Chapter Text
The problem with being in an alternate universe, of course, was not knowing what you meant to your family and friends’ counterparts.
For instance, Dick Grayson was quite certain the Damian he knew would not latch on like a puppy around his legs, ten year old cheeks somehow more chubby or babylike than the Damian he knew, and press his face into his thigh and start crying and pleading with him.
He seemed strangely subdued in this display, though his arms were quite tight. “What the—Damian? What’s going on?”
Damian just sobbed, clinging, “I didn’t mean to, you have to tell him, please—“
And Dick wondered what the fuck kind of universe he’d gotten switched into, frankly, as a stormy looking Bruce Wayne came towards him.
Damian leapt to his feet like he’d been shocked, eyes wide in what must have been an attempt to look serious, like he hadn’t been crying. It didn’t give that effect at all.
“Bruce—“ Dick started, stepping in between the two.
“Richard,” came the curt response. Barely a glance in his direction before it was returned towards Damian.
“Damian. If you make restitution now, you will not be punished as severely.”
That did not sound like a Bruce Wayne that Dick knew at all. He swallowed thickly, trying hard to figure out how to proceed—and what allowing ‘punishment’ would mean for this Damian. The boy seemed fairly terrified, and Dick really didn’t want to let him get hurt.
“I—I—“ Damian was hiccuping, which was detrimental to his attempt at ‘restitution.’ “I w-was wrong to—d-disobey and be disrespectful—“
“Specifically what you did,” Bruce cut in sharply.
Damian swallowed loud enough to be heard, hiccups forcing their way out but no words. His eyes seemed to darting a bit back and forth, and that was about when Dick realized: Damian didn’t know what he’d done.
He chanced a guess. “F-for spilling salt in—“
Bruce cut him off. “Clearly you have no remorse for what you did, or you’d make an appropriate restitution for it. Get over here.”
And Dick had to do something. “Hold on a minute, if he doesn’t know what rule he’s broken—“
Dick could feel the horrified eyes of Damian on his back, and the sharp way Bruce responded, “If he doesn’t know the rules by now, then he is incredibly stupid. The fact is, he does know them, he chooses to be obstinate.”
Damian, this Damian, was biting his lips tightly, a show of weakness the Damian Dick knew would never have done.
And Dick wondered where the hell he was. He was obviously in a place he existed. But beyond that… “Maybe give him a pass this time? I mean, I just got back, you know, and I wanted to spend some time with him.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You only went to pick up Tim.” Then his eyes gazed behind Dick. “Where is Tim, by the way?”
“Oh, he had a couple things to do,” Dick fibbed quickly, cursing internally and figuring he’d better figure out who and where Tim was in this universe.
At that moment, Bruce’s phone rang, a thickly metallic, techno kind of sound. Dick knew instantly it was Tim’s ring tone from the way Bruce looked at him before he answered. Dick wished he could hear Tim’s side. “I see. I see. Well, it seems Dick had better things to do. Sit tight. He’s coming. Now.”
He hung up. “Well? You do know where he is, don’t you?”
Dick had no fucking idea. “Should I pick him up something to eat first? He sounded cranky.”
Damian was staring at him like he was insane. His hand was clenched in the side of Dick’s pants, but was slowly loosening, as if realizing he was attached to a bomb.
“Really?” Bruce looked at him skeptically. “Could you hear him, then?”
“No,” Dick admitted, wondering what misstep he’d made.
Bruce seemed to consider this. “He’s at the clock tower. He’s been doing surveillance on The Penguin for about eight hours now.” He glanced at his watch. “With your negligence, of course, it’s more like nine and a half at this point. So, it might be good to get him some chicken.”
Damian’s mouth tightened at that.
Dick nodded, deciding he might pick up something else. Pizza might be good, if he could find ready made. “Got it. Where’d I park my…?”
“Over by the West Wall. Your motorcycle,” Damian supplied, eyes on the ground. He seemed completely unwilling to look up, as if he knew he was being left to punishment.
