Author's Note: This may or may not fly. I think it's funny. If it isn't, please tell me. I may change it. For the minute, this chapter is from Tim's POV on recent events. He goes to see Jason, who in his timeline is still very dead. They bond in a fashion before engaging in a game Jason calls a 'naked scar party'. Things go dark. Then, when Damian and Dick turn up, things lighten up again. When Bruce arrives…the fun is almost over.

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Shattered 3

Tim

It's a weird feeling, waking up in a place you know, but finding everything in it has moved on without you. This is supposed to be my room, the room I always sleep in if patrol runs late and I can't be bothered to get home. Except here, now, wherever in time we are, it's not my room. None of my things are in here. No books. No clothes. Nothing. So, I slept and woke up in my Robin costume, which is not in great shape at the minute. To be perfectly honest, neither am I. I know what I'm experiencing technically isn't time-travel, just a really weird bending of it, but seeing Jason at my age is pretty scary. It's bad enough to still be fighting with his legacy without the guy being brought back from the dead.

I endured hell to become Robin. Bruce's training bordered on…it didn't border at all, it was insanity. And that was because of Jason. Your predecessor was better than you, Tim, and he still died. You have to be better than him. It is the only way to stay alive. Bruce said something like that every day to me in training. I know he was trying to push me to my limits and beyond, but it did seem like an exaggeration as time dragged on. Jason could do fifteen pull-ups with a forty-five-pound plate between his legs? Jason could carry Bruce over two-hundred meters in less than two minutes? Jason could punch through three boards with one short strike? Half of the things he expected me to do at the start, all of which I eventually managed, seemed impossible. And Jason was thirteen going on fourteen when he did his own hellish training. I started to think he was just outright lying about Jason's abilities. Actually looking at him in the flesh though is a different story.

When this crazy phenomenon hit, I was fighting Scarecrow with Bruce in the closed wing of Gotham Museum. Needless to say, fear gas played a large part in proceedings. I was already seeing visions of Jason and Dick telling me I was a failure before getting knocked unconscious. When I came to, near the ruins of the Teem Institute in Downtown Gotham, I took to the rooftops for a better handle on the situation. That's when I saw him. Not a hallucination. Not a nightmare. Not a ghost. It was actually Jason. The real thing. I knew it was him the moment he got mobbed by thirty grey-skinned zombie people and didn't look for the exit about thirty minutes later in the Narrows. I watched him stand his ground, like a lunatic. I was ready to jump in if things got too dicey for him to handle solo. But I guess part of me just wanted to see him fall too. It sounds bad, but after what I went through for my mantle, I wanted some proof Jason wasn't the machine Bruce painted him as in training. I wanted to know he was human. Just a boy, like me.

But Jason didn't fall down. He was brought down to one knee, but never off his feet. And he got hit a lot. These things were physically ripping at his costume at one point, trying to shred him to pieces along with it. He punched his way out. Thirty bodies. All of them fell. I thought his stamina would give out or his punches would get just weak enough to be swamped. But they didn't. Seven minutes of lung-bursting, terrifying close-quarter combat with literal monsters and the guy still looked like he had something left at the end. And that's when I realised what Bruce meant when he said Jason had some qualities that could not be copied. The guy was made of concrete and had the instincts of a velociraptor in combat. Kill or be killed. Never surrender. Never give ground. Never accept death. I could see all those mantras just from his body language. It was impressive and horrifying at the same time.

He started biting some of them after three minutes. He tore ears off when they got too close. Things audibly went 'snap' and 'crack' a lot. And when he headbutted them, some of their skulls visibly dented in the aftermath. I thought about introducing myself when it was all over, but wasn't sure if he was still in berserker/survival mode. If he was, chances are my head would have been detached and kicked like a freaking soccer ball. So, I hung back until the radio call and then shadowed him to the statue. I couldn't believe he still had the energy to shove Dick and square up to him. Those big shoes I had to fill, stepping into a dead kid's costume, they seemed a whole lot bigger after seeing him live.

