Archive of Our Own ^beta

"the fuck did you do!?" 

tim rubbed circles into his aching forehead, luxuriating in the feeling for a few precious seconds before he bothered to open his eyes. wildly swinging walls that could only belong to the manor hall (or a very, very good fake) met his glance; wildly swinging, because his head still spun like he'd taken one too many turns on a roundabout. he resisted the urge to be violently sick, steeled himself, and opened his eyes again more slowly. 

a very, very good fake seemed more likely on second glance. tim should perhaps have focused more on the gun trained on him than the missing scuff marks and overly-pristine carpet of the hall, but he'd had enough attempts on his life by his brothers alone that it hardly fazed him. the missing nick in the floorboard next to the supply closet, however, concerned him greatly. 

"we're not at the manor," he said, careful to keep his voice cool and analytical. it was an easy role to slip into; ever the detective, the bruce-wayne miniature, the most robotic robin, if his reputation was to be believed. (the terms weren't compliments.) 

"the fuck do you mean?" jason's gun wavered, though it didn't turn completely away from tim. whoever—or whatever—had dropped them into this deepfake of the manor had left jason with his helmet (a luxury tim, in his civies, didn't have), but the vocoder couldn't quite hide the panic in his voice. tim didn't blame him; jason hadn't felt comfortable at the manor even at the best of times, not since his death.

"we're not at the manor," tim repeated slowly, "and i had nothing to do with this. whoever did looks like they're missing a few years of wear." he squatted down and brushed a finger over the carpet, feeling the individual, tiny strands bend lightly beneath the pressure. specks of dust fluttered from the movement, not enough to make the place seem unkempt, but more than plenty to make a point. if this was a mere illusion, it would have to be a very in-depth, elaborate one. 

and yet, one which had forgotten the faint stain from the coffee he had spilled here two years before. tim frowned. 

"the fuck are you petting the carpet for!?" 

"could you possibly do anything useful?" tim snapped, standing quickly back up and curling his hands into fists. "we're in some sort of façade, a fake. i don't know what it is but it's not right and we need to deal with it, preferably like intelligent adults." 

jason's eyes narrowed, but the low rumble of a voice below them—coming from downstairs, where the foyer would be, if this really was the manor—froze them both to the spot. tim's nails dug crescents into his skin.

"tell him I plan to be back at dinner, but i can't make any promises," bruce said—bruce, real bruce, tim could swear it, inflection and deep, rolling voice perfect save for the very important fact that bruce never sounded like that anymore, so casual and put together. and bruce, going out? promising, or rather not promising, to return around dinnertime, as if he actually kept regular meals, or left as anything but the vengeful bat out for blood? 

it was too surreal. tim wanted to throw up all over again. 

"well, toto," he said hollowly, deadpan, "we're definitely not in kansas anymore." 

"shit," jason breathed. "just, shit. can't have a fucking normal sunday, can i." 

tim swallowed. back on track. he needed to focus. "i was working on papers for w.e. last i remember," he said, and he prided himself on the steady flow of his voice. robo-robin struck again. "i don't recall getting mixed up with any magic users, metas, illusionists, or the like recently. you?" 

"returning from patrol, at my safehouse. preparing to relax," jason replied sullenly. the guns, at last, removed from tim's direction, but remained firmly in jason's hands to be used at a moment's notice, now against some unknown danger. tim would appreciate it more if jason didn't look so twitchy. "i can't think of any current suspects either, but there's a universe and then some of people out to get us, so a fuck ton of good that does us." 

"a universe and then some..." now there was a thought. tim rubbed his chin and turned slowly on his heel, taking in the hall anew. it did indeed look to be missing a few years of wear; in fact, tim had never seen it so fresh as now, like years of rambunctious children's work had been undone. "do you think—?" 

this time he was interrupted, and by an even more shocking voice. "oh no, did he leave already?" 

a little boy stumbled out of what would be tim's room, in their space or time, tongue between his teeth and hopping on one foot as he tried to get dressed and run at the same time. the sleeves of a yellow sweater flapped hopelessly around him, only the head hole having been filled. "i must have missed the alarm, and—who are you!?"

those eyes. those blue, blue eyes, neither dark nor light but deep as a summer sky, and the strange lilt of a voice tinged by a half dozen different accents. tim stumbled a step back, air punched from his stomach as if by a physical blow. he knew those eyes, that voice, the round little face with black curls and a stubby nose, knew it in years of variations, but not, for such a long time, like they were now. 

this was impossible. 

jason caught on a half second later, and his guns nearly jumped from his hands. "fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck, shit."

"language," tim corrected numbly. 

"bruce?" the impossible child yelled. 

tim acted first. lunging forward, he swept a leg at the kid while twisting behind him; the kid, being this particular child, dodged the first hit, but he was too small, too inexperienced, and he stumbled as he leapt back, right into tim's arms. tim clapped a hand over his mouth and pinned him close, merely grunting at the kid's frantic kicks. 

