Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Summary: Dick and Jason lose their little brothers. Robin finds them.

Notes: This probably won't update again until I've finished Grade School, but this has been sitting on my Desktop, so…

Also, don't expect this to have any strict continuity. Comic wise, it's after Dick and Damian are reunited, and after Jason and Roy split, but sort of ignores everything in between and a few other things that happen before – it's sort of wonky. For YJ, it's before anyone finds out about Roy and just sort of exists in that time period, not set between any specific episodes.

Dick struggled to keep his voice light. "Well, we were looking for a fight."

"This isn't a fight, 'Wing," Jason spat.

Dick frowned, but couldn't disagree.

Patrol had been absurdly slow – not that that was a bad thing, but it got boring after a while. He, Jason, Tim, and Damian had met up on a rooftop to complain about the ridiculously low crime rates (not that Dick had been complaining. He had been laughing at Jason and Damian, both of whom had been this close to throwing temper tantrums about the lack of people to fight), when a beam of light had been shot into the sky.

Being the responsible vigilantes that they were, they had (literally) raced to the docks (Dick had won), where the beam had originated from. And then they had come face to face with "Transporter", an amateur villain with a weapon he didn't know how to use but insisted on using anyway. He wouldn't be hard to fight, except he was trigger-happy with bad aim and a bone to pick with the world. The worst kind of villain.

(After this was over, they would head back to the Cave and get into an argument about the worst sort of villain. Dick would stand by his comment about amateurs, Jason and Tim would gang up on him and say that experienced villains were the worst, and Damian would roll his eyes and say that the only villains worth talking about were the ones that didn't exist. And that would spiral into a completely different conversation when Tim decided he would jump on Damian's logical fallacy, and the conversation would turn into an argument, and Dick and Jason would make bets over who would storm off in a huff first. Dick couldn't wait to get home.)

So here they were, the four of them circling Transporter (what a terrible name. Dick would give him advice on how to pick a better villain's name when they had taken that stupid weapon of his. He would probably give him advice on how to pick a costume too – pleather and a ski mask? Horrible wardrobe choice.), just waiting for the opportunity to disarm him and end this… not-fight.

"Can I stab him?" Damian muttered, dodging a beam from the gun – cannon? – ray? – what was it?

Tim snorted. "If you can get that close."

Tim must have been really frustrated if he was missing the opportunity to make a comment about Damian having his katana with him. He never passed that up.

"Maybe we can leave him for the cops?" Dick suggested, needlessly flipping out of the way of the next shot. It wouldn't have even hit him.

(Bruce would have chided him about wasting energy. But Bruce wasn't at the docks dealing with Gotham's newest villain. Bruce was completing the rest of his uneventful patrol on the other side of the city. Dick could be on the other side of the city too, but he had decided to meet his brothers on a rooftop to goof off.)

(Even Bruce's "How many times do I have to tell you…" lecture would be better than this.)

"No," Jason snarled. "We're ending this. No wannabe psycho is going beat us in some ridiculous game of laser tag! Why haven't we beat him yet? There's four of us!"

(And Jason was emotionally invested now. This wasn't going to be over until the guy was black and blue and probably in a full body cast. And sporting a stab wound, because Damian was bound to be willing to help.)

(Even Jim's exasperated "Unnecessary brutality…" lecture and disappointed "Really, Nightwing?" look would be better than this.)

Tim sighed. "Maybe we should consider a strategy instead of just dodging his random shots?"

Dick frowned in Tim's direction, cursing when the momentary distraction had him diving out of the way of a beam that got too close. No one could blame him, though. Tim sounded tired.

(And not patrol-has-gone-on-too-long tired. He sounded I-haven't-slept-in-three-days-and-I'm-running-on-actual-coffee-grounds-mixed-with-energy-drinks-and-spite tired.)

"What do you have in mind, Red Robin?"

"A distraction, maybe? I'll even volunteer myself."

"Simple," Damian scoffed.

"Classic," Tim corrected.

There was barely any heat in that exchange. This had really been going on too long.

"Sounds good to me," Dick commented. "Hood?"

"Yeah, whatever. Let's just get this done."

Tim nodded. He threw a batarang at Transporter, hitting the weapon in his hands. The projectile ricocheted (the weapon was huge. Transporter wasn't that big of guy; Dick wondered how he was carrying that without dropping from exhaustion), but it was enough to catch Transporter's attention. He swung around to face Tim and began spouting off another version of his patented monologue. Dick was so tired of hearing it.

Thankfully, that was their cue.

Dick idly wondered if Jason had replaced his magazine full of rubber bullets with a magazine full of real ones. He hoped not, but Dick was sure he wouldn't be able to blame him. (He'd turned his escrima sticks' electricity on, which was completely unnecessary.) (Dick was feeling vindictive.)

They were close, so close. Barely five meters away from him and he had his back turned. Damian was approaching as well, running faster than either of them and looking ready to hack into Transporter as viciously as possible without killing him.

(Turns out, that would be pretty viciously. Half a year ago, some guy had gotten the drop on Dick, managing to shoot him in the leg. The bullet had only grazed him, but Damian had been… upset. The thug had lost two non-vital organs, and needed a blood transfusion and a prosthetic hand. Bruce had benched Damian for 2 months and given him a speech about proportional reactions. Dick had tried not to feel touched.)

(He'd failed.)

Then, Transporter got bored of talking.

They were ten feet away. And Transporter got bored talking.

He cut himself off abruptly, pulling the trigger. Shooting his stupid weapon.

Straight at Tim.

Tim dodged to the side. Too slow. The beam grazed him.

Dick was frozen, staring at the space his little brother had been occupying only a second ago.

(The beam had encompassed Tim, even though it had barely touched him. The look on Tim's face had been stunned. It'd only touched the tips of his fingers. A lucky shot. And Tim was too slow after two/three/who-knew-how-many days of no sleep.)