Now it's eight hours later and I'm looking for him again. I guess I'm curious. I started thinking of him as some mythical figure towards the end of training, some ultimate goal you could never reach. But he's not some idol or mystic totem. What he is, is a fallen soldier. Bruce's memorial calls him a 'good soldier'. I think Bruce was a bit conservative on the epitaph, like he is giving any praise whatsoever. Jason's not a good soldier. Jason is the soldier, the archetype of a warrior. But that's my conclusion after seeing him in action once. I know from all Bruce's lessons that a good scientist never stops with one sample when more are required. You can't form a hypothesis on a subject without more facts to support you. It doesn't hold water. So, I'm going in search of more facts.

I know his room. I walk past it and get chills. Alfred told me because Bruce wouldn't. When Jason's body was brought back from Africa, they didn't take it to the coroner immediately. Bruce apparently couldn't hand him over at first. So, they brought him home and put him in bed. And he 'slept' there for a whole day. Bruce sat with him for most of it, holding Jason's hand. No tears, Alfred said, just intense staring. It's a scene that creeps me out. I slowly open the door, but can't help thinking of that horrible moment. I've imagined it enough times. Scientific curiosity keeps me pushing forward.

It's dark, but I see him in the bed. He's very still. I move closer, but it takes a while to get my feet going. I round the side of the bed but keep a good two feet of clearance space between us. I don't want to get attacked by what's essentially a ghost for me. I can't be sure, but I think he's naked, like all the bodies in all the morgues you see on TV. It makes this whole situation even creepier. I don't chicken out. I just think this isn't the best way of conducting research. So, I turn to leave him to it.

Suddenly I'm fighting for air as someone slaps a reverse chokehold on me. I already know it has to be Jason. He thinks I'm a threat. Fortunately for me, I know I'm a threat. His ribs are not in good shape and there's enough wiggle room to let me work. His extra mass just means I need to apply more force to get what I want. I drive my elbow into his floating ribs, knowing he can take one or two shots without getting damaged. He doesn't let go on the first try, but that's okay. The second one gets me to loosen his hold. I slip my head out, turn towards him and deliver a left hook to his more bruised right side. Not full-force, just enough to stun him off a foot or two.

"Be cool, man. It's Tim." I say, raising my hands up in a gesture I hope he sees as passive. He sighs and then walks past me. A moment later, the room's flooded with light. He walks back into view. He is naked. Very naked. His right eye is still bloodshot and his whole body is still showing signs of the battle it helped him win.

"What are you doing in here, Timmy? Are you a fag or something? Did you want see my goods?" He indicates his crotch, "They're right here for your viewing pleasure." He's pissed, but not embarrassed or self-conscious. Must be nice. I shake my head.

"Sorry, man. I made a mistake. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Oh, I know that, Timmy. But if you're going to perv on me while I sleep, you should at least pay for the privilege. After all, Jason Peter Todd is prime real-estate." He snaps back. I'm already tired of this. Guy's a warrior, but he's also an asshole.

"Look, I said I'm sorry. I said it was a mistake and I meant it. I'm not gay and I'm not interested in anything you've got." I tell him firmly. He narrows his eyes at me before weirdly looking at my uniform.

"You also not interested in a shower, Timmy? I could smell the stale sweat on you from the bed."

"The water's off in my room. I couldn't be bothered to find another one. I just wanted some shuteye." I tell him honestly. He nods in understanding.

"I know the feeling. But you should always go to bed feeling clean, Timmy. You go to bed dirty, you start the day on the wrong foot. Believe me, after a while, starting the day on the wrong foot is all you'll do." I know the story. Jason lived on the streets for eighteen months. He prostituted himself for money and a warm bed. Bruce found him stealing the wheels off the batmobile and took him in. It's a sad story with a bad ending for everyone involved. I can guess he washed in subway bathrooms or didn't wash at all some days. So, I get why he has a thing for taking showers. He clearly appreciates them more. He smiles at me. "My shower's working, Timmy. Why don't you hop in? I'll lay out some clothes for you."

"What clothes? This is the future manor. You're…" He crosses over to the drawers and opens the top one. He pulls out workout sweats.

