Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

[ Neo Gotham City ] - [ Terry - POV ]

            The fight had been brutal, but the horrifying truth that the newly resurrected Joker was using Tim Drake’s body was much, much worse. Terry could feel his bones aching from yet another electrical shock from Joker. He could hear Bruce tensely breathing through the communicator in his cowl—small whispers of “Run, just run, McGinnis” would bleed through each time the Joker swung at him. It hadn’t taken too long before Terry had figured out a soft spot for that maniac. The original Batman had never laughed at his jokes…simply because the old clown wasn’t funny. But Terry laughed, letting his voice echo through the darkness of the rafters he was lurking on. He watched Joker’s actions become more and more crazed before a lucky toss of a grenade had sent him falling to the ground with pieces of the ceiling and metal beams.

            However, as luck would have it, it ended up pinning the Joker as well—crushing the clown’s whole body down in a sickening crunch. Terry pushed himself up unsteadily, panting as he cautiously moved towards the fallen maniac. He could hear Joker gurgling as he stopped just short of the clown. Joker’s mouth twisted into a wild grin as he fought for his final breaths.

“Well, WELL, Bat-fake,” Joker chuckled, craning his head to lock eyes with Terry, “Seems like the joke’s on me…but you know me…I always get the last laugh.”

“No more jokes, Joker. It’s done—there’s no more cards to play,” Terry retorted sharply, his cowl starting to crackle with interference, “You lose.”

“Oh, Bat-fake, there’s ALWAYS one more card to play…the Joker’s Wild,” Joker smiled wildly, using his eyes to gesture towards the window, “You will lose EVERYTHING, kid…and there won’t be a damn thing you can do to stop it.”

“What’re you talking about? WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Terry shouted, eyes widening as he caught sight of a brilliant blue beam shooting down from the sky.

“Your family, your friends, your allies…your precious mentor,” Joker growled with a wicked grin, “Got to love future technology, Bat-fake, all I needed to do was ensure there was a receiver in each of their homes…and BOOM. Another casualty of being near a Batman.”

“You’re fucking lying! You—,” Terry choked out frantically, tapping his cowl comm and getting nothing but static, “No, NO!”

“I win,” Joker hissed, breaking out into one last hair-raising cackle as his eyes began to glaze over.

            The deathly cackle followed Terry as he burst out of the old factory, wings extended and foot propulsions firing at max capacity. Fear laced his heart as his breath started coming out in jagged bursts. Two explosions shattered the still night, and Terry felt his chest tighten. They were in the direction of where Max and Dana lived. He fought the rising bile in his throat as he turned the corner towards where mother and brother lived. Another explosion rocked the night—the Neo Gotham City Police Station. Oh god, Commissioner Gordon.

“No, NO!” Terry shouted, eyes locking onto his apartment building as he urged his suit to go faster.

            Terry used the suit’s enhanced vision to see his family’s apartment window. He shuddered in relief as he spied his little brother and mother sitting by the window, seemingly laughing at something. He felt his heart seize as his mother sharply turned her head to her left. Terry wasn’t sure if he screamed it out loud, but his heart wrenching howl for his mother was lost in another explosion. His family was disintegrated before his eyes as the aftershock knocked him into an empty neighboring building. Terry’s lungs were bursting from the screams tearing through his body as he lay on the floor. They were gone…all gone. No. BRUCE. Terry flipped over and forced his numb body to throw itself back out the window. He bit back the sob as he left the smoldering remains of his home and family behind. Come on, McGinnis, come on. You couldn’t save them, so save Bruce. Joker hated the old man, and it wouldn’t shock him if the old clown had saved the worst for his mentor. Terry spied the blue beam, now behind him, as he hurriedly tried to establish contact with the elder Wayne. A faint crackle damn near made him fall from the sky.

“McGinnis…re…report!” Bruce’s voice cut through brokenly, “Damn it, say something!”

“Joker put receivers in the houses of everyone I know!” Terry yelled, twisting through the maze of buildings towards the manor on the far off hill, “My family…Bruce…my family’s dead.”

“…God…Terry…I’m…sorry…I—,” Bruce started saying through the crackling link.

“GET OUT OF THE MANOR. IT’S COMING FOR YOU TOO,” Terry cut in, his voice going hoarse from the volume of his yelling, “IT’S—.”

“Terry…I need you to listen to me…I need you to hear this…,” Bruce responded grimly, a tremor evident in the old man’s otherwise calm voice, “None of this is on you…Joker was my fault…I should have made sure it was really done…”

“PLEASE,” Terry begged, “I can see the manor, I can—.”

“It’s not the suit that makes Batman…but the person…Terry…you’ve earned that title…you ARE Batman…,” Bruce’s voice tensely replied, “Don’t forget why you do this…McGinnis, I—.”

“BRUCE!” Terry screamed as a large scale explosion tore through the manor, burrowing deep into the foundation…into the cave.

            The energy from the shockwave launched Terry backwards into the shuddering blue beam, but he never made it through the other side of the beam. A small tear had opened and caught the stunned Batman, bathing the sky with a brief white light before snapping shut behind him. He felt like he was being crushed to death before the sky opened up again…and he was falling once more.

[ Suit power 25% - repair mode recommended ]

            His suit’s internal system was blaring loudly at Terry as he frantically tried to activate the propulsion system once more, and failing. The ground was arriving quickly. No. He wasn’t dying like this…not after all that… His wings snapped out and Terry did what he could to cushion the last leg of the fall. Shit, this was going to hurt. He crashed through the skylight of an abandoned building, landing on old fabric and cardboard. Terry lay stunned and in silence as his suit disengaged, retreating back into his belt, and with it, taking the 17 year old’s last shred of calm. He felt a jagged sound leave his body as the tears began to fall. Gone…they’re all gone. Terry felt a scream starting to push its way up his throat, but held it firm when more glass fell around him. He needed to get out of this building…then find a place to mourn properly.

            Terry swallowed thickly as he rolled out of the large pile, landing on his shaking legs. His eyes scanned the area around him as he made his way to the door labeled ‘exit’—it was odd. This wasn’t the usual architecture for Neo Gotham City. Maybe it was in the older section of the city? Cool air rushed to meet his skin as he stepped out onto a deserted street. Terry, for the millionth time this night, felt his heart clench with anxiety. There was a bat symbol being flashed across the sky, bathing the skyline in light…the same skyline that looked nothing like it should. It was more gothic, and cold. The usual sounds of technology were absent as well. Almost like…no. This can’t be. It can’t… Terry slowly closed his eyes in shock, and clenched his jaw as the realization hit him.

This was Old Gotham City.

Chapter Text

[ Gotham City — 5 Months Later ] - [ Terry - POV ]

            Terry lay on his cot at the homeless shelter, eyes drowsily half opened as his mind caught up with his waking. It had been five months since he’d ended up in this Gotham City. He hadn’t been doing nothing. Terry had found the closest library and hunkered down—researching the resident heroes and Wayne family. It had been a bit of a surprise to see just how many extra vigilantes worked with Bruce. Sure, he knew about Nightwing, Robin, and Batgirl. However, Red Robin, Orphan, Spoiler, and Signal were new…unless the old man just hadn’t mentioned them to Terry, which was a huge possibility. The real shock came with the realization that he was definitely not in his own dimension anymore. Clue One: Bruce had a biological kid named Damian, which he definitely never had in his reality. Clue Two: Barbara Gordon, the watchful librarian, was in a wheelchair. Lastly, Clue Three: All the extra vigilantes.

            He had to leave the library once it all came together. Terry’s mind had been in panic mode as he strode through the streets wearing clothes, he was absolutely NOT willing to admit he’d taken off a drying line. It’s what ultimately had led him to the Homeless Shelter—he’d been sleeping on rooftops prior—where he’d lived ever since. The only stipulation for being allowed to stay so long was that Terry had to help with just about everything going on in the building. He didn’t care, it kept his mind from rolling back into those bad memories. It was actually kind of calming, and for one shining moment, Terry felt like he’d found something akin to peace…maybe he could even heal? A hand clamped down on his shoulder, jolting him from his pensive and drowsy thoughts. In reflex, Terry’s hand shot out and gripped the mystery hand tightly—shoving the assailant down to the ground. A startled yelp made him release instantly…it was Harper Row. The one responsible for him being able to stay at the shelter. Terry winced apologetically, pushing himself off the cot to help her up.

“Sorry, Harper, bad reflex,” Terry murmured after they both straightened.

“No, no, that’s all me. I keep forgetting some folks in here don’t take surprises too well,” Harper chuckled, dusting her shoulders off, “Which is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You…want me to wake up people who are the equivalent of a bear trap?” Terry half smirked, dragging a hand through his hair, “Alright, but I want a helmet with a face shield.”

“Smart aleck,” Harper scoffed, motioning for him to follow her back into the empty kitchens, “This is about a job opportunity.”

“What kind of job?” Terry responded lightly, not wanting to get his hopes up at the thought of actually getting to go out into the city to do something different.

“It’s only temporary, I’m afraid. It requires discretion, attention to detail, and has the possibility for nighttime hours,” Harper started ticking off on her fingers before Terry cut in.

“This is illegal, isn’t it? Like ‘you don’t see the dead body they want you to bury’ illegal,” Terry deadpanned, one eyebrow rising slightly in concern.

“Oh my god, no!” Harper startled, hands waving hurriedly, “I should’ve started with the fact it’s a good friend of mine. He’s a butler who works with a very prominent family that likes their privacy. He’s got an injury and really needs an extra set of hands. It pays $50 an hour, and—.”

“Stop. Stop. The answer is yes,” Terry interrupted.

“That was…quick,” Harper snorted.

“For $50 an hour, I’ll wear a blindfold AND earplugs,” Terry joked, folding his arms, “Next time, start with the paycheck.”

“Alright, McGinnis, I’ll go call and let them know to expect you,” Harper retorted, socking Terry in the shoulder, “Someone will most likely come to pick you up.”

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[ Jason - POV ]

            Jason couldn’t believe his luck. He’d been suckered into picking up Alfred’s new assistant by Harper. Next time he was going to have to talk faster before she had a chance to hang up on him. At least it wasn’t so bad, Jason was able to grab the nicest car in the garage for this pick up. Bruce be damned—these cars were too nice to keep cooped up inside. He nudged the car around the final corner, eyes squinting to see if he could make out this kid. A 17 year old named…Terry McGinnis. Harper hadn’t really described him too well in her rush to hang up, so he supposed asking the first kid that looked right if they were Terry would be fine. God…he was so getting tasered by cops…you can’t just approach random teens—why the fuck couldn’t Grayson do this!? He wasn’t even that good at talking to the demon brat, Dam—hold on.

            The car pulled to a halt by the homeless shelter as Jason’s eyes picked up on a lone figure standing outside the doorway, holding only a single brown bag. The teen was tall, athletically built, and held himself with a sharpness that screamed “fuck around and find out”. Yet it was the black hair and piercing blue eyes that gave Jason pause. He looked a lot like…no. Curb that thought—the staring from the car was getting awkward. Jason filed away that bit of information for future reference as he pulled himself half out of the car, catching the teen’s sharp gaze.

“You Terry McGinnis?” Jason said gruffly, his own eyes flashing dangerously to dissuade any lies, “I’m supposed to take you to the new job at our place.”

“I’m guessing you’re not the ‘butler friend’ Harper mentioned—cuz your bedside manner sucks,” the teen snorted before nodding, “Yeah, I’m Terry. You got a name other than Amber Alert?”

“You little sh—yes,” Jason choked out, barely keeping a laugh down, “My name’s Jason Todd. Now get in the damn car, I have a shit ton of things I got to get done.”

            Terry smirked at Jason as he ducked around and into the sleek dark car. Jason huffed and floored it before Terry could get his seat belt on, earning a startled yelp from the teen. A smug smile crept across his face as they raced back towards the manor.

“Be honest with me,” Terry gasped, wincing as they clipped an empty trashcan on the outskirts of the city, “Did you steal this car? Cuz you’re driving it like you stole it, and I kind of want to live to see age 18.”

“Technically speaking, maybe a little. Took it from the old man, but I’m bringing it back,” Jason scoffed merrily, taking the final loop up the long driveway—passing the automatic front gate.

“Okay, but—,” Terry started before being lurched abruptly forward as the car skidded to a halt in front of an ornate mansion.

“We have arrived,” Jason cut in, casually gesturing for him to exit the vehicle, “Now get out, I’m busy.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Terry hurriedly asked, throwing himself onto the smooth pavement in front of the entrance walkway.

“Knock on the door, someone will let you in and give you the grand tour,” Jason replied, pointing at the doorway ahead, “They’ll also give you the rules…and expectations. Now…shut the door, I wasn’t fucking around—I got to go do things before sundown.”

“You’re the sweet and gentle one of the family, aren’t you?” Terry said with a smirk, slamming the door shut and stepping back.

“Better fucking believe it, McGinnis,” Jason shouted from the open window as he peeled out of the driveway, leaving a large cloud of smoke behind him—middle finger waving in the rearview mirror.

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[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry watched with mild amusement as the last of the smoke faded away before he allowed himself to turn towards the entrance doorway. As he made the last few steps, hand rising to knock, the door opened sharply. Terry startled slightly, hand still not knowing it should be going back down, as his eyes took in the person before him. An older man with sharp blue eyes, a smart mustache, and balding silver hair stood in the entrance. His clothes were very formal…unlike Terry’s shabby borrowed clothing.

“You are Terry McGinnis, yes?” The man asked, his eyebrow quirking at Terry’s still raised hand.

“Ah,” Terry started to splutter, shoving his hand back down by his side, “Yes, um, Harper said her friend needed an assistant?”

“Splendid, that would be me. Please, come inside,” the man relaxed, his arm shaking slightly as he gestured Terry into the mansion, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth, and I am the Wayne Family Butler.”

“Wayne…family…huh,” Terry swallowed tensely, “Never done work for people so well known.”

“Yes, well, that is why I asked she send someone who could be discreet and attentive,” Alfred sighed lightly, slowly shuffling deeper into the manor, “Normally, I wouldn’t be asking for any help, but circumstances require it.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but should you be walking?” Terry asked, brow furrowing in concern at the sluggish movements of the older man.

“I am quite capable of doing my duties, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred said sharply, halting his steps before turning his head to look at the worried teen, “I regrettably must move slower as I continue to heal. It was a car accident, if you must continue this line of questioning.”

“Got it,” Terry responded, disbelief etched in his tone, “So…the duties are…?”

            Alfred let out a small, grateful smile as he launched into the expectations of Terry’s job, which was essentially: do the more labor-intensive cleaning, move the heavier objects, assist with cleaning, and help secure the house. They went floor to floor, so Terry could get the layout down—including a look at his temporary room on the first floor, near Alfred’s room. He could spy several old school cameras, some hidden, scattered all around the mansion. God, this place was as huge as he remembered. Alfred had finished showing him the backyard, and was now heading towards the kitchen. They had just cut back past the entrance interior when Alfred put an arm out for them to pause.

“This is a very important element I need you to see, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred stated, motioning to a disguised cabinet, “The house alarm is located inside of this—if danger arises, you will open this cabinet and hit the red button. The house will go into lockdown, and seal all windows as well as doors. To deactivate it, press and hold the green button.”

“Does that happen often?” Terry asked hesitantly, eyes flicking between the now open cabinet door and Alfred.

“Mercifully, no, but I believe in being prepared,” Alfred replied matter of factly, slowly shutting the door.

            As the cabinet door closed, Terry spied a distinctive lump hidden further back in the cabinet. It didn’t take a genius to realize it was a weapon of some sort. However, he didn’t get to muse on it for long before Alfred was dragging him into the kitchen for the final part of the tour. Terry could feel his eyes starting to bug out at his first look at the kitchen. Slag it, he was screwed. It had taken him a little while to get adjusted to this dimension’s low tech, and a bit more to get used to using real money instead of creds, but this…this was a nightmare. Some of these culinary machines looked like they required a secret fucking handshake to even approach. Terry ran a nervous hand through his hair as his eyes scanned the room once again. He almost didn’t hear the light clearing of a throat. His face twitched as he locked eyes with Alfred again.

“I am very capable of continuing to cook the family meals, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred said, a smile gracing his face, “I just need help with cleaning, and setting out food.”

“Schway,” Terry breathed, placing a relieved hand on the cool marble of the kitchen island.

“Yes…well…on to the last part of our tour,” Alfred returned, confusion lightly gracing his face as he gestured to a clothing bag laying at the edge of the island, “Your work clothing, Mr. McGinnis. Please be sure to wear them while performing your duties. If more are needed, I can acquire them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” Terry nodded, reaching and grabbing the bag towards him, “And you can just call me Terry.”

“As long as you call me Alfred,” the older man smiled gently, “Now, do you have any additional questions?”

“Yeah…um…where is everyone?” Terry asked, gesturing slightly with his free hand, “Isn’t there other people that live here?”

“The Wayne family is very busy, Terry,” Alfred responded, as if that was common knowledge, “But currently, it is home to Masters Bruce, Richard, Timothy, and Damian. Duke, Cassandra, and Miss Brown are across the country, and won’t return for a long period of time.”

“Aaand none of the people currently living here are able to help you?” Terry said in disbelief, “Seems a little odd.”

“As I said, they are all busy, and I am not in a state of uselessness. I simply need an extra hand, which I am certain they would have offered should I made it known to them,” Alfred sighed sharply, drawing himself up defensively.

“Made it kno—slag it,” Terry groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, “You didn’t tell anyone but Harper and Jason that you got an assistant, did you?”

“Go get dressed, Terry,” Alfred ordered, gesturing in the direction of Terry’s new room, “And take your odd phrases with you.”

            Well, that answered that question. Terry threw up his hands in defeat as he exited the large kitchen. Several steps later, his bedroom door slid closed behind him, allowing him to release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. You can do this, McGinnis. Come on. Terry sucked in a breath and stared at the clothing bag he’d chucked onto his bed. First step—uniform. Next step—the Waynes. Last step—Gotham City.

