Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The boys had done a great job making a path for the large SUV and clearing the end of the long driveway, but the roads were still covered with snow. Where a few daring drivers had plowed through anyway, the bottom of the tire tracks were filled with ice. Bruce suspected that a thick layer of ice coated the ground beneath the snow, leftover from the thunderstorm that had heralded the colder weather when they first arrived. It took all of Bruce's considerable skill and most of his concentration to keep the vehicle going in the direction that he wanted it to.

They finally reached the interstate after an hour and a half of excruciatingly slow driving. Thankfully, the snow had not fallen quite as thickly at the lower elevation and the NYSDOT had successfully treated the pavement to remove most of the ice. Bruce kept a close eye on the spray kicking up from the cars ahead of them - or more importantly, the lack thereof which could indicate black ice - but otherwise settled in for the many-hour drive back to the hospital near Pleasanton.

Since his navigational assistance was no longer needed, Thomas folded up the map and stowed it into the glove compartment. "There is a restaurant in a small town a couple of hours from here that we used to enjoy during our vacations at the cabin," he said. He sounded almost hesitant to mention it. Bruce suspected that it was a place filled with good memories of an unbroken family that the bereft father was leery to dredge up.

"That will work well for a late dinner," Bruce replied. He didn't want to add any more delays to their trip, but they all needed to eat and he couldn't push Thomas as hard as he would have pushed himself, or even his sons.

Thomas cleared his throat and glanced quickly into the rear of the vehicle. He could probably only see Tim, who had won the bucket seat behind Bruce's. Bruce glanced in the rearview mirror himself. After the boys' conversation had died out, they'd each found individual ways to entertain themselves. Tim's face was highlighted in blue by the screen of the borrowed tablet while next to him, Jason was bathed in a soft yellow glow from the overhead cabin light as he finished the book he'd started earlier in the day. Dick and Damian on the rear bench were cast in shadows, though it appeared they were now talking to each other in low voices.

"So, you run Wayne Enterprises back in your universe," Thomas said.

"A man named Lucius Fox does most of the running of the company," replied Bruce. "I'm merely the owner and president of the board."

"But you are doing well for yourself." Thomas regarded him keenly. "Alfred mentioned that you and the boys had each ruined some very nice suits when Ella brought you over."

"And a Bentley Mulsanne Speed," Bruce said wryly. Thomas made a sound halfway between derision and appreciation. "Yes, the company is doing very well. We recently acquired a pharmaceutical and medical company that we rolled into our biotech division, and we've managed to synthesize a few groundbreaking vaccines and medications. Right now the big push is cancer research." Bruce paused to swallow around the lump that started forming in his throat. "But the division closest to my heart, and the one I spend the most time overseeing, is the Wayne Foundation."

"The Wayne Foundation?"

"It's our charitable wing," Bruce said. He sighed and tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel. "We were at a fundraising gala for the Martha Wayne Foundation the night that Ella brought us here."

Thomas smiled softly at the thought of a charity being named for his ex-wife. "She would be happy to have something good named for her."

"I like to think so," said Bruce. "Many orphanages and public schools are funded through her foundation, among other outreach programs. Obviously it's important to me, given that I and three of my children were orphaned."

"Of course." Thomas grew introspective and turned to look out of the passenger side window.

Bruce, not wanting to be left alone to dwell on thoughts of his parents' murders as he was prone to do when reminded of them through their charities, changed the subject briefly. "The Thomas Wayne Foundation supports medical researchers as well as funding a number of free clinics throughout the poorer parts of Gotham City." He bit his tongue before mentioning that he had always imagined that his father would have wanted to help the less fortunate as well, rather than turn to alcoholism in the face of his demons.

"This all confirms my beliefs that this world would be a better place had my Bruce lived and I perished in his place. Look what good you have done for your Gotham City, where mine no longer exists."

Sickness at the memory of standing in that dark alley as his parents bled for a string of pearls twisted in Bruce's gut. "What good I have done has always seemed to pale in comparison to what I imagine my parents could have done." There were plenty of critics who considered Batman to be a plague on Gotham City, not a savior. His own surrogate mother, Dr. Leslie Thompkins, had said as much to his face on multiple occasions. Usually she was angry with him for the suffering of his own children in the shadow of the bat. There was no worse example than what the Joker and the League of Assassins did to Jason. "I have made plenty of terrible mistakes."

"They seem to love you well enough," said Thomas, motioning toward the back seats of the SUV. "And it is clear that you care deeply for them. In my long, lonely life, I have realized that there is little more worthwhile than nurturing a family."

