Strangely familiar faces!
"Someone your world doesn't seem to have a counterpart for, from what you've been telling us."
Bruce sighs. He doesn't massage his brow, though he REALLY wants to. "He is my son. Whom much has happened to. I'm trying to help him."
"...From a cell? That doesn't seem very helpful," he says doubtfully.
Dick raises an eyebrow at Bruce.
"For the time being, yes. He is a danger to others, as well as himself."
"I dunno. It wouldn't make me very cooperative, but..." he shrugs a little. "I'm not him. Is it working?"
"It's only been the first 24 hours.
"That's a no," younger Tim mutters.
Older Tim makes a noncommittal noise.
"I wouldn't say that. It's just that what progress there is, is small. And mostly my coming to understand what he is dealing with."
"Okay. I'll bite. What IS he dealing with? I mean, beyond what we already figured."
"Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, for a start."
"What happened?" the younger Tim asks curiously. PTSD usually means pretty massive stress, so it had probably been bad, whatever it was. Man, this world sucks.
"He died. And came back."
He lets out a low whistle. "Yeah, I guess that'd be pretty stressful."
"And when he came back....I didn't know. I wasn't there. For him." He frowns, the skin about his eyes tight with that long-standing pain.
"None of us were, Bruce. It's not like he looked us up. Or tried boosting the tires off the Batmobile. Or anything."
"Boosting tires?" the younger Tim asks incredulously.
"I had the coffin rigged with all kinds of alarms," he growls.
Bruce sighs, this at least is a safer subject. "It's how I met Jason when he was 13."
"Alarms?" Dick's eyebrows shoot up. "You thought someone would try to swipe his body?"
Younger Tim looks between the two of them. "That is so creepy. Not the tire thing--that's actually kinda cool. The body-snatching thing."
Bruce shrugs. "It's happened."
"So the alarms didn't go off, because...?"
"I have no idea." The tone is kept so very carefully neutral.
"Wait--" Younger Tim frowns a little. "I still don't get why someone would steal his body? I mean... wouldn't it get... gooey?"
DNA, is one reason."
Dick's jaw drops open. Not only does Bruce not have the answer... but he's actually admitting to it? In his less mature days, he'd have whipped out a tape recorder and asked Bruce to say it again for posterity. Today, he simply says, "I guess it doesn't really matter half as much as what we do now that he's back. So. PTSD. A bit of younger-sibling envy/hostility. Sorry, Tim, but it's gotta be said. Anything else?"
Older Tim snorts lightly. "It's not like we didn't all know that anyway. Emphasis on the hostility."
"He's hurting. Much of the anger is to cover that. I admit that I am biased, but. I think he really does want to come home. But he has no idea how."
"If you say so."
"Hold on, Tim. Jay and I... well." He glances at Bruce. "In case you didn't already review the tapes, he and I had a chat the other night. It wasn't long and it wasn't deep but... it wasn't bad either."
Tim shrugs a little. He doesn't review the tapes. He's already made it clear that he doesn't feel he should have any part in this.
Bruce looks at him. "Tim...."
He looks back at Bruce, frowning. "Do you really want to have this argument again right now?"
"As many times as needed. Though it shouldn't be. I taught you to keep an open mind when evaluating all the evidence available."
He makes an exasperated noise. "The evidence available suggests that we have nothing polite to say to each other. And Alfred disapproves of cusswords, so I'm keeping my damn distance, now back off."
"And now you're ignoring the evidence in favor of your preferred outcome."
"Bruce. Two words: Barrett Myles. He's not the first one ever to be guilty of that particular sin."
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What about him?"
"Just pointing out that sometimes we ALL choose to overlook evidence. One of us can afford to as long as the others pick up the slack."
"I didn't overlook evidence. I made sure I didn't jump the gun."
"Keep telling yourself that, Bruce. Maybe you'll convince one of us."
"So you would have been happier if I'd handed him over at the first sing rather than doing a thorough job?"
"Bruce. Tim told me about the powder traces, the skids on the floor from where the chair recoiled after the kid fired the gun... ALL the evidence pointed to it. You just didn't want to see it."
"He wasn't a career criminal. I wasn't taking chances."
"You were looking for a better answer than the truth," Tim argues. "Who wouldn't? The truth sucked."
"He was 10. He had witnessed his parents' murder. You flashed back and didn't want to believe he wasn't another... you." Dick blinks. "10. You... weren't already thinking ahead to the NEXT Robin, were you?"
