Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jason.  

--  

Jason fumbled with and dropped his phone. 

Then thanked God and Gotham that it landed screen-down. 

“Problem?” Helena asked coldly. 

Jason gave her a sarcastic smile. To him, she was basically like an estranged cousin – part of the family, but an “only around at weddings and funerals” type of situation. The sarcastic expressions came easily. 

Too easily, for Jason being in a world where he woke up with Roy, went by Sionis, and ruled over Black Mask’s empire. Too easily for this being a world where Helena was the Donna of the Bertinelli crime family, rather than the estranged cousin of the Batfamily. 

He hoped it came across as confidence. 

Even if he’d just opened a charged photo from Roy, accidentally, while in a meeting with one of the most powerful rising stars in the Gotham crime world. He hadn’t expected Roy to sext him. He probably should have expected that. (But! But maybe not midday?! Jesus, Roy.) 

Regardless, though, he gave her a sarcastic smile and leaned over to get the phone. “Not at all.” 

“No?” Helena raised an eyebrow. “Well then, am I boring you, that you pay so much attention to your phone?” her lip curled derisively. “If you don’t take me seriously—” 

“Oh, please. I know better than to underestimate the mighty Huntress,” Jason scoffed. 

Helena’s calculating chill turned dark and dangerous. “You, as much as anyone in our business, know better than to call me that,” she said. 

But, no, Jason didn’t know that. And he’d been preoccupied with his internal screaming about receiving an artsy dick pic from Roy, so his words weren’t as measured as they could have been. Shit. 

Keep your cool, Jason, he told himself. He rolled his eyes. “Donna Bertinelli.” 

“Don,” she curled her lip. “I’m no mob wife.” 

“Don Bertinelli,” Jason sighed. Why was everyone so high maintenance? Except Roy. “I meant no offense. I merely meant to show a deference for your skill and cunning.” Jason had no idea what he was saying, but Helena hadn’t gotten angrier, so he pushed on with his vague compliments – he didn’t have the information to give anything specific. “Your firm hand in your Family’s affairs is well-known and respected,” he said. “And your business acumen is at least par with my own.” 

“Not your right hand’s?” Helena settled back in her seat, almost comfortable. 

Jason frowned slightly. Who was his—oh! “Li?” he asked. 

She motioned at him lazily. 

“I doubt anyone quite meets Li’s standards for business organization and efficiency,” Jason said. “She is the most valuable member of... my Family.” Ew, that tasted awful. Ew. He just claimed Black Mask’s crew as his family. Ew. That was almost enough to make him forget about the surprise dick pic. 

“Fair enough. I certainly haven’t been able to poach her, so you must give her the appropriate level of regard for her skills.” 

“Roman was never the mastermind,” Jason shrugged. 

“No, he wasn’t,” Helena’s smile spread across her face slowly, cold and cutting once more. “You, however, are far less of a figurehead. You actually have a hand in the workings of your Family.” 

“It’s mostly Li, still,” Jason said. He waved her off. “There is value in knowing who to delegate to. Business? Efficiency? That’s something Li can handle better than I ever could, or anyone else in the Family.” 

Helena hummed, nodding. “Wouldn’t be much of a loss, then, if something happened to you. Do you trust Li enough not to orchestrate your death and her takeover?” 

“She doesn’t want to be the head of Family,” Jason said. “She prefers the power without the more public face. There’s far less of a target on her back, if she’s not the head.” 

Helena nodded. “Sensible of her.” 

“Li is very sensible.” 

-- 

Jason bid Helena a good day, which meant that he had survived the ordeal of dealing with a crime family’s head twice over (though Falcone was easier to read, as he wasn’t so different from his counterpart in Jason’s actual universe). 

Then he went back to his phone. 

Sexting. 

Roy was sexting him. 

There’d been a few additions to the unexpected picture. Actual sexts, telling Jason – in plain English with nothing minced or cloaked in innuendo – telling Jason exactly what he wanted from him, and how. 

Jason felt his ears warming up. “Fuck,” he muttered. Which was... well, it was apt, anyway. 

Jason scrolled up, to older text and pictures. He could see that this was just part and parcel to “Jason Sionis” and Roy’s relationship. Pictures and sexts from Roy, sparing sexts back from Jason (but no pictures). Notably, the sexts were all contained in a sort of group chat situation, set apart from Roy’s other, regular day-to-day texts. 