Dick couldn't breathe.

Transporter (the name was slightly less stupid now. How hadn't Dick noticed that all of the shots they'd dodged had hit crates lying on the docks, causing them to disappear? Where had his head been? How hadn't he seen that?) crowed. He was gloating. Saying something about power and conquering.

Dick couldn't care less.

His little brother had vanished.

Dick couldn't breathe.

"What did you do?"

Tim didn't stop to breathe. He didn't stop to sigh, and rub the bridge of his nose, and bemoan his terrible luck and utter stupidity. He didn't stop to throw a tantrum (even though he really, really wanted to). Tim didn't stop.

Tim was a Bat, and he had too much pride and too much training to bother with stopping and taking a minute to reorient himself.

Because when Bats are thrown into combat situations, they fight. Prior warning optional.

So Tim fought. And he observed.

(Multitasking on three days no sleep and a mostly empty stomach. Bruce would be proud except he would probably be pissed. Tim was pissed at himself. It was stupid of him. So stupid. He needed to take better care of himself. If he didn't, he was going to get himself benched. Or killed. …Or caught in a beam from a ray gun in the hands of an amateur.)

(He was never going to live this down. If he made it back alive.)

(He needed to stop being so morbid. It was really distracting.)

There were a lot of thugs around. A startling number, really. And they belonged to Black Mask. That much was obvious. Their objective: unknown. Threat level… they barely registered.

He was still at the docks in Gotham. There was barely any change in scenery. But he was obviously in an alternate universe.

It was painfully easy to see. Because – in between knocking people out with his staff, disarming them with batarangs, and doling out nerve strikes they were bullets and he was Jason – he could see people he knew, but really didn't know.

He needed to process, needed to think. He could still do that and fight. Easily.

There was Superboy. But not Kon. This Superboy didn't seem to have TTK and he was way too angry – more like a less ruthless Damian than, well, Kon. Threat level: low. Tim had Kryptonite in his utility belt.

Someone he didn't know. Obviously affiliated with Green Arrow if the color scheme and choice of weapon were anything to go by. She had noticed him nearly as soon as he had arrived. She'd kept fighting, but only after she'd stopped to gape. And her next few shots had missed their targets before she'd recovered. She was well trained – he'd guess League of Assassins (he should know). That was strange – or not. All things considered, running into an Arrow trained by the League of Assassins was the most normal part of his day. (Which wasn't saying much.) Threat level: Low. He knew how to cut the string of her bow, and he could tell from here that she wouldn't be able to best him in hand-to-hand combat. Knocking her unconscious wouldn't take much work.

Someone else he didn't know. But, judging by the way he was manipulating water and the symbol on his belt, he was Atlantian. That could be tricky; Tim didn't know the extent of his powers. And, he seemed much calmer and more in control that the archer. He'd noticed Tim almost immediately as well. He'd paused to stare, but gone back to fighting shortly after, with little to no detriment to his concentration. And Tim doubted it was because he trusted him. Threat level: Medium. Getting the weapons out of his hands would be first priority. Then drying him out. Tim had an explosive batarang that was more fire and heat than anything else (like all good explosives). It would serve as a good distraction to give Tim the opportunity to knock him out if the blast didn't do the job itself.

(Distraction. No. Better not to think about that. Tim couldn't afford it.)

Wally. Kid Flash. It was slightly difficult for Tim to reconcile a young Wally West working with Superboy, but alternate universes. He was running around, barely stopping. Not knocking most of them out in one hit, but coming back around multiple times. Waste of energy. So like him. Did he have anything on him to take out a Flash? He could use the sedative in his utility belt that was meant for Bane. It'd work in a pinch. Threat level: Low. Timing was the only issue, and Tim wasn't too worried about that.

(Maybe he should be. He'd gotten tagged. By an amateur!)

(He needed to stop thinking about that.)

Was that-? A Martian. They had a Martian. Great. Just what he needed. If she was anything like J'onn then that meant shapeshifting, intangibility, invisibility, and telepathic and telekinetic abilities. Threat level: High. Disabling her would be first priority. If she tried invading his mind, it would be relatively easy to take her down – training to protect against telepaths had been high up on the list of Things Tim Needs to Learn if He's Going to Be Robin. If she didn't… He could always light her on fire. That was a bit brutal, but he'd do it if it came down to it. He didn't have anything specific to Martian physiology in his belt, but he'd be able to make do.

And then… there was Robin. And he was obviously Robin. He'd noticed Tim right off the bat (Dick was infecting him), and he'd barely flinched. The costume he was wearing wasn't anything any of them had ever worn, but, if Tim had to make a comparison, he would say it was closest to his. But that wasn't him. Definitely not. The way he moved, the way he fought – he was too showy, too many extraneous flips and complicated maneuvers, just for fun, just because he could. That was all Dick. Threat level: Extremely High. Maybe it was biased of him to be warier of Robin than anyone else, but, then again, he was one of the few people who actually knew what a Robin was fully capable of. And though he had the advantage of knowing Dick's moves and fighting style – neither of which appeared to have changed with the universe – this was still Robin. And if Tim had to fight them all, there was no way this universe's Dick wouldn't find a way to take advantage of even the slightest lapse in attention and take him out.

This was looking bad.

The gang had thinned. There were only a few left, and the fight was winding down. He didn't have much longer. He needed to finish running through this.

How would this go?

Superboy would attack first, the second he noticed him. Tim could read the reckless anger coming off of him like computer code. He wouldn't wait for orders, and he wouldn't care that Tim had been fighting alongside them – if he'd even noticed in the first place. And Tim wouldn't be able to pull out Kryptonite unless he wanted to face them all.

If, by chance, the leader (it should be Robin – it was always Robin – but it was obviously the Atlantian) managed to call him off, there would be suspicion, threats, and a mild interrogation. Which would be followed by their attempts to knock him unconscious in order to kidnap him and bring him back to their base and interrogate him fully.

