Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"...Dad?"

Bruce was in raw pain everywhere, and definitely hallucinating, but awareness that he was hallucinating somehow didn't make the emotional pain less. Over and over, his father's floating head had berated him, and now suddenly it had manifested into a whole human being, reaching out to him with a gentle hand he didn't deserve.

"I failed you," Bruce croaked. "I'm sorry, I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry," he repeated, rocking back and forth.

Wait. No. He had a thing he needed to do. What was it again? Scarecrow. 

He stood up woozily.

Terry had just been at Bruce Wayne's funeral, feelings incredibly mixed. The man had held on for a very long time with the best of modern medicine, but in the end, did it matter when he had died nearly completely alone? Even Terry hadn't been sure if he had wanted to be there for the cranky old man who continually drove everyone away, who hadn't been honest about his suspicions right away about Terry being his genetic duplicate. Terry accidentally seeing a photo of young Bruce and tripping over himself in shock hadn't been fun.

"You don't need to be there for him, you know." Dana was a friend, though no longer a lover. They'd drifted apart over the years. "The dead can't care about their bodies. If he was mean to you, you don't need to honor his memory or anything like that."

"I do owe him a lot, though, and... I just feel this weird sense of regret. He had all these people in his life and in the end none of them were there for him? He drove people away, but he also had an incredible amount of trauma. I just think things could have been different, you know?" Terry said.

And then, one Justice League mission gone wrong later, suddenly Terry was in a different time line, or maybe a completely different dimension, because right there in front of him was the original Batman. Only, he was way, way too young, because he didn't have the bulk to him that Terry remembered. He looked, well, like teenage Terry. And wasn't that a scary thought? Terry wasted no time knocking out the thug that normally should have been no match for Batman whatsoever.

Bruce was bleeding and shivering, even though the air was warm, and looked up with a slightly glazed look in his eyes in Terry's direction. Then he glanced at things that weren't there.

Terry shouldn't interfere with the timeline. Bruce would be alright. He'd take his mask off for a second so Bruce could take him for a hallucination and not another threat.

"...Dad?" Bruce said, sounding agonizingly young. Terry's heart clenched, and in spite of himself, he stepped forward. Bruce started babbling about failure.

Bruce tried to get up, and Terry threw out a stabilizing hand. "I've got you, kiddo. It's okay."

Bruce smiled, and slag, that was the weirdest fucking thing Terry had ever seen. Bruce was clearly not okay.

"I'll be Batman for a bit, okay?" This kind of shit had happened to Terry enough he actually had a backup historical Batman costume on the off-chance he couldn't wear the Batman Beyond one. But if this was a different dimension, maybe it didn't matter if he wore the new costume. Plus, the new costume had automatic filters for gas. There were considerable advantages to a full skin covering.

"You can't be Batman," Bruce said with a slow frown. "You're not real."

"I am." Terry put his mask back on.

When Bruce came to, he was inside the Batmobile wrapped in a blanket, completely bewildered how he had gotten there. The scarecrow, he needed to stop-

His blood felt like it froze as he saw there was a note.

Who was this imposter, and how did he take down this threat?

Scarecrow had been completely baffled by the different Batman coming out of the blue from the sky and kicking him in the nuts, which very much wasn't Batman's usual style. Terry wasted no time wrapping him up after taking out his goons. Then he interrogated them on their little scheme and if any fear toxin was left loose, before dropping them off.

"Woah, since when could Batman fly?!" a cop exclaimed.

Terry was at a loss. Normally, he would have hit his dimensional beacon by now (current JLA standard equipment due to all the nonsense they got into) and requested to get sent back home, but... he felt bad. This Bruce really looked like he needed someone. He decided to check back up on him one last time from a safe height above, only to discover the Batmobile wasn't in the same location anymore, and neither was Bruce. He contemplated taking off into the sky again or just hitting his beacon, but the fast absence made him suspicious.

Instinct had him turning and ducking from a grab - not a punch, Terry noted gratefully - aimed right at the back of his head, perhaps to pull off his mask. They danced in a flurry of limbs, equally matched - no, Terry was at this point a bit more experienced, plus he wasn't injured, and was slowly but steadily pulling ahead. He made no move to hurt Bruce though, and why would he? The guy was already busted up.

"Who the hell are you?" Bruce's deep voice sounded. His lip was totally busted and his face was bruised.

It would have been more intimidating, if Terry wasn't stuck on mentally calling this version of Bruce baby-Bruce. He was just still so much smaller than the pictures of Batman in his prime that Terry was used to, or hell, even the grumpy old man version that had dunked himself in the Lazarus pit to make himself temporarily young.

"You can think of me as a guardian angel," Terry teased. Gods, it was so weird being older than the man, especially when Bruce at this age already had grumpy old man energy.

"You sound like me," Bruce said with alarm, always way too attentive for his own good. Shit. "You were there when I was hallucinating."

I'm what you would have been if you'd had a few more happy years with your parents and less wealth, didn't sound like the right thing to blurt out. "How would you like an older brother?" It wouldn't be Terry's first time big brother-ing, and his real little brother didn't need him any more. Heck, his little bro was fully capable of being Batman himself at this point.

"That's not possible," Bruce said, and, oh, he was trying to do scary Batman voice, but all Terry could think was that he'd scared him.

"If that's not something you want, I'll just go away," Terry said agreeably. "Forever." He turned, ready to fly off the ledge of the building.

"Wait," Bruce reached out, hesitant and conflicted. "I just don't understand how you're claiming that's possible."

Gods, this Bruce was so young he hadn't quite mastered his patented stoic face yet, nor had he gotten used to endless clone and dimensional bullshit. That was priceless. Or he was still reeling from Scarecrow, that too.

Well, Terry had no desire to be a complete jerk. He took off his mask for the second time tonight (double checking for cameras first of course) and the satisfaction of Bruce's stunned stare at his appearance. "It's pretty simple. I'm from another world and I accidentally ended up in this one. Whether you want to keep me around and come up with a more plausible story for this particular world about my existence is up to you."

And Bruce?

Bruce just looked so lost. Like he didn't know at all how to respond.

"That's okay if you haven't made up your mind yet. For all you know I'm like, an evil doppelganger or something." At the glare, Terry hotly added: "I'm not! I'm not after your money. I already have more advanced tech than you do, so I don't need your Batcave either." He pulled his mask back on. "I can lay low and just hang around in Gotham for a few weeks, it's not a big deal." He'd have to tell his JLA he was off-world so they wouldn't worry, but that was quick enough to deal with.