He closed the explicit texts and opened the other thread. 

First thing he saw was Lian beaming up at the camera, holding up a picture she’d painted in school. 

“Why would you send pictures of your daughter to a crime boss, Roy? What are you doing?” Jason muttered. He hesitated briefly, then deleted the picture. If anything happened and one of Jason Sionis’s enemies got ahold of the phone, Jason wasn’t about to leave Lian’s picture there for them to find. What if they went after her to get to Jason? Roy, at least, could take care of himself. 

But fuck. Lian was adorable. And Jason missed her already, knowing that he couldn’t just visit Roy to see her. Not when Jason Sionis hadn’t even been introduced to her, yet. 

Jason really hoped this foray into this fucked-up alternate timeline, or whatever it was, was only passing. 

-- 

Dick.  

-- 

Dick sat crosslegged on the foot of the bed, Wally’s Flash suit laid out next to him. Half the room was covered in the contents of the closet and the shit from under the bed, from Dick looking specifically for the Flash outfit, after talking his way out of lunch with his parents – his apparently not-dead parents – by saying he was sick. 

He felt like dirt, doing that to the parents of this universe’s Dick. But. He needed time alone in the apartment. Time to figure things out. 

And the suit? That was one thing down. 

Wally was still Flash III. Still a meta. 

Fuck, he still had that crazy metabolism. Why was he hiding that from Dick? 

And the suit was hidden away pretty well, which meant that Wally was likely hiding his hero shit from Dick. He’d been the “leave the Flash suit in the laundry basket or hanging over a chair” guy, in the other version of things. The amount of times he’d almost been caught out for being a superhero because he was too lazy to put the suit away was bordering on hilarious. Or it had been. In the other world. 

Dick had propped a laptop haphazardly onto his lap and had taken to the internet. No Nightwing, anyway. Dick already had a feeling that that was going to be the turnout – he was too unscarred to be a vigilante, in any capacity. 

No Batman, either, which set Dick’s teeth on edge. 

Gotham without Batman? He couldn’t even imagine... he barely resisted the urge to look up Gotham crime stats. He was morbidly curious about whether Gotham would be better or worse off without Batman (would there be a Joker, if there wasn’t a Batman?) but he also wasn’t ready for the answer to that. 

He looked up Jason Todd, next. He wasn’t getting much of anything, though a dip into some sealed juvie records did tell Dick that Jason was somewhere in Gotham – at least when he was twelve. 

Would Jason have been better or worse off without Batman? Dick wondered. 

Then he looked up Tim Drake. 

And promptly dropped his laptop with his startled amusement. Tim had several local news pieces, mostly for academic career highlights and photography awards, but the first thing to come up for Tim was an article about Tim Drake, spotlighting his photography as an LGBT creator, standing with his boyfriend. Conner! 

They looked good together. 

Dick settled the laptop back in his lap. Tim looked okay, then. Dick didn’t know if he wanted to barge in on what looked like a good life – with Conner! – in order to get Tim’s help with returning to a world where, really, Tim probably wasn’t better off. Where Tim was a dropout with an HSE and a handful of online degrees, no doting boyfriend, and no photography awards. 

Well. 

Tim wasn’t going anywhere. 

Dick set Tim aside, mentally, and started to look for more of his family. But, as is probably super predictable, he couldn’t find hide or hair of Damian, anywhere. If there was no Batman, had Damian ever even been born? Dick didn’t want to be in a world that his baby brother didn’t exist in. But he couldn’t confirm things one way or another. Of course he couldn’t. The League of Assassins didn’t have a Googleable roster.  

And who else was there? 

Bruce existed, anyway. He was a preppy-looking guy living in the familial penthouse while his alive parents continued to live at the Manor (the gossip rags were insinuating that Alfred was a third in their relationship, and Dick didn’t want to think about any of his grandparents in that kind of context, thanks). 

Apparently, Ace was around. Bruce was in a news article about putting up the funds to clear the vet bills of all the dogs involved in a dog-fighting ring that had been broken up, and he’d taken a special shine to Ace, adopting him. It was nice to know that Bruce still had good bones in his body, anyway. Or something like that (Dick was kind of bad at idioms, in general – you can’t take a horse to water if you burn the bridge, and all that). 