Both Tims blink in shock. "Guh," little Tim mutters.
"You're telling me," older Tim replies in an undertone.
Bruce makes a perfectly disgusted face at that suggestion. "No. I was not," he enunciates clearly. "And I'm very well aware of the similarities, Dick. Which is why I refused to jump ahead, no matter how likely the conclusion."
Bruce looks to Tim. "No. Dick is mistaken."
Dick subsides. There's no point in pushing the matter any further, but he isn't fully convinced of Bruce's words. It's not that he thinks Bruce is deliberately lying, but he's not entirely sure that Bruce can see things clearly. On the other hand, Dick isn't so sure that he sees everything clearly either.
Bruce is watching all of them. He has the feeling that he's about a face a mutiny of sorts.
The younger Tim wrinkles his nose at the tension in the room. "Wow. I thought we had issues. You guys make us looks like the Brady bunch."
Dick grins. "Nah. Your hair's not long enough to pass for Cindy."
"No curls either," Tim adds, ruffling his younger counterpart's hair.
"Tim...." Bruce says to his current Robin, calling the teens attention back to the issue at hand. "I do need your help."
Tim stiffens slightly. "In what manner?" Everything in his tone and posture is a warning.
"With Jason." Bruce own stance is calm, but solid. He. Does need this. Their help, their support. He can't do this alone and that's a hard thing for him to admit. But he has to. He can't allow his ego to jeopardize Jason's recovery.
"Remember that pressure you weren't supposed to be putting on me?" Tim glares at him. "This isn't helping your case."
Dick recognizes the danger signs. He assumes Bruce must see them, too. If so, why is he persisting?
"I'm not placing pressure. I'm explaining what is needed." He looks at the boy with an even gaze. "If I say nothing, will you try to become involved at some point? Or will you ignore the existence of Jason?"
"It's hard to ignore his existence when he's in the damned basement, Bruce!" Tim snaps. "And you already explained. Repeatedly. And I already told you to back the Hell off!"
Dick sighs. He doesn't really want to intervene. On the other hand, it might just get those two back on the same side. It's worth it. "Hey, guys. Take it easy, huh?"
Bruce sighs. Just a little. "I'm trying to understand what you are willing to do." He frowns. "I can't do this alone." He looks to Dick. "And I certainly can't do it in 72 hours."
"How long would you consider reasonable?" Dick asks. "C'mon. You want me to work with you. Work with me. Give me something to go on."
"Honestly? I don't know. Look at how long people are locked up in Arkham, Dick. And their recovery is arguable." He frowns. "A month. To see. Something." He doesn't' expect that Jason will agree to his terms within a month but.
"Bruce, I never expected an... insta-cure. If that's what I led you to believe, I'm sorry. My objection is to the idea of keeping him locked up down there until he 'sees the light' no matter if it takes until he's fifty. Look... it's not healthy to keep him penned up in there for a month. He'll go stir-crazy. Even in Arkham, there's an exercise yard.
Tim sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He's still holding himself rigidly, and he's considering it a victory that he hasn't just walked out.
Is there any way that he can have some time out of the cell? Maybe block off a section of the tunnels? Anything? Find a way to get him an hour out of there daily, and I'll give you your month."
"If there is no improvement in a month, then I will find him a secure facility with professionals. But not Arkham." He frowns at the suggestion of exercise time. "I. I will. Think on it." Dick does have a point. But he needs something that will be secure.
"You should do one better," Tim says through gritted teeth. "Sunlight. Vitamin D. Important things. Even for us." There, Bruce. He's showing an interest.
Bruce looks to him and nods. "I agree. However I am unsure how to accomplish that in a secure fashion." His expression is open, hopeful? He's trying to encourage Tim's input.
"A month is reasonable. WITH one hour daily outside the cell. Look, how many acres is the Manor on? We know that you can electrify the lawn. Can you block off a portion of the grounds?"
"I will think on it," he says again.
"That's where the 72-hour deadline comes in. I can't go along with keeping him penned up downstairs longer than that."
"Even people in solitary get time in the yard," Tim reminds him, raising an eyebrow. "You're already skirting some really questionable issues here."
"Then perhaps you'd like to be part of the solution," Bruce suggests with a frown.
"Like Hell."
"So you're willing to blame me, but not help me."