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            Once Terry had changed into his clothes—a white long sleeve dress shirt, black vest, and crisp dark pants with sturdy black shoes—the day went by in a blur. He’d convinced Alfred to let him keep wearing his silver belt. It was a begrudging agreement, but Terry refused to leave the belt behind…it was too important. Somewhere during the third bathroom he was cleaning, and dear lord these guys were animals, Terry suspected Alfred might’ve been lightly punishing him about the uniform tweak. It seems the butler was a stickler for well put together clothing, and much like Terry, the belt stuck defiantly out. He’d smirked to himself as he deposited his cleaning supplies into one of the many closets in the manor.

            Time passed faster as Terry helped Alfred shift furniture, and ready the dining room with all the required plates and cutlery. Terry hadn’t realized how hungry he had become until after they had set the food onto the center of the table. God, the soup and fresh bread smelled heavenly. Retreating back into the kitchen, Terry pulled a small stool over to the island and started pulling the leftover remains of the meal towards him. He could hear the low rumbling of voices inside the dining room—looks like the Waynes had finally shown up. A firm hand clapped his shoulder, causing Terry to choke on the bread crust he’d been absentmindedly chewing.

“My apologies, Terry,” Alfred murmured, thumping Terry’s back firmly until he’d thrown a thumbs up sign, “I thought you might like a fuller meal.”

            The man is a Saint. A hard nosed, well dressed Saint. Terry felt his mouth fall open as a heaping bowl of soup and mound of bread was pushed in front of him, knocking the scrapes out of his reach. Alfred slowly sat on another stool next to Terry with a full meal steaming invitingly back at the elder butler.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Terry whispered gratefully, tearing into his food like he was afraid someone would take it, “It’s so good.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Alfred smiled gently, quietly eating his meal.

            They fell into a comfortable silence, which was only broken by varying tones on the other side of the kitchen door. If he really focused, Terry could just make out what was being said.

“White light…not sure what came through.”

“Could be nothing…temporal anomaly?”

“Keep…eye out.”

            Terry slowed his chewing, making sure his face stayed neutral as he placed his finished bowl down on the kitchen island. So, they’d noticed when he’d come through, but by the sound of it, they hadn’t seen him fall out of it. Small mercies, he guessed. Alfred, who was still eating at a glacial pace, tapped Terry’s arm briefly for his attention.

“It’s time for the dessert to be served,” Alfred stated, gesturing at the refrigerator, “If you would be so kind as to retrieve it and serve it to the rest of the family. I have taken the liberty of saving two pieces of the chocolate cake for us.”

“So just…just go out there…into a room full of people who don’t know I’m here?” Terry asked, brow crinkling as he shifted off the stool toward the fridge, “Shouldn’t I get some kind of introduction, or something? I’m not trying to get tackled tonight.”

“My apologies, Terry, I didn’t realize you were so shy,” Alfred responded smoothly, “I will go in ahead of you.”

“See, I know what you’re doing…and it’s working,” Terry snorted, balancing the cake while he grabbed a serving utensil from a drawer, “You’re a crafty old man, Alfred. I respect that.”

“My life is complete,” Alfred deadpanned, a glimmer of humor sparking in his eyes as he gestured towards the door again.

            Well, here goes nothing. Terry used his side to open the kitchen door and silently walked into the lavish dining room. The table wasn’t completely being used, but the five occupants definitely made the room feel full. Silence fell almost instantly as Terry emerged from the shadows, trying very hard not to grimace at the awkward stares. He locked eyes with Jason, and internally breathed a small sigh of relief—he at least had talked to him. Clearing his throat, Terry placed the cake onto the edge of the table.

“For dessert, Alfred made what he calls his ‘famous chocolate cake’. If you’ll pass me the plates under your soup bowls, I’ll cut it for you,” Terry informed them before gesturing at himself, “I’m Terry McGinnis, Alfred’s assistant.”

“I’m sorry, his WHAT,” a voice from beside him asked in a startled tone. It belonged to a tall man with lightly tanned skin, dark wavy hair, and brilliant blue eyes. That must be Richard Grayson—someone his Bruce never really talked about but so much.

“Alfred doesn’t have an assistant because he doesn’t need one,” another voice from beside Richard scoffed. The young boy had dark hair, piercing green eyes, and wore tight scowl. Based on his research this had to be Damian—Bruce’s only bio kid.

“How did you even get this job?” A third voice cut in from across the table. A teen with sleek black hair, pale skin, and sharp blue eyes leaned forward, trying to get a better look at Terry.

“You break anything yet, McGinnis?” Jason asked wearing the biggest shit eating grin as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

“How’s the car, old man?” Terry retorted, waving the serving utensil around, “Does it still have its wheels?”

“Shithead,” Jason chuckled, stretching before gesturing at everyone around the table, “Beside me is Tim Drake, next to you is Richard Grayson, and next to him is Damian Wayne. Everyone, but Damian is adopted—and despite what the demon brat says, we’re all brothers in this family. Last, but not least, that stunned lump at the head of the table is Bruce Wayne.”

            Terry turned his head slightly, and with an amused look on his face, nodded at Bruce in acknowledgment. His Bruce had joked that women used to crawl all over him, and at the time Terry thought the old man was pulling his leg…but seeing him so young…yeah, he could totally see that happening—not that he’d admit to it. This Bruce was currently looking at him with what can only be described as legitimate shock. His stormy blue eyes blinked quickly before Bruce smoothed his light colored shirt in a calming attempt to collect himself. The man was dressed like a fracking male model—sharp features and all. Nothing like his older mentor, who walked with the aid of a cane. It honestly made Terry’s head hurt, and with an annoyed sigh he prodded Bruce’s arm with the serving utensil.

“Give me that plate, you look like you need this more than anyone,” Terry ordered, quirking an eyebrow critically.

“Yes…thank you,” Bruce coughed, silently sliding the plate over, “And welcome to the manor. I apologize for the confusion. We weren’t aware Alfred needed help. He kept insisting that after the accident he was fine.”

“Understatement, he made it sound like a threat when he told us all to mind our business,” Richard snorted, rubbing the side of his face as his eyes scanned Terry’s face, “But if he’s happy with your assistance, then we’re all happy.”

“Wait. Why does Drake get a bigger piece than me!?” Damian cut in angrily, eyeing the slices that had been dispersed.

“Because I don’t have a fraking ruler,” Terry retorted on reflex, “But I’ll be sure to bring one next time. If size matters that much.”

            Jason started coughing on the piece of cake he’d shoved into his mouth—earning an amused thumbs up. Terry internally smacked himself, and slowly started to creep back towards the kitchen.

“Call if you need anything else,” Terry murmured quickly as he bodily shoved himself pasted the wooden door.

            Terry immediately sat down at the now cleared kitchen island, and proceeded to bang his head against the marble. Stupid idiot, got to keep your mouth shut.

“I take it introductions didn’t go well?” Alfred’s voice floated by Terry’s ear.

“Could’ve been better, man,” Terry said tensely, pulling himself up to face Alfred, “Also would’ve helped if they knew I was working here with you.”

“I do believe they’ll survive,” Alfred smiled, “Thank you for today’s assistance. You may go retire to your room now.”

“Don’t you want my help cleaning up?” Terry asked in confusion, letting Alfred tug him up and forward.

“Kitchen rules, Mr. McGinnis, those that eat the meal—clean the meal,” Alfred stated informatively, “Now go get some rest. There will be more to do tomorrow.”

            As Terry made the short walk to his bedroom, one last voice floated into the hallway. “I like him, he’ll fit in well.” Well, that’s promising. At least he hadn’t imploded everything before he’d gotten a chance to really get to know everyone. Terry pushed past his door and closed it silently behind him. Tonight, he would sleep, and tomorrow night….Gotham.

*****************

[ TEXT GROUP CHAT: ]

(Richard added)

(Oracle added)

Jason:  We got to talk.

Richard:  About what…

Oracle:  Any reason why this conversation doesn’t include Bruce, Tim, or Damian?

Jason:  We’re keeping this close for now.

Jason:  It’s about Terry.

Oracle:  He’s Alfred’s new assistant, right? Harper was just telling me about him. Seems reliable…

Jason:  No, he’s fine from what I can tell. Mouthy, but solid.

Richard:  So what’s this about, Jay?

Jason:  It’s been nagging at me ever since I went to pick him up from the shelter…he remind you of someone? Specifically someone WE know?

Richard: …

Jason:  Come on Dickhead, I know you saw it at dinner.

Richard:  Yeah…there’s a pretty strong resemblance. Thought I was hallucinating it until he quirked his eyebrow.

Oracle:  Care to share with the class? A resemblance to who?

Jason:  He looks A LOT like Bruce…not sure how the others didn’t see it too. Or even Bruce—thought he was some “great detective”.

Richard:  Terry’s good at blending, I guess…also, if Bruce didn’t know to look, he wouldn’t waste time on it.

Richard:  What’s the plan for this?

Jason:  O, I need you to dig into his background. Full name is Terry McGinnis—17 years old.

Oracle:  On it. Should have results tomorrow morning.

Richard:  And until then?

Jason:  We’re going to need some of his hair. You’re going to need to get it, Dick.

Richard:  On it. You’ll have to run interference tomorrow.

Jason:  Remember. Keep this to yourselves.

Oracle:  Of course.

Richard:  Will do.

Chapter Text

[ Terry - POV ]

His mother sharply turned her head to her left…His family was disintegrated before his eyes as the aftershock knocked him into an empty neighboring building.

            Terry awoke with a rasping gasp, his breath coming out of him in jagged bursts. It was a dream, McGinnis, just a dream. Oh god, he could still feel the fire and force of the blast. His hand shook as Terry wiped away the sweat beading on his forehead. Terry looked at the clock on his wall—4:30 am. He sighed as he pulled himself towards the closet. No point in going back to bed now. After slipping into his uniform, he went into the bathroom to splash water onto his face. A pale, tense face peered back at him after several cold rounds of water to his face. Pull yourself together. Come on. Terry smoothed at his clothes, hands coming to a rest at his utility belt. It had been a small mercy that the belt’s tech allowed it to disguise itself as a normal black and silver dress belt. It contained everything he had left—including his Batman suit. Tonight he would go out and carry on his duties…protect Gotham’s citizens, so no one else had to suffer. Straightening his shoulders he exited the bathroom, passing his unmade bed as he pulled the thick wooden door open silently.

            The house was still, save for a slight rustling noise moving around the kitchen. Curious, Terry pushed through the door and came face to face with a large Great Dane with sleek dark fur that rippled in the early morning light. Its tail started wagging furiously as it let out a thunderous bark and launched itself at Terry’s stunned figure. Terry let out a choked yelp, and bolted out the kitchen with the massive dog following with joyous barks. He tore down the hall and skidded into the main entryway.

“Heel, HEEL,” Terry shouted, trying to pivot across the slick floor and failing. He slipped and smashed into a very expensive looking vase.

            He watched in horror as the vase fell over and shattered with a deafening crash. Oh, he was fraked. It’s barely 5 am, and he already destroyed someth—DOG. A large body slammed down on Terry, pinning his shoulders as he was left unable to stop the dog from licking his face.

“Titus, SIT,” a sharp voice commanded from a nearby staircase.

            Terry made a gagging noise as he sat up, trying to wipe all the drool off his face. By the time he’d cleared his face, his eyes spied the whole Wayne family descending the staircase. Damian was already down, petting the large dog, Titus, lovingly. Terry cleared his throat pulling his body off the ground.

“So…pancakes or waffles?” Terry asked feebly, trying hard to ignore the amused grins on Jason and Richard’s faces.

“They will be having both, Terry,” Alfred’s voice floated from behind him, “While you will be cleaning up the remains of this vase.”

            Terry turned to see the sharply dressed butler holding a broom and sweeping bucket out at him. He nodded quietly, and apologetically began to sweep the shattered pieces into the bucket. The Waynes slowly dispersed, mercifully looking more amused than angry, until it was just Damian and Titus.

“Titus likes to meet new people. He gets very excited,” Damian stated matter of factly, “He won’t hurt you unless you try to hurt one of us.”

“I figured that when he was trying to give me mouth to mouth,” Terry chuckled, pausing his sweeping to give the happy dog a neck scratch, “Reminds me of a friend’s dog. Though that dog was more distrustful—once you got to know him…he was a great dog. His name was Ace.”

“Are you fond of animals, McGinnis?” Damian asked carefully, green eyes sharply regarding him.

“Never had a chance to have one of my own, but my best friend would let me watch her cat,” Terry mused, smiling lightly, “It’s nice coming home and having something happy to see you…even if it was for the food.”

“I agree. One of these days I will show you my other animals. You will like them too,” Damian said firmly as he started towards the kitchen, “Oh, and McGinnis, try not to break the other vase. It’s irreplaceable.”

“You twip,” Terry snorted, continuing to sweep.

“WHAT,” Damian barked, turning his head slightly at Terry.

“I said ‘don’t trip’—the rug’s lumpy on the other side of that door,” Terry countered smoothly, wearing an amused grin as the youngest Wayne huffed loudly out of the room.

*****************

[ TEXT GROUP CHAT: ]

Oracle: You boys free?

Richard: Yes.

Jason: Yeah, you find anything on him?

Oracle:  Nothing. No history, no background, NO FOOTPRINT whatsoever.

Oracle:  He has to be using a fake name. It’s not possible to be this invisible. The kid’s a ghost.

Jason:  Dick. You get the hair yet?

Richard:  Almost. He still cleaning the vase?

Jason:  He’s basically done. Alfred’s called him into the kitchen to dump the pieces into the trash and to have some breakfast.

Jason:  Hurry up Dickwing.

Richard:  Focus on him. I’ll let you know when I need that distraction.

*****************

[ Jason - POV ]

            Jason was starting to sweat as he watched Terry scrape the last of his meal off the large plate Alfred had handed him earlier. Once again it was up to him to make causal conversation—not one of his strong suits. Tim sat at the edge of the kitchen island, tinkering with an intricate radio while Damian read remnants of the newspaper leftover from Bruce’s initial read. Bruce was currently responding to Wayne Enterprise emails, his brow furrowed in concentration. Everyone was inside the kitchen except for Richard…who apparently moves at the speed of a fucking turtle. His absence would be noticed soon. A single buzz from the phone in his hand caught Jason’s attention.

Richard:  I got a good amount. In the cave now. I need as long as you can give me. Distract them NOW.

            Jason popped his spine in anticipation and slid the phone into his back pocket. Causing mayhem was a favorite pastime—mostly due to it pissing Bruce off, but now? Free reign. His eyes caught sight of all the full drinking glasses perfectly aligned on the marble island. Jason sent a silent “forgive me Alfred” and slapped at his glass, sending it flying into the closest glass. The resulting domino effect was spectacular. Water, juice, and milk doused everyone—not him, thank god—within the splash radius. Screwing up his face, he jumped from his stool in mock disbelief.

“SHIT, I meant to hit that fucking spider!” Jason yelled in frustration, grabbing towels and attempting to put his body in the center of everyone’s line of sight, “Al, I’m sorry. Terry, don’t get up, I got this.”

“It’s fine, I only got water on my arm,” Terry protested, letting out a yelp as Jason pushed him back down onto his stool.

“How fortunate for you,” Damian scowled, milk dripping from his hair.

“Yeah, how lucky,” Tim said in disgust through the orange juice coating his face, sighing in light relief as he inspected his still dry radio.

“Don’t whine,” Jason scowled, rubbing some towels over their heads, “Bruce, what hit you?”

“Everything,” Bruce sighed, hair and clothes sopping with the entire contents of everyone’s drinks, “I need to go change…and grab my back up computer.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” Jason pushed over, smashing a secondary towel against Bruce.

“Jason, I have a meeting at Wayne Towers,” Bruce replied, gesturing at himself, “I can’t walk in like this.”

“Tell them it’s avant-garde. They’ll think you’re so revolutionary,” Jason retorted sarcastically, smashing another towel—he was running out of them, god—into Bruce’s face.

“ENOUGH,” Bruce barked, pulling the towel down to look confusedly at Jason, “What are you doing?”

“Helping, obviously,” Jason scowled, heading towards his seat. Another buzz from his back pocket caused him to pivot to the kitchen door exit, “But since everyone is SO CAPABLE. Clean yourselves up.”

            Not waiting for any response, Jason pushed out of the kitchen and rushed to an enclosed alcove on the other side of the house. Pulling his phone out, he cast one last glance around him before reading the message.

[ GROUP TEXT MESSAGE ]

Richard:  Ran the test four times using Terry’s DNA and the DNA on Bruce we have saved. Also printed the results. Wiped the computer and the cameras before leaving the cave. Back upstairs.

Richard:  Jay…the tests came back a 99.9% match to Bruce Wayne.

Richard:  Terry is Bruce’s kid.

Richard:  Holy shit.

Oracle: Oh god. You’re going to need to tell Bruce.

Jason:  No.

Richard: No? Jay, the kid’s family.

Jason:  I meant “No, go talk to Terry”. We’ll tell Bruce after. Got it?

Oracle:  Got it — tell me how that particular bombshell goes.

Richard: Heading to kitchen now.

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry was in a state of utter confusion. The aftermath of Jason’s rouge spider slap was currently being cleaned up by he and Alfred. Tim and Damian had stomped out of the kitchen, complaining how they were going to be late to school now that they had to shower a second time. Bruce had stooped to try and help mop up the broken glass and liquid. However, Alfred ended up shooing the elder Wayne out of the kitchen to go change his clothes. Now, with all the drink contents wiped, and glass pieces picked up and deposited into the trash can, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Terry briefly leaned against the kitchen island, watching as Alfred slowly sat back down on his stool.

“I promise that doesn’t usually happen,” Alfred assured Terry, a half grin donning the older man’s face.