Kate existed, but she was in some kind of army career. 

Steph... there wasn’t a lot about Steph, but she was around, somewhere. If Dick had Bruce’s funds, he could probably track her down. But if she wasn’t a vigilante, it probably wasn’t worth it. 

Duke seemed to be doing okay, from what little Dick could find on him. His parents hadn’t been victimized by the Riddler, because the Riddler didn’t exist. (Edward Nygma, however, was in prison for murdering his ex-girlfriend, apparently – while he was working as a fucking forensic science technician for the GCPD. God, the mental health system in Gotham was shit – as usual – if they didn’t notice a budding serial killer working for them, holy shit.) 

Harper and Cullen— 

They weren’t around. At all. They were also very easy to find, because they were in the newspaper for being victims of a hate crime. Dick’s stomach knotted and twisted, skimming the article. That was family. They didn’t deserve any of that. No one did. 

Before Dick could move onto the next family member to attempt to find them in this universe, his phone rang next to him, with an unknown number. He hadn’t unlocked the phone at all, because he didn’t know Alternate Universe Dick’s phone password, but he picked the phone up and punched in his own code habitually, before answering. Some things never changed, he supposed – it was Wally’s birthday. 

“Good god, man, if Wally were a snoop, he could snoop so easy,” Dick scoffed. 

Then he remembered that he and Wally were engaged in this universe and felt himself get warm and anxious and fluttery and nauseous, all at once. There was a version of Dick out there, in the multiverse, who actually told Wally how he felt. And that version of Dick was going to marry his best friend. Dick was so envious, even though it was himself. 

The phone rang again. 

Dick snapped out of the reverie and answered the potential spam call, raising the phone to his ear. “Yyyyellow,” he said.  

“Dick?” the voice on the other end asked, soft and hesitant. 

“Yeah? And this is?” Dick shifted his phone to the other ear and started to type ‘Cassandra Cain’ into the search bar. Then deleted it. If Damian wasn’t around to be dug up on the internet, there was a non-zero chance that Cassandra would be around. Damian, at least, was dependent more on Bruce existing – genetically speaking. Cass, however, was pretty dependent on Batman existing.  

“Uh, my name is Tim Dr—my name is Tim, and this has the potential to sound really crazy...”  

Dick’s head snapped up, the whole of his attention suddenly on the phonecall. “Tim!” he breathed. “Do you—are you—do you remember?” 

Dick could practically hear the long pause as Tim considered his options for answering. 

During that long pause, the front door to the apartment swung open and Wally called a “Babe! I’m home!” into the apartment. 

Dick swore softly. “Tim, do you remember Batman?” Dick asked. This was a world without Batman. Surely he couldn’t hurt anything with this particular question. And, if he was lucky, it would get him faster results.  

“Oh, thank god, yes. Yes, Dick, I remember – do you have any idea what happened?”  

“Babe?” Wally called. 

“Fuck. Tim? Can you text me or something? I need to confront Wally about being the Flash.” 

“Wh—what? Why wouldn’t he just tell you?”  

“I have to go,” Dick hung up. 

Wally pushed the door open and froze, looking around the room with wide eyes. “Uh. Babe?” 

Dick set aside his computer and unfolded from the lotus position. “Hey, Walls,” he said, a bit awkwardly. He hoped Wally didn’t ask about the call – he didn’t know what to say, other than the truth, but “I was on the phone with my brother” wasn’t going to fly in this universe. 

“Hey, Rob,” Wally said, slowly. 

Rob. Interesting. 

But probably just based on the nickname Dick’s mom had for him, in this universe. 

“So. I found something,” Dick said. 

“It looks like you looked really hard for it, whatever it is,” Wally’s eyebrows pinched together as he turned from the mess to Dick. 

“Yeah, um.” Dick turned and picked up the Flash suit by the cowl. “I found this.” 

Wally pressed his lips together into a thin line, eyeing the suit. “I can explain,” he said softly. 

“No, what you can do is eat a proper meal for the amount of calories you burn,” Dick threw the suit at him. “I don’t know where it is you go and hide to eat the amount of food that has to be involved with fueling a speedster metabolism, but you’re going to be doing that at our table from now on.” 