"I would be more than happy to refer you to some excellent, high security mental institutions. That aren't named Arkham. I'm pretty sure they'd have the appropriate facilities."
"But they aren't his family. And turning him over to such is a last resort. Not the first," Bruce states firmly. He's given as much ground as he can on this, been as open and accommodating as he can. Now he's digging his heels in. He will NOT give up on Jason. Not again.
"The paddock. Can we bolster the fence--make it harder to climb over, somehow? It's already an enclosed area. If someone supervises, it might be enough."
"Off the stables?"
"You reinforced them after the NML." Dick sighs. "It's that, or the electrified lawn, or both."
"I'm inclined to both. And more," he says thoughtfully.
"Or give him vitamin D pills and start spelunking... see if there's any place in the catacombs off the main cave that's roomy enough and easily secured and..." he realizes what Bruce has just admitted. "Wha...?"
Bruce blinks at Dick's reaction.
Little Tim watches the exchange between the three of them, practically holding his breath. His older self looks... incredibly pissed, and like he's barely keeping from stalking out. He's... guessing the stuff with Jason is a pretty big point of contention for all of them. Huh. It makes him seriously miss his much less stressful version of the family.
Dick is stunned. This is the first hint he's had that Bruce is actually willing to consider other people's opinions .
"The bunker," Bruce says shortly as the idea crosses his mind. He could connect it to Jason's apartment without much difficulty, thus meeting Dick's deadline...
It takes Dick a moment to remember what Bruce means. "The fallout shelter," he says slowly. Bruce's grandfather built it in the 50s, when nuclear war had seemed all too imminent. It's mostly underground, but the walls extend about two feet above ground. Also, the structure has a covered skylight, the better to tell whether it might be safe to emerge.
"I can have some contractors retrofit it. Then excavate the connecting tunnel myself." Yes, that can work. Except that he'll need a few more supplies.
He'd mostly forgotten it was there. It's not dug deep enough to hit the Cave. In all likelihood, Bruce's grandfather never knew about the Cave.
"Sounds like you have it figured out." Tim glances over at his younger self. He looks like he's interested, but... he's also looking kind of tired. Tim knows exactly what that looks like on him, after all. "It's late. Some of us have school in the morning."
Dick nods slowly. "It can work. Short-term, anyway. But without direct exposure to sunlight, I'd say you'll still need the Vitamin D pills." He frowns. "Bruce. I know you usually like to keep things strictly
on a 'need-to-know' basis. Given how Jason's ended up here, I really think he NEEDS to know that you're giving him vitamins and not... well... sedatives or something."
Yes. That. "I will make some calls tomorrow. I will get Tim into public school."
Younger Tim makes a face. "And who the heck am I supposed to be if he's Tim Drake, too?"
"Jack Wayne."
He looks incredulous. "Seriously?"
"You have another name in mind?" the man asks, his arms crossed.
"Yeah--mine."
Dick thinks for a moment. If the younger Tim's father isn't named 'Jack', then odds are... he looks at the boy. "What's your middle name?"
He frowns a little. "Stephen. Why?"
Older Tim raises an eyebrow. Different. Huh.
Bruce shrugs. "Stephen Drake works."
Younger Tim wrinkles his nose. "You make it sound like I want to have my dad's name. That's just weird."
"We already have one Tim Drake."
Dick pokes older-Tim. "Your long-lost kid brother."
Tim snorts a little, shaking his head. "My long-lost, magically younger than me twin, you mean."
"Genetics can be the cause of some interesting coincidences,"Bruce points out in a bland tone.
Younger Tim sighs and kicks out his feet under the table. "I guess I can be Stephen," he says, making a face again. "Its kind of my name. But just at school--if I have to go."
"Sure." Dick tousles the young boy's hair. "We can call you 'Stevie' when you're home."
"I would have gone for Steph, myself, but that could get confusing," Bruce muses.
Tim glowers up at him. "I will absolutely hit you if you do that."
“You will absolutely try, you mean
"I will manage. Somehow. And put horrible, disgusting things in your bed."
Dick cocks his head and turns to Bruce. "Oh, no way. Bruce, he gets one of the spare rooms. No way he gets MY bed!"
"Only if you wish to endure Alfred's wrath," Bruce points out mildly.
"Dick, there are 22 bedrooms in the Manor. He will get his own."
"Good. I'm glad that's settled." Dick deadpans. He smirks at older Tim. "So much for having something horrible and disgusting in my bed."