“I mean, I body checked a priceless looking vase at the crack of dawn, so…it evens out?” Terry laughed, throwing his hands up in the air quickly.

“I feel like I missed something fun,” Richard’s amused voice cut in from behind Terry.

“Oh yeah, sure, if you call ‘fun’ being Jason slapping at a spider, only to COMPLETELY MISS,” Terry responded sarcastically, tilting his head towards Richard, “Then yeah, it was fun. Especially fun since half the room got coated with every drink on the kitchen island.”

“Oh man, I’m so sorry you had to experience that,” Richard said sympathetically, fighting really hard to keep what appeared to be a strong laugh down, “Was it just on the floor?”

“The floor, the island…Tim, Damian, AND Bruce,” Terry smirked, maneuvering himself to heft up the very full trash bag, “The man tried to convince Bruce to tell his meeting group that he was wearing avant-garde. And now…I’m taking this out to the trash bin by the front gate.”

“That’s just…terrible,” Richard replied brokenly, a laugh bubbling through as he fell in line next to Terry, “Hey, mind if I come with you?”

“You don—,” Terry started, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Perfect, let’s go! I’ll bring him back fast, Alfie,” Richard cut in, waving cheerily at Alfred’s equally confused face.

            Richard shoved Terry, trash bag in tow, through the kitchen door and quickly out the front entrance door. Something wasn’t right. There shouldn’t be anything that Richard needed to talk to him about—Terry had been careful. Yet, here they both were, walking in an awkward silence to the trash bin. Once they had made it to the bin and Terry had heaved the straining bag into it, he turned to Richard worriedly.

“Listen, I swear I didn’t mean to break that vase,” Terry said quickly, watching Richard’s face twitch in shock.

“Terry, nobody blames you for the vase—,” Richard started, attempting to calm the tense teen.

“If something is missing, I swear I didn’t take it. You can search my room and all my things,” Terry kept rambling, cutting Richard off, “Please, I really like this job. Don’t fire me.”

“Whoa, WHOA,” Richard responded, putting both his hands on Terry’s shoulders, “This isn’t about any of that. We trust you, Terry. I mean, come on. You give Tim extra desserts, you earned major brownie points with Damian for liking animals, and Jason appreciates someone that doesn’t take anyone’s shit. As for me and Bruce? You’ve been great with helping Alfred. We don’t have to worry about him with you there.”

“So why are you out here with me?” Terry asked, watching as Richard removed his hands to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“I…I wanted to come clean with something,” Richard murmured gently, fingers nervously dancing along the edge of the paper, “Jason and I did a background check on you.”

“What,” Terry deadpanned, a flicker of cold fear cutting through his chest.

“Nothing came back. Like, you didn’t have any kind of footprint—like a ghost. It really seems like Terry McGinnis is your real name, but…we wanted to be sure,” Richard continued, slowly opening the paper and flipping it around for Terry to see.

“What…what am I looking at?” Terry rasped, heart rate starting to pick up.

“A DNA test,” Richard said in a soft voice, “We used some of your hair and ran it through a system four times…it came back with a paternal match. 99.9% match to Bruce Wayne.”

“You’re fucking with me,” Terry scoffed, eyes disbelievingly looking at the results on the paper, “This is fake, obviously. That man is not my…father. I know my father, and he’s dead.”

“Terry, I know this is a shock, but you—,” Richard tried to placate.

“Is this a test? A sick fucking test to see how I’ll handle myself under stress?” Terry snarled, voice starting to rise, “What kind of bastards are you people?!”

“STOP,” Richard begged, pocketing the piece of paper before stepping closer to Terry, “This kind of test is high quality and very thorough. We ran it four times to rule out any false positives. Terry, I’m sorry, but Bruce is biologically your father.”

“I don’t…I just,” Terry gasped, squatting down to put his head between his knees. Everything was burning. The old man would’ve said something right…RIGHT?

“Terry, Bruce hasn’t left yet, we can go talk with him now, and—,” Richard started to say, attempting to move down to Terry’s level, but was halted by the teen’s sudden upward movement.

“No,” Terry breathed sharply, eyes locked onto Richard’s gaze, “You don’t tell him a damn thing.”

“Terry, I can’t keep this from him…you’re his kid…and our family,” Richard stuttering slightly under Terry’s fierce gaze. Man, this kid was so much like Bruce…

“I’m nothing to him or any of you. I’m a nobody, who’s going to end up back at the homeless shelter once Alfred is all healed up. I’m a nobody who’s going to carry on with this job because he likes it, and wants to keep doing it.”

“You’re not a nobody, Terry,” Richard tightly, swallowing slowly, “You’re our brother.”

“Please…isn’t there any way you could just sit on that for a while?” Terry begged, eyes brimming with tears, “I get I can’t stop you, but…I just…this is too much.”

“Okay Terry,” Richard whispered, sympathy lacing his features, “I’ll make sure it stays quiet for now, but please understand when the moment comes…I got to tell Bruce.”

“Fine,” Terry rasped, wiping a shaking hand over his eyes as he straightened his spine, “This conversation is done. Don’t talk to me about this anymore. I have my job to do.”

            Terry tore himself away from Richard’s searching gaze, his hands still shaking slightly as he made the walk back to the manor. His lip quivered threateningly. No. You will not cry. This isn’t right. He couldn’t be Bruce’s son…there was no way…right? His shoulders twitched as he threw one last look behind him at Richard’s lone form still standing by the trash bin. A traitorous thought crawled its way through his mind…what if he was? Stop. Stop it. Terry huffed, fixed his face, and pushed his way back into the manor—the door snapping shut behind him.

*****************

Jason:  So…how’d he take it?

Richard:  Pretty badly.

Richard:  He was adamant that we were wrong. Kid was in shock.

Richard:  Then he got really pissed. I swear he looks even more like Bruce when he’s mad.

Oracle:  Yikes…you guys pick a time to tell Bruce?

Jason:  We can do it after dinner.

Richard:  No.

Jason:  No? The fuck you mean, NO. He’s family.

Oracle:  Can’t believe I’m agreeing with Jason here, but Terry’s part of your family. Not telling Bruce is a TERRIBLE idea. The man is very protective of his family.

Richard:  I promised Terry I would sit on the results for a little while until an opportunity presents itself.

Richard:  I’m expecting you both to say nothing until I give Bruce the results of the test.

Richard:  I need both of your words. Now.

Oracle:  My lips are sealed, boy wonder.

Richard:  Jason. Please.

Jason:  Fine. But I swear if something happens to the kid…

Richard:  We’ll still be there for him.

Oracle:  Don’t wait too long, Dick. This is serious.

Jason:  What she said.

Richard:  Understood. I’ll let you both know when it’s time.

*****************

            The rest of the day passed in a blur. Terry went about his cleaning, lifting, and fixing routine silently. He could feel Alfred watching him with concern as Terry slid into the next task without a wisecrack or offhand remark, but he always left the room before the butler could make a comment on it. As for Richard and Jason? Yeah, he was avoiding them like the plague—no eye contact, or acknowledgement of any kind. By the time night started falling, the rest of the household had noticed Terry’s mood change…and who it was directed towards. Terry caught a snippet of irritated hisses coming from Tim and Damian, each wanting to what the hell Jason and Richard had done to Terry. He hadn’t stuck around to hear what each of the men had told them.

            Dinner went the same way—more silence. A part of Terry felt a little guilty for icing out the rest of the Waynes, but…he found he just couldn’t handle any type of conversation right now.  Once Terry had set out the desserts, Tim got two extra eclairs of course, the mental exhaustion was beginning to affect him. He rubbed his temple and turned to go back into the kitchen, intending to ask Alfred if he could turn in for the night.

“Terry?” Tim spoke softly, voice cutting through the silence, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, I’m just tired,” Terry responded tensely, still facing the kitchen door, “I’m afraid I have to turn in early tonight. I apologize. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Terry,” Bruce said, chair creaking as the man began to rise from it, “If something happened…or the workload is too much, I’d be happy to—.”

“I. Am. Tired,” Terry growled, shoving the door open and moving forward, “The workload is fine. I am fine. Thank you for caring…now if you’ll excuse me.”

            As the door flapped shut, Terry heard Damian’s outraged tone ring out, but not at him. Richard and Jason were really getting torn into…and it sounded like Tim and Bruce had joined in on it. He locked eyes with Alfred, and made to open his mouth. However, Alfred made a quieting gesture and merely motioned for him to head towards his bedroom. Terry made a grateful nod, and slipped away into his room—locking the door behind him. He stood there for a couple minutes to make sure no one tried to knock on his door. When it became clear they were leaving him alone, Terry dragged a chair over to the door and jammed it under the doorknob for extra security. He flicked the lights off and allowed the darkness to shroud him. His hand went down to the belt on his waist, and pressed the center of the buckle. The suit activated immediately—replacing the clothes he’d been wearing with the familiar inky black suit and red bat symbol emblazoned across his chest. Twisting the center ring of the belt, Terry activated the suit’s cloaking feature. He swiftly ran over to the large window, and silently lifted the large pane of glass before sliding out and shutting it behind him. Climbing to the top of the manor had been nerve wracking, but as Terry softly crossed the rooftop, he felt a sense of calm slide through him. He’d taken precautions to deactivate certain motion sensors, like the one on his window and the multiple on the rooftop, during his “maintenance duties”.

            Flicking his wings out, Terry threw himself off the massive home and allowed himself to soar a decent distance away before activating his foot propulsions. He could almost hear Bruce’s old gravelly voice in his ear.

“Focus, McGinnis, Gotham needs Batman. Leave the drama behind for the night.”

*****************

            It hadn’t taken too long before Terry had found some trouble brewing near the docks of Gotham. Perching in the shadows of a nearby rooftop, Terry deactivated the cloaking of the suit. He’d noticed an unusual amount of movement while flying by, and stopped to investigate. He’d wanted to start small, like thwarting robberies or muggings…but this looked too important to just pass by it—they were moving weapons. Terry used the suit’s visual system to scan the faces of each dreg walking around before falling onto one that was well dressed. The suit pinged an ID for the well-dressed man:  Oswald Cobblepot, aka The Penguin. One of Bruce’s old villains—schway. Terry tinkered with the cowl settings, programming it to alert him if any of the bat family were in range of him, before launching himself off the rooftop. He swiftly took down Penguin’s men, twisting and flipping around the gunfire effortlessly. When Terry did land, he fell into the familiarity of the fighting routine. He barely noticed that he’d knocked out or incapacitated everyone attempting to kill him. Huh, definitely different from Neo-Gotham. A sudden noise behind him jolted Terry back into a defensive stance…it was Penguin.

“Great, another one,” Penguin spat, twisting his umbrella in fury, “Got a name I can put on your grave?”

“Batman,” Terry growled back, body tensing in anticipation, “And there won’t be any graves while I’m here.”

“People die all the time, brat. It’s the nature of the beast,” Penguin croaked, an odd laugh warbling from his throat, “And the beast won’t take too lightly to some freak parading as another Batman.”

“I am Batman,” Terry responded gravelly, flicking his wings out and launching himself at Penguin.

            Terry collided with Penguin, tearing the umbrella from the man’s hand, and heaving him up into the sky. It didn’t matter how tough you were, if you suddenly got launched into the sky without any means to catch yourself—you’d be screaming too. A small smirk snuck onto Terry’s face as he flew the frenzied Penguin straight to GCPD headquarters. He dropped the squirming man on top of a police car, where a pack of police grabbed at him the second he rolled onto the ground. Terry landed silently on a streetlight before addressing the police.

“Send some people to the docks. You’ll find a shipment of weapons…and a bunch of unconscious men,” Terry said sharply, nodding at Penguin, “They all work for him.”

“You’re dead, you hear me!? DEAD,” Penguin screamed at him as the police dragged his hulking form through the doorway, “You want to be another Batman? FINE. All of Gotham is going to know about you! Watch your back, BAT!”

            Terry’s cowl sensor pinged an alert—the bat family was coming. Time for him to go. He launched himself into the sky, wings stretched out. Once he was airborne in the clouds, he activated the cloaking feature on his suit, hiding him from any prying eyes as he raced back to the manor in record time. Terry glided down in front of his bedroom window and peeked inside. Good, all clear. Pulling open the glass and throwing himself inside, he closed and locked the glass quickly. Terry pressed the center of the buckle again, and felt the suit retract back inside of it, leaving him back in his work clothes. His heart was racing as he threw himself backwards onto his bed. Yeah…he could make this work. He could keep being Batman, and protect Gotham again. A small smile graced his face once again as he closed his eyes, thinking of his old mentor—I got this Bruce. I promise.

*****************

            As the days passed by, Terry found a rhythm with his daytime job and his nighttime job. He’d even started making small talk with Richard and Jason again—though he informed them each that they were still on thin ice. They’d just been relieved to have him talking to them again, and readily accepted that warning. On the bat family side, though, he knew they were starting to get frustrated by the other Batman’s ability to disappear whenever they got close. He was never able to hear whatever they were saying, but their tones and the dark circles under their eyes were getting sharper. Gotham City was now buzzing at there being two Batman vigilantes, which depending on who you asked could be a good or bad thing. Part of him was a little guilty, but Terry knew they’d never believe he was a Batman from another dimension. This was safer for everyone, he told himself, trying to shake the guilt.

            This morning was no different. Terry walked into the kitchen to find Jason perched on a stool by the marble kitchen island…and lightly snoring upright as his body swayed dangerously side to side. Damian had the look of someone that was two seconds away from murder while Richard blearily caught Terry’s eye, nodding in silent greeting. Tim seemed to be the only one mildly functional as he continued tinkering with his radio.

“What are you trying to do with that?” Terry whispered, leaning in slightly while Alfred cooked the last of the breakfast, “Trying to contact space?”

“Har har, Terry,” Tim muttered sarcastically, his mouth twitching into a small grin, “I’m programming it to pick up all types of frequencies….because I just really love listening to the radio…”

“Uh-huh,” Terry murmured disbelievingly, yeah that was probably to track him, “Well keep at it, I want to listen to some international stations.”

            Tim gave him a short nod and locked back onto his radio. Terry turned back towards Alfred to grab the last plate for Bruce. Sliding the plate across the counter, he’d just finished grabbing some utensils when Bruce burst into the kitchen abruptly. In his hurry, the door smacked against the wall emitting an echoing slap. Jason jolted awake wildly, throwing a fist out wildly. It obviously didn’t connect with anyone, but it did manage to throw the man off balance, sending him crashing to the floor.

“You good, man?” Terry called from the opposite side of the island.

“Fuck,” came a bleary response from the floor.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Terry snorted, tapping the plate to get Bruce’s attention.

“Thank you, Terry,” Bruce sighed, sinking onto the stool briefly as his own weary eyes watched Jason heave himself back onto his stool—still swearing.

            The rest of breakfast passed without further incident, and once again Terry fell into routine. He’d barely noticed that the sky was getting darker as he helped Alfred refresh each of the rooms being used. He knew the rule, don’t touch anything on the desks. Terry had made that mistake once, and it resulted in a small electrocution. He learned really quick after that. Once they’d finished with Richard’s room, Alfred gestured for Terry to follow him back to the kitchen. They were halfway through dinner prep when the kitchen phone ran suddenly. Terry turned to watch Alfred answer it swiftly—mostly answering in short responses.

“I see. Well, we shall ensure there are leftovers placed into the refrigerator upon everyone’s return, sir,” Alfred stated, gesturing at Terry to start pulling Tupperware out, “Do tell the boys to be careful returning home as well.”

“Is everything alright?” Terry asked in confusion, watching Alfred hang up the phone, “Are they going to be late for dinner?”

“I’m afraid they will not be able to eat at a normal hour tonight, Terry,” Alfred responded, beginning to place steaming mounds of food into the Tupperware, “Master Bruce must work late at Wayne Towers, and the boys will be back at a later time as well. Traffic was diverted due to a breakout at Arkham Asylum.”

“WHAT,” Terry responded in a startled tone, “Back up…did you say there was a breakout at freaking Arkham?!”

“Yes, unfortunately. Several well known criminals escaped as well,” Alfred hummed in concern, sealing up the containers, “But never mind you, Terry, they’ve been caught before by Gotham’s vigilantes. Everything will be fine.”

“But—,” Terry started to say as he transferred the food into the fridge.

“Eat this, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred interrupted, shoving a delightful smelling sandwich into Terry’s hands, “It is not worth dwelling on the unknown.”

            Terry knew better than to respond to Alfred when he had that tone in his voice. While he ate the sandwich, Terry mused over a new predicament. If he went out as Batman tonight, he ran a very real risk of encountering the bat family trying to corral the Arkham breakouts. Yet…he couldn’t just leave the rest of the city to fend for itself while all this chaos was happening. Popping the last piece of sandwich in his mouth, he began to go towards his room.

“Tired, Terry?” Alfred inquired, crossing his arms thoughtfully.

“I, uh, just assumed since they weren’t going to be in anytime soon that I was done,” Terry answered sheepishly, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair, “I’m guessing I was wrong about that, right?”

“You would be correct,” Alfred responded, a half grin donning his face, “This will be a perfect time for you to clean the bathrooms while I dust and sweep the halls.”

“Sounds great,” Terry returned, internally grimacing at the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to slip away from the manor. He just had to have faith that the bat family was alright…and that Gotham’s citizens could protect themselves as well.

Chapter Text

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry jolted awake, eyes tracking the room trying to find the reason for his waking up. His clock indicated that it was currently 2 am. He’d passed out onto his bed without changing after cleaning all the bathrooms. A snort startled him and with a small grin he caught Titus snoring at the end of Terry’s bed. The dog was sleeping like a rock, each leg twitching in his sleep. Yet he knew that wasn’t what had woken him up. Carefully sliding off the bed and out of his room, Terry padded down the hall and listened hard for any odd sounds. There. It was coming from the kitchen. He used the tips of his fingers to quietly open the kitchen door and duck in. There, sitting in the dimly lit room, was Bruce—facing away from Terry. He didn’t have a shirt on, and appeared to be struggling to reach something on his back.