The only other course of action they could take would be to call a member of the League for assistance. That was highly unlikely.

So, he needed to preclude them from acting.

Which meant he would have to make the first move.

As soon as the fighting stopped (that would be soon; he needed to think faster), Tim needed to lower – not drop – his weapon and speak. Nothing longwinded or misleading. He'd have to be blunt about the situation. It would throw them off guard long enough for him to press his advantage and show them that he wasn't a threat (at least not until they made him one. But if they couldn't figure that out, he'd severely overestimated them all. Especially the Robin.) and hopefully gain their (mistrustful) assistance.

A leg sweep and downward swipe of his staff finished off the last thug.

Tim took a breath, lowered his staff, and raised his other hand in the (hopefully) universal symbol for peace. "Hi. I'm from another universe and I could use your help getting back."

"Hi. I'm from another universe and I could use your help getting back."

Dick noticed Conner falter in his barely begun charge.

"Huh?"

"Did he just say another universe?" Wally asked, his incredulity coming in clearly, even through the mind link.

"Pay attention. He's talking again!" Artemis hissed.

"I'm a vigilante – hero – like you guys, apparently. I was fighting a villain on the docks of my Gotham, but he had a weapon that transported me here as soon as the beam coming from it hit me. I don't want to cause any trouble. I just want to get home."

Dick cocked an eyebrow, looking the stranger up and down. He definitely looked like a vigilante. And not just a vigilante.

Dick stiffened, paying more attention. The armor, the utility belt, the way he was holding himself, the fact that he'd been fighting in Gotham…

But, maybe Dick was jumping to conclusions. The guy did say he'd come from an alternate universe.

"Do we believe him about the alternate universe thing?" Dick asked.

"Let's find out," Kaldur replied.

Kaldur stepped forward and crossed his arms (establishing authority. Nice.). "An alternate universe?"

There was a dry quirk to the stranger's lips that set Dick on edge. Or maybe it was just the guy. Dick didn't think he'd relax until he was sure about who this guy was. As sure as he could be, anyway.

(And maybe not even then. The guy was dangerous. The way he fought, even the way he was standing. Relaxing would be… difficult.)

He dipped his head slightly, one hand still raised in the air. "Yes. I was fighting one villain on the docks in Gotham with three of my allies, I was hit by the beam, and suddenly, I was fighting a hoard of thugs with a group of young heroes on the same docks in Gotham. I can't imagine this is anything else."

"Yeah?" Wally challenged. "How do you know you're not in the past? Or the future?"

Wally was being excessively hostile. He was probably hungry.

The guy raised an eyebrow through his cowl (Dick had a lot of practice reading facial expressions through cowls) and shook his head.

"No. I know you all – well, most of you." He paused, looking at each of them. "In my world, Superboy is my age and we work together."

The scowl on Conner's face was somehow deeper than normal. Dick was actually impressed.

"Kid Flash is a lot older. So is… Robin. I don't know the rest of you."

Dick frowned, crossing his arms. He had paused before saying Robin. What did that mean?

"Uhh… that definitely sounds like an alternate universe," Wally conceded, scratching the back of his head.

"Indeed," Kaldur murmured. "Well, I am Aqualad, that is Artemis, and that is Miss Martian. Who are you? Perhaps we know your alternate self in this universe."

Another raised brow at Kaldur's introduction. Another smirk at his question. This guy was really setting him on edge.

"I doubt it," he said. But he was looking straight at Dick.

Dick couldn't help tensing. He didn't know what was coming. What was this guy going to say? Was Dick even ready to hear it?

"But I guess I do owe you an introduction, especially since I'm asking you guys to help me out. I'm Red Robin."

There was complete silence.

Dick was having trouble processing. Red Robin?! What did that mean?

"Wait!" Artemis interject. "Red Robin as in Robin? Like Robin-Robin?"

"No. Red Robin as in Red Robin."

He was still looking at Dick.

(Dick looked back at him. But he didn't want to look at him. He was probably overreacting. He was definitely overreacting. But how was he supposed to process this? Yeah, the guy was from another universe, and it didn't really matter who he was, but still…)

(Red Robin.)

"But that's-"

"No biggie, Miss M," Dick interrupted, making sure his posture and voice were relaxed. "You work with Batman?"

(Dick was so chalant right now, it wasn't even funny. But he hoped he wasn't coming off that way. Indifference and amusement. That's what he was going for.)

"Yeah," Red Robin replied breezily.

(This was no big deal for him.)

(Except for the part where he was in another universe. Dick assumed that that was a pretty big deal. Only Red Robin wasn't acting like it was a big deal. He seemed really calm.)

(That was even more unnerving than the idea of him working with Batman and being any sort of Robin.)

(Maybe.)

"But don't worry," he continued, not sounding like he really cared if Dick worried at all. "You're still around in my world."

"How would you know that?" Conner grunted, crossing his arms. "He's wearing a mask. Maybe our Robin if different than yours."

The look on Red Robin's face was impossible to read. Not because of the cowl, or because it was a complicated expression. It was because his face had gone completely blank. There was literally nothing to read. It was so like Bruce it was scary.

(Dick wondered if Red Robin was Bruce's kid. Like, his bilogical kid.)

(The thought was terrifying.)

"Could be," he replied evenly.

His tone was so bland. There was no way he wasn't being sarcastic.

(Dick was hard pressed not to laugh.)

(And then he growled at himself. Why was he trying so hard not to like this guy? If he kept this attitude up, he'd only be showing how pointlessly affected he was by Red Robin's presence.)

(Next time the guy made a joke, Dick would laugh.)

(But only if it was funny.)

Dick paused, blinking and cocking his head. "Wait. So you're saying you know who I am? How can you be sure?"