“You... don’t want me to explain?” Wally asked. 

Dick motioned to the room. “I clearly had suspicions. Why else would I tear everything apart to find it, Wally?” 

“Oh,” Wally deflated a little. 

“I just... why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?” Dick asked. He tucked his hands under his thighs and hunched over a bit, trying not to feel hurt that Wally actually hid something that big from him. 

“It’s not like that!” Wally balled up the suit, scowling at it. “It’s not! I trust you, babe. I’d trust you to the ends of the earth.” 

“But not enough to tell me?” 

“It’s not like that,” Wally repeated. 

“Okay. What is it like, then? Or should I guess?” Dick glared down at his knees, instead of looking at Wally. “You wanted to keep me safe. The whole ‘the less you know, the better’ bullshit. Right? You wanted me to be safe, to not worry if you were out late. To... to live in blissful ignorance of the burdens you’re shouldering, even though we’re supposed to be engaged.” 

“Supposed to be?” Wally asked. 

Dick glanced up and Wally looked very small and very hurt. He couldn’t fully accept this universe, and its insistence that he and Wally were going to be married – that they lived together, slept in the same bed, were planning a wedding. But he didn’t want to hurt Wally with his lack of belief in this alternate timeline. “I’m not breaking up with you,” Dick said, sighing. “I’m not breaking the engagement, either. But... but if we’re supposed to-to-to be getting married? I’d think we should know each other better than that. That we should be sharing burdens, not hiding them. It’s not like me knowing or not knowing makes you any safer or less safe, right?” 

“I just. I just want you safe. And happy,” Wally said. 

“I’d be happier if you trusted me more,” Dick said. 

“It’s not about trust.” 

“So you are trying to keep me safe,” Dick sighed. “That’s such a cliché, Walls. I’d be safer with complete information. Safer if I knew what was going on. I know you’re probably worried about, I dunno, supervillains popping out of the woodwork to use me against you, I guess? But don’t you think I’d be better able to respond to dire situations if I knew what was going on behind the scenes? If Captain Cold decides to kidnap me, it would probably benefit me to know my fiance is the Flash. 

Wally frowned. 

Dick had been sure those were good points. That they’d at least convince Wally to rethink how he’d been withholding information. 

But Wally glanced at the ground, frown fixed in place. 

“Wally?” 

Wally glanced at him again. “Cold wouldn’t kidnap you.” 

Dick frowned, this time. 

“He’s. He’s on our side? Me and Un—me and the Flash?” 

“You know, I can tell that Barry is the second Flash, Wally. You don't have to try and hide it. It’s really obvious that he’s the other current Flash, if you’re Flash III,” Dick said. Then processed the rest. Cold was a good guy? “I did the thing,” he forced a laugh, “Sorry. I’m mixing up my good and bad metas. That was a dick thing to insinuate about Len.” 

Wally’s frown deepened. 

And, fuck. Dick probably wasn’t supposed to know Cold’s identity, was he? 

“How...” Wally started. 

Dick gave him a long, innocent look. If Wally said anything, Dick knew he could just insist he said “him.” “Len” and “him” were similar enough that he probably wouldn’t have a hard time making Wally think he misheard. Granted, the intentionally innocent look wouldn’t help. 

Wally closed his mouth and shook his head, then sighed. “Never mind.” 

Problem solved. No gaslighting needed. 

“Are we... are we good? Rob?” Wally asked softly. 

Dick sighed and looked down at his knees again. Were they? From Dick’s point of view, he’d been dropped into an engagement to his best friend, no leadup or background. How could they really be okay in that kind of relationship? Then again: how couldn’t they be? “I think so? I don’t think I could ever give you up, if I have you—” 

“You definitely have me.” 

Dick smiled a little. “Yeah. I can’t see... giving you up. So. We just have to be good.” He looked up at Wally, again. “But I think I’m going to need some time to process.” Processing time. Yes. That would be good to actually use for making things make sense for Dick. Not the secret keeping, or whatever. Everything else. 