Bruce was still standing there in agonized silence. Like he didn't have it in him to say yes, but a part of him desperately didn't want to say no. Finally, he said: "I don't trust you."

"I don't expect you to. Still, if I were totally evil, would I have helped you to your car, given you the fear toxin antidote, and captured the Scarecrow for you?"

"Are they alive and unmaimed?"

"Yes, of course," Terry said. "I may have kicked one of them in the balls tho'." That doesn't get even a tiny flicker of a smile. Bruce is giving that trauma stare again. Terry sighed and outstretched a hand toward Bruce, and Bruce jolted backward like it was venomous. "Your place or shall I sleep tonight in a pocket dimension?"

Hey, the future had some nice tech alright? They'd eventually managed to deal with the pocket dimension instability problem, managed to cheapen the price down to the point it could be attached effortlessly to housing for a fairly reasonable price, and with that, city overcrowding problems and housing scarcity had been nearly completely ended overnight, just like that.

"That sounds dangerous," Bruce was in Batman mode. "Couldn't that rip a hole in Gotham if not the world?"

"The secret is adding pre-existing fault-lines or arches that lead to natural breakpoints, like a bridge made for earthquakes that can take a few cracks. If it collapses it'll just murder me, not the world." Somehow, Batman does not look that re-assured by that. "It'll be fine."

"My house," Batman makes up his mind, a stubborn purse to his lips indicating he won't be argued out of it. Of course, Terry had no intentions of it. "I don't like you there, but I like risking Gotham with an unknown technology even less."

"If that's what makes you happy." And like that, Bruce instead of Batman is back, and he can tell from the gaze that Bruce doesn't understand him one whit at all. "Again, may I remind you, I can just leave?"

Bruce... does not tell him to leave.

Terry can tell Bruce is incredibly confused and concerned by this fact.

Chapter Text

He tended Bruce's wounds in the car with a healing spray, or tried - Bruce was rather reluctant to have an unknown substance put on his skin. Damn it Bruce, let me dote on you! It was understandable, but frustrating since in the future superficial cuts could be cleaned up right away.

Terry annoyed Bruce by cheerfully giving instructions the entire way on how to get there.

"Master Dick is reluctantly in bed. Since you skipped dinner again, I thought I'd-- Good lord!" Alfred nearly dropped the plate he was carrying.  "You are not Thomas Wayne." It was said with complete conviction, yet the fact it needed to be said at all spoke very strongly to the opposite. "And Bruce has no older brother, to the best of my awareness, and yet, here you are, the spitting image of him yet too old to be his secret twin. Who are you, sir?" There was a note of suspicion, tampered down only by the fact Bruce was very clearly standing right next to him.

"I'm Terry," he introduced himself, a bit giddy to be meeting the famous Alfred in the flesh. "I'm from another dimension. I must say, it's an honor to finally meet you in person."

Alfred looked rather taken back, but not entirely uncharmed. "Well. I take it you've heard good things about my counterpart, in which case, you won't be offended if I am a little skeptical. Good things rarely come to young Master Bruce's life, I'm afraid. Why are you here and not in your own dimension?"

"That's something I'd like to know," Bruce stated, making it clear he didn't entirely believe Terry's story. Joy, time to explain things again to the not-old man. He'd forgotten how paranoid Bruce was. Well-earned paranoia, but still.

"Accident took me here. I could leave, but by happenstance I don't happen to have much family left over there myself," his mother had passed by natural causes recently, and his no longer so little brother thought Terry was Very Uncool so didn't want to see him more than a few times a year, "so staying here for awhile is kinda tempting, y'know?" Terry drawled. "Of course, I don't want to be an imposition, I don't need your money or a room, but I'd like to come visit frequently, even daily if that's alright."

"And I told you, you won't be opening a pocket dimension for hobos," Bruce growled. "You're staying here where I can keep an eye on you. Take your suit off so I can scan you for metal and determine if you're an evil robot."

Alfred just raised an eyebrow. "Master Bruce, did you just tell this man to strip?"

Bruce did not flush, but he did go very still and take a deep breath. "His face is nearly identical to mine. I'm sure he has nothing I haven't seen before."

Terry coughed. "I'll have a bath later. So, uh, dinner?" He glanced at the plate. It was full of peanut butter and jam sandwiches, probably because they'd still taste good and due to all the preservatives wouldn't be lethal if left cold by a man who couldn't be bothered to touch them until two hours had passed and he finally realized he was supposed to be eating instead of working.

"What's all the commotion?" Richard Grayson bounced into view at the top of the stairs. "Woah! Evil clone? How'd he manage to be older than you?"

"That remains to be seen," Bruce said. Terry just rolled his eyes, but before he could move further, Bruce grabbed his arm and leaned in. "I swear, if you hurt Robin, I'll make you regret the day you were born."

Terry just looked at him softly. "I'm glad you care so much for him." He still felt saddened at the fact Richard hadn't even been to Bruce's funeral. Bruce seemed to grasp there was something strangely sorrowful about his response, because he let go rather quickly and uncharacteristically averted his eyes, like something about Terry's face instinctively pained him even if he couldn't pin down what and perhaps didn't even want to know what.

"Cool, sandwiches!" Richard (no, he preferred to be called Dick right? weird nickname that fell out of fashion in the future) fearlessly slid down the railing and jump-rolled next to Alfred with an acrobatic flip. Then, he politely clasped his hands together to beg, "May I please have one? With a lick of cherry jam on top?"

"Of course."

"Didn't you already eat?" Bruce said with concern.

"Yeah, but I'm a growing bwoy 'n stuff," he started talking with his mouth full, shoving a sandwich in.

"I didn't even know cherry jam was a thing," Terry said.

"All sorts of things can be made into jam or jelly," Alfred said. "It's a good way to make use of fruit that would otherwise spoil."

"Wow, you hand-make your own jam?" Terry wasn't sure why he was impressed. The guy's job was literately to take care of people.

Still, it seemed like he'd grudgingly won some approval from one member of the family. Alfred gave him a smile. "Indeed I do. If you're planning on sticking around, I could show you how."