"I've worked with your counterpart for years. Your fighting style is exactly the same, even in another universe. You've always been prone to showboating - performing. I blame your roots," he said, smirking

Dick scoffed, but smirked back. An extremely subtle way of indicating his secret identity. Impressive. He could see why Bruce and his other self didn't mind working him.

(There was also the fact that Red Robin was an incredibly capable fighter. But, details.)

"Perhaps," Kaldur began, "we can discuss this later. It would be better to get back to base. We still have to tell Batman about the results of our mission – as well as ask for advice on how to go about returning Red Robin to his proper universe."

"Point," Dick said. "Miss M?"

"Hmm?" she turned to him blinking. "Oh! Right. I'll call the bioship."

"So," Red Robin said, still speaking directly to Dick. "Batman lets you and your team work in Gotham? I guess this version of him is less bothered by metas in his city."

"Eh, he's still pretty bothered by it, but it's Gotham. It's the best training grounds."

"If you can handle Gotham crime, you can handle anything?"

"Basically."

Dick grinned at the half-smile on Red Robin's face.

(Finally someone who wasn't Bruce got it.)

(It was Gotham.)

"Uh, okay, can you two continue your bat-bromance later?"

"For once, I agree with Kid Mouth. I don't feel like dealing with this."

Dick snickered at the look on Artemis' face. This was going to be fun. He didn't know why he had been so leery of Red Robin in the first place.

(Okay, he did. But it had been a completely natural reaction to being faced with someone who could be a threat and then turned out to be another Robin. There was nothing wrong with that.)

"All right," M'gann said. "The ship's here. Ready?"

"I was born ready, babe."

"Wow. That was legitimately disturbing."

Dick laughed. "Wasn't it? It's like he doesn't have any new material; I've heard that line over a hundred times!"

"Seriously? Are you two bonding over mocking me?"

Dick turned to Wally. If his friend thought that was mocking, Dick was obviously losing his touch. He opened his mouth, intending to comment on how easily exploitable Wally was (and really, it was just embarrassing. Wally was Dick's best friend; it was shameful that he hadn't learned to hide his weaknesses yet.), but froze.

"You okay, Rob?"

Dick pointed behind Wally, vaguely registering the fact that everyone was turning to look. Good. He wanted to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Another one?!"

Miraculously, it only took Jason's brain a second to restart. The first thing he did was wish that he'd put real bullets in his gun. The second thing he did was curse Tim for being an idiot, because this was obviously his fault. The third thing he did was turn to Damian because the kid was freaking him out.

"What did you do?"

Jason had never been scared of Damian before. He wasn't scared now. But, he had to admit, if he were ever going to be scared of Damian, now would be the time.

Damian's stance was loose, his tone was casual, and the look on his face was more openly curious than it had ever been. (Damian had once asked Dick to show him proper form on the uneven bars. He had been glowering the whole time.) He looked lethal.

(To be fair, Damian looked lethal majority of the time.)

(But now was different. This sort of lethal… Jason had never seen it on Damian.)

Transporter turned to them, eyes wide and smile wider. "For the first time, I have achieved ultimate greatness. I have displaced a human! I've finally begun to tap into the full potential of my power!"

He was rambling now. Jason wanted to shoot him in the mouth. He was pretty sure Damian would beat him to the punch and impale the guy in the throat.

(Transporter didn't seem to have a sense of self-preservation. That had been obvious from the beginning of the night, but it was even more obvious now.)

"What," Damian repeated, stepping forward (His eyes were narrowed now, and his voice was cold. He looked like he was going to attack without waiting for an answer.), "did you do?"

Transporter faltered, taking a step back. (His sense of self-preservation was finally kicking in.) (Too little too late.) "I- I have achieved-"

"WHERE IS HE!?"

Transporter was going to wet himself, and Jason would laugh. Except he probably wouldn't get the chance because Transporter would likely be dead before his bladder fully emptied.

(If Jason could, he would take a minute to tease Damian over the fact that he was getting riled up over Tim's disappearance. This was Tim, not Dick or Bruce or anyone else. But Damian looked ready to paint the docks red with Transporter's blood. All for Tim. When this was over and they got Tim back, Jason would make sure to tell him all about Damian's reaction.)

(Because they were getting Tim back. Jason wouldn't entertain the idea that they wouldn't.)

"Talk, you insouciant cretin, or I will make you! You think I can't beat the truth out of you? I can and I will!"

Jason cringed. Damian wasn't much of an interrogator. He was very good at the intimidation and torture part of the equation, but not so good at the extracting information part.

He turned to Dick. "Nightwing…"

Dick started, making Jason wonder if he'd heard anything Damian had said in the past few minutes.

He shook his head. "Robin. Calm down."

There was a note of tension in Dick's voice. He was holding himself like he was being pulled too thin. Jason wanted to ask if Dick was still here, if he was still at the top of his game. But it would be a stupid question.

(How could he be? Tim had just vanished before their eyes, and they hadn't been able to do anything about it.)

(Jason wasn't sure he was at the top of his game either.)

(Damian might be, though.)

Damian turned to Dick briefly, teeth gritted. He looked like he was fighting himself. The part of him that couldn't help listening to Dick and the part that wanted to destroy Transporter for… taking his brother away.

(Jason knew which side he wanted to win.)

Transporter had taken another step back, and now he was rambling, voice high and words slurring together in obvious fear. Jason couldn't make out what he was saying, but, if he could, it would probably only serve to make him angrier.

"Nightwing," Jason repeated.

(They needed to do something. Damian looked ready to throw caution to the wind and rush Transporter. And Transporter was twitchier than before; he would start shooting again in a few minutes once he ran out of words. They should take this opportunity to strike. Jason might finally be able to get a shot in now that he wasn't dodging every few seconds. But they needed to coordinate. They needed a plan. Something better than a distraction.)

(When Tim got back, Jason was never going to let them live that down. How little sleep did he have to be running on to settle on "a distraction"? Honestly.)