            It was a deep gash, which was still bleeding. Terry spied the open medical kit on the kitchen island and moved quietly closer to the injured Wayne. Mentally, he thanked his old mentor for insisting Terry learn how to patch himself up the “old fashioned way”.

“Need some help, Bruce?” Terry’s voice rasped, sleep still clinging to his throat.

            He didn’t flinch when Bruce spun around wildly, breath coming out in jagged gasps. Man, he looked worse from the front. Bruises and cuts dotted Bruce’s torso. He looked so tired. Terry reached for the thread and needle within the kit, and wordlessly gestured for him to turn around. He could tell Bruce had concocted a good explanation, but Terry found he didn’t want to hear it and threw up a silencing hand. The man didn’t make a sound as Terry sterilized and cleaned the gash. He didn’t even hiss at the sting of the needle threading through his skin, quickly stitching the wound together. Terry applied a layer of antiseptic and a bandage over the stitching, and motioned for Bruce to turn back around so he could see the other cuts. But it was Bruce who stopped him now.

“These are superficial cuts. I just need to run some water over them, it’ll be fine,” Bruce murmured as he stared at Terry carefully, like he was weighing his next words, “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Friend of mine said it was important to know the basics,” Terry responded shrugging. It hadn’t been a lie…his Bruce had insisted.

“Smart friend,” Bruce huffed, pulling his shirt back onto his shoulders.

“Yeah. He was,” Terry sighed, turning to wash his hands clean from all the blood.

“Terry…may I ask…,” Bruce began softly, picking his words carefully.

“You want to know why I was living at the homeless shelter?” Terry cut in, casting a knowing look at Bruce—who nodded as he buttoned up his shirt.

“Simple answer? No one left. It’s just me,” Terry stated, leaning against the sink.

“And the non-simple answer?” Bruce inquired, placing a hand on the cool marble.

“Dad’s been dead for a year or so. My mom and little brother passed away recently,” Terry answered, swallowing as he glanced away from Bruce’s probing eyes, “And no, they didn’t die of ‘natural causes’.”

“What—,” Bruce started to ask, leaning more towards Terry.

“You like talking about your dead parents, Mr. Wayne?” Terry said sharply, earning a conceding hand from Bruce—silence quickly fell between them for several moments.

“…does it…,” Terry whispered thickly, hands flexing at his sides, “…does it ever stop hurting…?”

“Time helps…but no…it never will,” Bruce rasped, pain flickering in his eyes, “You can only keep living the life they would have wanted you to lead…a happy, fulfilling life.”

            Terry shivered, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them once more. He knew he would hate that he asked this…but…

“Are you happy, Bruce?” Terry asked, fighting hard to keep the familiar burn of tears back.

            Bruce’s face crumbled into something close to devastation. Terry had never seen this expression on his face, or even his older mentor’s face. He suspected that no one had ever truly asked Bruce that question…and it scraped raw against something inside him. Terry could see the beginnings of tears in Bruce’s eyes, and found he couldn’t do this to the man. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine before moving towards the kitchen door.

“Good night, Bruce,” Terry murmured, pushing his body roughly through the wooden door.

            He barely made it to his own bedroom, and after the lock engaged, he doubled over onto the floor in pain. Terry let out a low moan as the tears started falling. He covered his mouth in a failed attempt to silence the noise as he visibly shuddered from his spot on the floor. It barely registered that a cold nose was pressing against his head, whimpering urgently. That’s right…Titus had been sleeping on his bed. Terry threaded his fingers through the dog’s fur and pulled the large dog close, sobs muffling against its body. He stayed that way for a long time—listening to Titus’s breathing and the faint click of the clock on the wall.

*****************

            Terry woke up a few hours later on the floor—the clock now reading 6 am. A warm body was pressed up against him, tail thumping the floor merrily. It seemed like Titus was aware Terry was now awake, and let him know it with an echoing bark. Terry groaned and heaved himself up onto his legs. He quickly went over to his closet, and switched out his old white shirt and vest for a new set. A happy Titus followed Terry to the bathroom where he splashed his face and ran a quick comb through his hair. Okay. He at least looked mildly presentable. Titus barked again, hopping around Terry’s legs as he approached the locked door.

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you out,” Terry yelped as the large dog bodily threw itself past him, dashing down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

            Terry quickly down the hall and into the bustling kitchen. The second he burst into the kitchen all sound died down.

“I’m not in trouble, am I? Because I thought I was still early,” Terry asked, putting his hands up helplessly.

“You’re not in trouble, Terry,” Alfred answered while flipping some pancakes, “Master Richard wanted to help set up. You may begin passing out the pancakes, though.”

“Oh, thank god,” Terry wheezed, jumping forward to take the towering stack. He could feel Bruce’s eyes burning a hole in his back, but he kept his eyes on the stack of food.

“Rough night?” Jason snarked, watching Terry fight to keep the pancake tower from toppling.

“Titus slept on my bed,” Terry retorted, placing the plate down and helping to hand out pancakes, “Think he kicked my ass and stole my wallet.”

“Hmph,” a voice from his side muttered, Damian of course, “That explains his absence last night. It seems that he likes you.”

“So, who got the bed, him or you, McGinnis?” Jason smiled wickedly through his first bite of pancake.

“We shared,” Terry bit back, flicking a blueberry at the man, “Otherwise, I slept the whole night…that is…until he started barking.”

“That’s how you know you’ve made it in this family, Terry,” Richard smiled, cutting his food swiftly, “One of Damian’s pets like you.”

“Hmph, don’t make it a habit, McGinnis,” Damian muttered, giving him an approving head nod regardless.

“Sure thing, Damian,” Terry laughed, turning to wash some utensils in the sink.

            Tim, who had been quietly finishing up working with his radio, finally leaned back with a satisfied grin. He cracked his fingers in unison, and proceeded to flip the switch on the machine. The lights in the kitchen gave a mighty flicker before stabilizing. The stunned look on Tim’s face told everyone that the lights were definitely not supposed to do that. A loud crackling came from the radio, and the local Gotham City news started playing. Terry sighed, and carried on washing in the sink.

“…Current news coming out of Arkham Asylum. Batman, Nightwing, Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood were able to capture most of the criminals that escaped yesterday. However, Bane and Joker remain on the loose…gangs of people “inspired by the escapees” have been spotted causing chaos. Be careful out there, Gotham City…it’s getting worse out there…”

            Terry dropped the handful of silverware clutched in his hand in shock. The Joker…of course he was here. The clown was Bruce’s worse villain during his time as Batman. Rage flickered deep in his chest at the thought of that son of a bitch doing a repeat performance on this current family. Terry blinked, and looked behind him at the curious faces staring back at him.

“Sorry, was just surprised. Aren’t those guys, like, the worst ones?” Terry covered, hand grasping at the cleaned utensils once more.

“Don’t worry, Terry,” Tim said gently, helping to put away several items on the marble island, “Batman and his crew always catch them.”

“Going to hold you to that, Tim,” Terry smirked, placing the last of the silverware out to be dried.

“Terry, leave that for the boys, Master Bruce and I need to have a word with you outside the kitchen,” Alfred stated, gesturing for him to follow.

            Terry dried his hands, and followed the two men, confusion etched into his expression. This couldn’t be because of his and Bruce’s conversation from earlier this morning. Maybe the stitches broke? He thought he’d done it correctly. The three came to a halt in front of the main entryway.

“Master Bruce informed me that earlier this morning, you assisted him with a back injury sustained from a failed mugging, is that correct?” Alfred asked, raising a critical eyebrow.

“That sounds about right,” Terry responded, eyes never leaving Alfred’s sharp gaze, “I didn’t want to wake you for something like that. It was barely a scratch.”

“Was it now?” Alfred returned coolly, ignoring Bruce’s uncomfortable shifting, “And should this happen again…?”

“I would 100% still do the same thing,” Terry said honestly, shrugging, “But I’ll tell you immediately after.”

“Very good, Mr. McGinnis,” Alfred murmured warmly, like a test had been passed, “Now, on to why we wish to talk with you. Master Bruce, if you will?”

“Jason and Richard have some business in downtown Gotham, so Jason has offered to drive Tim and Damian to school. Then drop myself and Alfred off to his doctor appointment,” Bruce began, a light smile gracing his face while talking to Terry, “You’ve gone above and beyond with your assistance to the family. Alfred also agrees that not only are you hardworking, but trustworthy.”

“That is Master Bruce’s long-winded way of informing you, that it will be your duty to stay in the house while we all are away,” Alfred cut in, wearing an amused look on his face, “I have left a large list that will be expected to be completed upon our return. Additionally, Master Bruce’s study is off limits, and any form of tampering to the door will set off a rather loud alarm…among other things.”

“Okay…?” Terry said, his eyes widening at the last part, “You can count on me, Alfred.”

“Very good,” Alfred nodded knowingly, before heading back towards the kitchen, “I will gather the boys now. Stay here, Terry.”

            Bruce and Terry watched as the butler disappeared behind an ornate side door. He rubbed his neck, and slowly looked up at Bruce.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Bruce,” Terry grimaced, expecting some form of wrath. It had been such a personal question, Terry wouldn’t blame the man if he was pissed about it now.

“No one has ever asked me that question outright, Terry,” Bruce said softly, eyes reflecting a warmth in them as he placed a hand on Terry’s shoulder, “I will admit, you surprised me. But yes, I am happy, Terry. My family makes me feel whole and happy. What about you—are you happy?”

“I don’t know if I can answer that, Mr. Wayne,” Terry answered, swallowing slowly as he avoided Bruce’s sad gaze.

            A flurry of noise prevented Bruce from saying more, but the man kept his hand on Terry’s shoulder as the footsteps came to a halt behind them. Terry knew they all were wondering what the hell they’d just walked into…and he wasn’t sure he had a good response. So he opted to step out of the gesture and went to stand by the stairs quietly, his mouth setting itself into a tense line.

“Everything good, Bruce?” Richard inquired, eyes never leaving Terry.

“Yes…yes everything is fine. Terry? We’ll continue our talk later, yes?” Bruce responded, eyes locking onto Terry’s carefully.

“With Jason driving, yeah, good luck on that,” Terry chuckled hollowly.

“Hey, asshole, you got here fine!” Jason barked, making a rude gesture as Alfred corralled all of them out the door.

“Remember to look both ways, old man,” Terry snorted, shaking his head as the wooden door clicked shut behind the group. If he strained his hearing, he could almost make out Jason’s outraged response.

*****************

            Three hours later, Terry was still trying to make a dent in the large list Alfred had left him to do. Titus wasn’t making it easier. The large dog was constantly following him, and at one point even tried to tackle Terry in excitement. He’d ultimately made a compromise with the canine—don’t trip or tackle, and he’d get an extra scoop of food along with treats on top. So far, Terry was pleased to see it was working…though he could still hear the happy thumping of the dog’s tail behind him as he wiped down a baseboard. He let out of huff, and slowly stood, turning to leave the room. It had been really peaceful working in the empty house. Terry wondered if they’d be willing to do it more often.

            Titus’s low growling pulled Terry out of his hopeful thinking. He stopped out in the hall, and turned to look at the large dog. It was staring out the window, teeth starting to show as the growling was starting to turn into full force barks.

“Titus? What’s wrong?” Terry called, running back towards the large window that overlooked the front entrance.

            From this vantage point Terry could see two black SUVs tearing up the long driveway to Wayne Manor. They hadn’t made it to the gate yet…but something told him it wouldn’t matter.

*****************

[ Richard - POV ]

            Richard stared at Bruce from his seat in the limousine, his fingers toying with the paper in his pocket. Jason had picked up Bruce and Alfred from the doctor’s appointment, and they were currently heading back to the manor. It had been days since he’d promised Terry he wouldn’t tell Bruce, but seeing the look on Bruce’s face earlier in the day had only cemented the urgency to tell him. He’d been so relaxed, and damn it, happy while talking with Terry. His eyes caught Jason’s gaze flicking between Richard’s and the road. Jay could tell what he was about to do. Bruce slowed his talking with Alfred to look between Richard and Jason—sensing something was going on.

“Is everything okay, boys?” Bruce asked, brow furrowing with concern.

            Richard swallowed slowly, eyes looking back at Jason’s before he shifted to pull out the piece of paper. He once again toyed with the edges, nerves starting to creep in. This had to be done. Terry was family, and hell, by the looks of it, Bruce seemed like seconds away from drafting yet another set of adoption papers. He raised his eyes to meet Bruce’s probing gaze.

“You sure now’s a good time, Dick?” Jason called from the front, his own voice laced with nerves.

“Is what a good time, Master Jason?” Alfred asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Richard? What is that? Is it something about the breakouts?” Bruce murmured softly, holding a hand out to receive it.

“No, Bruce…but it is about you,” Richard swallowed, handing the paper over with a shaking hand, “And it’s about Terry too.”

“We had our suspicions in the beginning. Had Oracle run a check on him, and it came back with nothing. The kid was a ghost…so we figured he was using a fake name,” Richard stated, rubbing his hands as he watched Bruce open the paper, “So we used the cave computers to run a DNA test—did it four times to be sure.”

“Good heavens, how did I not see this?” Alfred whispered in shock as he leaned to read the test results, “99.9% match…He’s Bruce’s son…”

            Bruce’s gaze had locked up on the words typed out one the paper. Richard saw a strangely pained expression grace the man’s face, sadness flickering briefly into his eyes before anger started to bleed in. In an expression very similar to Terry’s when he was pissed, Bruce looked over at Richard.

“How long have you had this?” Bruce growled, hand squeezing the paper tightly, “And why am I just finding out about this?”

“We’ve had it for days, Bruce,” Jason called from the front, a disgruntled frown starting to form on his face.

“Terry asked me not to say anything to you,” Richard continued, heart starting to ache from the memory, “He kept saying he was just a nobody to us…that he was nothing…and that once Alfred got better, he was just going to end back up at the homeless shelter. Kid honestly believes he doesn’t belong with anyone…I don’t know what’s happened with Terry, but he…he shouldn’t be alone. Bruce, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you.”

            Bruce had fallen silent while Richard was talking, his eyes back on the paper in his hand. Richard could see a range of emotion flashing across the man’s face. Family meant everything to Bruce, and he’d just found out that Terry was part of it…and that he hadn’t even seen the similarities that Richard and Jason had picked up on. Richard didn’t know what the two had been talking about prior to the group arriving in the entryway, but it seemed pretty heartfelt, even for Bruce—having left his hand on Terry’s shoulder. The man may be emotionally awkward, but there were times Bruce was able to convey what he was feeling. Each member of the house had seen it multiple times, but Terry…man, somehow that kid had gotten Bruce to really open up. Richard had marveled at the warmth that broke out on Bruce’s face whenever Terry was nearby. It felt just like when Richard had first met Bruce—before all the hard edges from being Batman long term had creeped in—the man was happy, and so was the whole family. God…he should have said something sooner.

            Now, he had to tell Terry. Richard pulled out his cell phone and starting dialing the house. The movement caught Bruce’s eye, and he watched as Richard tilted the phone forward, hitting the speaker phone for everyone to hear.

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry shot down the stairs towards the sound of a phone ringing. Titus followed closely, only stopping by the front door to continue his loud barking. Panting, Terry found the phone in the kitchen. He tore it off the receiver and moved in front of the window again—the SUVs were so close now.

“Wayne residence, please call back later,” Terry said sharply, eyes watching as the SUVs made the last turn up the road.

“Terry? It’s Richard, I’ve got you on speaker phone now…we need to talk,” Richard’s voice floated through cautiously, “It’s about—.”

“STOP. Stop right now,” Terry shouted wildly, watching the leading SUV pick up speed, “Are you guys expecting anyone at the manor right now?”

“No one is on the schedule to arrive, Terry,” Alfred’s voice answered curtly, “Why do you ask?”

“There are two black SUV’s tearing up the—OH SHIT,” Terry yelled, as a loud bang echoed outside and even into the house.

“TERRY, TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING. WHAT WAS THAT SOUND!?” Bruce’s voice shouted loudly through the phone.

“They just rammed the front gate, I got to hit the alarm!” Terry rasped, running with the phone gripped tightly in his left hand, “TITUS, GET BACK NOW!”

            The dog’s barking had evolved into straight howling as the dog moved back and forth in agitation. He was almost there…he just needed to get to the button. He could still hear voices on the phone, but Terry wasn’t registering them. His heart was racing so hard all he could hear was the sound of his own blood beating violently through his system. His right hand was reached out, tearing open the cabinet to punch the red button. Too late. Another loud bang tore into the front door—the front end of a vehicle had shattered the ornate wooden door, revving its engine as it pulled back abruptly to allow people dressed like clowns to stream in. Terry threw the phone down in alarm. Slag it, this was going to be a fight.

“HEY, GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE, YOU FUCKING DREGS!” Terry screamed in rage, swinging a swift punch at the first clown that came at him.

“Awww, the baby butler’s got some fight in him! Don’t know what a ‘dreg’ is, but rest assured, kid, we’re going to take it personally,” the clown closest to Terry snarled, launching at him, “Tear this place up, and beat the HELL out of this brat!”

            A large swarm of clowns continued to flow in, surrounding him as he fought hard to keep them back. Titus’s loud snarling punctuated the din of noise, and with quick satisfaction, Terry could hear the frantic screams of clowns being chewed on. He and Titus were managing to keep them on the first floor entryway, and partially in the side hallway. However, Terry wasn’t stupid, they were overwhelmed. He was taking a beating, his clothes were tearing and he could feel blood starting to coat his forehead. The clowns were spray painting the damaged walls, and somewhere during the fight, Terry had gotten clipped by a wayward spray paint can—coating his vest with a light splatter of neon green. He locked his eyes on the alarm panel. Terry knew there was a weapon in there. Bruce Wayne may not like guns, but no one said Alfred would follow that same mantra should danger befall his family.