“Alone time?” Wally deflated a bit. “I could go stay With Uncle Barry, Uncle Hal, and Aunt Ie. If you need space, I mean. Unless you wanted to spend time at your parents’ place. Whatever works for—” 

“I just mean I’m going to need time to process,” Dick waved him off, a bit too quickly. He wasn’t about to lose the only familiar thing he had, at the moment. Even if that familiar thing, Wally, came with something blisteringly unfamiliar, like their apparent engagement. “Not space. I’m fine! You don’t have to—don't leave me, okay?” 

Wally nodded, a bit too quickly. “Never, man. You’re stuck with me for as long as you’ll have me.” 

Dick gave him a small, wan smile. 

-- 

Tim.  

-- 

Tim just barely resisted the urge to throw his phone. 

He’d actually managed to get ahold of Dick, and Dick had hung up on him! 

But Dick was in there. Tim’s Dick. The Dick from the proper timeline/universe/whatever. He was there, which meant that Tim wasn’t alone. That was good. That was a relief. Tim wasn’t sure what he would have done if he’d gotten through the whole family and hadn’t found anyone who remembered the other universe (or whatever it was, again). 

Yeah. 

But Dick had hung up on him! 

“Jerk,” Tim muttered to his phone. Then went back to poking through it to try and sus out if he was supposed to be oblivious to the whole ‘boyfriend is Superboy’ thing. So far, he had no idea and he wanted to punch this timeline’s Tim for not keeping some kind of record of things, somewhere. What? Was record-keeping a trauma response? 

No, never mind. He didn’t want to go down that path. 

Oh god. 

Tim dropped his phone in his lap and covered his face. 

Oh god, Conner was his boyfriend.  

Why was Conner his boyfriend? What was he supposed to do with that information? Was he going to have to, like, kiss Kon? Cuddle? Other things? 

Tim’s whole face heated up and he whined in the back of his throat, frustrated. Conner was attractive! But you know who wasn’t (in Tim’s limited opinion)? Tim. Tim wasn’t. Conner could do so much better, and he settled with Tim. Unbelievable, honestly. 

Tim was waiting for the cosmic rug to be pulled out from under him. 

God, his brain was stuck on “other things.” 

One breakdown and mental pep talk later, he went back to combing through other-Tim's phone, then computer. Then Conner’s computer, when he tracked it down (the dumbass had left it balanced on an arm of the couch in the next room). There wasn’t much of anything on any of the devices Tim could get his hands on (and hack his way into, with the help of a thumb drive he found under the dresser and reformatted and overwrote to be his friendly lil laptop-fucker-upper). The whole apartment was like. Domestic. Normal. 

Except for the closet of Superboy tee shirts Conner had, but that really didn’t mean anything unless it did. Superhero shirts were just a thing. 

This was going to be a pain. Like going undercover with no information. Or the bare minimum of information. Except it would be worse because Conner had superhearing and Tim would be acting even when Conner wasn’t around! 

“Fuck my life,” Tim sighed. 

Then he got a text from a number that he didn’t recognize and which wasn’t already in his phone’s contacts. 

From: +1 555 437 3278  

[hey conners boyfriend time! this is conners friendfriend bart! im supposed to text u to make sure u remember the dinner plan!] 

From: +1 555 437 3278  

[tim*] 

Dinner plan? Tim absolutely didn’t panic about information that this universe’s Tim should have known. If anything, he just died a little inside, realizing that he was getting one more curveball from the universe, already. 

Actually, two more. 

Bart? He didn’t know Bart? What the hell, universe? 

Tim added Bart’s number to his phone. It didn’t make him feel much better about apparently not knowing Bart. 

From: Me  

[Sorry, “Conner’s friendfriend Bart,” I lost the information, sorry!] 

From: Bart  

[haha no prob] 

[5p at the batburger! conll be a lil late but cassie could pick u up if u dont wanna walk] 

Tim slowly, slowly, slowly narrowed his eyes into a scowl as he honed in on “Con.” With a C.

That. 

No. There was nothing right about “Con” as a nickname for Conner. Not least because his “nickname” was his Kryptonian name. Which Tim? Probably wasn’t supposed to know? Good grief, he was gonna have to find a way to get Bart and Cassie and Kon to let some stuff slip, otherwise he was going to be floundering eternally. 

He moved past his affront at the incorrect nickname to ponder t4he rest of the offered information. Would Tim be comfortable accepting a ride from Cassie? Did he even know Cassie? 