"We take him while he's distracted. Right now."

Jason winced at Dick's wording. Dick was wincing too, gripping his escrima sticks harder. (Would they ever be able to use the word "distracted" again without faltering slightly?)

(They would. Once they got Tim back. And then they would laugh every time they said it.)

Jason nodded slightly, getting ready to run.

He was too slow.

Dick was too slow.

This was getting to be a pattern.

(And Jason hated it. Because in that moment, when he realized they were too slow, panic welled up in him and nearly ate him alive. He didn't want to watch this again. He didn't want to experience this again. He didn't even want to care that it was happening. But he did care. So here he was, for the second time that night, with a current of terror running through his body so sharply it felt like he was getting shot.)

Damian had broken into a sprint as soon as Dick had said they were going to go for it. The expression on his face was ferocious, vicious, absolutely homicidal. He looked like a bat out of hell. (When all this was over he was going to beat Dick up for letting that thought pass through his head. Dick was always the best person to blame for terrible, unintentional puns.)

Transporter obviously thought so as well. (If his pleather pants weren't soaked, Jason would give up his favorite gun.) His fight or flight instinct was apparently set on fight: he shot the beam 3 times in a row.

Damian had dodged the first two easily, barely decelerating. He'd side stepped the third, and Jason had been so sure that Damian had been in the clear (he hadn't stopped running himself, but he had been so sure!). But the beam had caught the tip of his katana.

And Damian vanished as surely as Tim had when his fingers had been grazed.

"Robin!" Jason shouted.

(But there was no one to call to. No one who could answer. Because Damian was gone.)

(Jason hoped that Damian was with Tim. The two of them fought like they were on opposite sides, but they'd look out for each other if it came down to it.)

(Jason hoped that, if it happened again, it was him who got taken. It was selfish, but he didn't want to have to feel panic a third time, watching Dick disappear. He didn't want to be the last one here.)

Transporter was laughing. Jason didn't think there were words to describe how angry he was right now. He took a step forward.

He was too slow.

But, this time, it was a good thing. (Relatively.)

The growl that came out of Dick's throat was Batman level serious, but the way he threw an escrima stick at Transporter, hitting him in the throat and making him crumple to the ground? The way he ran over to him, following up with a brutal punch in the jaw that finally knocked Transporter out? That was all Dick. (Startlingly, fiercely protective and vengeful Dick, who loved his little brothers so much that Jason was sure that's what would one day make him cross the line and never look back.)

(Today wasn't that day.)

Dick collapsed, falling to his knees and cradling his head in his hands. He was rocking back and forth, his breathing too quick, too shallow. Jason holstered his (useless, useless, useless) guns and walked over to him, kneeling next to him.

"Nightwing-"

"Why didn't I do that sooner? Why didn't I think of that? Why didn't I do it as soon as we saw him? I could've stopped him, I could've stopped him. They'd still be here! They'd still be here. But now they're gone. I can't- I don't know where they are. They're gone-"

Jason wasn't big on physical affection, didn't really like anything more than ruffling hair, but he couldn't help wrapping Dick in his arms.

(They were in costume at the docks, kneeling over the unconscious body of the man who'd made Tim and Damian disappear. And Jason was hugging Dick. Because he needed it.)

(They both needed it, even if Jason would never admit it.)

"Calm down," Jason ordered, voice too sharp for the moment. (Damian would say he was overcompensating. Jason would say he was just compensating.) "We need to get out of here. And take him and his stupid weapon."

"But… Jay…"

Jason didn't even comment on Dick using his real name in the field. "You've got to keep it together if we're going to get them back. We're going to get them back."

Dick pulled out of his embrace hesitantly. He didn't look all right. At all. But he was standing up, regulating his breathing.

He nodded (more times than he needed to) and took a deep breath. "Right. Just let me…" Another deep breath. "Batman? There's a situation."

Jason pushed off the ground with a scoff. That was one way of putting it.

He looked down at Transporter, a sneer on his face. Jason wanted to break every bone in his body and maybe put him in a coma too, but he was pretty sure they'd need him for information.

(But if he couldn't tell them anything – if they couldn't get Tim and Damian back… Jason would do whatever he wanted to with him. He didn't care what Bruce or Dick said.)

(Though Dick would probably help.)

"Batman'll be here in five minutes."

Jason looked over at Dick. He was pale, and Jason could tell that he looked lost, even with the mask in the way.

(Jason clenched his fists and looked in the other direction, grateful for his helmet. He was pretty sure he didn't look much better.)

Five minutes.

He wondered if they could afford to wait that long.

Damian wanted to take a moment to properly curse himself for getting caught in the ray. There was no excuse for allowing this to happen to him.

He didn't take a moment. Because there were people around. He didn't know where he was, but it was possible that the strangers would be hostile.

"Another one?!"

Damian bristled, settling into a fighting stance. That meant that Drake had been here. He needed to find him.

(Damian didn't particularly want to be with Drake. Of course he didn't. But it would be better for his continued survival if the two of them worked together. Obviously.)

(In the part of him that he refused to acknowledge, he was relieved. Of course he was upset that he had been transported to another location – one that looked exactly like the Gotham docks – alternate universe. But he was relieved that Drake was in this universe too. That they hadn't been sent to separate worlds. That he didn't have to worry as much.)

(Because he had been worried. Mostly, he had been livid. But he had also been worried.)

"Robin!"

Damian's head snapped up, and he made an effort to actually look at the people he had marked as enemies.

(Over half of them looked familiar. He hadn't honestly been paying attention to their appearances. Just the fact that there were seven people he would need to fight.)

There was an Atlantian, and a Martian – but not the Manhunter. There was an archer, likely affiliated with the Green Arrow of this universe. There was- West? Obviously West, but younger. Kent was in the group, but he was his proper age. There was…

He frowned. A Robin. The costume was different from that of any of his world's Robins, but it was easy for Damian to recognize him as Grayson.