            Terry launched his body forward, deflecting as many dregs as possible as he fell against the cabinet. His hand scrabbled deep into the tall box, and closed around a long, cold metal. Tearing it out while ducking another vicious hit, Terry spun around and pointed the gun into the air. Mentally, he thanked Max for always making him play those old western VR games otherwise he’d have no idea how to even handle this thing. God…he hoped Alfred kept it loaded. Swinging the long gun up at the ceiling, Terry pulled the trigger, a loud bang reverberating across the crowd. He’d almost knocked himself down, but at least no one got hit. A stunned silence fell over the group of clowns.

“NEXT ONE IS IN EACH OF YOU,” Terry snarled breathlessly, pointing the weapon at them violently, “OR YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS HOUSE—NOW!”

            The crowd started surging out the doorway in a panic, leaving Terry to push himself back towards Titus, whose whole back was covered in purple paint, but otherwise unharmed. Looks like the clowns hadn’t brought guns…just spray paint and hammers. They must’ve thought this was a game…and anyone in the way just had to be beat down. The last of the clowns raced out of the manor, and the sounds of tires peeling away echoed through the torn entryway. Terry could feel his hands shaking as he slowly lowered the long gun. A faint static noise was starting to ring in his ears.

“Titus, SEEK. Make sure no one’s left,” Terry ordered hollowly, hoping the dog understood what he was saying—Titus gave a sharp bark and tore off around the house. Terry let the gun fall to the ground, it clattering loudly as it landed.

            Terry’s eyes took in the damage as his body started shaking at the sight of the spray paint marked everywhere: HA! HA! HA! A terrible moan tore out of his throat as he stumbled forward down the side hall, which also bore more of the spray painted laughter. He…he had to wipe it off. He had to make it go away. This…this couldn’t keep happening. Tears were starting to fall freely from Terry’s eyes as he robotically went to the kitchen to grab a bucket of soapy water and a thick sponge. Once he’d filled it enough, Terry dragged the bucket along the ground to the vandalized hallway. He sank to his knees, and started scrubbing, tears still streaking his face. The static noise was so loud now…he couldn’t even hear the light whimpering of Titus, sitting close to Terry’s body.

*****************

[ Bruce - POV ]

            Cold fear tore through Bruce as gripped the edge of the car seat, urging Jason to drive faster. He could see the horror and concern on everyone’s face as Jason took the final turn to the manor. He’d just found out Terry was his son…his son. This whole time, and Bruce hadn’t even made the connection. He’d been so focused on the other Batman and then the Arkham breakout. Some detective…he couldn’t even see what was right in front of him. Thinking back, he should have seen it. The boy had his face, and even mirrored some of his expressions. God, if he died and Bruce wasn’t there…no. Stop. Terry could do it. They were going to make it in time. They were…no. The remains of the front gate lay twisted on its side as Jason sped closer to the manor. Bruce could see a gaping hole where the front door used to be, like a large vehicle had rammed it open. There were pieces of random items from inside scattered across the grass and along the walkway.

            Jason had barely hit the brakes before Bruce had launched himself out of the limousine. The fear was ramping up even more as Bruce jumped through the shattered wooden doorway fists ready to fight if any remaining clowns lingered. His eyes took in the damage, the spray paint coating the walls…the gun on the ground…Oh my god. Bruce could hear the others bursting in, swears falling from their mouths as they also fell into defensive stances. Bruce’s ear picked up on a light whimpering coming from the side hall, and a small movement caught his eye—Titus. The dog had purple paint across its back, and was stomping its feet in anxiety. Bruce’s heart stopped…was he too late? Titus barked once and took off back down the hallway. Bruce followed, not caring if he got caught on fallen debris. The large dog skidded to halt next to a kneeling figure, and let out an anxious huff.

            It was Terry. Bruce noted the torn clothing that was spattered with green paint, and the boy’s lightly bleeding forehead. The young teen was scrubbing at the wall, trying to get the wet HA! HA! off the wall. It wasn’t working…the paint only smeared more. Bruce fell to his knees, and placed a firm hand on Terry’s shoulder—forcing the young man to stare back at Bruce with hollow, lifeless eyes…no, traumatized eyes…he’d seen it before in himself, Richard, and so many. The others turned the corner, Alfred now between them, and watched in pain at the scene unfolded before them.

“Terry…it’s okay. You don’t need to clean this,” Bruce rasped, pulling the sponge from the young man’s fingers, “I can have it all fixed by tomorrow morning.”

“Terry, please say something,” Bruce whispered, turning the young man towards him with both hands now resting on Terry’s shoulders.

“When my dad died…this crap was all over the walls,” Terry gasped wetly, shuddering at the memory, “And…and a good friend was attacked…again this crap was all over the place. It keeps following me…just keeps taking people from me…I got to take it off, please, please, let me get rid of it.”

            Terry let out a sob and made to cover his face with his hands, but Bruce pulled the boy in tightly. He felt the young man’s body heave as sobs started coming out harder. Bruce used his whole body to keep Terry close, trying to comfort him in some way. He looked over at Alfred helplessly. Alfred straightened, and grabbed Richard and Jason to follow him to help with clean up preparations. Bruce placed his chin on top of the shuddering boy’s head and held him tightly.

“It’s going to be okay, Terry. You’re safe here,” Bruce whispered brokenly, eyes starting to glitter with his own tears, “I’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry had vague memories of what followed in the hallway. He remembered someone helping him to his room, and cleaning the cut on his forehead. He remembered someone taking off his vest, but when he tried to fight the hands grasping at his shirt, they’d backed off. Terry must’ve fallen asleep soon after because at some point in the night, he opened a bleary eye. Bruce was sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding Terry’s hand gently—even as he slept. His own sleep came back, pulling him back into a weary rest. When he finally opened his eyes again, Terry could tell it was late in the day. He turned his head to the side to find an empty chair. However, a light huff from the end of his bed pulled his attention. It was Titus. The large dog’s tail started thumping happily as Terry pulled himself out of the bed towards the closet. He pulled off the torn shirt from yesterday, and replaced it with another clean white shirt and vest. Titus nudged his leg expectantly, and earned a grateful neck scratch as Terry continued into the bathroom. His face had some bruising, but other than a small white bandage on his forehead it wasn’t as bad as he thought. He sighed, splashing water onto his face and then drying it. Titus started hopping around him as Terry pulled open his bedroom door.

            The smell of fresh paint and wood hit him immediately. It…it was all fixed. The damage had been repaired expertly and everything had been deep cleaned. There weren’t even any remnants of the spray painted laughter on the walls. Holy shit, Bruce really had some serious connections. The sound of footsteps approaching caused Terry to turn to face them. It was Damian. Titus gave a happy bark and trotted over to the youngest Wayne, who was watching Terry sharply.

“Father told Timothy and I about the DNA results,” Damian stated, moving closer to Terry, “Richard and Jason explained what happened after…with the damage.”

“Bruce must have some pull to get this all fixed so fast,” Terry muttered, lamely gesturing around them, “Does he have someone on speed dial?”

“Obviously,” Damian smirked a little before replacing it with a concerned look, “Richard told everyone in detail about what you told him by the trash bins.”

“I meant what I said, I’m—,” Terry started to say, shifting uncomfortably under Damian’s stare.

“You are not a nobody, Terry, and certainly not just a nothing to us,” Damian seethed suddenly, grasping Terry’s arm strongly, “You are a Wayne. Part of our family…a sibling to us all…and a blood brother to me.”

“Damian—,” Terry tried to cut in.

“And by now, legally a Wayne,” Damian continued, his free hand tapping his chin lightly, “Father just called Alfred to let him know he was returning from the Courthouse.”

“WHAT,” Terry said in disbelief, “I never asked for that!”

“You are still a minor, Terry, your permission is not needed. He was able to secure an emergency adoption based on the fact that you are his blood, which he further proved with the DNA results Richard provided,” Damian retorted, quirking an eyebrow.

“Dammit, Richard,” Terry growled, moving towards the kitchen, but found he couldn’t extract himself from Damian’s death grip, “Let go, Damian, I have to get to the kitchen.

“You will not be cooking or cleaning today,” Damian replied authoritatively, pulling Terry along with him towards the backyard, “You have not yet seen my other animals, and I require your assistance, sibling.”

            Terry wasn’t proud to admit that he allowed the young Wayne to manhandle him outside to a large building deep in the backyard. He watched as Damian opened the doors, and urged him to follow. A black and white cat came running up to them, meowing furiously. Damian picked the feline up and turned back to Terry.

“This is Alfred the cat, he must have gotten locked inside the barn,” Damian muttered, holding the cat up with both hands for Terry to see.

“Very nice to meet this Alfred,” Terry grinned softly, the small cat reminding him of Max’s pet.

“I also have a cow with a bat marking on it, he name is Bat-Cow, obviously,” Damian continued, gesturing at different animals, “That is Goliath…he’s…a hybrid….and that is Jerry, the turkey.”

“Schway,” Terry murmured, looking at all the animals in amazement. This kid might have a big bark, but he definitely had a good heart.

“Is that…a good thing?” Damian asked curiously, fingers rubbing through Alfred the cat’s fur with an anxious energy.

“Uh, sorry, yes—it’s like ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’,” Terry explained sheepishly, rubbing his neck quickly.

“Agreed, it is very…schway,” Damian responded, testing out the word before a sound grabbed their attention. It was Richard, peeking his head in curiously.

“Hey Damian, I need to borrow Terry for a minute,” Richard said apologetically, earning a scoff from the youngest Wayne.

“Very well, I will see you inside soon, sibling,” Damian stated matter of factly before heading deeper into the barn.

            Terry walked outside the barn and fell into pace with Richard. He could literally feel the guilt radiating from the man’s body. An angrier part of him wanted Richard to continue to feel that way, but the majority of him didn’t want that.

“So…the courthouse, huh?” Terry muttered softly, eyebrow raising slightly as he caught Richard’s eye.

“If it makes you feel better, Bruce had to be forced from that chair in your room,” Richard smiled gently, “Gave us a scare, kid, and Bruce…he, uh, hated knowing that you felt like you didn’t belong here. Like I said before, he’s pretty protective about his family.”

“I noticed,” Terry replied quietly, the image of fresh paint and woodwork flickering through his mind. The man had stayed true to his word. It had all been fixed.

            The two made their way into the house, and crossed through several rooms before entering the bustling kitchen. Jason was helping Alfred by the stove, while Tim adjusted the radio channel—lights dimming slightly as the local news squawked out.

“…local news coming out of Gotham. The Joker and Bane remain at large…while gangs of people dressed in homage to the two villains are still causing chaos. This reporter has learned that Wayne Manor was struck by a group of violent clowns—damage did not appear to be too significant as the manor, and its gate, appear to be fixed. And now the weather…”

“Dregs,” Terry scoffed as Tim snapped the radio off.

“You say some odd shit sometimes, Terry,” Jason stated, wearing a smirk as he continued to work with the pans on the stove, “What even is that word?”

“You know…like a…loser, or a lowlife,” Terry returned, shrugging like it was obvious, “Also, you’re old as hell, so I don’t expect you to know that.”

“Tim, smack him with your crutch—now,” Jason barked from his spot, flicking Terry off with an amused grin.

“Why do you have a crutch?” Terry asked quizzically, noticing the wrap on Tim’s left leg.

“Oh, I fell at school, but don’t worry it’s a very light sprain,” Tim replied calmly, “Phys Ed is not for me, I guess.”

“More like lack of sleep, but go off I guess,” Jason murmured quietly, passing Alfred a spatula.

“And what happened to your neck?” Terry said sharply, moving forward to pull the shirt collar down.

“It’s—,” Tim started to explain.

“Is this an acid burn…like the kind you’d get from the Joker?” Terry in a low tone, eyes raking over the red and scabbed skin going from Tim’s neck down deeper to the boy’s chest.

“How would you know—,” Tim spluttered helplessly, looking around for some support.

“It is, isn’t it,” Terry hissed, releasing Tim’s shirt as ice cold rage burned through him.

            He could feel his hands starting to shake. His Tim never stood a chance from the Joker. This Tim wasn’t going to suffer the same fate. A more rational part of his brain kept trying to tell him that this Tim clearly hadn’t suffered torture, or experimentation, at the hands of the mad clown. But that part didn’t get a say when he had lost everything because of that bastard. He felt himself moving out of the kitchen, and swiftly towards his bedroom. The sounds of worried voices were floating out into the hallway, but it was quickly silenced with a snap of the wooden door. Terry locked it quickly, and jammed the wooden chair under the knob. He could hear Richard now, banging on the door urgently. There was no time. Terry opened his window quietly, and slipped out, running towards the forest for cover. He would need to get far enough away for him to activate his Batman suit without being seen, and once he did—that clown would get what was coming to him.

*****************

[ Richard - POV ]

            Richard had given up trying to talk through the door, and resorted to slamming his body against the thick wooden door. The kid must’ve put something against the door. Shit shit SHIT. Jason pushed beside him and began kicking at the door violently.

“Little shit must’ve put something under the knob,” Jason scowled after the door rattled ominously from his last kick, “Think it’s starting to give. Hit it once more, and put your fucking back into it, Grayson!”

            Richard glared at his brother, and furiously threw his body against the door. A large crack echoed through the hall. He would’ve fallen onto the floor, but Jason had grabbed his collar and yanked him upright. They both pushed into the room urgently. The curtains on the only large window in the teen’s room billowed gently. Terry was gone. No. Richard ran up to the window and jumped out of it, feet landing heavy as he scanned for possible exits. Jason’s feet slammed onto the ground shortly after.

“Check the backyard, I’m heading for the forest,” Richard barked, anxiety ripping through him as he started moving, “Meet back up in the kitchen!”

            There was no scathing response from Jason as he tore towards the back of the house wearing a tense expression. Richard entered the woods, eyes scanning for signs of disturbance. A flicker of hope sparked in his heart when he came across several footprints. He followed for a distance, but strangely the imprints stopped suddenly. It was almost like the kid somehow managed to hide the rest of his footsteps. How the fuck…god, this kid was going to give Bruce a run for his money. He would’ve chuckled at the fact Damian and Jason had serious brotherly competition here, but the sound of a car’s engine drew his attention back towards the house. Damn, Bruce was back from the courthouse. How the fuck was he going to tell him his son bolted from the house in a fit of rage that echoed the man’s own temper. Sighing resignedly, Richard jogged back up and into the manor.

            He heard the sounds of shouting first. Jason obviously hadn’t found anything, and was attempting to fill in Bruce. So naturally everyone was yelling. Richard pushed into the kitchen, and used his fingers to let out a sharp whistle. Silence fell over the kitchen as all eyes fell on him.

“He ran into the forest, but the trail just dies,” Richard said exasperated, running a quick hand through his hair, “Kid’s good at evading people. Got to be genetic, I swear.”

“Fucking great!” Jason snarled, slamming his hand on the countertop, “Kid’s a goddamn Houdini.”

“Go over it again,” Bruce asked, his whole body tensing more by the minute, “He came into the kitchen and asked why Tim had the crutch…?”

“He saw the burn from Joker’s acid spray,” Tim continued, gesturing at his neckline, “Not sure how the hell he knew what that looked like, but it set him off. He tore out of here like he was on a warpath.”

“Alfred, reach out to Oracle and have her scan through all cameras in Gotham,” Bruce ordered, loosening his tie as he began leaving the kitchen, “The rest of us will suit up and head into the city. Will you be alright to—?”

“I will be fine, sir,” Alfred cut in, already moving towards the cave’s hidden entrance, “Master Timothy, how is your leg?”

“Functional, Al,” Tim answered, placing the crutch against a nearby wall, “Let’s go get him before all breaks loose downtown.”

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry had been flying around Gotham like a madman possessed. The rapidly darkening sky told him he’d been at it for hours. Where the fuck was that clown!? It’s not like he was stealthy or discreet—that bastard loved a spectacle. Occasionally, Terry’s cowl pinged alerts on each of the bat family’s location. He didn’t have time to interact with them. He needed to find the Joker and make him pay. A sudden large explosion nearby tore Terry away from his fit of blind rage. Activating his suits cloaking, he soared onto a nearby rooftop and peered over to see the source of the chaos. He felt his fists starting to clench as he spied the Joker amongst the debris and flames. Terry was about to launch himself over the edge when he noticed another presence. Fuck, it was Bane. He’d never gone toe to toe with this particular villain, but he’d fought an orderly using his venom…it was a hard fought battle. He checked his belt for the anti-venom darts he and Bruce had made to counteract Bane’s venom—yes, he still had one! His cowl pinged several alerts, and very quickly the bat family surrounded the Arkham escapees. Terry held his position on the rooftop, fingers digging into the brick molding of the edge.

“Why Batsy! You brought the whole family fight us?” Joker cackled, swinging around swiftly, his arms gesturing at himself, Bane, and a gaggle of their followers, “Makes a man feel so appreciated.”

“Enough, Joker, come quietly,” Batman’s gravelly voice cutting into the night, “This has gone on long enough.”

“Interesting…if I didn’t know any better Batman, I’d think your heart wasn’t in the fight,” Joker purred dangerously, eye glinting with madness, “Maybe you’re looking for something else…someone else?”

“Or maybe you’re not fucking worth it, clown,” Red Hood barked, hands falling onto his firearms.

“Well then…come down and let me make it worth it, brat,” Joker scowled gesturing at himself.

            Terry could see Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Batman…but no Red Robin…maybe he was too injured? No. Terry used the cowl screen to enhance his nighttime vision. There, moving ever so slowly towards Bane, was Red Robin. What the fuck was the kid thinking?! He knew if Red Robin managed to pull Bane’s attention out of his tentative team up, it would help the others with the Joker…but still…that was a hell of a gamble. If Terry had to guess, it was probably something Bruce would not have given the okay to do. He pulled himself up onto the ledge, still cloaked, and prepared himself to leap in to assist Red Robin—DAMN IT.