God. He hated dimension shenanigans. They always found new and creative ways to give Tim headaches. 

From: Me  

[I think you mean “Kon.” With a K.] 

[I would appreciate a ride from Cassie, if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.] 

From: Bart  

[lol no. Its con.] 

Tim felt his jaw twitch as he clenched his jaw against his irritation. 

Con? Really? 

No. Absolutely not. There was a lot Tim was willing to put up with and roll with and otherwise work with instead of against. But this wasn’t one of those things. Tim was not willing to put up with a nickname so obscenely round and un-Kon-like. 

Had to have a line, right? Even if it was a frankly ridiculous line to have, probably. 

From: Me  

[I think I know my boyfriend’s nickname.] 

“Don’t fight me, Bart. You’ll lose,” Tim muttered. Even though the text was a lie, at least inasmuch that Tim couldn’t claim to be Kon’s boyfriend. I mean, maybe a Tim was Conner’s boyfriend, but Tim-Tim wasn’t. 

Tim-Tim barely knew if that was something he would want. He’d been able to stop freaking out when he thought about it, but that was mostly through the power of denial, more than any kind of acceptance or understanding. 

So. That was a thing. 

As was, apparently, an argument with Bart about the spelling of Kon’s name. An argument that Bart was going to absolutely lose, since Tim was right and Bart was wrong. 

And it almost would have been fun or amusing, except this Bart didn’t know Tim. This Bart wasn’t already Tim’s friend. 

That was utterly depressing. It wouldn’t be a friendly fight with someone who wouldn’t take it personal, because they knew Tim already and all that. It would be a stranger picking a fight. Not just that, but a stranger picking a fight with Bart as what seemed to be the very first interaction Tim and Bart would be having, in this universe. 

Tim huffed and threw aside the phone, even as another text came in. He was, once more, tired of this universe. 

He scrubbed his hands through his hair – at least alternate universe Tim had the same haircut (or rather, the same lack of haircut) that Tim had. This universe sucked, so far. None of it was outright bad, but it was giving Tim all kinds of things that were impossible. Kon for a boyfriend, Jack Drake alive, photography awards. 

He retrieved his phone again, for lack of anything better to do in the stranger’s apartment that masqueraded as a space that Tim and his boyfriend were supposed to be cohabiting. He opened Bart’s text first. 

From: Bart  

[ok so i asked cassie and she said ur right even tho that makes no sense] 

[his names conner why isnt his nickname con???] 

Well. That was something Tim couldn’t answer at all, in this universe. Probably. Maybe? 

He needed to figure out if he was supposed to know Conner’s superhero moonlighting gig or not, and if he was supposed to know he was part Kryptonian or not. Hell, was he supposed to not know that Conner was a clone? 

He really hoped he at least knew the clone thing, in this universe. He didn’t know what to do with a Tim that didn’t have a Clone Boy, ya know? 

Tim closed Bart’s texts and sent a text off to Dick, instead. 

From: Me  

[If you’re done confronting Wally about being the Flash, we have some stuff to talk about, I think.] 

From: Dick  

[You can’t just text stuff like that!!] 

From: Me  

[Are you guys dating?] 

From: Dick  

[Oh yeah] 

[You and Conner, right?] 

From: Me  

[How do you know that?] 

From: Dick  

[Article about LGBT artists, spotlighting you for your photography.] 

From: Tim  

[A what?] 

From: Dick  

[!!!} 

[I’ll send it to you!] 

Tim immediately received a link to the article in question. He opened and skimmed it, the frown on his face deepening as he went. He was so used to being a private person. What was wrong with this universe’s Tim? No one needed to know about his relationship, what his nextmost plans were, or whether or not he and Conner were considering marriage. No one. 

Tim scrolled back to the top of the article. 

Vicky Vale. 

You know what? That was fair. That was the least surprising thing in this universe, so far. 

Tim switched back over to his texts with Dick. 

From: Dick  

[I was looking for us.] 

[Not like. You and me us.] 

[All of us.] 

[I found the article pretty quickly when I looked you up.] 

[Turns out you’re a pretty great photographer, here, too.] 

[Except. Ya know. In this universe you actually sell your photos n submit photos to contests n stuff.] 

From: Me  

[Ew. Vicky.] 

