’m being too upfront?”

Jason waved a hand, “Actually, we’re complaining that you’re being a dic-”

“-strangely hostile.” Tim piped up just in time, tapping his chin as he thought out loud, “It’s especially bizarre considering that you were pretty collected and composed—almost friendly—when Brucey first arrived… but the more we’ve revealed to him-”

“-the more you’ve pushed him away like some kind of threat.” Jason finished the thought, narrowing his eyes at their father, “You’re not angry, old man… you’re scared.”

Chapter Text

Tim shook out his palms, annoyed at how sweaty they had suddenly become. With a deep breath, he steeled himself as he asked “Hey B!” his voice sounding more forced than he intended it to, “Anything I can help with?”

“No. Thanks.” his father grunted, his eyes still glued to the Batcomputer’s screen, “But if you’re looking for something to do, the Allens could probably use your help with the memory serum.” 

While it was true that Bruce Wayne was among the world’s brightest, sharpest minds alive, you didn’t need to be a genius to deduce what Tim was trying—and failing—to do. 

He gritted his teeth in irritation, silently vowing to make Grayson pay for putting him up to this. 

When Bruce had stormed out of the Batcave’s secondary conference room several minutes earlier, the sons had immediately begun brainstorming what to do next. 

Damian had stood up to follow after their father, but Dick and Jason both stopped him. 

“Get out of the way.” their youngest brother had snarled. 

“No can do.” Jason had crossed his arms with a firm shake of his head, “Bruce is pretty unpredictable right now. The last thing we need is for you to provoke him further.”

“You’re one to talk!” Damian had hissed, “Aside from the incident on the staircase with Brucey, I’ve done nothing but follow Father’s instructions to the letter while the rest of you have opposed or slowed him down at every turn.”

At the mention of his name, Brucey sat up in his chair, but offered no contributions to the discussion—the poor kid just watched tiredly, still attempting to process everything he had learned so far.

“Be that as it may,” Dick then chimed in, “there’s no telling what Bruce might say or do next. And no offense, Dee, but you aren’t really known for your patience. If he ends up provoking you due to his unpredictability, who knows how much further this will escalate.”

Damian had opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Alfred’s hand gently squeezed his shoulder, “Your brothers make a strong argument, Master Damian. At times like this, your father prefers to immerse himself in his work. We can try approaching him after he’s calmed down.”

Dick tousled their youngest brother’s hair reassuringly, “What do ya say, Dee? Why don’t we make ourselves useful and see how we can help with whatever the speedsters are working on?”

“You guys go ahead, I think I’ll stay with Brucey in case he needs anything else.” Jason had volunteered, “It’s the least I can do.”

With no objections to either of these notions, Tim prepared to follow his other two brothers out of the conference room. But to his surprise, Dick raised a hand to stop him as well, “Tim, what if you talked to Bruce?” 

Tim had furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “I thought we were going to give him space to-” 

“Just because isolation is his default coping mechanism doesn’t mean it’s a healthy one.” his older brother reminded him, “Besides, of the four of us here, it’s safe to say that you’re the most patient with him.” 

Almost out of reflex, Damian began to object once more, but stopped himself upon fully processing Dick’s words. 

Of course, Tim had definitely had his fair share of disagreements with Bruce before, but his eldest brother was likely referring to the early days of Jason’s absence when he mentioned Tim’s patience—back when Tim and Alfred’s only purpose was to absorb and divert Bruce’s blind rage and engulfing grief. 

Bruce and Grayson had just barely gotten back on speaking terms when Jason’s death suddenly shook their uneasy reconciliation to its core—leaving both men completely shattered while Tim and Alfred tirelessly worked to help piece them back together. 

After everything the family had faced over the years, this current ordeal with Brucey should have been just a breeze by comparison. 

But now that Bruce was reacting stronger than anticipated—admittedly due to things that were a mix of all of the Batkids’ and Brucey’s faults—they had to at least try to be there for him, whether he liked it or not.

“In that case, I would rather join Drake and Father.” Damian insisted once again. 

“B's jumpy.” Jay shook his head, “He’ll already be apprehensive about one of us approaching him, but two? He’ll smoke bomb away before you’ve even reached the upper level.” 

And that’s how Tim now found himself alone, awkwardly leaning against the Batcave’s upper level railing as he failed to placate their adoptive father.

Since moving in with the Titans, he hadn’t really had to worry about this sort of thing in a while. So Tim racked his brain in a desperate attempt to remember how he used to get Bruce to open up. 

When it finally dawned upon him, it took all his strength to not facepalm himself for briefly forgetting the obvious.