(Damian was sure that, no matter the world or situation, he would always be able to recognize Grayson. He had been his Batman; what sort of Robin would he be of he couldn't identify his Batman regardless of circumstances?)

(What sort of brother would he be?)

And then, there was Drake. Drake was there. Drake was here.

(Damian could feel something inside of him loosen at the sight of him. Drake was fine, completely unharmed, standing in front of him. Drake was fine.)

"Robin?" the others echoed.

Damian ignored them. "Red Robin."

Drake's face was blank (the way it always was when his emotions were stronger than he felt comfortable broadcasting. Damian wondered what he was feeling.)

"Robin," he repeated. "You got hit too."

"Tt. Obviously," he replied.

Drake was rolling his eyes, Damian was sure, but there was something in his posture that relaxed.

(Damian had a feeling he was relieved too.)

"So there's another Robin?" the Martian asked.

Damian scoffed. "I'm the only Robin."

"Oh, here we go," Drake muttered, fingers flexing. (One of his tells. He probably wanted to push his cowl back and run a hand through his hair.)

"But he's Red Robin," the archer stated, confused.

(Simple minded fools.)

"An astounding observation," Damian replied dryly, ignoring the way she bristled.

Drake sighed. "He's the fifth Robin," he explained. "And I'm Red Robin, not Robin."

"Fifth?!" Grayson exclaimed.

(Not Grayson. Robin.)

(How awkward.)

"Well, we come from an alternate universe very far in the future."

They seemed torn between looking at Damian and Drake. However, for once, he and Drake seemed to be on the same page: they both decided to ignore them.

"Robin."

Both Damian and Robin turned to him. Damian rolled his eyes.

"What?"

He tilted his head, angling his chin towards Damian's katana. Damian wrinkled his nose; he didn't want to sheathe his weapon.

(And why should he? Just because most of these people were heroes in their world, didn't mean they were heroes in this world. Perhaps they had tricked Drake. Even the Robin could evil.)

(Although Damian had a hard time imagining any version of Grayson being a villain.)

Drake pursed his lips. He was being insistent. Damian was tempted to ignore him, but he hesitated in following through with that course of action. If this were any other situation, Damian would keep his sword out just to spite Drake, but they weren't home. They weren't in their Gotham. They couldn't afford to fight while they were here.

Damian sheathed his sword reluctantly. He would follow Drake's lead for now.

Drake nodded, turning to his supposed allies. "Well, I suppose you'll have to get two of us back, now."

"Wait!" Damian interrupted, stepping forward with a scowl. "What about the others?"

Drake looked at him over his shoulder. "They're taking us back to their base. We'll ask Robin to talk to Batman about setting up a watch in case either of them appears."

Damian wanted to argue. He probably would have argued, regardless of the decision he had made less than a minute ago. (This was Grayson. And Todd. If one of them got caught in the beam and he and Drake weren't here… Damian wasn't worried about them; they could take care of themselves. But… He didn't like it.) The only thing that stopped him was the look on Drake's face. He looked like he wasn't done. He looked like he had more that he wanted to say. But he wasn't saying it.

That meant he wasn't being careless. He was still wary of his newly acquired allies.

(He trusted them to help them get back, to give them shelter, not to attack them. But he didn't trust them with secrets, with information, with his thoughts. He was still in possession of what little sense he'd always had.)

(Grayson didn't call it sense. He called it Bat-logic, and made fun of them for how incorrigibly tight-lipped they were around anyone who wasn't family.)

(Not that his amusement stopped him from acting the same way.)

Damian nodded shortly, glaring in a way he knew would convey that he expected to hear everything Drake was keeping to himself once they were alone.

Drake inclined his head subtly before turning back to the others. "That'll be okay, right?"

The Atlantian nodded. "We'll contact Batman as soon as possible."

Damian was less concerned with him, and more concerned with Robin and the way he was eyeing Damian and Drake. He looked suspicious.

(Of course he was. Even if this was another universe, Damian expected that anyone trained by his father would pay attention to the subtle cues that he and Drake had been exchanging. Even if he didn't know exactly what they mean in this context, he would still take note of them.)

(Damian wondered if he would alert anyone other than his Batman, or if he would deem the interaction innocuous enough that it wasn't worth mentioning.)

(Not that it was anything dangerous. Except for the fact that everything Damian did was dangerous, given who he was.)

(And Drake too, he supposed. But less so.)

"Then I guess we can leave now, huh?" Robin said, turning to the Atlantian. (It seemed he was the leader. This universe kept getting weirder.)

"Let's," the leader replied, motioning to the ship that was behind them.

Damian boarded the ship, following after Drake. He raised an eyebrow when seats appeared to accommodate all of them, then sat down next to Drake, crossing his arms. (He didn't like this. He didn't like being on a ship piloted by someone he didn't know.)

(He didn't like being here.)

"So, how old are you, exactly?" the archer asked,

Damian ignored her.

"Er…"

Damian blinked, looking at Drake out of the corner of his eye. Drake was staring straight ahead, looking perfectly relaxed. (He wasn't. He was flexing his fingers again.) Damian was surprised; he'd expected Drake to berate him for not answering.

(Maybe Drake had decided to keep the fighting to a minimum as well.)

"Age isn't really a big deal," Robin jumped in, turning to the archer. "I started this when I was like, 10. By the way, that's Artemis, Aqualad, Kid Flash, Miss Martian, and Superboy."

Damian nodded shortly before looking in the opposite direction. (He didn't like looking at Robin.)

"So… who were you guys fighting?" Kid Flash questioned, scratching the back of his head. "Warp, or someone with magic…?"

"A new villain," Drake replied. "I doubt he exists in the world; he wasn't exactly… experienced."

"But he still managed to send you guys here," Superboy pointed out, grunting.