            Red Robin suddenly lunged, fists full of tranquilizers poised to stab into the exposed flesh of Bane. The domino effect that followed was instant. The rest of the bat family lurched forward and fell upon the crowd below. They had barely subdued the followers when a loud choking sound cut through the din. Bane had grabbed Red Robin by the throat and was now bending the boy’s body in an awkward angle. God…he was going to shatter his spine. In horror, Terry watched as the entire group of vigilantes froze. Though they were attempting to keep their faces neutral, their fear was palpable.

“Careful, Batman, wouldn’t want your young charge to suffer a similar fate to yours,” Bane mocked, applying pressure slightly on Red Robin—the young vigilante gasping in pain.

“What do you want,” Batman asked, voice flat with barely controlled anger and concern for Red Robin.

“I’m so glad you asked, Batsy!” Joker cut in, gesturing for someone in a side alley to come stand next to him, Harley Quinn, “Bane here wants to fight you and your brood—while we are willing to step aside for a simple trade.”

“Trade?” Batman asked incredulously, jaw tightening.

“You know, Bats, we’ve been doing this little runaround of ours for years. It’s been loads of laughs, but none of us are getting any younger,” Joker smiled sinisterly, pulling Harley in close to him, “Harley and I were thinking it was time to add to our merry brood.”

“We can’t legally adopt,” Harley chirped, a wicked grin donning her face as she scanned the group of vigilantes, “But we remembered you always had a few spare kids hanging around.”

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to let you—,” Batman started to viciously say, using his body to physically shield the bat family from Harley’s wild gaze.

“Don’t worry, Batsy. This won’t cost you one of your own personal brood…but the newer one…we want the one Gotham so affectionately calls ‘The Bat’,” Joker chuckled before gesturing at Bane, “Give us The Bat, and Bane will release your precious Red Robin.”

            Terry fought hard not to vomit on the rooftop. That had almost been a near perfect rendition of the monologue Joker had given in his own reality…before it was revealed the old clown had taken Tim and experimented on him. He could still see the haunted look on Commissioner Gordon’s face as she recounted the story. And now…it was happening again…but with him. Shaking his head sharply, Terry glided down into the alley beside the building he was lurking on—removing the suits cloaking. He moved to the edge of the shadows in time to hear the last of their conversation.

“We don’t work with him, and have no way of contacting him,” Batman hissed, body shifting in agitation.

“So that’s a ‘no’, then?” Harley pouted, “Well puddin, I guess the bird gets snapped.”

“Pity…seemed like he had a bright future,” Joker laughed, nodding at Bane, “Do it.”

“STOP!” Terry shouted, exiting the alley’s shadows, fingers digging into his belt and pulling the dart discreetly into his palm, “I’m here. Don’t hurt him.”

“You’re even more impressive in person, Bat,” Joker said, eyes greedily scanning the approaching vigilante, “I’m going to need to you to say it out loud. Do you agree to come with us, Junior?”

            Terry looked at Red Robin’s contorted form, painful rasps emitting from his mouth. He’d failed his Tim in his own dimension. He wouldn’t fail this one. Straightening his spine, Terry turned his gaze upon the hungry eyes of the Joker.

“You don’t go near them, injure them, or attempt to take anyone from this vigilante group,” Terry stated firmly.

“If you agree, then it’s a deal,” Joker purred, slowly moving closer to Terry.

“I’ll go with you,” Terry answered, a cold jolt of fear running up his spine, “Let him go now.”

            Joker let out a victorious cackle, and gestured at Bane to release the young vigilante. Red Robin fell into a heap at the hulking man’s feet, gasping for air. Terry moved down to help him up to his feet. Red Robin was looking at him with confused, but grateful eyes. Terry could feel the clown getting closer to him, so he pushed the dart into Red Robin’s free hand.

“Anti-venom—it’ll level the playing field with Bane,” Terry quietly hissed, beginning to push away from Red Robin, “Don’t miss…and good luck.”

            Terry registered the slight head nod from Red Robin as fingers began digging into his shoulder. The Joker let out a deranged chuckle as he threw his whole arm around Terry’s shoulders. Harley pranced around him, cooing at their new ‘Junior’. A deal was a deal, and the trio moved towards the shadows of another alley. Terry hoped with his whole heart that everyone got through this fight with Bane safely. As he was about to enter the alley, he cast a backwards glance. Batman, Red Hood, Nightwing, Robin, and Red Robin were staring at him with disturbed faces. They were each shifting in agitation—unhappy with this outcome. They didn’t know The Bat, but…this sacrifice wasn’t sitting well with them at all. Terry tensed his body as he and the clowns slid into the darkness. He had faith they could survive it…but could he?

*****************

[ Tim - POV ]

            The fight with Bane had been long and brutal; however, they’d ultimately subdued the hulking man with the help of The Bat’s anti-venom dart. The effect had been instantaneous, removing the danger of Bane’s venom. Bane was still a skilled fighter, but nobody died…so that was a plus. They had returned to the manor sporting gashes and severe bruising. This wasn’t right, they shouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Tim’s grip on his device tightened as he recounted the feeling of his spine bending to its limit. No. Stop this. A small shiver went through his body as his eyes scanned the weary and frustrated faces of his family sitting around the kitchen island. Why had The Bat done that…why save him when the vigilante had never once interacted with them? An anxious thought burned through Tim’s body, settling deep in his stomach.

“We shouldn’t have let that happen,” Tim whispered, closing his eyes tightly, “The Bat…The Bat shouldn’t have done that for me.”

“The alternative was paralysis, Tim,” Jason scoffed, an uneasy expression donning his face.

“Tim, he—,” Richard started softly.

“He’s dead, you guys know that right? There’s no way he comes out of whatever Joker has planned for him…alive,” Tim growled, the volume of his voice causing the whole room to flinch, “Why? WHY WOULD HE DO THIS? He has NO STAKE in our family!”

“That’s what heroes do, Tim, even those we know nothing about,” Richard returned, trying to keep his voice calm, but his eyes betraying his own concern and confusion.

“Bullshit, we’ve spent so long trying to figure out The Bat’s connection to that white light, only to come back with nothing. No leads, no evidence, NO FUCKING CLUE WHO THIS GUY IS OR WHERE HE CAME FROM!” Tim shouted, his right hand slammed onto the marble surface, “And suddenly he comes out of nowhere—after avoiding us this whole time—to sacrifice himself for me? It makes no sense!”

“Not everything needs to make sense, Tim!” Jason bit back, pushing forward slightly to lock eyes with Tim, “Just like that damn device you’ve been working on obsessively for ages. What’s it supposed to do, huh? And no technical jargon, either!”

“When small red light go bright, we find mystery bat,” Tim mocked, speaking in broken words to help Jason ‘understand’. His fingers flicking the machine back on.

“You motherfu—,” Jason hissed, attempting to launch himself over the island, but failing as Richard and Damian anchored him back onto his feet.

“Master Timothy, please,” Alfred sighed from his position beside a silent Bruce.

“I was using the guts from an old radio to build a tracking device that could zero in on The Bat’s frequency. I figured he was using something to hide, or guide, himself away from us, so this is supposed to latch onto its specific signal,” Tim rattled off, only looking at Alfred, “Once the red light comes on, that’s how we know the device has locked onto The Bat. I would then jack it into the Batcave computer and it’d be able to pin point his location.”

“Why is it up here then, Drake?” Damian asked, hands still gripping Jason tightly.

“Because the damn thing keeps causing power surges, and I don’t want it to fuck up the Batcave’s computer,” Tim huffed, using both hands to rub his temples, “It’s having trouble pulling in enough energy to hold a charge.”

“So you’ve wasted your time,” Jason barked, pulling Richard and Damian off of him with difficulty, “And we got no way of finding The Bat.”

“Fuck you, at least I’m trying!” Tim spat, pulling himself to his feet, oblivious to the slight flickering of the kitchen lights.

“Oh good job, Replacement. You get a gold star for fucking trying!” Jason yelled, swatting Damian’s hands away from him.

“Guys—,” Richard attempted to jump in.

“And what have you been doing exactly!? Oh that’s right, nothing,” Tim retorted, pushing the stool back in fury.

“Guys, look—,” Richard tried again.

“AND STILL SOMEHOW MORE THAN YOU!” Jason hollered, slamming a hand on the island, “Here, there’s a fucking toaster over there—make it talk, Tim! Maybe it knows where The Bat is being held!”

“WILL YOU TWO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LOOK AT THE DEVICE!” Richard screamed loudly, hand gesturing at the bright red light, “It’s powered up!”

“And appears to be messing with the electric again,” Alfred mused lightly, eyes watching the overhead lights flicker wildly.

“Fuck! I need to get it downstairs, and—,” Tim said urgently, trying to scoop the device up.

“Tim, wait,” Bruce’s voice cut in suddenly, causing the room to silence, “There’s something coming through the speaker…turn up the volume. I think it’s saying something.”

            Bruce was right. The radio component of the device was speaking…but not on any radio station. It was like feedback. Where was this coming from? Tim swiftly cranked the dial all the way up, and the voice started talking again.

___________________________________________________________________________

“McGinnis…re…report!” Bruce’s voice cut through brokenly, “Damn it, say something!”

___________________________________________________________________________

“Father, that sounds like your voice…but older?” Damian whispered, his brow crinkled in confusion.

“Did…did he just say Terry’s last name?” Tim breathed, his eyes widening as the device kept playing.

___________________________________________________________________________

“GET OUT OF THE MANOR. IT’S COMING FOR YOU TOO,” Terry cut in, “IT’S—.”

“Terry…I need you to listen to me…I need you to hear this…,” Bruce responded grimly, a tremor evident in the old man’s otherwise calm voice, “None of this is on you…Joker was my fault…I should have made sure it was really done…”

“PLEASE,” Terry begged, “I can see the manor, I can—.”

“It’s not the suit that makes Batman…but the person…Terry…you’ve earned that title…you ARE Batman…,” Bruce’s voice tensely replied, “Don’t forget why you do this…McGinnis, I—.”

“BRUCE!” Terry screamed.

___________________________________________________________________________

            The device gave a mighty screech and proceeded to burst into flames. NO. Tim hurriedly looked around, trying to find the extinguisher. A violent burst of white spray hit the radio, smothering the flames immediately. Alfred let out a jagged breath while holding the extinguisher, his eyes now locked onto Bruce. The whole room stood shockingly still as they each turned to look at the looming form of Bruce, who was now standing. The man’s eyes were wide and unseeing, as his hands gripped the edge of the marble countertop tightly.

“Bruce…?” Richard murmured gently.

“He was here the whole time,” Bruce whispered hoarsely, eyes closing briefly, “He had no background, and got along with everyone in the house like he knew us already. How the hell was he never considered as a possible person of interest?”

“Honestly, Bruce? He fit in so well…we just didn’t prioritize looking deeper into his lack of a background. It was a huge fucking mistake…but when he looked genuinely startled at learning you both were related, we—,” Richard started to say before Jason cut in.

“Terry’s the other Batman, Dick. Pretty simple,” Jason scoffed, crossing his arms, “He’s a good kid, that much I know…and now he’s fucked.”

“Can you salvage that?” Bruce asked Tim tensely, eyes snapping open quickly. There was a strange, desperate look in the man’s eyes.

“I think I can peel some code out of it, but otherwise, no. This thing’s fried,” Tim scowled, shaking his head as his fingers picked at the charred remains.

“Do it, get down to the cave now, Tim,” Bruce ordered, standing up swiftly, “Richard, Jason, Damian, and I will go out into Gotham. Keep us appraised. Alfred, update Oracle and have her do a deeper scan.”

“Bruce, we’ll find him,” Richard said tightly, already moving out of the kitchen.

“Don’t tell me—just find him. I’m not losing him to the fucking Joker,” Bruce shouted, slamming a fist into the doorframe as he charged out of the room, Jason and Damian in tow.

Chapter Text

[ Terry - POV ]

            It’s been at least a week in this abandoned factory, Terry knew that…but the pain was making it hard to keep better track of time past that point. He could feel the blood dripping from his mouth as the rest of his body shook with effort to stay upright and awake. It’d been a small mercy that Joker and Harley hadn’t tried to take his suit off, but every time he dared to close his eyes, Joker wasn’t too far away…wearing a dangerous look on his face. The clown wanted him to fall asleep, so he could do god knows what to Terry. He wished that was the worst part, but it wasn’t. Joker kept bringing in people—some homeless, some not—to force Terry into killing them. Every three hours—every day—the crazed clown would have Harley throw another person in front of him as a gleaming gun was pressed into his shaking hand. They’d whisper do it, do it now, junior, each time—cackling in delight as he froze, gun twitching in his grip. Ultimately, Terry would toss the gun aside, unable to do it. Batman didn’t kill. Yet it never mattered to them, they’d laugh and force him to watch as they shot the latest victim through the forehead.

            He suffered for each failure, earning a beating from a variety of weapons—ranging from a wooden bat, a crowbar, and an overpowered taser. Terry’s suit was doing a decent job of absorbing the hits, but it couldn’t keep everything out…and soon it would need to be placed in repair mode with all the damage it was sustaining. He couldn’t even use the suit to call for help…something was blocking him. God, he couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t escape. To make matters worse…Harley was in charge of holding a trigger device. They’d allegedly blown something up downtown to deliver the message to him…try to run or disable the device, and something more important goes boom. With no way to verify if that was true…Terry was forced to take the abuse, both mental and physical. Fuck, he hurt so bad. No…he couldn’t show any weakness around that damn clown. He would continue to bleed and stay awake to prevent that bastard from doing something else to him, or the city.

“Let’s do something different today, Junior,” Joker purred softly near Terry’s ear, causing the teen to jump, “A different type of learning experiment.”

“It’s not going to work, Joker,” Terry rasped, keeping his eyes locked on the clown, “I won’t kill anyone.”

“That’s okay, Junior, you won’t be taking aim at the citizens of Gotham,” Joker chuckled sinisterly, stepping in front of Terry, “You’re going to be taking aim at me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, clown?” Terry wheezed, wincing at a jolt of pain from his ribs.

“Language, Junior!” Harley scolded, waving the trigger device tauntingly, “Puddin think’s the best way to mold such a young mind is to learn by a more ‘hands on’ approach.”

“Take the gun, Junior,” Joker ordered, a wicked grin widening across his face as he held out a gleaming handgun, “And shoot me.”

“No,” Terry whispered, trying to back away. A swift stab of prongs hit him, and he choked out a yell as the taser dug into him deep. Harley kept stabbing at him with the taser so much the suit let out a dangerous chirp.

[ Suit power 10% - repair mode recommended ]

            The visor screen was starting to flicker dangerously as each volt drained at the suit’s protective shielding. Terry almost blacked out as he gasped in agony, falling to his knees, hoping the action would give him some small relief. It didn’t. A bat cracked across his back just as soon as the taser stopped. He could almost hear the old man’s voice in his ear—Do something, McGinnis, turn the tide—That bastard was always infuriatingly cryptic. The wooden bat cut through the air again, and Terry spun around and grabbed it tightly. He used the suit’s enhancements to give him the strength to break it with his hand. Terry bared his teeth at Harley’s startled face.

“Enough,” Terry growled, tossing the shattered remains to the floor savagely. He could hear the Joker laughing hysterically at Terry’s reaction.

“Why, Junior, there may be hope for you yet!” Joker howled, watching as Terry slowly turned to face him with a dangerous look, “That’s what I’ve been looking for, my boy! Now, take the gun. Take it, shoot me, and everything will stop…why, Harley will even give you the trigger device afterwards!”

            The gun was pressed into his hand once more. Terry’s current state of mind was still reeling from the last assault, the echo of Joker’s promise dancing in his ears. His hand wasn’t shaking anymore…just fucking do it, McGinnis. END HIM. Joker seemed to delight in the internal tug of war going on in Terry’s head. The old clown pressed his forehead against the gun and gestured enticingly. Terry, don’t forget why you do this. He stilled at the words of his former mentor. No…he wouldn’t forget. Taking a shaky breath, he smirked dangerously at the clown, and fired the gun at the floor behind him. The loud bang of the firearm echoed loudly throughout the factory. A startled yelp pulled his and the Joker’s attention towards Harley. The shot had been nowhere near her, but she reacted wildly regardless…dropping everything she was holding…including the trigger device. The trio watched as the device clattered to the ground—and shattered into two pieces. It was a fake…a fake…? A FUCKING FAKE!?

            Terry’s whole body shook with pain and disbelief as his gaze snapped back to the Joker. The clown wore a crazed grin on his face as Terry’s face devolved into unfettered rage. Terry threw the weapon far away from the group and crouched into a defensive form, his breath coming out in jagged bursts. His mind kept repeating the same message over and over: get the clown. Make this stop.

“You ever heard what happened to the clown who tried to fly for the first time?” Terry rasped wildly, his arms raising slightly.

“No, can’t say I have,” Joker grinned tilting his head curiously.

“Me neither, he didn’t make it around for a second time,” Terry snarled, launching himself at the deranged clown, wings engaging as he activated the foot thrusters.

            Joker let out a wild cackle as Terry soared higher and higher through a glass skylight in the ceiling of the factory, and into the brightening sky. He dug his fingers in deep, refusing to let the clown get any leverage on him. The fucking bastard was wearing a face of pure delight and pride…like he was savoring a victory…like he finally broke Terry. No. No, the clown couldn’t win he…he wasn’t…A loud explosion from below silenced the sound of Joker’s laughter. The factory had gone up in a massive fireball and the shockwave of the blast was rapidly approaching Terry’s fleeing form.