"the fuck." jason dropped his guns with a clatter and jumped closer with the place of mind, at least, to grab the kid's legs before they could keep hitting the floor, though it looked more out of instinct than thought. "fucking shit, tim. fuck." 

tim didn't respond. he pressed the kid closer, a small heart thrumming like a baby bird's beneath his arm. baby bird. the kid really was one, wasn't he, just starting out on the path a nestful of others would follow. he was so tiny, light-boned and lightweight, with downy soft hair. 

"dick," jason said over the panicked, stifled cries, "dick, shit, please..." 

"front pocket." tim jerked his head to the right breast of his suit, where three colored pens were attached. "sedative. the pink pen." 

jason blinked at him for a half-moment of stupidly wasted time before reaching quickly forward. "...i'm not even going to ask." 

"it looks like him. doesn't it? not that i knew him personally at that age, but... that's what he looked like in the pictures, right? spitting image and all?" 

tucked in the corner of the supply closet with the kid hugged close, tim let jason's hushed talking wash over him. the logical part of his brain told him to shut his brother up before someone, namely alfred, happened across a closet with unusually chatty mops and decided to investigate, but his self-preservation and practicality told him to leave it be. in such a cramped space, jason couldn't walk out the pacing he so clearly wanted, and motormouth was his next release. motormouth, and swearing. by tim's count, he owed about three-hundred fifty to the swear jar, at fifty cents a word. 

"fucking shit. fuck-ing shit. but he's... dead." 

tim's grip tightened on the kid, and only the warm breaths huffing at his shoulder kept him from glaring up at jason. instead, he looked down at the smooth, young face squished close, deceptively peaceful in sleep. he was so small. 

"parallel universes," tim said evenly. "or time travel. i don't know which, and i don't know how, or why it would be us. or even if it's just us, but, we got here together, even though we weren't before. no one else was nearby." unless cass happened to have disguised herself behind one of the paintings lining the hall, which, honestly, he wouldn't wholly dismiss, but the point stood. "it doesn't rule them out, but for the time being, it's seems it's just us." 

"just us," jason repeated, squatting down. he brushed back a few wavy curls from the kid's small forehead and rocked back on his heels. "and him. what the fuck are we going to do."

it was less genuine question than throwaway despair, but tim's mind turned it over and over nonetheless. technically red hood had seniority over red robin. technically. but tim wasn't the seventeen-year-old ceo of wayne enterprises through sheer nepotism. 

and here was the thing—their world was, to use the word jason was oh so fond of, fucked. royally. his parents, jason's parents, jason for a time, steph, damian, dick... each ripped an ugly bleeding wound through their hearts. so many deaths. so much heartbreak. bruce, too, would be up there soon, if he kept up the way he was going. maybe bruce already belonged up there, with tim himself, because you can only truly take so many losses before you're not you anymore. not the you from before. 

their world was dark, and every time they tried to light a candle in it, they burned their fingers and more to boot. maybe... maybe this time they could take a different route.

"we change things," tim said decisively. "we'll keep an eye out for anyone else, for clues as to how we got here, or why, but, i say we take this chance." he rubbed a hand over the kid's back, smoothing out a knot of tension. "we take him, and make an honest-to-god change for the better in the world." 

"what the fuck." jason's eyes flicked to his in disbelief, wide, searching. "you want to–what, retire here?" 

"no kid heroes," tim agreed. "maybe less capes in general. and for us, a lot less gotham." 

"you're crazy." jason stared at the space above tim's shoulder for a long moment, and then looked to dick. he reached out to brush the fluffy curls again. "bruce is gonna give us hell, you know." 

"we've got years of experience and intimate knowledge on him. i think we'll get by."

jason huffed, though his eyes had a hint of hope, a steadiness and growing confidence he couldn't quite hide beneath the doubt. "maybe. ...so, did you get zapped here with money, or...?" 

"we can snag some stuff to sell on the way out. and one of the cars." 

"...bruce is gonna fucking kill us." 

tim's hold tightened around his newly-little brother, and he hummed. "no. he'll be pissed but, no one's going to die here." i'm not letting anyone die here. "he'll come around, eventually. we'll work it out. for now, though—" he allowed himself one last squeeze, dropping his face into dick's hair and just letting himself breathe in the safety, the quiet, of the closet, before sighing. "you’ve got a mask under that, right? give me your helmet and let's get going." 

"hey, no—" 

"jay, helmet, c'mon." 

"fine." with all the grace of a petulant toddler, jason tugged it off and jabbed it into the part of tim's chest not covered by the impossible child, earning an unimpressed grunt. "hand over the kid, though. you can handle alfred." 

"yeah, screw you." tim rolled his eyes, clipped the helmet on, and shuffled dick over into jason's outstretched arms. his touch lingered for a moment, reluctant; itching to pull the kid back, to check over his pulse and his breathing and his face. tim pulled himself back instead, and stood up. they had work to do, a mission to follow. 

a better mission, this time. the last one.

he let himself pause one more time, looking over both his brothers. then he nodded, curtly, and led the way out.