(Damian wondered if Drake would be mad if Damian stabbed Superboy with the Kryptonite in his belt. It wasn't like this Superboy was Drake's Kent.)

Drake's smile was painfully fake.

(Not quite his public smile – it was too small for that. It was the smile he tended to give Damian whenever Drake decided he was going to "be the bigger Robin." Damian hated that smile.)

(He hated it less when it was directed at someone else.)

"Give someone who doesn't know what he's doing a gun and he'll still manage to hit someone. Luck and a lack of skill can be deadly that way."

Drake barely refrained from sounding condescending. Barely. Superboy was glaring at him.

(But Robin was snickering. Snickering the way Grayson did when he was trying and failing to pretend that he was a responsible, mature adult who didn't love making fun of his younger brothers.)

(Damian couldn't stop his posture from slumping slightly at the sound.)

"Right," Kid Flash said. "So how long have you guys been at this?"

"Not long – a couple of years – less."

(Making sure they underestimated them. It was a brilliant move on Drake's part. As much as it irked Damian to pretend he wasn't as skilled as he was, it would be better in the long run in case something happened.)

(Though, Damian wasn't sure if the story would hold up. Robin was looking at them like he knew they were lying. But he was only smirking and raising an eyebrow. Maybe he wouldn't say anything.)

(That was too much to hope for. Just because he was a Robin – a version of Grayson – didn't mean anything. Damian had to remember that.)

"So you're not experienced either. Just lucky," Superboy said.

There was a slant to Drake's lips that only appeared when he was feeling particularly annoyed. Damian pursed his lips, eyeing him carefully. Normally, Drake had more patience than this (except this wasn't normal. They were in another universe talking to people they knew, but didn't. And Drake looked like he hadn't slept in days.)

(The idiot.)

"In our world, a year's a lot longer than a day. How long are years here?"

Robin was cackling. (Legitimately cackling. He was glad his Grayson never did that; it sounded ridiculous.) "365 24-hour days. Except leap years."

Drake's eyes flicked to Superboy, and he made a humming sound in the back of his throat, but didn't bother replying verbally. (Not that he needed to. One of Drake's questionably useful skills was his ability to convey ineffable levels of derision using only vague sounds and facial expressions.)

Silence fell, and Damian hoped it would last. He didn't want to have to expend the energy needed to ignore a conversation.

"Um… Why do you have a sword? You guys don't… kill people in your world, do you?"

All eyes turned to them, and suddenly, their "allies" were a lot less friendly. Their increasing wariness was palpable. Robin looked ready to attack.

(They all did, but it was Robin that Damian noticed first.)

(It wasn't Grayson. It wasn't his Grayson.)

(That fact didn't stop him from feeling ill at the thought of any version of his oldest brother being willing to fight him.)

"That is a good question," Aqualad murmured quietly, eyes narrowed.

"No, we don't," Drake replied, tone full of conviction and laced with steel. "All heroes have preferred weapons for different reasons. Robin wants to be a ninja."

They mostly relaxed at Drake's words. (He was a good liar.) Robin was still looking at them skeptically.

"Your Batman is okay with that? The sword?"

The grin on Drake's face was deceptive. (No teeth were showing and his eyes were squinted too tightly. That was his undercover smile. He was only smiling because he wanted to seem genuine and trustworthy; he wanted to set them at ease.) "Only when he has supervision."

A smile broke out on Robin's face (Grayson's smile) and he barked a breathless laugh (Grayson's laugh). "I'll keep that in mind."

Damian wondered if it showed. How uncomfortable he was.

Conversation flowed easily after that (all between the others, with Drake jumping in just often enough to avoid having questions specifically directed at him.), but, thankfully, they didn't try to talk to Damian. (And Todd said his attitude was a problem.)

When the ship finally landed and the door opened, Damian was relieved. The endless prattle going on around him had only served to give him a headache.

Drake walked slightly in front of him, allowing less than a foot of space between the two of them. (Damian wouldn't give a name to the reason Drake was probably doing it.) (Wouldn't completely admit to himself that he appreciated the thought, even if he didn't need it.)

"Okay, let me just adjust the zeta tubes to let them in," Robin muttered, bringing his arm up to access what appeared to be a holographic computer in his glove. (Impressive technology. Damian had no doubt Drake was already salivating over it.)

"Or," Aqualad said, walking forwards. "I could go in first and have Red Tornado officially allow our guests access."

Robin grinned unapologetically. (Damian was getting tired of seeing familiar expressions on his face.) "If you really want."

Aqualad walked to the zeta tube and disappeared in a flash of yellow. The others followed after him (except Robin. He stayed, still grinning.)

Drake snorted. "That's not traumatic."

"Tt. If you don't have PTSD by now, I doubt you'll ever have it."

"Thanks, Robin," he deadpanned.

"Oh. Right. Think the zeta beam'll be a problem?" Robin questioned, cocking his head.

"We're fine," Drake replied, waving his hand dismissively. "Though, I was wondering about lodging."

"Oh, yeah. Aqualad, Miss Martian, and Superboy live here, but there's plenty of room – enough space for you guys."

Drake nodded slightly. "Are they soundproof?"

Robin blinked. "Yeah. Why?"

"No need to subject Superboy to our nightmares."

(Damian suppressed a scoff. The one time Drake decided to offer up truthful information, he chose to lie about it. Damian couldn't help being grudgingly impressed at how easily it came to him.)

The look on Robin's face was understanding. "Nothing to worry about on that front. Trust me."

Damian felt slightly guilty for allowing Robin to be manipulated, but, more than anything, he was just relieved that Drake had avoided suspicion while confirming the fact that they would have a place to discuss their situation privately.

The zeta-tube lit up, and Kid Flash materialized.

"Hey, Rob. Red Tornado says they're in the clear. I'm going to run home, but I'll see you tomorrow."