“Oops, Junior, guess I forgot to mention that the trigger was another bomb,” Joker cackled maniacally, throwing his head back, “But I still got you, my boy, now we can finally be one happy family!”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m taking you to jail you crazy fu—,” Terry attempted to shout, but was cut off by his thrusters cutting off suddenly. Oh shit.

[ Suit power 5% - repair mode recommended ]

            The blast shockwave slammed into them both, causing Terry to lose his grip on the Joker. They both were launched apart violently. He could hear the Joker’s laugh as the clown fell fast towards the ground.

“THAT’S MY BOY…THAT’S MY—,” Joker howled with glee before hitting the ground with a sickening crack.

            Terry’s wings were having trouble keeping him airborne. The thrusters were giving small signs of reengaging, but with every flick of his feet, the ground got closer and closer. Slag it, Terry reached into his belt and threw a batarang rope out at the closest building. This was going to hurt. The rope gave its familiar tug, allowing for Terry to narrowly miss smashing into the ground. He skidded across the pavement, and rolled to a grinding halt. For a few moments, Terry lay there stunned…Joker…OH MY GOD, NO. Terror rushing through Terry’s veins as he forced his battered body back onto his feet. His eyes caught the motionless form. He rushed over to the fallen clown and pressed two fingers against Joker’s throat. Relief rushed through him—there was a pulse. Yet, he had to move fast, or he’d have the clown’s death on his hands. Terry shuddered at the thought, and diverted what was left of the suit’s power back to the foot thrusters and wings.

            Terry reached down and carefully scooped the Joker’s broken body up into his arms. There was no way this guy wasn’t crippled somehow. A panicked sound escaped from his throat as he launched them into the air again towards the local hospital. Terry pushed the thrusters as hard as he could, buildings blurring as he soared by them. For one moment, he thought he saw movement on one of the buildings…was it one of the bat family members? Stop. Stop it, McGinnis. Get this bastard to the hospital. Moments later he slammed onto the ground, shouting for help. The team of ER doctors had been surprised to see it was the Joker, but launched into action seconds later—pulling the gurney with the clown’s body strapped down to it inside.

[ Suit power 1% - repair mode activating in 30 seconds ]

            Terry launched himself into the air once more, putting a decent amount of distance between him and the hospital before he fell into an empty alleyway. He pressed up behind a dumpster as his suit retracted back into the belt, leaving him back in his Wayne Manor uniform — white shirt, dark pants, and vest combo clashing wildly with his harsh surroundings. He let out a low moan, holding his abdomen tenderly as he forced himself towards the exit of the alley and onto the empty roadway. Terry caught his reflection in a nearby glass window display. His clothes were still okay, having been masked by the belt, but everything else…he looked ragged. Bruises were all across his body, his mouth and eyebrow were bleeding, and he was walking at an odd angle. Oh…he was collapsing. Pavement bit into Terry’s hands as he tried to push himself up off the ground, but only managing to get onto his hands and knees. He was so fraked.

*****************

[ Bruce - POV ]

            The brightening of the sky signaled the end of a long night for Bruce. He and the others had been tearing through Gotham’s underbelly to find even a whisper of where Terry could be being held. Nothing. Every single criminal either clammed up, or refused to talk in order to avoid upsetting the Joker. Bruce had to convince Nightwing to take Robin home early when he spied the telltale drooping of the young vigilante’s head. Damian had taken even harder than the rest. Terry was a “blood sibling” as he liked to say, and even if his youngest never admitted it, he had taken to liking Terry faster than the rest. As for Richard, Jason, and Tim…they all were going through different stages of vindictive rage. Every day their anger got worse—the things they’d do for family. Hell, he was no better. Bruce had stopped talking unless he had to…he could see the concern on Alfred’s face, and was aware it was not going unnoticed by the others. Maybe that’s why they got even angrier.

            Bruce let out a frustrated sigh, and began to turn back towards where he’d stowed the Batmobile when a large explosion shook the building rooftop he was standing on. The source of the explosion had come from some abandoned factory buildings. He started to move forwards to assist in the fire and look around, but a blur in the sky shot by him—startling the vigilante. Bruce felt his heart clench at the sight of The Bat—Terry—flying by at breakneck speed with something clenched in his arms. It looked like he was heading to the nearest hospital. God, if he was fatally injured. Bruce shuddered and began running along the rooftops to reach the medical center. He tapped the cowl earpiece urgently and connected with Oracle.

“Oracle, The Bat has been sighted flying towards the hospital. I need eyes around that area in case he doesn’t stay there—NOW,” Bruce shouted, his throat aching from sudden use.

“I got eyes, Batman, he just landed he’s got—oh god,” Oracle gasped, the line crackling slightly, “He’s got the Joker in his arms…he’s placing Joker onto a stretcher now. The Bat’s not moving too well, Batman. Do you need me to call the others?”

“Negative. I’m almost there, is he staying by the hospital?” Bruce ordered, throwing himself across a large building gap and landing hard on the neighboring rooftop.

“He just took off again…a few blocks down he just fell into an alley,” Oracle responded, causing Bruce to pivot his trajectory towards the alley, “Terry just came out the alley. He doesn’t have the suit on anymore. Jesus, this kid is covered in bruises and looks to be bleeding in the face area. Shit, he’s just collapsed onto the pavement.”

“Alert Agent A to have the cave medical bay prepped for our arrival,” Bruce growled, tapping his ear piece again to end the call.

            Bruce skidded to a halt on the last rooftop, and peered over the edge. He spied the lone figure of the young teen attempting to get up, but only managing to get onto all fours. Please be okay. Please. Bruce used his grapple gun to help him swing down to Terry. He could hear the ragged breaths punching from his son’s body. Pressing a button on his belt, Bruce activated the Batmobile to auto drive to his location. Terry’s head snapped up at the sound of Bruce’s nearing footfall. Oracle hadn’t been kidding, he was severely bruised and bleeding from his mouth and eyebrow. Bruce watched Terry pushing himself into a sitting position, his sharp blue eyes never leaving Bruce’s face. He knew that look—it was one he often wore himself while he was Batman. The look that assessed and attacked. Bruce had scoffed when Richard and Jason had said how similar he and Terry were, but…he was starting to see it. He tried to reach out to help the teen up, but was met with a flinch.

“Sorry, Batman, I…I just got mugged pretty bad,” Terry rasped, trying to play off the flinch with an arm rub, “I just need to rest for a minute. I’m good. Promise.”

“Terry…you need medical attention,” Bruce murmured softly, kneeling so he could be face to face with the surprised teen, “Please come with me.”

“How…how do you know my name?” Terry asked, eyes widening as his body began to shake.

“Red Robin’s device started playing a message. It sounded like an older me, and he talked about you earning your title,” Bruce whispered, ensuring only Terry could hear him, “Terry…we know, and it’s okay. We’ll talk about it all once you’ve gotten medical attention.”

“The Joker, Batman, I swear I didn’t kill him…he was alive when I brought him to the hospital,” Terry choked out, tears starting to well up in his eyes, “I would never kill…”

“Stop. Stop. We will continue all this in the cave,” Bruce soothed, hands gently slipping under Terry’s shoulders to pull the teen upright as the Batmobile screeched to a halt behind them, “Please get in the car.”

            Bruce pulled Terry close to his body as he helped the young man into the car—only releasing once he was sure Terry was secured into the vehicle. He quickly entered the car and floored it across the still quiet streets of Gotham back to the Batcave. Bruce let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight on his shoulders lift slightly. He had his son back. The rest…they would handle it together.

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            They arrived to the Batcave in record time—tires screeching to a halt. Jason must’ve taken after Bruce’s style of driving, Terry smirked to himself faintly. The top of the car folded back as Bruce leapt out to gather him from the back seat. Terry could hear faint voices nearby…guess everyone was in the cave now. Grimacing, Terry slowly made his way into the brightly lit area, Bruce still keeping upright and steady.

“Bruce, are you hurt? Alfred’s got the medical bay prepped to the nines,” Richard’s concerned voice floated across the expanse of the cave as Bruce and Terry came into view.

“Fuck, he’s got Terry!” Jason gasped, pushing past Richard and Damian’s startled forms. Tim swiveled from the Batcomputer’s chair and launched himself toward the front of the group.

“Terry, are y—,” Tim started to ask urgently.

“Are you okay, Tim? You didn’t get hurt from Bane, did you?” Terry cut in, one hand grabbing at the surprised vigilante.

“No, I…I’m okay, Terry,” Tim responded wetly, pulling Terry into a quick, but grateful hug, “I owe you for that save.”

“No you don’t, Tim,” Terry said gravely, a shadow crossing his eyes, “I owed you.”

“Master Bruce, if you would please bring Master Terry here, please? I need to assess his injuries,” Alfred interrupted, silencing the questioning look Tim was wearing.

            The worried group split to let Bruce and Terry through. Terry knew what would come next after Alfred took a look at him. Bruce had mentioned they’d heard what his Bruce had told him before the explosion. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know, or hadn’t figured out, who everyone was as a vigilante. Taking a slow breath, Terry sat on the cold metal table and watched as Alfred gently peeled away his vest and shirt to reveal the extent of his injuries. He heard a low chorus of rumbling. The vivid bruising from the baseball bat hits, crowbar slaps, and taser stabs was on full display along with his various cuts and gashes. A deranged part of his brain was muttering that it only looked terrible…he would heal quickly. Alfred worked quickly, ignoring Terry’s hisses of pain as he bandaged the wounds on his torso and face. He’d slapped Alfred’s hands away from his belt—assuring the butler that his legs were only bruised and didn’t need any attention. A motion that didn’t escape Damian.

“The suit’s in the belt, isn’t it?” Damian asked, eyes squinting at the seemingly benign belt around Terry’s waist, “You never let anyone near your waist. I thought it was due to a personal space preference, but…it’s because you don’t want anyone to touch the belt…correct?”

“Yes…it’s all I have left,” Terry nodding slowly, his hand resting on the cool metal of the belt, “It houses and repairs the suit.”

“Schway,” Damian replied with a sharp nod of his own, earning a grin from Terry.

“Terry…if you’re up for it…can you answer a few questions?” Bruce murmured gently, “If not, we can wait until you’ve had time to rest…”

“No…no, I’ll answer the questions,” Terry returned, hands lightly gripping the table now, “As long as you agree to my own at the end.”

“Fair enough,” Bruce smiled lightly before moving closer to Terry, ensuring the others didn’t distract the young teen, “Are you from the future?”

“Yes and no,” Terry grimaced as a warm blanket was draped over his shoulders, “I am from a future…but in another reality.”

“Explains the weird ass words,” Jason muttered in the background before emitting a small yelp from being jabbed in the ribs by Tim.

“How could you be sure you were in another reality?” Bruce inquired, brow furrowing.

“Well, the first clue was Damian. My Bruce never had a biological kid of his own. The second clue was Barbara Gordon. She’s the Gotham Police Commissioner in my dimension…and not in a wheelchair,” Terry explained, “The last clue was all these extra vigilantes. Red Robin, Red Hood, and the others that aren’t here right now? I didn’t know those names. The last Robin was Timothy Drake, and then there weren’t anymore….hell, I barely learned about Nightwing, and that was mostly because of Commissioner Gordon. My Bruce didn’t like talking about his past often.”

“Tch, his loss,” Damian huffed, crossing his arms in irritation.

“Hate to say it, Terry, but your Bruce sounds like a fucking delight,” Jason scoffed, shifting uncomfortably at the news that he might not exist at all in the teen’s universe.

“You ever find out why he never talked about me?” Richard asked carefully, rubbing his hands anxiously.

“If I had to guess…it might’ve been a falling out,” Terry sighed, rubbing his neck, “But I don’t see that here, Dick. You two might have fights, but I can tell you’d always have each others backs.”

“We would,” Bruce and Richard say at the same time, earning another grin from Terry.

“Can you tell us what led to your arrival to our reality?” Tim interjected carefully, wincing at the way Terry’s eyes got that faraway look.

“The Joker came back,” Terry whispered hoarsely, the whole room stilling instantly. He could feel them tense, “He’d been dead for decades…but one night during rounds he just appeared out of the smoke. Bruce tried to scare me away—took my suit for a while. After he got attacked in the cave, though, I took it back and moved to track Joker down to stop the chaos he was creating.”

“It took a lot of leg work, but it came down to one suspect…Timothy Drake,” Terry continued, locking eyes with Tim’s confused gaze, “We thought he was working with the Joker, and I flew to trap him at an old toy factory.”

“Why would I even be a suspect?” Tim asked, eyes laced with dread.

“Because you killed him the first time…and because of what he did to you,” Terry returned darkly, leaning forward slowly, “Commissioner Gordon filled me in on the story, but the short of it was Joker had captured you. He then tortured you, and experimented on you because he was looking to add to his family. He put a chip containing his consciousness at the base of your neck—feeding into your brain.”

“Fucking hell,” Richard scowled, one of his hands gripping Tim’s shoulder reassuringly. Tim’s body had started to shake in response to Terry’s explanation.

“When I got to the toy factory, we realized what that chip had done. It allowed the Joker to take over completely, taking his form too,” Terry growled, body shifting in agitation, “We fought, of course, and during that fight he threw an explosive that caused the ceiling to fall and crushed him. Before he died, Joker said he had placed receivers in the homes of everyone who ever associated with me. It triggered a large blue beam…I think it helped set off the explosions.”

“Fucker,” Jason spat, putting his hand on Tim’s other shoulder.

“I flew out of there as fast as I could, but my friends…Commissioner Gordon,” Terry choked out, tears starting to form in his eyes, “My family was just feet away before they all died in an explosive blast. All that was left was Bruce…the man walked with a cane, there was no way he would’ve made it out. What you heard? Those were his last words to me before the manor and the cave went up in a violent blast.”

“My god,” Alfred whispered in horror, placing a calming hand on Terry’s back.

“The shockwave from that blast threw me backwards into the blue beam that had been tracking me, and suddenly everything went white,” Terry finished, gesturing slightly in the direction of Gotham City, “That’s when I ended up here…hell of a learning curve I had to follow just to blend in…”

“Thank you, Terry, I know this was hard—,” Bruce said softly, taking Terry’s free hand into his own.

“I want to keep being Batman, or The Bat, Bruce,” Terry said sharply, gripping Bruce’s hand in earnest, “I earned that right. Please?”

“Only if you agree to continue your training and Alfred gives you a clean bill of health—physical and mental,” Bruce relented, locking eyes with his son, “I need to be sure you’ve healed properly before you go out on rounds again.”

“Thank you…,” Terry breathed, body barely relaxing before he suddenly tensed up once more, “What about Joker? Is he alive?”

“Terry, that can wait until morning,” Bruce attempted to say before Jason cut him off.

“Oh fuck off, old man. Give me a minute to call Oracle, Terry,” Jason barked, moving away from the group with a phone to his ear.

“Terry…you said in your reality Joker captured me, tortured me, and experimented on me because they wanted to expanded their family,” Tim said slowly, eyes widening in realization, “That’s similar to what happened when Bane tried to snap me in half…did you…take my place…?”

            Terry could hear Jason’s voice, low and urgently talking into his phone with Oracle. He could hear the sleepy chittering of the bats above them. He could even hear the uneven breathing coming from Bruce. The man was getting a lot of information at once, and this bit might be too much. Terry swallowed, and let a half grin creep up his face as he locked eyes with Tim once more.

“I failed you once, Tim, I wasn’t going to let that ever happen to you, or anyone else in this family,” Terry answered, the grin falling from his face as Bruce’s grip tightened, “Not in this reality. No…you deserved a real life…not that.”

“Terry?” Jason called out, marching over rapidly, “Oracle was able to confirm Joker’s status.”

“Is he—,” Terry whispered, body shuddering at the impending response.

“He’s not dead,” Jason breathed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m sensing there’s more to that,” Richard muttered tensely at Jason.

“His spine was shattered completely, so he’s full body crippled,” Jason responded, taking a moment before finishing, “And he had severe head trauma…so he’s not likely to ever wake up. But let me reiterate this: He. Is. Not. Dead.”

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Terry snapped, releasing Bruce’s hand to cover his own face in despair, “Fuck.”

“Terry—,” Richard began gently.

“That will be enough for today,” Alfred cut in sharply, moving to help Terry off the medical table, “Master Terry is going upstairs to rest. No more of this talk.”

            The group dispersed once more to allow Alfred to guide Terry over to the elevator. Terry could hear one of them moving closer to the pair. Brave person…Alfred was beginning to go on a warpath of his own. He and Alfred entered the lift, and turned to face whoever it was lingering just outside the doors. It was Tim.

“Thank you,” Tim whispered his eyes laced with tears as the doors began to close silently.

“Always, Tim, always,” Terry rasped, as the cool steel door latched shut and began its ascent.

*****************

[ Terry - POV ] - [Several Days Later]

            Bruce was true to his word—every night Batman, Red Robin, Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin went out, Terry was to stay upstairs. He wasn’t even allowed to go into the Batcave. Terry had tried to sneak in one time, and ended up on the receiving end of one of Alfred’s glares. It bothered him not to be out there helping them, but even Terry had to admit he was still not at a 100 percent from his run in with the Joker and Harley. True, that deranged clown wasn’t dead, but the sight…the sound of his body hitting the ground tormented him incessantly. He’d been so angry, but managed to pull it together long enough to attempt to take the clown to jail. Terry would grip his hands tightly and attempt to block out the proud crowing of the fallen villain. It was like Joker had gotten to him by making him lose his temper. God knows what he’d have done to Terry if he hadn’t escaped. The sound of a throat clearing shook Terry from his thoughts. Attempting to cover an involuntary flinch, he turned towards the source of the sound to spy Alfred peering at him from the kitchen entryway—gesturing for him to follow.

“It does not do to dwell on past events, Master Terry,” Alfred murmured softly, eyes tracking Terry’s movement into the kitchen, “It will eat at you relentlessly.”