"I will figure out where you sleep and there will be frogs. Or something." He glowers.
"Stevie," Bruce says forcefully to the boy.
Younger Tim glares at him. "Not. My. Name."
"Actually, there will be a proper British gentleman. Who will place you on laundry detail if you try it."
Dick laughs. "Um... kid. Maybe it's different in YOUR reality, but here... what Bruce says, goes."
Bruce shakes his head. "I was making a point. Tim, as long as you react to him, Dick will continue to pester you."
Dick looks at him. "Nah. The reaction helps, but actually he's just so danged cute..."
"Dick," comes the firm admonishment.
"Okay, okay. As long as he doesn't put a frog in my bed, I won't call Haley's and cash in the favor Obphidia the snake charmer owes me."
Younger Tim is still scowling. "I'll leave the frogs alone if you refrain from calling me by my dead dad's name unless you have to."
Bruce raises a hand to his face and shakes his head. He NEEDS to get little Tim back to his own universe for the sake of everyone's sanity.
"We have to. Otherwise, every time we call 'Tim', we're going to get both of your attentions."
Older Tim shrugs a little. "I don't really mind all that much, but--" he glances at his younger self. "How do you feel about 'Timmy'? I don't generally answer to it, so... That might be a good distinction if someone's trying to get your attention."
He frowns thoughtfully, and nods a little. "That--would be okay."
Bruce nods and swallows back his suggestion. "Timmy then. Now, I suggest you all go and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Alfred is probably waiting upstairs to show your room, Timmy."
Older Tim shudders a little and ruffles his younger self's hair. "Better you than me, little me." He stands. "See you all in the morning."
Dick checks his watch and winces. "Probably more like afternoon," he admits, smothering a yawn.
"I hate you a little," little Tim mutters, standing and heading toward the stairs. "You don't have school tomorrow."
"Nope. And no homework, quizzes, tests..."
"No, but you will be helping me get the connecting tunnel dug," Bruce rumbles meaningfully.
"At least I won't have those. They never make the new kid take tests on the first day."
"To bed," Bruce admonishes.
"How else are they going to know what grade to put you in?" Dick asks. "Maybe our public schools are tougher than yours..."
Bruce sighs. He doesn't massage his brow, though he REALLY wants to. "He is my son. Whom much has happened to. I'm trying to help him."
"...From a cell? That doesn't seem very helpful," he says doubtfully.
Dick raises an eyebrow at Bruce.
"For the time being, yes. He is a danger to others, as well as himself."
"I dunno. It wouldn't make me very cooperative, but..." he shrugs a little. "I'm not him. Is it working?"
"It's only been the first 24 hours.
"That's a no," younger Tim mutters.
Older Tim makes a noncommittal noise.
"I wouldn't say that. It's just that what progress there is, is small. And mostly my coming to understand what he is dealing with."
"Okay. I'll bite. What IS he dealing with? I mean, beyond what we already figured."
"Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, for a start."
"What happened?" the younger Tim asks curiously. PTSD usually means pretty massive stress, so it had probably been bad, whatever it was. Man, this world sucks.
"He died. And came back."
He lets out a low whistle. "Yeah, I guess that'd be pretty stressful."
"And when he came back....I didn't know. I wasn't there. For him." He frowns, the skin about his eyes tight with that long-standing pain.
"None of us were, Bruce. It's not like he looked us up. Or tried boosting the tires off the Batmobile. Or anything."
"Boosting tires?" the younger Tim asks incredulously.
"I had the coffin rigged with all kinds of alarms," he growls.
Bruce sighs, this at least is a safer subject. "It's how I met Jason when he was 13."
"Alarms?" Dick's eyebrows shoot up. "You thought someone would try to swipe his body?"
Younger Tim looks between the two of them. "That is so creepy. Not the tire thing--that's actually kinda cool. The body-snatching thing."
Bruce shrugs. "It's happened."
"So the alarms didn't go off, because...?"
"I have no idea." The tone is kept so very carefully neutral.
"Wait--" Younger Tim frowns a little. "I still don't get why someone would steal his body? I mean... wouldn't it get... gooey?"
DNA, is one reason."