Bruce always used ‘work’ to avoid having to deal with his emotions. 

But ironically, if you threw yourself into the ‘work’ as much as he did, it was one of the fastest ways to connect with him.

With newfound confidence, Tim crossed his arms as he remarked, “A machine would be too time-consuming. I thought we were in a hurry?” he nodded towards the open tabs on the monitor which referenced time travel, time machines, and several online conspiracy discussion boards regarding them.

“Are you forgetting we have two speedsters at our disposal? Construction will take almost no time at all.” Bruce grunted in response, “Besides, a time machine would be a good contingency in case Flash or Impulse fail using the ‘usual’ way.” 

Bingo. Tim’s eyes lit up. He’s already speaking more freely.

“Has Bart transferred the schematics for his machine yet?” Tim tentatively stepped towards the computer console—hoping that if he acted confident enough, Bruce would forget that he was trying to get rid of him.

“He has.” his father answered, pulling up the aforementioned schematics on the giant screen before them, “It actually looks like a modified version of the ‘cosmic treadmill’ that Flash built years ago, the one that got him wrapped up in the Flashpoint incident.” 

Barry had only ended up designing the cosmic treadmill in the pursuit of time travel. But when the Flashpoint incident occurred, he dismantled the machine and vowed to never go near the subject again.

Several decades later, his grandson Bart recreated a similar machine to transport himself to the past—that is, present day right now—to avert a major timeline crisis, completely frying the machine he had used in the process. 

Even so, Bart was still able to provide the schematics that Timothy and Bruce were now staring at.

“But it still has no seats.” the younger vigilante frowned, reaching for one of the scattered pencils on the desk and the closest sheet of paper he could find, “The ‘pilot’ would have to carry Brucey while running. Perhaps a harness of some kind?” he scribbled his thoughts as he spoke. 

“More like a full on suit.” Bruce corrected, “The machine functions on cosmic radiation, nothing new to speedsters who have the benefit of the speed force protecting and reinforcing them, but it could prove deadly for Brucey.”

“A suit like that would add extra weight to account for.” Tim frowned, “What if we built a shell or some kind of casing around the machine to protect them both?” he sketched roughly, “Because right now it’s looking very heavy on the ‘treadmill’ aspect of the ‘cosmic treadmill’ name.”

“Flash was thinking along the same lines earlier.” Bruce rummaged through the folders on the desk, retrieving one and sliding it towards Tim, “But a radiation-proof shell would mean it would have to be air-tight, meaning-”

“-meaning we’d have to put oxygen masks and tanks on both the speedster and Brucey, thus having more weight to take into account.” Tim crossed out a line in his notes irritatedly, “Yeah, this is definitely more annoying than the ‘usual’ way.” 

The ‘usual’ way referred to how the Flash and Co. had a habit of carrying non-speedsters either bridal-style or piggybacked when transporting them places. 

Thanks to recent advancements at STAR Labs, Barry and the other speedsters were now able to transport themselves through time using only the speed force and without the need for a machine. 

But to this day, none of them had ever attempted to time travel while also carrying a non-speedster passenger. 

And you didn’t have to be a quantum physicist to realize that the more weight to transport, the more energy would be needed to gain and maintain the speed necessary to achieve time travel.

Tim pulled a chair up to the desk, “Any estimates on the speeds they’d need to reach if they want to transport both Brucey and themselves into the past?”

“It’s proving trickier than expected.” Bruce let out a deep exhale, “Having to account for Brucey’s weight is a challenge in itself, but add in the fact that Brucey isn’t being directly assisted by the speed force—which we barely understand anyway—and it becomes almost impossible to even approximate accurately.”

“Worse.” Tim grunted, absent-mindedly chewing on the back of his pencil, “A non-speedster passenger like Brucey is physical and temporal deadweight. When you account for that, the energy levels required to travel that far back into the past might-”

“-might not even be possible for a single speedster to generate.” Bruce concurred, tapping his chin, “But perhaps if we created a battery or generator of sorts that the Flash and Impulse could charge up beforehand...”

“That could work!” Tim scribbled feverishly, “We could alter the cosmic treadmill’s design to use that as the power source instead of the raw cosmic radiation, making it much safer for Brucey.” 

When Timothy looked up from the desk, he could hardly believe his eyes—a smile tugged on the left corner of Bruce’s lips. He also recognized the look in his father’s eyes—the gears in his brain were turning, even more so than usual. 

His adoptive father noticed him staring and Tim averted his gaze. 