"Later, KF! You guys ready?"

"Yeah," Drake said, looking over his shoulder at Damian. "We're ready."

(Damian wondered if he was. Knew he didn't have a choice. He was an al Ghul. A Wayne. A Robin. He had to be ready. He didn't have the liberty of not being ready.)

Robin grinned. (Damian wished he'd stop doing that) "All right, then. Follow me."

(That would be easy to do; it was all Damian ever did.)

(Except this wasn't his Grayson.)

Transporter was locked up in the Cave. (Dick wondered if he should take moral exception to kidnapping Transporter. He probably should. He didn't.) He was still out cold, so questioning would have to wait. Dick probably shouldn't have hit him so hard.

He leaned over the island counter (Bruce had kicked him out of the Cave after 10 minutes of pacing and half of a panic attack), trying to remember how to breathe.

But it was so hard.

He knew that losing people was a part of the job. Jason had died. Steph had died. (Not really, but, yes, she had.) Bruce had died (disappeared, but Dick hadn't known that.) Tim had disappeared, chasing after Bruce. Damian had died. Losing people was a part of the job.

But he had always gotten them back.

(What if he didn't this time? What if they were gone forever? What if they couldn't figure out how the weapon worked, or find where they had gone?)

(What if his luck ran out? What if he never got to see his baby brothers again?)

A teacup was forced into Dick's hands, making him look up.

"Thanks, Little Wing."

His little brother grunted (the only one he still had – Dick didn't think he'd be able to let Jason out of his sight now), taking a seat next to him.

Dick smiled wanly into his tea, eying Jason. He was absolutely seething. (Dick knew because there was a tick in his jaw that just wouldn't go away. It was almost unnoticeable, but Dick knew what to look for.) (Also, because Bruce had kicked Jason out of the Cave for trying to wake Transporter up by shooting him in his kneecaps, and Jason had all but thrown a tantrum, stomping out of the Cave in a huff.)

"Black tea?" Dick asked, wrinkling his nose and closing his eyes.

(He remembered when Bruce and Alfred had confiscated all of Tim's energy drinks and coffee. Tim had raged quietly at the injustice before making himself gallons of black tea so that he could consume as much caffeine as he required for his continued survival. Bruce had given up on him after that.)

"Hey," Jason said, punching Dick on the shoulder lightly.

"Hey."

"It freaks me out when you're quiet for this long."

"…They're gone, Jay. How-"

His voice was breaking. He was losing it.

(He didn't see how he could keep it together.)

"I don't know why I can't keep myself under control. I need to. Bruce is going to be working nonstop until we get them back – no sleep, barely eating. He's going to interrogate Transporter, and look up his history, and investigate that stupid weapon. And he's all but shut down emotionally so he doesn't have to deal with this because he can't cope otherwise. And Alfred, he has to keep everything together, and he's probably going to be the one to tell the girls and deal with that and – I can't do this. I can't-"

"What?" Jason interrupted sharply. "You can't do what? You can't worry, you can't be upset about this? Just because everyone else is upset about it too? Are we supposed to take turns? Come on, Dick, you're supposed to be the emotionally competent one here. It's all right to not be okay with this."

Dick let out a choked laugh. (Laughing was better than crying.) "As far as I know, they're perfectly safe, just somewhere else! And I'm falling apart."

Jason let out an aggrieved sigh. "But you don't know. And it's okay to fall apart about the fact that you don't know what happened to them, as long as you pull yourself together long enough to help me question Transporter once he wakes up."

"You're willing to share?"

"B probably won't let me near him unless I have you around. So you have to at least pretend to be emotionally stable, and then you can go back to freaking out."

Dick laughed, just shy of hysterical, and leaned his head against Jason's shoulder. Jason let him. (Jason had hugged him too.) (Jason was here.)

"Are you okay?" Dick asked.

"What sort of stupid question is that? I'm fine."

Dick didn't have to look at him to tell he was lying. (Jason forced himself to be distant, only ever came over if he couldn't avoid it. But he loved them as much as they loved him – even if most of them would rather stab themselves than say it.)

He chose not to call him on it.

"Will you stay, though?"

Jason twitched, and Dick couldn't help being a bit sad at his reaction. (Jason was so awkward about spending time with them outside of patrol – partly guilt and shame, partly habitual hostility, partly his inability to process how to be a family with them.)

"…Yeah. Okay."

Dick pushed his luck (luck, luck, luck. He hoped he was still lucky.) and wrapped his arm around Jason's shoulders. Jason let him.

"Thanks, Jay. For…"

(For having his back, for caring about him, for caring about their little brothers, for staying, for being here to keep him from falling apart totally.)

"Don't mention it, Dickiebird."

Dick smiled and sat up, taking a big gulp of his tea and wincing. (How had Tim managed to chug gallons of this stuff?) (The only possible answer was that Tim didn't have taste buds. Dick had years' worth of evidence to support that conclusion.)

He laughed. "You remember that time when Alfred was away and Tim actually decided to eat breakfast and-"

"The Red-Bull Cinnamon Grapefruit Lobster Pancakes?" Jason gagged.

"The Red-Bull Cinnamon Grapefruit Lobster Pancakes with maple syrup and hot sauce," Dick corrected, grinning.

Jason shuddered. "And the brat picked out the lobster and actually ate the pancakes because-"

"'These pancakes have an adequate amount of nutrients. Taste is irrelevant.'"

"And he didn't even flinch when he ate them. That was the day I realized if Tim and Damian worked together they could probably take over the world."

Dick threw his head back, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes. And then he stopped laughing. He bowed his head, covered his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"We're going to get them back," Dick said.

(He wasn't sure that was true. Maybe they'd caught too many breaks already. But he needed to say it until he believed it.)

"We're going to get them back," Jason affirmed.

(Jason said it like he believed it.)

(Dick would hold onto his faith until he found his own.)