From: Dick  

[There are universal constants, haha.] 

From: Me  

[Unfortunately.] 

[The article mentions that I’m living outside Metropolis to be close to Conner’s family. So you probably know I’m in Metropolis.] 

[Where are you? Gotham?] 

From: Dick  

[Keystone.] 

From: Me  

[Oh.] 

[Not Gotham?] 

From: Dick  

[???] 

[I just said Keystone, Tim.] 

[Keystone isn’t suddenly part of Gotham, no.] 

From: Me  

[Jerk.] 

[What about the others? Did you find anyone besides me?] 

From: Dick  

[I couldn’t find a lot of current things about our family, no.] 

[I mean, Bruce was really easy. He’s doing fine. But he’s a prep instead of a goth and I’m kinda crushed about it.] 

From: Me  

[Focus, Dick.] 

From: Dick  

[I can’t find information about Jason, more recent than a stint in juvie.] 

[I can’t find Damian at all.] 

[Kate’s in the army.] 

[Steph went to school out of state I think?] 

[Duke’s going to college, I don’t think his meta gene activated in this timeline? Makes sense, though. Meta genes activate for a number of reasons, but I’m pretty sure his activated, in part, because of stress or something.] 

From: Me  

[He’s part god??] 

From: Dick  

[Cassie and Donna fall under the wider meta definition.] 

From: Me  

[Yeah, but none of them have meta genes. They’re demigods.] 

From: Dick  

[Do you want me to go on or are you going to pick apart everything?] 

[Harper and Cullen are uh] 

[Harper and Cullen died in this timeline.] 

[Babs is on house arrest for conspiracy or something?] 

[Jim transferred to another city. Babs stayed behind, as far as I can tell.] 

[And then. Ya know. Arrested and charged with conspiracy or something.] 

From: Me  

[Knowing Babs, she probably started to take apart the corrupt GCPD from inside their system.] 

 [And got caught, because she didn’t have access to the same level of equipment that she would have had if she was a Bat.] 

[Wait,, backup. What do you mean Harper and Cullen died??] 

From: Dick  

[That tracks.] 

[About Babs I mean.] 

[And I don’t want to talk about it. Harper and Cullen I mean. It’s really depressing.] 

[Cobblebot is mayor.] 

From: Me  

[Penguin is the mayor?] 

From: Dick  

[Yep. There’s a bunch of conspiracies about him blackmailing and killing his opposition. It’s wild.] 

[Uhh...] 

[Did I miss anyone?] 

[Can’t find Damian at all. Did I say that?] 

[Can’t find Cass either.] 

[Bruce, Jason, Cass, you, Steph, Duke, Damian - I gotta be missing someone, right?] 

From: Me  

[Alfred?] 

From: Dick  

[Gossip magazines think he’s shacking up with Martha and Thomas.] 

[I don’t want to talk about that, either. I want brain bleach, actually.] 

From: Me  

[Good for him. Alfred deserves to be a sugar baby.] 

From: Dick  

[Tim.] 

[Tim no.] 

[Tim please.] 

[Tim I never want to hear those words in that order ever again in my life.] 

From: Me  

[Not that I don’t trust your ability to find people, but I’m going to go through and look for people, myself, too.] 

[Just so you know.] 

From: Dick  

[No, please do.] 

Tim glanced at the clock, found that he had an hour or so, yet, before he was expected to pretend not to know an entire half of the Core Four – to pretend that these were Conner’s friends that he was only just meeting for the first time. He could probably pick away at his various other-dimension family members, in the meantime. 

That would, coincidentally, give Tim something to think about, besides all the pretending he was supposed to do. All the best friends he apparently didn’t have in this universe or timeline or whatever. 

Fuck. 

This universe was depressing. 

-- 

Damian.  

-- 

“Grandson,” Ra’s greeted. 

Damian very nearly rolled his eyes. “Grandfather,” he deadpanned. 

What was wrong with their actual names? Was this hokey formality something that the League had always had? Or was this something unique to this... whatever this was. This world where Talia wouldn’t tell Damian who his father was, where Damian had never been sent to Gotham. Where Damian had only a family that saw him as a potentially replaceable tool, good only until he made a mistake or stepped out of line. 

“Daughter,” Ra’s greeted Talia. 