Bruce was better at sacrificing than nurturing his family, but he'd promised himself that would change when they finally made it home. "There wouldn't be any good in me at all if not for them."

Thomas nodded, likely thinking about how his own life might be different if his son hadn't been murdered. "What made you decide to adopt instead of starting a family of your own?"

Bruce smirked as he recalled meeting each of his children for the first time. None of them were actually happy occurrences, but he could look back on them with a degree of mirth now. "Alfred - my Alfred in our universe - always complained that I was a very serious little boy. Losing my parents at the age of twelve didn't help. I had no interest in anything but wiping crime completely from Gotham City. That included anything serious like meeting a girl and getting married. I actually… didn't think I'd live very long, to be honest. All I cared about was finding the man who murdered my parents and bringing him to justice. I was pretty reckless in my late teens and early twenties.

"Then I turned thirty and the board at Wayne Enterprises started pushing me to put more effort into building a positive imagine in the media. So I took a vicious journalist on a date to gain her favor, and conveniently the greatest show on earth was in town."

"You took your date to the circus?" Thomas shook his head in amusement.

"It was fun," Bruce said defensively. "Until the end, anyway. It was halfway through the trapeze show when a line snapped and both aerialists fell. The third member of their troupe was their twelve-year-old son who'd just finished a quadruple flip and was waiting for the trapeze to swing back to him. Watching him watch his parents die put me right back in that alley. I felt like I was looking into a mirror. When I found out a few days later that he'd been left behind with Gotham City social services after the circus moved on to their next stop, I knew I had to help him find the justice that I was still seeking myself.

"I thought it would just be for a couple of weeks until a foster home opened up, but three months passed before the bloated system could handle one more orphan. By then, I had grown much too attached to the little imp to even consider leaving him to such an uncertain fate. So Dick became mine, and he's been pushing me to be a better man ever since."

"It's easy to see how close the two of you are," said Thomas.

Bruce snorted sardonically. "I have messed up so badly with him. Thank goodness he's too smart to listen to my bullshit most of the time. I had no business trying to parent another human being, and by the time he was seventeen, he was so fed up with me that he moved in with friends just to get away from me. I am eternally grateful that he eventually forgave me and came back home after a few years."

"You know," spoke up Jason, drawing Bruce's eyes to the rearview mirror. "Dick can be quite the prick, too, when he puts his mind to it."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was mad at Dick, Dick was mad at me, and Jason decided to help by stealing the tires off of my car when I was working in the Bowery one night."

"You were the idiot who drove a million dollar car into the seediest part of town."

"Anyway," said Bruce. "I caught him in the act, made him put the wheels back on my car, and then marched him straight to the nearest boys' home. I knew he needed help, and I knew I was the last person that could give it to him. My colossal failure with Dick was proof of that."

Thomas turned in his seat so he could see Jason. "I can imagine you being bold enough to tire jack a rich man's car."

"You don't know the half of it," said Jason with a smirk. Bruce agreed. It wasn't just a rich man's car, it was the Batmobile.

Bruce continued his story. "The boys' home was run by a terrible woman. Jason refused to stay with her and when I found out why, I agreed with him completely. Unfortunately, there was no better option. That's when I got serious about funding the Martha Wayne Foundation. I couldn't stand to see Jason's potential wasted on a life of petty crime, so I decided to try to be a better parent to him than I was to Dick."

"Were you?"

"Hell no," Jason laughed meanly.

"No," Bruce agreed darkly. "Less than two years after I adopted him, he was kidnapped. I… I searched for months." Bruce had to pause to summon his composure. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance. "Eventually the police declared him dead and closed the case."

"Bruce…" Thomas reached over to clasp the younger man's shoulder.

"So I understand how you felt when your son was murdered," Bruce said grimly. "I got Jason back, and that feeling still haunts me." It was quiet for a few minutes. Bruce kept his eyes focused on the road. His knuckles were white due to his tense grip on the steering wheel. The atmosphere in the car became thick, until Bruce was struggling to think of anything to break the silence. He was just about to spurt out the first thing that came to mind when Thomas cleared his throat.

"What about a life partner? I doubt you've attracted any shortage of attention, especially if the company is doing as well as you say. Raising four boys on your own isn't easy."

The first visage that came to mind belonged to a sultry female cat burglar, and the second was the power-hungry terrorist that had gifted him with Damian. "And a daughter," he corrected. Bruce smiled wryly. "I find that once they get to know me, most respectable women opt to keep their distance."

