Chapter Text
This work is inspired by zammms’s post (shared with permission). Their idea stuck with me and turned into this fic
You can find the original here : Zammmmms
The Watchtower’s common room was usually a place of quiet respite between missions, but today, it felt like the epicenter of a very specific, very localized earthquake. Specifically, Bart Allen was vibrating so hard he was blurring around the edges, and Tim Drake was reaching the end of his tether.
Tim set his coffee mug down with a deliberate clack. "Hey Bart, why were you all weird around Damian earlier?"
Bart stopped vibrating for a fraction of a second, his face turning a shade of pink that rivaled his suit. He started squirming in his chair, his eyes darting toward the exit. "Hnnng, it's just... it's been a while since I've seen Damian."
Tim narrowed his eyes. He’d spent years training under the world’s greatest detective; he knew a deflection when he heard one. "And?"
"And I didn't realize how much he's grown up!" Bart blurted out.
Tim blinked. He looked toward the training gym where a fourteen-year-old Damian was currently trying to decapitate a training robot. "So? Why is that weird to you? Are you feeling that old? You’re a speedster, Bart. Your perception of time is already a mess."
"No!" Bart threw his hands up. "Look, you know how insanely attracted most people are to Bruce? Like, how he just walks into a room and everyone—villains, civilians, half the League—just forgets how to breathe?"
Tim winced, a phantom headache blooming behind his eyes. He started massaging his forehead. "Yes. No matter how much I want to forget. I’ve seen the 'Brucie' fan clubs, Bart. I’ve lived through the gala season. It’s a nightmare."
"Well..." Bart leaned in, his voice dropping to a panicked whisper. "In the future—well, the time I came from—Damian is the Bruce Wayne of our generation."
Tim froze. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. "WHAT?!"
"Hey, don't yell at me, man! You asked!" Bart squeaked, zooming behind a sofa for cover.
"You've known Damian for years!" Tim stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. "We've hung out for longer! Why have you never mentioned this?!"
"I just could never have imagined the little shit that sneered at you grows up to be Dami the Hottie! They're such different people!"
Tim felt his soul leave his body. "Dami... the Hottie?"
Bart winced, looking like he wanted to phase through the floor and stay there for a century. "Uuuuhhh... forget I said that?"
"No," Tim said, his voice cold and filled with a new, terrifying purpose. "I need to call a family meeting. Right now."
The Batcave. Two hours later.
Damian was safely tucked away on a mission with Jon Kent (who was blissfully unaware of the biological ticking time bomb his best friend represented). The rest of the inner circle was gathered: Dick, Jason, Cass, Steph, Duke, and a very confused Bruce.
Tim stood before them, a holographic projector displaying a grainy, high-speed image Bart had managed to "retrieve" from a digital memory bank.
"Family," Tim said, his voice cracking slightly. "We have a crisis."
"Is it Joker?" Dick asked, leaning forward.
"Is it a Black Lantern?" Jason grunted.
"Did someone eat my protein bars?" Duke muttered.
"It’s Damian," Tim said. He clicked the remote.
The hologram flickered to life. It showed a man in his mid-twenties. He had Bruce’s jawline, but sharper. He had the al Ghul eyes—emerald green and piercing—framed by long, dark lashes. He was wearing a tailored suit that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, and he was smirking at a camera with a look that could only be described as devastating.
Silence descended upon the Cave.
"Oh no," Dick whispered, burying his face in his hands. "He’s... he’s gorgeous."
"He looks like he’d break your heart and then sue you for the emotional damages," Steph noted, sounding impressed and horrified.
Jason stared at the image, then at Bruce, then back at the image. "We’re doomed. We are absolutely doomed. You realize what this means? The paparazzi? The fan-crazed villains? We’re going to have to fight off half of Gotham just to get him to a crime scene."
Bruce looked at the hologram of his future son. He didn't look devastated; he looked like he was mentally calculating the cost of a new security system for the Manor. "He has his mother’s bone structure," Bruce said calmly.
"That’s not the point, Bruce!" Tim yelled. "The point is that the 'little brat' is going to become a weapon of mass seduction! Bart said he’s the social pinnacle of the next generation! We thought we were dealing with one Bruce Wayne—now we have a spare!"
"A spare with a sword and a superiority complex," Cass added, her eyes wide. "Dangerous."
Just then, a shadow detached itself from the corner of the Cave. Talia al Ghul stepped into the light, looking as regal and unimpressed as ever. She glanced at the hologram and then at the panicked group of vigilantes.
"Honestly," she purred, crossing her arms. "I am baffled it took you this long to realize this would happen."
"Talia?" Bruce frowned. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to see you all losing your minds over the inevitable," she said, stepping toward the image of her son. she reached out, tracing the holographic jawline with a proud smile. "He is an al Ghul. He is a Wayne. Both of his parents are, as your youth say, 'drop dead gorgeous.' Did you truly think he would grow up to look like a gargoyle?"
"We hoped he'd stay... punchable!" Jason exclaimed.
"My baby is stunning," Talia said, turning to them with a shark-like grin. "Of course he will have suitors. Of course he will have the world at his feet. I’ve already had a list of suitable political matches drawn up since he was three."
"Political matches?!" Dick shrieked. "He’s fourteen! We’re worried about him being a heartbreaker, not a warlord!"
"Why not both?" Talia shrugged.
Tim sat down on the cold Cave floor, his head in his hands. "The Justice League is going to be unbearable. Can you imagine the flirtation? The ego? We have to stop this. Can we... I don't know... make him cut his own hair? Force him to wear Crocs?"
"It won't matter," Cass said softly, staring at the future-Damian. "He has the 'brood.' It’s over."
As if on cue, the roar of the Robin-cycle echoed through the tunnels. Damian skidded to a halt, hopping off the bike and removing his mask. He swept a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, tilting his head with that signature, arrogant look.
"Why are you all gathered here like a group of loitering delinquents?" Damian demanded, eyeing the hologram. "And why is there a projection of a man who looks suspiciously like a more competent version of Father?"
The entire Batfamily stared at him in dead silence.
Damian blinked. "What? Is there something on my face?"
"Only the weight of our future misery," Tim whispered.
"Tt. You're all losing your minds," Damian scoffed, walking past them toward the showers. "Mother, tell them they are being ridiculous."
Talia smiled, a terrifying, beautiful expression. "Of course, beloved. They are simply jealous of your destiny."
She looked back at the rest of the family, her eyes glinting. "Buy more ammunition. You’ll need it to keep the suitors off the lawn by the time he turns eighteen."
Bruce sighed, finally looking tired. "I'll call Clark. Maybe Jon can talk him into a... less attractive hobby."
"Unlikely," Bart’s voice piped up from the rafters. "In the future, Jon's the one who started the fan club!"
Tim Drake officially decided to retire. Or move to Mars. Mars sounded nice and quiet.