Dick's jaw drops open. Not only does Bruce not have the answer... but he's actually admitting to it? In his less mature days, he'd have whipped out a tape recorder and asked Bruce to say it again for posterity. Today, he simply says, "I guess it doesn't really matter half as much as what we do now that he's back. So. PTSD. A bit of younger-sibling envy/hostility. Sorry, Tim, but it's gotta be said. Anything else?"
Older Tim snorts lightly. "It's not like we didn't all know that anyway. Emphasis on the hostility."
"He's hurting. Much of the anger is to cover that. I admit that I am biased, but. I think he really does want to come home. But he has no idea how."
"If you say so."
"Hold on, Tim. Jay and I... well." He glances at Bruce. "In case you didn't already review the tapes, he and I had a chat the other night. It wasn't long and it wasn't deep but... it wasn't bad either."
Tim shrugs a little. He doesn't review the tapes. He's already made it clear that he doesn't feel he should have any part in this.
Bruce looks at him. "Tim...."
He looks back at Bruce, frowning. "Do you really want to have this argument again right now?"
"As many times as needed. Though it shouldn't be. I taught you to keep an open mind when evaluating all the evidence available."
He makes an exasperated noise. "The evidence available suggests that we have nothing polite to say to each other. And Alfred disapproves of cusswords, so I'm keeping my damn distance, now back off."
"And now you're ignoring the evidence in favor of your preferred outcome."
"Bruce. Two words: Barrett Myles. He's not the first one ever to be guilty of that particular sin."
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "What about him?"
"Just pointing out that sometimes we ALL choose to overlook evidence. One of us can afford to as long as the others pick up the slack."
"I didn't overlook evidence. I made sure I didn't jump the gun."
"Keep telling yourself that, Bruce. Maybe you'll convince one of us."
"So you would have been happier if I'd handed him over at the first sing rather than doing a thorough job?"
"Bruce. Tim told me about the powder traces, the skids on the floor from where the chair recoiled after the kid fired the gun... ALL the evidence pointed to it. You just didn't want to see it."
"He wasn't a career criminal. I wasn't taking chances."
"You were looking for a better answer than the truth," Tim argues. "Who wouldn't? The truth sucked."
"He was 10. He had witnessed his parents' murder. You flashed back and didn't want to believe he wasn't another... you." Dick blinks. "10. You... weren't already thinking ahead to the NEXT Robin, were you?"
Both Tims blink in shock. "Guh," little Tim mutters.
"You're telling me," older Tim replies in an undertone.
Bruce makes a perfectly disgusted face at that suggestion. "No. I was not," he enunciates clearly. "And I'm very well aware of the similarities, Dick. Which is why I refused to jump ahead, no matter how likely the conclusion."
Bruce looks to Tim. "No. Dick is mistaken."
Dick subsides. There's no point in pushing the matter any further, but he isn't fully convinced of Bruce's words. It's not that he thinks Bruce is deliberately lying, but he's not entirely sure that Bruce can see things clearly. On the other hand, Dick isn't so sure that he sees everything clearly either.
Bruce is watching all of them. He has the feeling that he's about a face a mutiny of sorts.
The younger Tim wrinkles his nose at the tension in the room. "Wow. I thought we had issues. You guys make us looks like the Brady bunch."
Dick grins. "Nah. Your hair's not long enough to pass for Cindy."
"No curls either," Tim adds, ruffling his younger counterpart's hair.
"Tim...." Bruce says to his current Robin, calling the teens attention back to the issue at hand. "I do need your help."
Tim stiffens slightly. "In what manner?" Everything in his tone and posture is a warning.
"With Jason." Bruce own stance is calm, but solid. He. Does need this. Their help, their support. He can't do this alone and that's a hard thing for him to admit. But he has to. He can't allow his ego to jeopardize Jason's recovery.
"Remember that pressure you weren't supposed to be putting on me?" Tim glares at him. "This isn't helping your case."
Dick recognizes the danger signs. He assumes Bruce must see them, too. If so, why is he persisting?
"I'm not placing pressure. I'm explaining what is needed." He looks at the boy with an even gaze. "If I say nothing, will you try to become involved at some point? Or will you ignore the existence of Jason?"
"It's hard to ignore his existence when he's in the damned basement, Bruce!" Tim snaps. "And you already explained. Repeatedly. And I already told you to back the Hell off!"
Dick sighs. He doesn't really want to intervene. On the other hand, it might just get those two back on the same side. It's worth it. "Hey, guys. Take it easy, huh?"