"I'd enjoy that." He only knew how to make a few things, like scrambled eggs. Preserving left-overs would have been nice knowledge to know during his teen years; his mother had never liked throwing things away, but she also wanted them to eat healthy foods, which meant that they often got stuck with a seriously over-ripe fruit bowl.

"Can I pick out a room for you?" Dick said.

"Dick," Bruce said with a note of warning.

"Sure," Terry said. "As long as it isn't a closet."

"You've ruined my evil plans," Dick joked.

"Dick!" Bruce exclaimed.

"I was kidding! I wasn't really going to stick him in a closet. Besides, your closets are so big, he'd never notice they weren't a real room, you could fit an entire bed in there."

"Sounds cozy," Terry said, not offended in the slightest even if it had been a real prank.

"If I knew we were having a guest, I'd have made a proper meal," Alfred fretted.

Terry took a sandwich. The two different flavors of jelly and jam made for an interesting combination. "It's perfect," he said, and he meant it. But he didn't mean just the jam.

It was seeing, for a split second, the happiness on everyone's faces over something so mundane as sandwiches, even Bruce (though Bruce's happiness seemed to be more from seeing Dick enjoy his sandwich in such a carefree way more than anything else) before he either hid it away or shoved it down to shrivel and die a sad death by paranoia and stress, everyone gathered together like they were a real family.

Terry would try to make it so at least in this dimension, they weren't split apart. Not this time.

Bruce did indeed stalk him into the frikkin' shower, holding out a metal detector.

"Privacy, Bruce!" Terry exclaimed, wrapped in a towel. "I was hoping you were joking earlier."

"I rarely joke."

"I know," Terry said with long familiar exasperation. It was one of the reasons the Joker had been so damned obsessed with the old man, wasn't it? And, oh shit, the Joker.

Bruce wasn't going to like it, but Terry needed to permanently deal with that fucker before he tortured or permanently broke a Robin. If he was going to stay here for awhile, there was a nice little list of errands he had to run.

"You don't seem to be an evil robot," Bruce concluded gruffly. Somehow, he seemed more worried than before after this revelation.

"Yeah, fancy that." Looking for revenge, Terry decided to give Batman a big Bugs Bunny kiss right on the forehead. Bruce dropped his scanner in shock. "Mwa! Now get out."

Chapter Text

There was one huge problem with Terry's plan to go kidnap the Joker (besides not even knowing if the Joker was active yet, that is).

Bruce was being incredibly clingy. Terry should have expected it, but the younger Batman was sticking to him like glue.

"You should take this opportunity to have Batman and Bruce Wayne seen at the same time," Terry suggested.

"I don't trust you that much yet," Bruce said bluntly. Ouch! Well, at least he was being honest instead of hiding it. "Also, that won't work if we reveal you to the public as some sort of mystery older brother or cousin. You look too much alike to me to be a cousin. You can't be a secret twin, either." It helped that Terry had aged well, but, he wasn't so ageless he could reliably pass as the exact same year as Bruce. "The paperwork is going to be a headache. Legally speaking, it would be easier for me if you were a cousin or illegitimate, though the latter would besmirch my father's reputation."

 "Everyone is going to think I came out of the woodwork for the money," Terry said, reading between the lines easily. "I have no intentions of taking your inheritance from you, Bruce. If need be I'll just hang out at your house and avoid all the parties. But, there are some investments I'd recommend making. First, I need to get a good idea of where we are in the time-line though. Yours doesn't seem to be identical to mine. For one," Terry hesitated. "You're awfully young to be having a guardianship over Dick. Did you even complete your League of Shadows training?"

"I've been training since before I turned ten. I spent years overseas before coming back at age twenty, and spent my eighteenth year at the League. Gotham accepts guardians as young as eighteen; our foster system is pretty desperate for helping hands," Bruce explained. "They'll basically take anyone without a criminal record with glee. I was Batman for only a few months when circumstance brought him to me, but I wouldn't change my decision."

"Your rogues gallery-"

"My rogue gallery?" Bruce said, skeptical. "You mean Clayface and Scarecrow? They're strange, I'll grant you that, but I'm not sure I'd call them a gallery."

"Okay. First thing I'd do, though it'll be depending on how insane Clayface is in this reality, is offer Clayface a job. The man mostly just really wants a cure, but for short periods he can pretend to be anybody even without it, that's absolute gold for advertising. Heck, you could make him a security guard instead, if he can't stand acting anymore. Tell him you'll buy all the experimental cures and chemicals he wants, and you'll have his loyalty for life."

"That..." Bruce grimaced. "I don't think that'll be possible. Clayface resents me for becoming what he is. And Clayface isn't an actor in this dimension." Not an actor? Huh.

"Oh, chemical accident deal? But is this resentment toward Bruce or toward the Batman?"

"The Batman," Bruce said. "But if he ever learns there is an association it will blow up in our faces."

"But we won't know if it will work or not unless we try first, right?" Terry said. "You shouldn't be so pessimistic. Okay, quick questions: do you know a Jack Napier, Pamela Isley, and how is Harvey Dent?"

"Harvey is fine?" Bruce said with concern, immediately fixating on that. "Napier doesn't ring a bell. Dr. Isley... She's a plant biologist who dated Harvey briefly, they're both just a couple of years older than me. I believe she just finished up her PhD. I could look into hiring her." It was unfortunate for his plans Poison Ivy wasn't active; the only cure he knew for Mr. Freeze's wife off the top of his head required her serum. But if she'd just finished, she might become active very soon.

"Okay. Harvey is going to be attacked sometime around when he makes a run for office, if this is anything like every other timeline," it was one of those things that seemed set in stone. "Acid thrown at him. In some dimensions it's just a little bit on half of his face, in others it's enough to scar a huge chunk of his body down to his arm and leg too. It psychologically breaks him pretty bad. Multiple personality disorder."

"He... he's been making noises about it. Said he was going to officially announce a run shortly after my birthday, which is coming up."

"The big 21? You excited?"

"To help keep my identity, I'm going to booze it up."

"Ah." Terry had mixed feelings about that. "And I suppose you'll get some arm candy that you'll throw away at the end of the night, conveniently pushing away anyone who might want a real relationship with you."

Maybe he could be the annoying responsible older brother slash vaguely parental figure.

"It's for the best," Bruce said hotly. "It wouldn't be safe to date a woman for real as Batman. If they think I'm human slime and only good for a fling, they'll all voluntarily stay away from me."