“I know, Alfred, I just…I just feel like I still failed. I let him get to me, and now all I think about is what that bastard did,” Terry scowled, choosing to remain standing by the kitchen island. He kept his eyes lowered in shame, tears starting to form, “He got what he wanted. I’m a fucking monster.”

“Please look at me, Master Terry,” Alfred requested, waiting patiently as the young teen slowly met his gaze, “You saved Master Timothy from a horrific injury. By your own admittance, you also took his place to ensure the Joker would never torture him like your Tim. Those are not actions a monster would have taken. You must learn to forgive yourself, or it will destroy you.”

“Was…was he mad?” Terry whispered weakly, rubbing a quick hand over his wet eyes.

“No, Bruce was not mad. You were manipulated mentally, and subjected to horrific abuse. What resulted from that…is on the Joker completely,” Alfred insisted, pausing for a moment before continuing, “Now…I am in need of your assistance in the kitchen.”

“So, I still have kitchen privileges, huh?” Terry half smirked, crossing his arms.

“Sir, you are the only one with those privileges…dinner being the exception. That spread is mine,” Alfred chuckled lightly.

“Schway,” Terry nodded proudly, beginning to move around the marble island to help Alfred.

            A sharp ringing broke through their fragile peace. The kitchen phone was trilling wildly as Alfred rushed to pick it up. The butler had barely gotten the greeting out when a sharp, and urgent voice began speaking. Terry could tell it was Bruce based on the tone. He quickly moved closer to Alfred as the butler hurriedly took down Bruce’s urgent request. The older man snapped the phone onto the receiver, and began his way towards Bruce’s study where an entrance to the Batcave resided.

“Master Terry, please remain upstairs,” Alfred ordered, attempting to leave the room.

“They’re in trouble, aren’t they?” Terry hissed, purposely stepping in front of Alfred, “Tell me where they are, please.”

“You are not cleared to go out into the city at this time,” Alfred barked, pushing at Terry, “Now you must move.”

“Tell me or I’m going anyway. You know I can, Al,” Terry growled, stepping away from the butler to move towards the front door, “Please.”

“Master Terry…your father would not want you to do this,” Alfred responded, pursing his lips in agitation.

“Yeah, well, I’m a raging stubborn ass,” Terry scoffed, moving out of the kitchen, followed by an irritated Alfred, “Pretty sure that’s genetic.”

“Wait!” Alfred shouted, halting Terry by the front door. The butler took a ragged breath before continuing, “…Factory district. Manbat and his fledgling bats have them pinned inside one of the abandoned properties.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Terry said gratefully, throwing open the door so he could run his familiar route to the forest to change into his suit.

“Be safe…,” Alfred whispered to the fleeing back of the young teen, “And come back home…”

*****************

[ Terry - POV ]

            Terry had his wings fully extended as he pushed the jets on his feet to maximum power. Using the visor’s delicate sensors, he was able to locate the abandoned building the bat family was being pinned down in. The cowl pinged several times, indicating they were still moving—albeit in tight formation. He sucked in a breath, and dove for one of the many large broken windows circling the decrepit building. Once he was inside, Terry launched himself into the largest flying creature—Manbat— in the room. He could hear its ribs cracking from the force of the hit as he slammed Manbat into an exposed brick wall.

“Sorry, dreg, only room for one flying bat in this city,” Terry quipped, using the creature’s body as a springboard to flip onto the floor—hands holding several electrified batarangs at the ready, “Think fast, batty.”

            Terry began flinging the batarangs at Manbat, managing to get a decent shot in, causing the large Gotham villain let out an echoing shriek. Wincing at the sound, he became aware of the sudden sound of additional wings bearing down on him. Fuck. Terry launched himself back into the air and twisted through the swarm, his eyes scouring the floor for his family. A shout from the corner nearest to him drew him in—it was Bruce.

“Sonic blast!” Bruce shouted, body tense, “Cover your ears, and draw the fledglings back!”

            Terry nodded, kicking his feet to activate a burst propulsion from his thrusters. The action enraged the pursuing smaller bats, who started flying harder at his fleeing form. Disengaging his arms from his wings, Terry clamped his hands over his cowl as the sonic blast went off. One lone small bat slammed into him, causing the both of them to fall against the far wall of the building—knocking a hole in it. Terry let out a small groan as he slowly stood up, dusting the brick dust off himself. The twitching bodies of the small bats dotted the floor of the old building, and from where he was standing, Terry could see the rest of the bat family swiftly moving to tie up Manbat. The telltale growling meant that large bat was waking up. He had begun to move towards the group when the sound of a gun being cocked echoed from behind him. Terry could feel the barrel against his temple as he dared tilt his head to see who the firearm belonged to—Harley. He felt his breathing go ragged as he took in the wild grin donning the harlequin’s face.

“Oh, Junior, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Harley cooed, digging the gun barrel deeper into his skull, “Come and talk with Mama Harley. That’s it, nice and quiet now! I don’t want your pals interrupting.”

            The two of them began backing out of the room through the newly made hole in the brick wall. Keep it together, McGinnis. You can do this…just keep them safe. Harley used her other free hand to grip Terry’s shoulder, steering him further into the shadows. Before he completely left the building’s room, Terry spotted Tim looking his way inquiringly. He could see the other teen stiffen at the sight of Harley, and used his hand to signal the boy to “stay here”. God, he hoped Tim would understand and keep the rest back.

            Terry allowed Harley to lead him deeper down the adjoining alleyway towards a dim streetlight. When they reached a reasonable distance from the hole, Harley spun him around to face her. She uncocked the gun and put it in her waistband. In the faint light, Terry could now see she was no longer wearing here usual harlequin gear. It was still a really strange combination of clothes, but still…not the same gear she was known to wear.

“Breath, Junior, I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” Harley laughed, lightly smacking Terry’s shoulder, “I wanted to check on you after what happened to Mr. J.”

Seeing the look on Terry’s face, she continued, “They put him in Arkham’s intensive care unit. Can ya believe it? They say he’s never going to wake up!”

“You expecting me to be sad about that?” Terry spit out, hands clenching.

“Oh, no, Junior, but I think you’re hurting real bad,” Harley responded, thoughtfully tapping her chin, “Those things he did to you…and then to watch him fall like that…oh Junior, that’s gonna take time to heal.”

“Don’t head shrink me, Harley,” Terry snarled, stepping forward menacingly.

“I shouldn’t have gone along with it, Junior, but I always had a soft spot for that man. Shame it took a bad fall to make me realize how far I would’ve kept going for him,” Harley whispered softly, crossing her arms as if cold, “I just loved to make him smile.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Terry hissed, attempting to push past her, but found a gentle hand on his chest stopping him, “Let me go, Harley.”

“I saw your face when you popped outta that alley, Junior,” Harley smiled quietly, a single hand touching Terry’s face tenderly, “You look just like your daddy…even take after him too—even though he probably wished you didn’t. Two peas in a pod.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—,” Terry said slowly, a cold shill running up his spine as he reached up to take Harley’s hand off his face.

“Don’t worry, Junior, I ain’t telling anyone…I just wanted to make some part of this right,” Harley soothed, grasping at his hand, “I can’t forgive what I’ve done, and you can’t forgive yourself for what happened with Joker….but maybe one day we both can forgive ourselves, ya know? Find what makes us happy…and heal in some way…?”

            Terry swallowed, throat feeling so tight. He found he couldn’t respond to Harley’s words. He hated that she was right…Terry couldn’t keep tearing at himself because of what happened with Joker. No, he would never forget, but he had to hold onto the light. He had to. The sound of urgent footfall started getting closer to where they both were standing. Harley threw her arms around Terry’s shoulders for a bone crushing hug.

“Tell me if he treats you wrong, Junior,” Harley grinned as she released him, twirling around as she moved towards the dark street beyond, “I’ll sick the pups, Punch and Judy, on him!”

            Terry stared after her as she melted into the night. The footsteps slammed the ground behind him, and he felt a shaky hand spin him around. It was Tim. The teen was panting slightly as he craned his neck to peer into the dark void of the roadway before urgently facing Terry again.

“Are you okay!? Did she hurt you?” Tim gasped, putting both his hands on Terry’s shoulders—attempting to assess if there were any hidden injuries, “I need you to say something, Bat, I kind of tore outta that room without telling anyone what was happening. Batman’s going to tear me a new one for that—big rule, don’t run off alone.”

“Red…RED,” Terry said forcefully, realizing the teen was shaking again as he kept checking for injury. Terry pulled Tim into a reassuring hug, “She was just saying goodbye for now. Though I suspect she’ll pop in from time to time.”

“My sympathies,” Tim laughed returning the hug before pulling back a little, “And my condolences for the scolding you’re about to get, Bat. I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to even be out right now.”

“Worth it,” Terry sighed, a light grin donning his face, “Not about to do nothing.”

“I hear you, Bat, I hear you,” Tim smiled, placing one hand on Terry’s shoulder warmly, “Now let’s head back home. Think we both could use the rest.”

*****************

[ Terry - POV ] — [ Morning ]

            Terry blearily made his way from his room and into the bustling kitchen. Alfred, who now appeared to be fully healthy again was moving at an amazingly quick pace. The smell of food wafted past his nose causing his stomach to grumble with hunger. Alfred, having noticed the lingering teen in the entryway, gestured for him to sit next to Richard. Terry watched in amusement at the sight of Richard, Jason, and Damian tearing into the breakfast feast before them. He almost made a remark before the gentle sound of a plate being placed before him stopped him. Wow…this was a lot. The plate had a heaping amount of eggs with cheese, ham, and toast. Terry shot Alfred a grateful smile, and began to eat his food quickly. It had only been several moments before Titus came bounding in, barking urgently. Damian slid off his stool and followed the large dog to peek at what was happening outside the kitchen. Jason squinted at Richard and Terry in confusion when an indignant shout echoed from further inside the house. They’d barely started to move when Damian skidded to a halt in front of the kitchen entryway again, face red with fury.

“My animals are loose in the backyard! Assist me at once!” Damian shouted, waving at them to follow.

“They’re your goddamn animals, Damian, and I’m still eat—,” Jason scowled, chewing a piece of bacon.

“I SAID AT ONCE, TODD!” Damian screamed throwing a biscuit at the man’s face.

“Master Damian, we do not throw food,” Alfred scolded, watching as Jason jumped to his feet in fury, “Masters Richard and Jason, if you will please go assist in the capture of Master Damian’s animals. Master Terry has yet to get any food in him.”

“Come on, Jason,” Richard chuckled, steering the fuming man out the kitchen door to leave Alfred and Terry by themselves.

“I mean, I’ve eaten like half of this, Alfred. I can go—,” Terry started to say, gesturing helplessly.

“I’m aware, Master Terry; however, I wanted a few words with you myself before Master Bruce came down from his room,” Alfred cut in curtly, pausing before carrying on, “First, I wanted to thank you for your help during the time I was injured. I am forever grateful for how seriously you took the position. Second, I know this is all new, but I hope you come to find a real home here with us. They already care for you deeply, as will Duke, Cassandra, and Stephanie, once they return home.”

Alfred took a small breath before finishing, “Lastly, please know that you are not alone. You can talk to any one of us should you need to—we are family, and family can always lean on one another.”

            Terry sat in silence for a moment. He hadn’t expected that from Alfred…but he should have. When he first came to this reality, the assistant butler job was what kept him focused. Alfred had been so patient and understanding. Swallowing, he caught the sharp gaze of the man who had been such an integral part of him adjusting to this world, and visibly relaxed.

“Thank you, Alfred, for everything,” Terry murmured softly, a gratefully smile tugging at his mouth.

“Always, Master Terry, always,” Alfred returned, his own face softening into a smile.

“…you know you don’t have to call me ‘Master Terry’, right?” Terry smirked, beginning to stand up from his seat, “You can just call me Terry.”

“And you can go outside and help corral the animals, Master Terry,” Alfred retorted, gesturing firmly to the doorway with a faint grin of his own.

            Once Terry exited the kitchen, it didn’t take long to find the source of noise coming from the outside of the house. Pushing out the door, he stepped onto the patio and stood by the stairs that connected to the grassy backyard. A blur of fur happily ran up to his approaching form—Titus—and flopped onto the stairs by his feet. Terry sat down on the steps and began scratching Titus on the neck, watching as Richard, Jason, and Damian attempted to corral the youngest’s escaped pets. It seemed like Jerry was putting up the biggest fight at the moment. He knew he should go down and help, but found he was content sitting with the large dog. Movement from behind him caused Titus to bark with excitement.

“Smart move, Terry,” Tim chuckled, taking a sip from his coffee cup as he perched on one of the steps near Terry, “Let them handle the bigger animals, then swoop in for the small ones. How the hell did they even get out?”

“I’m about 90% sure it was Jason,” Terry smiled, watching as the man struggled to push Batcow back into the building, “But he’ll never admit to anything, of course.”

“Of course,” Tim responded with a conspiratorial wink, before standing up.

“…this was you, wasn’t it?” Terry said slowly, eyes locking onto the young teen’s gaze.

“I’ll never tell,” Tim laughed, looking behind them, “Bruce wants to talk to you by the way. Most likely about last night—Godspeed. Titus, come with me!”

            Terry watched with an amused look as Tim and Titus walked down the stairs to find a perfect spot to watch while the others attempted to circle Jerry. Quiet footsteps soon approached his sitting spot. He didn’t need to look to know it was Bruce. The man sat down next to Terry and watched the scene before him in shared silence.

“Tim mentioned you had a run in with Harley last night,” Bruce murmured softly, leaning to lock eyes with Terry, “You want to tell me about that?”

“It was her weird way of apologizing, and saying goodbye for now,” Terry sighed, meeting Bruce’s piercing gaze, “She did have some good points though. Like how I needed to forgive myself one day…and to find what makes me happy so I can heal.”

“She was a well-respected psychiatrist once,” Bruce hummed in agreement.

“She also said she saw my face when I came out of the alley…but said she wasn’t going to tell anyone. Definitely made a point to say we both were ‘peas in a pod’,” Terry muttered, rubbing one of his kneecaps absentmindedly, “…and that if you didn’t treat me right, she’d sick the dogs on you.”

“They’re hyenas, actually,” Bruce smirked, “And Harley’s known about us for a while. I’m still not happy about it, but she’s always been true to her word…never told Joker, or any other of the Rogues.”

“This the part where you tell me I was an idiot for jumping into the fight last night?” Terry winced, waiting for the axe to fall.

“Alfred would rather you continue healing mentally, but after last night, I feel it’s time to start with your continued training,” Bruce responded, pausing a little before continuing, “There are rules in place for a reason, Terry. You need to get used to them, or you’ll fall victim to the worst Gotham has to offer. You can’t afford to be reckless.”

“Been protecting Neo-Gotham alone for so long,” Terry breathed, briefly closing his eyes, “The only person I’ve had helping me was my Bruce, and he was…strict, but only because he knew I would be doing this job alone.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore,” Bruce said softly, placing a hand on Terry’s shoulder—causing him to open his eyes again, “We lean on each other.”

            Bruce kept his hand on Terry’s shoulder as they fell back into silence. Terry fiddled with his hands anxiously, eyes flicking between Bruce and the scene before them.

“I don’t know if my Bruce knew,” Terry whispered, continuing at the sight of the confused look on Bruce’s face, “…that we were related. Or maybe he did…and just chose not to say anything. I still don’t even know how this was even possible, but he was…complicated. Pushed everyone he knew away…and got cold and bitter.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to sully the memories you had from childhood,” Bruce responded, sadness flashing across his face, “Or maybe he chose to isolate…even when something good crossed his path. The job has a way of doing that to a person without a support system. I, for one, am very happy to have you as a son.”

            Terry could feel tears starting to burn at the edges of his eyes. He huffed wetly, and attempted to wipe away the stray ones that had broken free when he’d looked away from Bruce. A pair of strong arms pulled Terry into a warm hug, tucking the teen’s face into the other man’s chest. Terry let out a sigh that he hadn’t realized he was holding as he listened to Bruce’s steady heartbeat. He shakily returned the hug, squeezing Bruce tightly as if he was afraid the man was going to disappear. This…this was what he needed. Just…someone to be there.

            A loud bang broke through Terry’s comforted thoughts, and the two pulled back to see what had happened. Terry bit back a laugh at the scene before him. Titus, always willing to help, had jumped in to help the trio catch Jerry and somehow had managed to tackle Damian into a flowerpot—leaving Richard and Jason to try to catch the bird.

“Are you even trying, Jason!?” Richard shouted irritably, keeping his arms out and eyes locked on his target, “Catch it!”

“What do you think I’m doing?!” Jason hollered, frustration etched all over his face, “It is too damn early to be getting pecked at by a fucking TURKEY!”

“Tim, get over here!” Richard barked, gesturing at the relaxed form sipping his coffee.

“I’d rather not get involved in such a fowl situation,” Tim smiled wickedly, “Besides, looks like you guys got it!”

            Bruce let out an amused chuckled before standing to go down towards the commotion. Terry cast his eyes on the scene before him. He felt a deep warmth spreading across his chest, and for the first time in a long time, felt a weight beginning to lift from his shoulders. This was his…family. He’d gone from losing everything and feeling like he had to go at it all alone—to gaining a home with people that would be out there with him.

“I am,” Terry said, a real smile breaking across his face. Bruce, who’d just made it to the bottom of the stairs, turned to look at him with an inquiring gaze.

“You asked me a question awhile back,” Terry continued, choking up a little, “I’m happy now, dad…thank you…for everything.”

            Terry could see the tears starting to form in Bruce’s eyes as he absorbed Terry’s response. Terry stood up and went down to join Bruce, leaning into the hand back on his shoulder. Yeah, everything was going to be okay. He would learn to forgive himself, and learn to grow with his family while protecting Gotham. Before, he’d sworn it to his Bruce, but now…he swore it to himself. He could do this. He was not alone. Taking a deep breath, he cast one last thought to his old mentor. Everything is going to be okay, old man. I promise.

The End.