Bruce sighs. Just a little. "I'm trying to understand what you are willing to do." He frowns. "I can't do this alone." He looks to Dick. "And I certainly can't do it in 72 hours."
"How long would you consider reasonable?" Dick asks. "C'mon. You want me to work with you. Work with me. Give me something to go on."
"Honestly? I don't know. Look at how long people are locked up in Arkham, Dick. And their recovery is arguable." He frowns. "A month. To see. Something." He doesn't' expect that Jason will agree to his terms within a month but.
"Bruce, I never expected an... insta-cure. If that's what I led you to believe, I'm sorry. My objection is to the idea of keeping him locked up down there until he 'sees the light' no matter if it takes until he's fifty. Look... it's not healthy to keep him penned up in there for a month. He'll go stir-crazy. Even in Arkham, there's an exercise yard.
Tim sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He's still holding himself rigidly, and he's considering it a victory that he hasn't just walked out.
Is there any way that he can have some time out of the cell? Maybe block off a section of the tunnels? Anything? Find a way to get him an hour out of there daily, and I'll give you your month."
"If there is no improvement in a month, then I will find him a secure facility with professionals. But not Arkham." He frowns at the suggestion of exercise time. "I. I will. Think on it." Dick does have a point. But he needs something that will be secure.
"You should do one better," Tim says through gritted teeth. "Sunlight. Vitamin D. Important things. Even for us." There, Bruce. He's showing an interest.
Bruce looks to him and nods. "I agree. However I am unsure how to accomplish that in a secure fashion." His expression is open, hopeful? He's trying to encourage Tim's input.
"A month is reasonable. WITH one hour daily outside the cell. Look, how many acres is the Manor on? We know that you can electrify the lawn. Can you block off a portion of the grounds?"
"I will think on it," he says again.
"That's where the 72-hour deadline comes in. I can't go along with keeping him penned up downstairs longer than that."
"Even people in solitary get time in the yard," Tim reminds him, raising an eyebrow. "You're already skirting some really questionable issues here."
"Then perhaps you'd like to be part of the solution," Bruce suggests with a frown.
"Like Hell."
"So you're willing to blame me, but not help me."
"I would be more than happy to refer you to some excellent, high security mental institutions. That aren't named Arkham. I'm pretty sure they'd have the appropriate facilities."
"But they aren't his family. And turning him over to such is a last resort. Not the first," Bruce states firmly. He's given as much ground as he can on this, been as open and accommodating as he can. Now he's digging his heels in. He will NOT give up on Jason. Not again.
"The paddock. Can we bolster the fence--make it harder to climb over, somehow? It's already an enclosed area. If someone supervises, it might be enough."
"Off the stables?"
"You reinforced them after the NML." Dick sighs. "It's that, or the electrified lawn, or both."
"I'm inclined to both. And more," he says thoughtfully.
"Or give him vitamin D pills and start spelunking... see if there's any place in the catacombs off the main cave that's roomy enough and easily secured and..." he realizes what Bruce has just admitted. "Wha...?"
Bruce blinks at Dick's reaction.
Little Tim watches the exchange between the three of them, practically holding his breath. His older self looks... incredibly pissed, and like he's barely keeping from stalking out. He's... guessing the stuff with Jason is a pretty big point of contention for all of them. Huh. It makes him seriously miss his much less stressful version of the family.
Dick is stunned. This is the first hint he's had that Bruce is actually willing to consider other people's opinions .
"The bunker," Bruce says shortly as the idea crosses his mind. He could connect it to Jason's apartment without much difficulty, thus meeting Dick's deadline...
It takes Dick a moment to remember what Bruce means. "The fallout shelter," he says slowly. Bruce's grandfather built it in the 50s, when nuclear war had seemed all too imminent. It's mostly underground, but the walls extend about two feet above ground. Also, the structure has a covered skylight, the better to tell whether it might be safe to emerge.
"I can have some contractors retrofit it. Then excavate the connecting tunnel myself." Yes, that can work. Except that he'll need a few more supplies.
He'd mostly forgotten it was there. It's not dug deep enough to hit the Cave. In all likelihood, Bruce's grandfather never knew about the Cave.
"Sounds like you have it figured out." Tim glances over at his younger self. He looks like he's interested, but... he's also looking kind of tired. Tim knows exactly what that looks like on him, after all. "It's late. Some of us have school in the morning."