And there it was. The other massive big reason Bruce had ended up completely and utterly alone.

"Unless they're the kind of person who thrives in danger. I think I'll show up at your party after all," Terry said, causing Bruce to narrow his eyes at him.

"What are you scheming?"

Your complete and utter embarrassment.

"Bruce, you're hovering. Is something the matter?"

 Batman's worry over Harvey had him almost forget about Terry. Almost. He narrowed his eyes as he finally spotted the man coming in. "Just expecting someone I've been meaning to introduce to everyone.

"Goodness gracious, Brucie," exclaimed a socialite that Bruce had really only invited for Harvey's sake as the man wanted to make connections, "you never told us you have a twin!"

"He looks a little old for a twin, though I suppose it could be stress aging... Bruce, why didn't you ever tell me you had a sibling?" Harvey said.

"I didn't know until recently." Raising his voice, he dinged a spoon against a glass. "Everyone, I have an announcement to make. There is no greater gift than that of family. So it is only fitting that for my 21st birthday, fate had seen fit to unite me with my long lost brother. Neither of us knew of each others' existence until recently. Terry Wayne was lost as a babe after a difficult birth, and thought dead, but in reality he was kidnapped and raised by another family."

This sent off a round of camera flashes. Terry's blinking face said he wasn't used to cameras flashing right in his face, which helped sell the story of not being used to wealth, but it did make Bruce wonder if they didn't have flash photography in the future or if alternate Batman had genuinely never shared his wealth with Terry. Of course, there was always the evil clone idea as well.

"Will you be taking the fortune from Bruce as the rightful heir?" some journalist immediately tastelessly suggested. Vicki Vale, the ever churning background of his mind supplied, had not been officially invited, yet had sneaked in regardless looking for a scoop for the tabloids.

"No," said Terry. "I want to make it very clear to everyone: I would never do anything to hurt Bruce." A flicker of warmth threatened to worm its way into Bruce's distrusting heart. He smothered it in the hearth, feeling unease. It could be a trick. He could never afford to leave his guard down completely.

He wasn't truly Bruce. He was Batman. Bruce was just a mask. Which reminded him, he needed to complete putting it on.

"Drinks for everyone, in celebration!" Bruce grinned and raised his glass, only to be genuinely gobsmacked as Terry suddenly yanked the glass from Bruce's hand.

"Hold it. In moderation, buddy. You may be old enough to drink, but the brain doesn't actually stop developing until age 26. What would your mother want for you?"

Mortification filled Bruce, along with a flash of rage - this was his mask, his scheme to hide his identity, that Terry was trying to undermine - before his brain fully processed that this, actually, was all fine.

Bruce Wayne, attempted play-boy billionaire who couldn't even intimidate his older brother into not embarrassing him, might not be the secret identity he'd had in mind for a mask, but it certainly wasn't something anyone would connect with Batman. In some ways, this was better, because no one could have faked the level of pink that came to his ears just then. "Don't speak about my- our mother, you never knew her."

"Sorry," Terry said gently, quietly, not talking for the crowd anymore. "But you know she'd want better for you than to waste away." And suddenly they weren't just talking about 'Brucie' any more.

"I'm not," Batman resisted openly snarling in public. "Don't try to parent me. I'm a grown man." A grown avenger of darkness. If anything was making him waste away, it was the fact he was forced to stand in the light right now.

"I hope I'm not cutting in," an older man with a thuggish flunky at his side cut in with no genuine apology in his voice. "I must say I wasn't planning on meeting two Wayne's tonight, but it hardly makes a difference, now does it? Carmine Falcone." The man extended a hand to shake toward Bruce.

Bruce stared him down humorlessly.

"Perhaps you have a little more sense?" he said toward Terry, shifting the direction of his hand. "Or at least a little more politeness?"

"I have zero idea who you are!" Terry said cheerfully, taking the hand and defusing the tension very little. The smile didn't reach Terry's eyes.

"Well, that would have to be rectified. You could say I'm unofficially a very important man," Falcone puffed up. "Officially, I'm a man you don't want to cross."

"Perhaps you would like to take this to a room for a private discussion, sirs," Alfred suggested, coming to life from the background where had done a good job seeming like scenery to the multitude of brainless people around them. "If you would follow after me."

"Don't invite Harvey Dent," Falcone ordered, then sauntered after Alfred like he owned the place.

Bruce didn't keep the affront entirely off his face: the careful blankness alone, he knew, spoke to being less than thrilled.

"See, already your Brucie mask is running into issues. You weren't being a playful idiot with Falcone," Terry said in a low voice. "There are benefits to a persona that lets you be a little more honest to yourself."

"Perhaps," he allowed that small point. "Falcone isn't a man you want to joke with. I think even Brucie Wayne could be excused for that. His mob connections are an open secret."

"Not to me. The Falcones were long gone by my day," Terry said. "Guess it sells my 'new to town' persona."

"...should I invite Harvey?" A touch of uncertainty, but also just curiosity about what Terry would say. Would he try to drive him away from Harvey? Claim that he was going to turn into some 'rogue' because of acid?

"Might as well," Terry said. "Hey Harvey! I haven't really met ya yet, come chat with us!"

Harvey looked pleased at that. The man had started to come over when he saw Falcone, but had stopped when he over-heard Falcone's loud command, looking rather put out. It felt like the right decision, Bruce didn't want to undermine Harvey or make him feel like he wasn't trusted. Especially when the man had to be reeling over one revelation today already.

Falcone, on the other, definitely wasn't pleased. "Well, you may come to regret that little decision. I've come to inform you of some old dirty laundry."

"You don't mean to imply..." Bruce was internally frozen. That bastard could not have just implied that!

"Your parents aren't the saints you may have thought they were," Falcone sneered. "Did you really, earnestly think anyone comes to that kind of money through rainbows and puppy dog kisses? Here's a birthday message for you: Grow up! The fact of the matter is, you owe us. Expect to pay with some favors."

"Is that really so?" Terry said with suspicion. "How do we know you didn't have them murdered yourself and are just claiming we owe you something?"

Suddenly, all Bruce could see was red.

He lunged and Terry grabbed him, nearly getting bowled over in the process. "Woah! Calm down, it was just a query. Fact of the matter is, we don't know anything. So why don't we just consider the slate clean, okay?"