"I can't imagine why. From what I've seen, you care deeply for your family. You even seem to handle Ella with some measure of respect."

"I, uh… don't always have my priorities in the correct order," Bruce admitted. He thought back on the many times he had let the Mission come before his loved ones and even Wayne Enterprises. "I am very busy, and I while I devote most of my time to important things, this little trip has made me realize that I don't give enough time to the most important things in my life."

Thomas stared at his folded hands in his lap. Eventually he said, "I, too, did not always put my family first. Obviously the drinking, but even before that I often missed important milestone because of my work."

"You were a skilled and accomplished doctor," Bruce said. "More people than just Martha and Brucie needed you."

Thomas' expression grew darker. "I scheduled an evening appointment on my son's birthday. If we had been able to go to the movies on the day of, he would probably still be alive."

"It's not your fault," Bruce insisted. "I don't know the truth of what happened here, but if it's anything like what happened in my universe, it would not have mattered what night of the week you were walking down that alley." Thomas looked over at the younger man in surprise. Bruce nodded dourly. "My parents were not the victims of a random mugging. That son of a bitch waited for them, at the behest of the man who paid for their murders."

"I'm so sorry," said Thomas in a tight voice. "I--"

"Forgive yourself for what happened. Martha still loves you deeply. You're the one keeping the relationship broken."

"I know…"

Bruce took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Anyway, between being too busy to date properly and having been burned by Damian's mother, I haven't put too much pressure on myself to find a wife."

"There's no one who interests you?"

"There's one." Bruce chewed on his lower lip as he thought about Selina Kyle. "She's beautiful and free spirited. She makes me laugh. But she also does things that I strongly disagree with, and I don't know that she's quite ready to step into the role of mother to five headstrong brats."

"Dick and Jason are adults, are they not?"

"They're still my sons, and they'll be welcome in my home for as long as they want to be there."

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. Simply, maybe the role of mother is not as demanding as you may think." Bruce disagreed - his eldest sons were sometimes more needy than their younger siblings, but perhaps his father did have a point about how much they'd rely on anyone for mothering. Bruce hummed as if he would give the thought some consideration. "Tell me more about this beautiful, free-spirited woman that's captured your attention. It's important that I know if she's good enough for my son and grandchildren."

Bruce chuckled, filled with warm feelings for his father of this world. He candidly launched into a heavily censored narrative about his tumultuous romance with Gotham City's infamous cat burglar. He had lost track of where they were on the interstate until Thomas reminded him of their planned pit stop.

"This is the exit for the restaurant," Thomas said, pointing at the blue highway sign previewing the food establishments coming up. Bruce carefully navigated toward the family-owned eatery that his parents had never stopped at during his youth.

The parking lot was rather full, especially given the quantity of spots sacrificed to piles of plowed snow. The number of cars could be a sign of how good the food was, though Bruce didn't like the idea of any delays if they couldn't be seated right away or the service was slow. He swallowed his concern as he turned off the skillfully parked SUV and prepared to squeeze out of the vehicle and into the tight space between the neighboring pickup truck. He managed to escape without dinging the rusted bed of the truck and moved to wait near the front bumper. He found himself scanning the establishment out of habit, looking for danger or suspicious activity. He didn't see anything concerning, but that didn't stop him from being momentarily startled when he was hugged from behind.

"I think you're an okay father," Tim whispered cheekily once Bruce had dragged the teenager around to his front. "Even if you are in love with Catwoman." Bruce hummed doubtfully after drawing his son in for a proper hug.

Fortunately, Bruce's fears weren't realized when they were able to be seated right away, despite their large party of six. The wide circular table probably could have sat eight comfortably. Two of the unused chairs were immediately borrowed for other tables. Bruce expected Dick to be martyred by his brothers and made to take the spot on Thomas' opposite side from the one Bruce selected. To his surprise, Jason voluntarily sat next to the doctor.

"You holding up okay, B?" asked Dick in a quiet voice after sitting down next to Bruce.

"I'm fine, chum," Bruce promised. He patted the young man's knee under the table. A developing altercation across the table pulled his attention away from his eldest. "Damian, you will not cut any of your brothers, especially with something as ineffective as a butter knife. You do not have to order off of the kid's menu if you don't want to." Bruce shot Jason a disappointed look.

Jason smirked while Damian muttered about the benefits of his katana for skewering imbeciles. Thomas looked taken aback, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement at Bruce when the younger man caught his pseudo-father's eye.