And Dick tried anyway. “Hey, will I need Damian with me? I think—“
“No.”
The look was a bit scary, and Dick swallowed down a painful lump in his throat—it seemed to settle in his chest instead.
He’d have to do this as quickly as possible instead.
“Be back, little D,” he promised, and winced internally, hoping the nickname was miraculously the same.
“Yeah, big D,” Damian murmured quietly.
And Dick took off. Casually at first, but then picking up his pace. He had to get the food, he figured, because a Tim without food could be extremely cranky and he didn’t know what kind of Tim he was dealing with.
The motorcycle was gray, of all things, barely shiny. The helmet clicked on easily, and he could hear a slight buzz of the comm system starting up.
A clicking noise filled his helmet when he was halfway down one of the streets to the nearest clocktower (he hoped). It was fast, like someone was doing it purposely, and he tried to figure what the hell he was hearing. “Hello?” he tried, and that was pretty stupid.
The clicking stopped, then started again, almost slower.
Dick was trying to figure out what this could be. It didn’t sound like only patches of words or voice getting through—it was more deliberate than that.
“I’m on my way,” he tried.
The clicking got faster, much like a telegraph—and suddenly, Dick realized it was a code. He tried to focus on it while driving, thinking it could be morse—but it didn’t match it. It didn’t make any sense.
It was getting faster, more frenetic, and Dick despaired at trying to figure it out. What if Morse code didn’t exist here? What if it was entirely different? Who the fuck made clicking noises to communicate over comms?
Well, that meant it was probably Tim. If Bruce’s look meant anything.
Dick decided not to get pizza and instead headed straight for the clocktower.
It was a graystone tower, the kind that was put in ages ago and overlooked most of Gotham. It used to be the tallest thing for miles around. At least, in his universe. He wasn’t certain on anything here.
With the clicking continuing in his ears, Dick walked up to the clocktower.
Suddenly, there was a shout in the comm, a third person joining in. “What the fuck, at least answer him!”
Jason. Dick grimaced, not knowing what this Jason was like. “Oh, sorry, I couldn’t hear him right. I’m at the clocktower.”
“Good for you, dumbass,” came the growl back, the clicking gone. “Stop being such a sick fuck and act like you at least give a shit, kay? None of us enjoys hearing Tim panic.”
“Uh…I’m coming up, Tim. Keep your shirt on,” Dick said, feeling that was probably a stupid response. His scoping out of the situation suggested that Tim was at the top, and the nondescript building with a bird symbol was probably the one that Tim was doing surveillance on. No lights or signs of activity at all.
Dick got up there fast, and found Tim—a Tim, not his Tim—sitting up there with a plethora of gear. Most of it was packed away, but he could see the baleful look Tim gave him.
The kid was pale as hell, eyes a flat blue rather than the lively color that Dick knew, and he had a comm on. He tossed Dick a suitcase without a word, and picked up a large backpack that he strapped on.
“Sorry, Tim.”
Dick’s words made Tim turn his head, looking at him with a questioning expression. He suddenly started moving his hands—sign language.
Tim was mute.
This struck Dick harder than maybe it should have, and he just stared for a moment. Tim clenched his teeth tightly, and signed again.
Good god, this made things a lot more complicated—he didn’t actually know sign language. Especially not this universe’s American version.
Tim’s eyes were discerning now. Like he was catching on that there was something very unusual about Dick.
He was sharp in this universe too, evidently.
“Hey. How about we grab a pizza and head home?” Dick tried, and slowly, slowly, Tim nodded, and followed him.
It put chills up Dick’s spine, to turn his back on this Tim, but he had to. So, when this Tim settled in behind him on the motorcycle, and gingerly wrapped his arms around his torso, he almost let out a breath of relief. No attempt to hurt him.
The pizza was swiftly gotten, Damian in mind the whole time, and they rushed home.
Tim disappeared with the pizza and gear immediately.
That left Dick to find Damian, and make sure the kid was okay. And hope that Tim didn’t ‘tattle.’
He wasn’t counting on finding Jason there, though.