"Hmf, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Falcone said. "It's a bad look to go after orphaned children. But neither of you are little anymore. Be ready to play in the big leagues, and keep your heads down, or get the hell out of Gotham. This isn't a place for pretty rich boys who don't know their place."

"I won't let you threaten my friend like that," Harvey said hotly.

"Heh. I can make or break your future ambitions, Dent," Falcone fixed his focus on Bruce's childhood friend now. "I'll tell you what, my little prosecuting attorney. You look the other way for a few of my boys, I'll call this whole thing square and fair."

Harvey looked torn. Wanted to protect Bruce, he hoped, rather than caring more about his future campaign.

"Don't do it, Harvey," Bruce commanded, sounding a little too much like Batman at that moment. "Don't worry about me."

"You should worry about yourself," said Falcone, and with alarm, Bruce realized that Terry had to be telling at least a little of the truth. "I'll see myself out. You 'enjoy' the party."

If nothing changed...

Shortly, Harvey Dent would be experiencing the agony of acid poured on his face and permanent disfigurement, even madness.

Batman couldn't let that happen. Yet, neither could he bring himself to cooperate with Falcone in any way. Was he a terrible friend?

Batman was meant to be a friendless creature. He cared only about justice and vengeance. It was inevitable that others would get hurt along the way. He strove for a future where the weak would be safe, where criminals ran terrified from the night rather than their victims, but he couldn't save everyone. If Batman immediately went to threaten Falcone, Falcone would realize Batman had a connection to the Wayne's somehow and that would give Batman a terrible weakness. Bar figuring out the exact instant Harvey would be attacked, there might not be anything Bruce could do.

Despite himself, he found himself glancing to Terry.

No. He couldn't ask someone else to solve all his problems. Couldn't expect that. He knew from age eight there was no savior waiting for him, no comfort left. Anything that suggested otherwise was a fairy-tale, a dream of a time before the living nightmare that was his life.

Bruce had died with his parents when he was eight years old. He had no intentions of living again. He couldn't.

Clearly, he needed to do one thing:

He needed to chase Terry away.

Chapter Text

"Alright, what we could do is have one of us trail Harvey all the time, and the other does normal Batman duties," Terry gave in his opinion a very sensible plan.

Only, Bruce wasn't having it.

"I think maybe this was a mistake."

"What?" Terry exclaimed. "You can't just take it back now - we literately just had the big reveal at a party! Everyone will think I got, like, murdered over the fortune or something if I just disappear now."

"You may have been Batman in your time, but this is mine. If you don't even immediately recognize major players like Falcone-" That's because, after a certain point, Falcone really wasn't a major player. Not like Two Face, Black Mask, Penguin, Poison Ivy, The Joker, hell even Harley Quinn when she occasionally went solo... the list went on. "-how can I trust you not to screw up? And for that matter, how do I even know you are competent in general?"

"I did manage to keep up hand to hand with you, and I did just fine in the Scarecrow situation."

"When I was in less than peak condition, yes. And Scarecrow had not been expecting you, so you had an advantage in both cases."

...that, honestly, was a bit of a point. Terry had over a decade of experience under his belt by now, but he hadn't had early childhood conditioning. Although, that was not quite as big a factor as some of the more braggart alternate dimension Robins would have you believe: true, he'd never be a trapeze artist, but children can't over-work their muscles when they are young without risking severely damaging themselves. Children are not meant to be body builders. Terry had started as a teen, not an old man, the usually recommended time for that sort of thing, and he'd trained directly under Batman himself.

Theoretically, they should tie most of the time. But most of the time was not all of the time, and Terry privately suspected Bruce would win more often than Terry. Terry really wasn't quite as... driven to the point of madness as Bruce. Determination could count in a fight. And Terry's best weapon, using his words to put his opponent off-guard, was not something he wanted to really use in a vicious manner against Bruce, ever. But on the other hand, the person Terry had trained most with... was Bruce himself. Albeit a vastly slowed down Bruce. While this Bruce didn't know Terry's moves intimately in the same way.

So, Terry should have the advantage in the first few fights even if Bruce would eventually outpace him.

"Want to go hand to hand again?" Terry offered.

"Let's." Bruce's stern face practically screamed that he wanted a rematch. Not because of pride - Terry knew him better than that. But because of the mania, the drive, the need to be good enough to succeed. Even, perhaps, a feeling of inadequacy that Bruce would never admit to, at least not when in an altered state of mind. Terry remembered how Bruce had muttered about being a failure, a seemingly nonsensical comment that unfortunately made a lot of sense to Terry. Not because it was accurate, but because he understood something of Bruce's wounded psyche after years working with the man.

The first punch came with no warning, but Terry was half-expecting it nonetheless. Bruce was good enough to not give tells unless he wanted you to see them. His first blows were straight-forward, measuring, then increased in complexity. After less than twenty seconds of feints (most fights are over in minutes in reality), Bruce clearly grasped that Terry knew this and switched to a feint-that-wasn't, pulling his blow a fair bit in favor of being able to get it across at all and trying to grapple.

Terry had expected that too. Like he said... he'd known Bruce a long time and had trained under him. He twisted the hand making the grapple attempt in order to control that whole arm, and Bruce seamlessly continued, completely ignoring the threat of breaking his own wrist in favor of trying to elbow Terry in the face, the asshole.

Terry hissed as he weaved around Bruce - literately, hooking his other arm and then his legs, turning this into a grapple that toppled them both to the ground with Terry on top. "Don't break yourself! I could have broken your hand if I had wanted with that position! You should have counter-twisted your hand to get it out."

"But you didn't, and in any case it was a calculated risk. If I'd counter-twisted, you would have known at least some of the motions I was making next."

"A risk that really didn't pay off well for you." Terry stared down at Bruce, who glared up at him stubbornly. "C'mon. I got you on the ground, most people don't manage that. You have to admit I'm at least a little competent."

"THAT WAS SO COOL," Dick shouted. Terry gave a distracted glance up, and Bruce took the opportunity to tackle Terry over on to the ground. "I really hope you aren't evil, because wow, what a fight! You seemed so evenly matched the first thirty seconds, but then you pulled ahead and actually beat him! Or, uh, tied because of me?" Dick looked sheepish. "Sorry."

"Distractions are lethal," Bruce warned.