All of the boys were hungry enough to quickly decide what they wanted to eat and were ready to order when the waitress returned with a round of waters. Bruce rarely had dinner in a restaurant that wasn't accompanied by a perfectly paired wine or craft beer, but he'd strongly encouraged his children to forgo any overpriced beverages considering that Thomas would be footing the bill for this meal.

That didn't deter his third son from strategically ordering a combo off of the all-day breakfast menu that included unlimited brewed coffee. "Timothy, no," Bruce scolded. To the waitress he added, "He'll have the orange juice instead."

"I retract my earlier statement," Tim stated with a scowl. "You know, there are a number of studies that prove coffee is actually good for people."

"For adults," clarified Thomas. Tim's eyes widened briefly at being addressed by the reclusive Wayne. He then settled into his chair to pout, apparently too uneasy to argue with the near-stranger than he would have been with Bruce.

Jason draped an arm over the back of Tim's chair. "When we get back to our world, we'll make a coffee and cigarette run, runt." Bruce choked down his annoyed reprimand, knowing that Jason was trying to provoke him for some unknown reason. He knew that the horrible teenager had been listening when Bruce confided to Thomas about how distraught he'd been when Jason was lost. When Bruce failed to rise to the bait, Jason tried a different method of tormenting his loving father. "So, Dr. Wayne. Brucie here is very tight-lipped about his childhood, and Alfred is too proper and British to be a good source of blackmail material. Surely you have some entertaining stories about your son that might reflect something this old toad got up to."

"Jason." Bruce couldn't believe the teenager's nerve. Thomas Wayne had turned to alcoholism and seclusion to cope with his son's murder. The old man had admitted during the drive here that he blamed himself. Dredging up old memories could only send the doctor back to a dark place. To make matters worse, the rest of his rotten children had perked up in interest.

"It's okay," Thomas said after clearing his throat awkwardly. "I… I should focus on the good memories anyway." Bruce started to wonder what else had transpired between his sons and this version of his father while he was locked away in the guest bedroom. "Let’s see." A soft smile crossed his face as he remembered his only child. "Brucie loved animals. He was always finding wounded wildlife and bringing it home for me to treat."

Four pairs of eyes turned to look at Damian. The eleven-year-old colored slightly at the attention, then raised his nose haughtily and scoffed. "Clearly Father also understands that the company of animals is typically preferable to that of humans."

"You are fond of animals too, Damian?" asked Thomas.

"Fond is a bit of an understatement," said Dick in the voice that meant he thought Damian was being adorable and therefore Damian thought he had to react with unnecessary violence. To Bruce's relief, Damian merely jerked his head to the side when Dick tried to ruffle his hair.

"We live in a zoo," Tim chimed in. Thankfully, he seemed to have recovered from being denied his favorite drink.

"Tt. If we lived in a zoo, Father would have allowed me to foster the litter of tiger cubs that ended up being shipped to Metropolis when Gotham's severely underfunded facility could not properly care for them."

"What would you do with tiger cubs, Dami?" asked Dick.

"Train them to attack Todd."

"You've already trained your damned turkey to attack anyone in sight," Jason complained.

"You threatened to eat him last Thanksgiving!"

"Boys!" Bruce glanced around, hoping that his rowdy children hadn't bothered the other diners. "No one is going to eat the turkey." Secretly, he wouldn't be too upset if it did mysteriously disappear one day.

"Would not a dog or cat make a better pet for a young boy?" suggested Thomas.

"What, not a cow?" Jason rolled his eyes.

"A cow?"

"Damian does have a pet cat and dog," said Tim. "They're really not so bad."

"All of my companions are immensely preferable to you cretins." Damian crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his brothers.

"They're just teasing you, Dami," soothed Dick. The twenty-four-year-old looked back over to Thomas. "So Brucie was an animal lover?"

"Yes, quite. Except for bats. The poor thing found them to be quite terrifying, and it didn't help that our property had an expansive cave system that hosted a large colony of fruit bats."

"You were afraid of bats?" Jason asked Bruce in a deadpan tone.

"I know this story," Dick said. "Why else do you think the whole of Gotham City fears bats now?"

Bruce sighed. "Yes, I was afraid of bats. I got over it."

Damian studied his father almost hopefully. "Did you really like animals when you were a boy, Father?"

"I still do," Bruce assured him. "But they require much more care than I have time to give. It pleases me that you are so doting to your pets." Damian sat up straighter and gloated about receiving praise from his father.

"What's the weirdest thing Brucie ever brought home?" asked Jason.