To his surprise, it was now Bruce’s turn to awkwardly clear his throat, “If you aren’t busy, maybe… we could get started on some preliminary schematics and calculations for the Allens to look over later.” he grumbled.

“Sounds good.” Tim choked out, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.

He scooted his chair closer towards the center of the desk—where the keyboard panel lay—and Bruce rolled his own chair away to give him space. 

For the next hour, the pair began modifying the schematics as discussed. And when they couldn’t decide between a battery and a generator, they drafted schematics for both just in case. 

Gradually, the tension between them completely dissipated. And as Bruce gave their work a final once-over, Tim reached into the mini-fridge below the desk to grab them some energy drinks. 

“Here.” he held out the purple can knowing it was his father’s preferred flavor, “Brain juice.” he added, actually producing a snort from the other man.

Bruce accepted the can, which popped open with a satisfying ‘Tss!’

“How old were you then?” his father swallowed a swig, “Twelve?”

“Fourteen.” Tim rolled his eyes, popping his own energy drink open, “I just looked twelve, as various rogues and thugs liked to remind me.”

The pair were referring to one of their earliest memories together, when after a particularly prolonged stakeout, Bruce allowed Tim a few sips of his energy drink, resulting in the younger vigilante practically bouncing around the Batmobile abuzz with renewed vigor—until, of course, he inevitably crashed down from the caffeine high, at which point his sleep-deprived yet still overstimulated brain tugged at Bruce’s cape to ask for more “brain juice”.

“We had some… good times, didn’t we?” his father remarked with uncharacteristic sentimentality, “Not great, but good nonetheless.”

“There were great times too.” Tim assured him with a smile, “Like that time after we tossed Kiteman back in Blackgate and you suddenly decided you wanted to teach me how to hang glide. We were soaring through the Alps the very next day.”

“That was great.” Bruce chuckled, pressing the can to his lips again, “Didn’t something similar happen after we fought Freeze once? Like we suddenly had the urge to-”

“-to go skiing.” Tim laughed, before adding with a shudder, “His weird snowmen/henchmen-things in that mission really creeped me out though.”

“You and me both.” Bruce acknowledged, tipping his can in Tim’s direction. 

After a beat, his father continued, “And I know there were… rough times too—to say the least.” he kept his eyes fixed on the can that he swirled in his hand, “Thanks for your perseverance, Tim.” 

“It’s what sidekicks do.” Tim flashed him a smile, “But be warned: now that you have Damian, my tolerance for your crap has fallen way lower.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be standing here right now trying to gauge my well-being.” Bruce retorted, eyebrow raised. 

Tim exhaled slightly through his nose—his father had seen right through him after all. 

Taking another swig, Timothy asked, “Now that you’ve mentioned it, how are you holding up, Bruce?” 

“Could be better.” came the frank reply, “But I know today’s been tough on everyone, so it makes sense that everything’s less than ideal right no-”

“You’re deflecting.” Tim cut him off drily, meeting his gaze once more, “How are you, B?”

His father reached a hand up to rub his temples, “Annoyed.” he answered honestly, “Not at Brucey per se, but just… it’s proving more difficult than usual to know if I’m still being objective under these circumstances and it’s frustrating.” 

Tim realized this was the fear that Jason had referred to back in the conference room—Bruce, one of the most intelligent and accomplished heroes alive right now, was now second-guessing every step he took, no wonder he was terrified.

“That’s probably our faults.” Tim grimaced, “The rest of us should have been more careful. We should have just played along with what you originally planned instead of doubting your-”

“No.” Bruce firmly shook his head, “Your willingness to call me out and to present alternative perspectives is always exactly what I need. It’s how Robin saves Batman from himself—time and time again.”

Tim couldn’t help but grin, “I suppose you’ve got a point there, B. And by the way, it makes perfect sense why you would struggle to maintain absolute objectivity under these circumstances but…” he shrugged, “as long as you aren’t pushing to alter the timeline, I’d say that’s more than enough objectivity in and of itself.”

“But what about with regards to my other decisions?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, “For example: my recommendation to sedate Brucey.” 

“It depends on your true reasons for wanting to sedate him.” Tim answered, “If they’re valid and solid enough—and the kid agrees to it—then I’m sure not even Jason would stand in your way.” 

As Bruce mulled this over, Tim closed the distance between them and landed a light punch on his arm, “We may not always agree with you, Bruce. But you know we’ve always got your back, right?”

“Of course.” his father huffed.

Tim finished the last of his energy drink before crushing the can between his palms, “Then what are we waiting for? We’ve got a timeline to save, old man.”