Terry rolled his eyes. "It was a spar. My hearing was never quite as sharp as yours," an unfortunate side effect of having a suit that naturally enhanced your hearing for you, he did occasionally train without it blindfolded but he hadn't been doing that lately, "and I don't have eyes in the back of my head."

"I don't want your death on my conscience."

"Bruce," Terry said very softly. "If I do die, it would absolutely in no way whatsoever be your fault. I am older than you, you are not responsible for me." Even more quietly, he added. "You weren't responsible for them, either."

Bruce stiffens. "Don't talk about them." It says a lot that he didn't even need to clarify who 'them' referred to.

"Sorry," Terry apologized. "But if you talk with Alfred, I'm sure he'll agree you are too hard on yourself."

"You keep talking like you know me," Bruce said.

"I know, knew, one version of you," Terry said. "And he was miserable, Bruce. I just don't want that to happen to you. So many bad things that happened - may happen -" he corrected, "are actually really preventable. Let me help."

Bruce stared, face immobile and blank.

"C'mon, Bruce," Dick proved to be an unexpected help. "At least give the guy a chance after you called him your own brother. Doesn't found family mean anything?" and there, there was insecurity in Richard's voice, like he wasn't really talking about just Terry.

"Of course it does," Bruce finally softens. "I'm sorry, I..." He got off Terry. "We can call it a tie, this time."

"If it helps you sleep at... whatever time you actually sleep at, because I know it's not night," Terry joked.

"If... you even think at any point it might be too much," Bruce said. "You leave. No arguing."

"Got it." Terry understood this was Bruce's way of conceding for now. It was progress. A tiny bit of progress, but better than completely reversing all the way back to where they started or going into the negatives with Bruce trying to actively chase him out of the entire dimension. Trust with Bruce was about more than just whether or not a person was trustworthy, and in fact it largely didn't have to do with that at all. "I can baby-sit Dick while you patrol tonight. I understand he's something of an escape artist and you feel like you have to take him with you or he'll just get himself killed, but he really probably shouldn't be being Robin so often until he's like, 16 at least. Maybe restrict him to the most soft-hearted of rogues, but you haven't even met most of them yet so, that's not really on the table at all right now. Did you meet Selina yet? Catwoman?"

"What? Noooo, I wanted to be Robin tonight!" Dick exclaimed. "I take it back. You are the worst, do NOT give him a chance, Bruce, he's totally evil!"

Bruce laughed. "That... actually sounds fantastic. Thank you. And I did hear some rumors of a cat themed thief."

"Well, she's pretty safe with kids, so you can take him along with if you're going after her next," Terry said.

"OK, I take it back, you're not totally evil," Dick said.

"But you might not want to take him for other reasons," Terry said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What does that even mean?!" Dick exclaimed. Bruce just sighed, his ears looking slightly pink again.

"I told you I'm not looking for a relationship."

"Oh. Oooh." Dick said. "You know, maybe you should go without Robin for awhile," he said slyly. "I'll stay home voluntarily, no sitter required."

Bruce looked betrayed, but there was a flicker of a joking air about it. "Et tu?"

"You know, the only one close to being named Brutus is you," Terry pointed out, amused.

"You time traveled to ensure I'd be stabbed by Caesar," Bruce said with dry humor.

"You deserved that stabbing," Terry said, and Alfred chose the worst possible moment to walk in with drinks and look absolutely appalled at the conversational choices. "Not a real stabbing!" he hastily clarified.

"I should hope not," Alfred said. "Refreshments? Or shall I grab the cape? Capes plural?"

Bruce looked at Terry, considering. "We can't both be Batman."

"Sure we can, as long as we're not in the same place at the same time."

"I've gotten Bruce out of a few scrapes," Robin said, piping up. "He does in fact need backup sometimes! If I'm taking a break from Robin," he made a face, "then you need to step up."

"I'm definitely not being Robin, but," he considered. "I guess I could be Nightwing? Maybe? Or I could just call myself, hm, Beyond." That felt better than taking someone else's identity. "I'll keep out of sight for now. It's better Terry Wayne doesn't appear at the exact same time as a new hero. I'll just be doppelganger Batman tonight. With luck, nothing will even happen to Harvey and nobody will ever know I was there." Bruce had spares of his costume, goodness knew he went through them often enough, sometimes a costume was easier to just throw out entirely than to repair. Especially if it had been in a sewer.

"Who is Nightwing?" Dick asked.

"You, in the future. It's a sleek blue and black costume."

"That's so cool," Dick gushed. "What other cool things do I have or do in the future?"

"Maybe it's best we don't completely disturb the time stream," Bruce suggested, a flicker of worry on his face conveying that what he was really thinking was that he didn't want to know if Dick died and that was why he ended up miserable.

"Yeah, if I tell you everything, it'll ruin all the fun surprises!" Terry teased. "You will have a good future, I promise it." Even if Terry had to make it come true himself.

"I'm holding you to that," Dick joked.

Chapter Text

That conversation really hadn't gone as Batman had expected. He'd been fully prepared to chase Terry away, and then... Richard had completely blindsided him. Somehow, in such a short time, the kid had gotten attached.

There was a very strange mixture of embarrassment and relief about the defeat and the critiques. It seemed unfathomable that there was actually a more experienced figure who knew what they were doing right in front of him. But when it came to Robin's parenting...

Batman had to admit he struggled to say no. That he honestly didn't really know what to do with a child and often felt completely overwhelmed by it. Sometimes wondered if it was all the wrong choice, yet couldn't bare the thought (or the mental damage it would surely cause) of sending Dick away to someone more competent, more capable in the child rearing department. The only reason Robin wasn't completely spoiled was because his original parents knew what they were doing and Robin still carried the attitude of a kid who didn't truly think of themselves as wealthy. Didn't realize if he asked for a damn pony, Bruce Batman would probably cave faster than you could run to the Batcave.

He set up an encrypted communication link between himself and Terry, so he knew Harvey seemed perfectly fine and safe tonight.

That left Batman to fixate on active problems.

A masked gang of unknown affiliation had broken into City Hall and completely broken the elevator.

"Gordon, they're on the 52nd floor. I'm going in."

"Wait for backup!"

"Don't need it." He hung up, ignoring Gordon's protests. He swung from a nearby building.

"I heard stories, ya know?" said Goon One, using a high speed cutting tool and not watching his back. "Sent three guys to the ambulance. The rest in body bags."