Dick nods slowly. "It can work. Short-term, anyway. But without direct exposure to sunlight, I'd say you'll still need the Vitamin D pills." He frowns. "Bruce. I know you usually like to keep things strictly
on a 'need-to-know' basis. Given how Jason's ended up here, I really think he NEEDS to know that you're giving him vitamins and not... well... sedatives or something."
Yes. That. "I will make some calls tomorrow. I will get Tim into public school."
Younger Tim makes a face. "And who the heck am I supposed to be if he's Tim Drake, too?"
"Jack Wayne."
He looks incredulous. "Seriously?"
"You have another name in mind?" the man asks, his arms crossed.
"Yeah--mine."
Dick thinks for a moment. If the younger Tim's father isn't named 'Jack', then odds are... he looks at the boy. "What's your middle name?"
He frowns a little. "Stephen. Why?"
Older Tim raises an eyebrow. Different. Huh.
Bruce shrugs. "Stephen Drake works."
Younger Tim wrinkles his nose. "You make it sound like I want to have my dad's name. That's just weird."
"We already have one Tim Drake."
Dick pokes older-Tim. "Your long-lost kid brother."
Tim snorts a little, shaking his head. "My long-lost, magically younger than me twin, you mean."
"Genetics can be the cause of some interesting coincidences,"Bruce points out in a bland tone.
Younger Tim sighs and kicks out his feet under the table. "I guess I can be Stephen," he says, making a face again. "Its kind of my name. But just at school--if I have to go."
"Sure." Dick tousles the young boy's hair. "We can call you 'Stevie' when you're home."
"I would have gone for Steph, myself, but that could get confusing," Bruce muses.
Tim glowers up at him. "I will absolutely hit you if you do that."
“You will absolutely try, you mean
"I will manage. Somehow. And put horrible, disgusting things in your bed."
Dick cocks his head and turns to Bruce. "Oh, no way. Bruce, he gets one of the spare rooms. No way he gets MY bed!"
"Only if you wish to endure Alfred's wrath," Bruce points out mildly.
"Dick, there are 22 bedrooms in the Manor. He will get his own."
"Good. I'm glad that's settled." Dick deadpans. He smirks at older Tim. "So much for having something horrible and disgusting in my bed."
"I will figure out where you sleep and there will be frogs. Or something." He glowers.
"Stevie," Bruce says forcefully to the boy.
Younger Tim glares at him. "Not. My. Name."
"Actually, there will be a proper British gentleman. Who will place you on laundry detail if you try it."
Dick laughs. "Um... kid. Maybe it's different in YOUR reality, but here... what Bruce says, goes."
Bruce shakes his head. "I was making a point. Tim, as long as you react to him, Dick will continue to pester you."
Dick looks at him. "Nah. The reaction helps, but actually he's just so danged cute..."
"Dick," comes the firm admonishment.
"Okay, okay. As long as he doesn't put a frog in my bed, I won't call Haley's and cash in the favor Obphidia the snake charmer owes me."
Younger Tim is still scowling. "I'll leave the frogs alone if you refrain from calling me by my dead dad's name unless you have to."
Bruce raises a hand to his face and shakes his head. He NEEDS to get little Tim back to his own universe for the sake of everyone's sanity.
"We have to. Otherwise, every time we call 'Tim', we're going to get both of your attentions."
Older Tim shrugs a little. "I don't really mind all that much, but--" he glances at his younger self. "How do you feel about 'Timmy'? I don't generally answer to it, so... That might be a good distinction if someone's trying to get your attention."
He frowns thoughtfully, and nods a little. "That--would be okay."
Bruce nods and swallows back his suggestion. "Timmy then. Now, I suggest you all go and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning. Alfred is probably waiting upstairs to show your room, Timmy."
Older Tim shudders a little and ruffles his younger self's hair. "Better you than me, little me." He stands. "See you all in the morning."
Dick checks his watch and winces. "Probably more like afternoon," he admits, smothering a yawn.
"I hate you a little," little Tim mutters, standing and heading toward the stairs. "You don't have school tomorrow."
"Nope. And no homework, quizzes, tests..."
"No, but you will be helping me get the connecting tunnel dug," Bruce rumbles meaningfully.
"At least I won't have those. They never make the new kid take tests on the first day."
"To bed," Bruce admonishes.
"How else are they going to know what grade to put you in?" Dick asks. "Maybe our public schools are tougher than yours..."