Thomas tapped on his chin as he thought. "Nothing too weird, though he once brought home a nest of field mice and let them escape inside the house. Our head maid nearly quit over the incident." Their food arrived then, so story time was interrupted as they confirmed that they had everything they needed and the waitress promised to bring a pitcher to refill their water glasses. As they dug into the comfort food, Thomas continued. "Brucie very much wanted a dog. We agreed that he could have one once he turned thirteen, as long as he proved that he was ready and willing to take care of it. Over a year before that time, he already had a presentation ready explaining the care of a canine and had picked out a name."

"Ace," said Bruce in a small voice.

"Ace was named for the dog you never had as a child?" Dick looked at Bruce sympathetically. Bruce smiled through the sad memory and squeezed Dick's arm.

"Yes, Ace," said Thomas. "I would give anything for the chance to go back in time and get the dog for Brucie as soon as he asked for it."

"See, Father. You should not deny me when I wish to adopt an animal," said Damian. Bruce shook his head and glanced toward the ceiling. Given the fact that Damian had a cow, turkey, and demon dragon bat in addition to his cat and dog, Bruce figured that he had been more than lenient with his youngest's love of animals. They did not need a trio of tigers.

Dick smirked and decided to help by changing the subject. "What other hobbies did little Brucie have?"

"He was a prolific reader," answered Thomas. "He was interested in so many topics that sometimes it was difficult to keep the library stocked with enough variety to cover all of his academic pursuits."

"So a nerd like Timbo," Jason teased.

"I was going to say a bookworm like you," Tim retorted. "I do my research online."

"The internet didn't exist when B was growing up," Jason argued. "In fact, I think the printing press had barely just been invented. He's lucky he had books for his nerdy endeavors."

"The printing press was invented in the 1450s, Jason." Bruce frowned sadly.

"The fact that you know that proves my point," Jason replied smugly.

Tim redirected the course of the conversation back to where it had veered off-track. "I know the internet became commonplace during Bruce's lifetime. What I don't understand is how anyone functioned without it," he said.

"Books," said Bruce and Thomas simultaneously. Bruce ducked his head as his older boys chuckled at them.

Tim huffed. Damian glanced at the slightly older boy and then turned to scowl at Jason. "I'm sure that Father spent his time reading worthwhile pursuits, instead of wasting his time with fairytales. Isn't that right, Dr. Wayne?"

The doctor looked discomfited for having been pulled into the boys' debate, but responded nonetheless. "Well, in many cultures important life lessons or histories are taught through the use of 'fairytales'. So I would not consider them unworthy of one's time. Brucie's interests did lie in more scientific areas, however. He was especially fond of flipping through my old text books and popular mechanic magazines."

"I did like the Grimm Fairytales," Bruce said. "My mother thought they were a little too dark for a child, but Alfred used to read them to me when my parents were away. Those stories were a comfort to me after they died."

"That would explain some of the rather morbid ideas Brucie would come up with," mused Thomas absently.

"Books aren't just for learning," said Jason, glaring in turn at each of his younger brothers. "A well-written story can take you on an adventure and help you forget about the shithole that your real life is." Bruce's raised eyebrow at the coarse language went unnoted.

"Why are you mad at me?" Tim asked petulantly.

"Show some respect for the printed word. Not everything useful has to come from a glowing computer screen."

"I did not-- I respect books!" Tim pointed his fork at Jason's face. "You have an e-reader!"

"Timmy, shhh," Dick soothed. "Indoor voice."

Tim slouched in his seat to sulk anew. "I hate you all."

"Boys…" Four sets of eyes focused on him, though none of the corresponding expressions seemed very repentant. "Finish your dinners. I'm eager to get back on the road. We still have a long drive ahead of us." Fortunately, they were mostly done anyway. Bruce insisted on a stop in the bathroom before they left, especially once the waitress returned with a round of waters in Styrofoam travel cups.

His sons were still horsing around, trying to splash each other while washing their hands, when Bruce escaped the clean but cramped men's room. He found Thomas waiting just outside of the entrance. The older man had his face turned skyward, from where new snowflakes drifted sparsely to the ground. "Dr. Wayne?"

His pseudo-father looked at him with a wistful smile. "I'm imagining a world where none of the Waynes die in a bleak alley. One where Martha and I are able to enjoy our grandchildren, squabbles and all."

Bruce's heart ached briefly as the image of such a universe flickered through his mind as well. He squashed down a brief pang of regret, since there was no question that he had to return to his own parallel universe. He forced himself to ignore the fact that thanks to Ella, such a world almost existed right then and there.

to be continued...