"No wonder the police want him dead."

"You ever see him?"

"Yeah, Gotham Zoo, with all the other animals."

Batman's grappling hook made a slight noise as it hooked in.

"Did you hear that?!"

"No, what-"

He smashed straight through the window, his heavy body armor protecting him from the flying glass. One of the goons wasn't quite so lucky, getting knocked over by a chunk of pane. Another howled, then aimed, but already Bruce was in motion. Even he didn't want to get shot point blank. He threw Goon Two against Goon Three, then made himself seemingly scarce before the others could come running and gun him down.

"What the hell, man! Where'd he, or it, go?"

"Whatever it is, don't let it get out!"

Conveniently, they'd turned off the lights and all electricity to the building. The criminal underworld had yet to fully learn that the shadows were HIS domain, not theirs. But they would.

Even more conveniently, they split up looking for him. He knocked one man out and silently tied him up to an office chair, then vanished back into the darkness, just to psychologically torment them when they found their ally. Let them experience the fear they inflicted on others. Make them stew in it.

Then, as their terror mounted, he made his attack.

Hooked one man and dragged him screaming into the shadows.

Moved around to the opposite side of the room as the others were still looking after the man being dragged off, and rappelled up another.

With their numbers safely narrowed down, he slammed into the last one. Went into a fist fight. Could he have avoided it like he did the others? Possibly. He wasn't feeling that patient, that kind. He needed to get out that rage and feel pain on his flesh. The remaining would probably be too on alert and it made sense not to waste time.

They burst through the door the goons had been trying to work their way into getting through, only to see a woman in black leather with a whip and fake cat ears had beaten them to the job.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's polite to knock?" she purred. Ignoring the stacks of money she made a grab for some sort of disc and ran.

Batman chased after her all the way to the roof. He pressed the voice distorter button on his cape.

"I was wondering if we'd cross paths," she said, turning around near the edge.

"That doesn't belong to you."

"You broke the law. Here I am." It was not, perhaps, his best line. But it was the truth.

She scoffed, unimpressed. "Oh, cut the shit. The Law? Don't pretend like what you are doing is legal either, or that's why you're doing this. Squeeze on a suit, dealing out justice as you see fit, the last guy to do that ended up in Arkham." The Scarecrow had gone after some ex-colleagues who had scoffed at his work as his first set of targets. That was technically vigilantism, but Batman didn't like to think he and Scarecrow had anything much in common. Scarecrow enjoyed fear for its own sake. Batman just used it as a tool.

"Gotham needs a hero," Batman said. "Someone to hunt down people like you." People breaking the law for the thrill of it had no place in his vision for the future, except in jail.

And Terry thought he and this Catwoman should, what, get together? What was Terry thinking?

"And that makes me, what, a villain in this picture?" She didn't seem particularly frightened or amused. "Sounds fun." Why was she so flirty? A manipulation tactic, perhaps?

She took a few steps closer, as if to silently brag how little she feared the Batman, her hips swaying.

"I'll admit, you give a good chase. Maybe one day, you'll actually catch me."

"Tonight."

"Didn't anyone tell you not to corner a wild animal?" And with that, she lashed out her whip.

If she was determined to be an animal, he'd put her in a cage.

Gordon's men finally managed to make their way up to the roof as they fought, and Gordon ordered them not to shoot. A helicopter also began circling overhead, but they seemed to be obeying Gordon so he refocused on Catwoman.

Which turned out to be a mistake as some corrupt useless bastard shot him right in the back, bruising up his side, the body armor only helping so much. In the struggle and in his flinch at the shot, he accidentally knocked Catwoman right off the roof. Shit. She might be a criminal, but he hadn't intended to kill her. Batman dove after her, and just barely managed to lock hands.

She gasped. "Guess I was wrong about you catching me."

"Don't struggle or you'll fall," he warned, trying to not sound like a big softie. Batman was not soft.

"Oh, but that's what men like you crave. The struggle." And then she scratched his face.

"Sooo, did you enjoy your unofficial date with Selina?"

Bruce just stared at Terry like he was insane.

"Show me your wounds," Alfred said, no nonsense and straight to the point. "I profess, with Terry around, I was hoping there would be a bit less of... this."

"Who shot you?" Terry said. "If it was a goon, perhaps you should have called me for backup-"

"It was a cop." Batman could handle five goons.

"Ah. ACAB, they say that yet?" It wasn't a term Batman was very familiar with, but considering the upper crust circles he hung out with, that might not mean much. "Cops are bastards."

"Gordon isn't."

"I'll take your word for it," Terry said, and actually sounded sincere rather than sarcastic.

"How was Robin's day?" Batman said.

"Master Dick had a good day, he found a stray cat to befriend wandering by our doors," Alfred said. An interesting coincidence. And a reminder his work wasn't done. "And where are you trying to wander off to, Master Bruce?"

"I need to work on the Batcomputer," Batman said.

"You need to heal," Alfred said. "Let Terry handle it."

Batman's fist clenched. He hated feeling useless. "I can do it while sitting down."

"Do you have laptops yet? Or heck, even a good quality custom mobile phone. I could set up a secure home-only connection that would let you use and even view the screen of the Batcomputer remotely, and then you wouldn't have to go up and down," Terry asked. "Might be a bit slow compared to what I'm used to, I dunno."

"We do."

"Alright, just lay down for a bit and then you can work your sorry insomniac ass from bed," Terry teased. "If a big crime breaking the news occurs, I can handle that too."

That... did sound good, Batman reluctantly admitted. He was very sore. And Terry almost made him feel safe.

He didn't intend to fall asleep the instant he slipped into bed.

Terry wondered if there was something wrong with this reality. Bruce, not flirting with Catwoman? That wasn't much like the dimensions he knew. Perhaps it was a slower burn?

Then again, this Bruce had been very introverted, the way he'd seemed to hover hesitantly at the edges of the party like he knew he needed to act like an extrovert for his Brucie persona, but a part of him just didn't have his heart in it and a part of him was hoping he'd have an excuse to do anything else. He was young and still growing into himself, but his real self was clearly incredibly withdrawn.

Not exactly someone who was going to leap into flirting right away except as an act.

Chapter Text

As Terry was reviewing things, he came to an uncomfortable realization. "Bruce, that talk criminals having been having about you sending men to the morgue wasn't just rumor, was it?"