Damian couldn’t quite stop the eyeroll, that time. 

“Father,” Talia said. 

Ra’s’s eyes snapped to Damian. Had he caught the eyeroll? How out-of-character was that? 

Damian felt the back of his neck prickle. He mentally catalogued the exits. And made a mental note of the last place he’d seen Cassandra. He wouldn’t leave without her. 

“I want to congratulate you, Grandson,” Ra’s said. 

Damian crooked an eyebrow at Ra’s. And belatedly realized that he’d picked that up from Alfred, not from the League of Assassins. Shit. He was such a flat person, before his wider family had folded him into their dynamic. He couldn’t stand what he recalled of his past self, sometimes. 

Ra’s narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded once. “Yes. Congratulations are in order. You performed your task admirably. And he is nearly ready to be utilized as a perfect tool against those who would stand against us.” 

Warning bells. Damian could practically hear warning bells. He forced himself to stay at attention, but without the stiffness of his renewed sense of danger and wariness. 

Ra’s liked to talk. 

Tim had always said that the best way to get more out of Ra’s was to stay quiet. Let Ra’s fill in the silences. 

That stood true for many people, but Ra’s delighted in his own cleverness, and in elaborating. 

Tim’s other advice about Ra’s consisted of: “remember that it takes about fifty pounds of force to rupture a man’s testicles – that's within the range of the force you can exert by squeezing with your hands.”  

Damian didn’t plan on making use of the second bit of advice. 

He stood there, silent. He would consider himself “silent and patient,” except that he was practically trying to escape his skin with impatience. He didn’t know what was going on, Cass didn’t know sign, and Damian didn’t have his family. This was the worst of all possible worlds, even if – at one point – it was probably the shape of things he wanted (at least inasmuch that he was still the Heir and all). 

 “Ever since the Alien revealed himself, we have had the unfortunate relative ignominy of being forced closer to the ground. Quieter in our goals. With such a force protecting the industrialized world, and all the ill it stands for, we were at a disadvantage,” Ra’s said. He paused. 

Damian didn’t respond. 

Out the corner of his eye, Damian could see Talia turn to him, slightly. He could almost feel her sense of suspicion. 

Clearly, “handling” Ra’s in this way was not something their Damian did. Or maybe their Damian was simply more outspoken. Maybe he picked up the silences the way Damian was forcing Ra’s to pick them up. 

“The Alien,” Ra’s said, “was not suitable as an enemy. Its intelligence was such that – well. It is like making an enemy of a brick wall. It is still in one’s way, but there is hardly worthwhile repartee to be found in such an enmity.” Ra’s turned and regarded his throne. Because of course he had a throne. “But your success... the Alien should be of no consequence when once we make use of this new asset.” 

The prickling on the back of Damian’s neck seemed to almost become a burn. His suspicion turned into a pit of fear as Damian tried to rack his brain for something that could stand against Superman. It had to be Superman that Ra’s was talking about. And whatever their Damian had done didn’t involve Kryptonite, unless this world had sentient Kryptonite, somewhere. 

“He has given us some trouble, of course,” Ra’s said. “But, as with all that oppose us, he must needs come around, and we have the tools to expedite that. He is very nearly broken, and then will be easy to remake and put to use.” 

Damian came to the conclusion that it had to be Jonathan or Conner. 

Perhaps he was jumping to the worst possible conclusion, as a matter of paranoia. But he couldn’t think of anything or anyone else – who was male-identifying, at least – that could stand in direct opposition to Clark. Unless it was one of his family, who he wouldn’t want to harm and who – as some evidence had begun to show – might very well be stronger than Clark, himself. 

“Grandfather,” Damian said, into the next silence. 

“Yes, Grandson?” Ra’s turned away from his throne to look, once more, upon Damian. 

“This weapon – will I be allowed to make use of it? Will I be allowed to wield so powerful a thing?” 

“Grandson,” Ra’s chuckled. “I can think of no one better than the weapon’s downfall being the one who holds its leash.” 

Damian felt a bit nauseous, actually. He really hoped he was wrong. 

“Come,” Ra’s said. He turned and walked from the room. “Admire your handiwork, Grandson.” 

Oh... shit.  

Damian didn’t know if he could do that.