Bruce was quiet. Solemn.

"The adrenaline hit and you didn't have enough experience to hold back enough," Terry guessed. "A league of assassins isn't exactly great for nonlethal training."

"It was an accident," Bruce admitted, looking haggard. "In the heat of the fight, I didn't even feel any pain myself. They were all still breathing when I left them. I... still feel guilty."

Not all universes were the same. Some had more of a 'universal meta factor' than others, worlds where a man could fall off a rooftop without dying and recover quickly, a blow to the head rendering you unconscious wasn't life threatening, dog bites only left slashes, and no one ever died of just internal bleeding unless you were literately pulverized. Even the normal humans were a bit stronger and faster than their counterparts in other worlds without this.

In fact, it had been a huge shock to Terry when he first went to a world that didn't have this hidden silent factor at all. There had been no superheroes in it, in fact, and it was in studying the differences to try to figure out what triggered that it was found basically the entire population was slightly different, even the 'normal' ones.

This world seemed to be an in-between one, which just made it all the more dangerous. Bruce could have died from his internal bleeding the other day, and Terry hadn't realized it.

It also meant there was more of a chance the more fantastical future threats would just kill Bruce outright. In a lot of those sorts of worlds... Bruce just plain didn't survive or retired early with a broken back. And though it was rarely intentional, Bruce tended to wrack up a death toll in these, code or not.

"Alright," Terry decided. "Training time. But nothing heavy, you're still recovering. In fact, maybe you'll mostly just watch. Richard!" he called. "You get over here too."

Bruce looked skeptical and sullen, like a man who... had only recently stopped being a teenager. Dick looked excited and bounced forward.

"So, I know how much you love your fisticuffs, but you really want to minimize that, especially with the larger threats you may face." Terry held up a simple, trusty zip-tie. "And for smaller threats, you really can't reliably expect beating them until they go down to work. Not if you don't want to keep racking up deaths. Instead, you want to focus on tying up or trapping your enemies as quickly as possible, and preferably from a distance. If you do have to fight, consider using an enhanced suit," he tapped his own. "To not just minimize damage but to enhance your own strength to super levels. Be a ninja, don't take the fair fights."

"I've done that before," chirped Robin. "Doing it every single time sounds boring." Inwardly, Terry was glad for the childish comment, because he was sure Bruce was thinking it but unwilling to voice it.

"It doesn't matter if it sounds boring. Fights aren't about looking flashy and good like you're in a comic book, they're about surviving. Range is always an advantage if you have it. If they're a close range fighter and they can't close in on you, and you can still get hits on them, you've basically won. Basic art of war: when possible, choose the arena, don't let your opponent do it for you, and even if your opponent does it for you, that doesn't mean you have to do it on their terms. Get up in the rafters. Or enrage them and lure them out to a preferred location," Terry said. "Be methodical and tactical. Run, if you have to. There is no good reason, and I do mean none, to end up grappling with a man twice your size, unless he sneaks up on you. And if he sneaks up on you when he's that big, you have scouting problems." Robin probably thought that was directed at him, because it was true in no sane universe should a kid be getting into martial arts fights with adults outside of play matches, but really, Terry was thinking of Batman versus Bane.

He could see Bruce wasn't totally happy, but the young man acknowledged the tactical advice made sense with a gruff nod.

Bruce wanted to work his feelings out with the blows. But that wasn't something that always dictated the soundest strategy. In fact, he would have been better off with basically any other therapy. But Terry could only do so much here. He could wait until Bruce showed signs of frustration with the new methods to talk about it, maybe.

Or sneakily find something therapeutic to compliment all this without Bruce noticing.

Like girlfriend attempt number two, maybe?

Or the therapy of not having a villain appear to murder you in the first place. Terry always found lazy days relaxing.

"Hiii, I'm Terry Wayne," he extended a hand to Dr. Pamela Isley. As he did, he realized Pamela was probably closer in age to Terry than Bruce. "I've been trying to meet all of Bruce's friends."

She smiled. "I wouldn't call us close friends. I dated Harvey for awhile. Is that really all that brings you over to my little lab today?"

"Well, I was also curious about your research and wanted to know if you needed a source of funding. I'm a big fan of biology, even when it doesn't have practical applications."

That lit her up and got her going. "I do have a grant at the moment, but it's always good to have a backup option."

"Do you recognize this compound, or something alike to it?" He held up a sketch of some of other-Ivy's work.

"I do, that looks quite a bit alike to some of the poisons I study here," Pamela sounds intrigued. "You came to the right place. And here I was worried for a moment you were only here for flirtation or something similarly odious."

"No, not that you aren't absolutely beautiful," because Terry was not blind, "but I'm here solely for work and business. Well, that and the little bit of play if you happen to have any funny stories of Bruce," he amended.

"Well," Isley said, amused. "There was this one time at the museum when we were young teens. Or Harvey and I were teens. I didn't understand why Harvey was hanging around this little boy who had yet to get his growth spurt. Then Bruce opens his mouth and sounds like this little mini-adult."

"That sounds like Bruce," Terry agreed.

"It was adorable and hilarious. He sounded like he'd regurgitated a scientific study. And later started talking about politics with Harvey. He had to have been, what, 10?"

"That also sounds like him," Terry said.

"And he was so broody. I almost felt like Harvey was the child there and Bruce the teen." She waved a hand. "And, yes, I know his parents died, but that had been over a year ago at that point. Shortly after, he went overseas I think. I've barely seen him since. He and Harvey had the most grandiose childhood ideas. Harvey was going to be Mayor, or President even, and Bruce was going to be his funder." She smiled. "To think they've grown up and that might actually happen."

Might. The thought of the likely tragedy made Terry uneasy. But the fact he wasn't even sure if he aligned with Harvey's politics made him uneasy. It was easy enough now with a corrupt Mayor Hill, but what about if they got an actual decent candidate who had a platform beyond 'not being corrupt'? Terry wasn't sure how to explain to Bruce that, oops, I sorta kinda didn't vote for your best friend for life, because actually I'm sooooooort of a hardcore socialist. Sorry Bruce! Know how much you love capitalism!

Well, that could be future-Terry's problem. If Harvey was even still around by then.

And that reminded him, he needed to do another round of guarding Hopefully-Staying-Sane-Harvey tonight. Although, who said the acid incident even had to happen at night? This might be a lost cause.