"Guess I don't grow much bigger. And these things are elasticated anyway. They'll fit you." He kept them. Bruce kept all Jason's clothes. Wow. This is even creepier. I'm in a shrine. I'm in a shrine with the boy it's for. Still, it'll be nice to get something clean on. I nod in appreciation.

"Thanks, man." I say reaching for the sweats he's holding out. He jerks his arm back to make me snatch air.

"No, these are mine, Timmy. You'll get yours after the shower." He says with a smug grin. Obviously, he wants to see me naked too, probably his idea of evening the playing field or something. If he wasn't limp now, I'd be worried.

"Seriously? And you're calling me a fag?" I say only for him to laugh sarcastically. It's like a high-school locker room after gym.

"You don't do this, I'm going to bust your balls for the rest of our time together. Judging from how long Bruce's mini-me has been here, that could be a long old while."

"Don't you think we're a little too old for this kind of behaviour?" I ask. He scoffs.

"You really couldn't be a more obvious virgin, could you, Timmy?" I feel my cheeks flush slightly. I shouldn't be ashamed, but I am. Jason sees this and his smile fades a little. He claps me on the shoulder. "Sorry. When I'm on, I'm on, you know? It's cool you're not eager to get your dick wet at the first chance of asking. It's good that you're sensible. I bet you and the big guy are a good fit, both thinkers, right?" So, he can be softer when he chooses. Dick said he could be, but I never really bought it. I nod.

"Yeah. Too deep sometimes, you know? Overthink the obvious?" He shrugs.

"At least you know when to stop running your mouth. Here," He holds out the sweats again, "Take 'em." I push them back to him.

"I got nothing to hide, man. Turnabout is fair-play, right?" He smirks at me and nods in agreement.

"Looks like you are a Robin after all."

I make the most of my shower. Twenty minutes go by. When I get out, I towel myself dry and then wander back out into the room. Jason's sat on the bed, still naked. I hold my arms out to the sides.

"There you go. Do you want a turn too?"

"I wouldn't say no, Timmy." I turn through three-sixty and stop. He nods before appraising my body. He frowns. "Not many scars on you for a Robin. But that one there," He points to the scar snaking over my left femoral artery, "that's a beauty. What's the story for that?" I shrug in crossing the room and sitting next to him.

"When I was seven, I fell through a greenhouse roof. It…wasn't pretty." I say before running a thumb over it, "Think it'll put girls off?"

"Only if they're giving you a blowjob. It's healed pretty well." Before I know what's happening, his finger is tracing a line over it. I slap it away.

"Dude, that's not cool. You can look, right? I think that's good enough." He holds his hands up.

"You're a sport, Timmy, I can say that for you. Do we never have scar parties in the future?" I frown at what sounds like a really bad idea for a celebration. I'm seeing either loads of naked people showing each other scars with a buffet or loads of naked people giving each other scars by slicing into perfectly nice skin with knives. And, for once, the naked part of the scenario doesn't sound like the worst aspect.

"I think I'm going to regret this, but, what's a scar party, Jason?"

"Basically, me and Dick take turns showing each other different scars. We have to guess what made them, how old they are and whether they're superhero-related or not. There's a bonus point for getting who made them too. You know, if you got cut by Zsas or shot by Two-Face…max points you get on a round is four. Five rounds is usually enough, but sometimes we play to ten. If scores are even at the end, we go sudden death. That's a scar party."

"You can't play that too many times without the other person knowing all your scars."

"Depends how many scars you've got, doesn't it? I've got more than enough to play a few times over. Dick does too. I just thought…with you being my successor and all, we might have played once or twice. I guess we're not close, huh?" I don't know if he's probing for information on his future or not. It might just be innocent. Either way I can't tell him anything. He shouldn't know he dies before he turns eighteen. No-one should have to know that. I shrug.

"You leave a big shadow. It's hard to get close to you sometimes." I say with more honesty than I thought. Jason nods.

"Sounds like I take after Bruce in the future. That must suck for you, Timmy. Two grim assholes instead of one?" He bumps his fist lightly against my chest, "Respect, man. I'm sorry if I'm hard on you. I probably just do it to keep you humble. It's important to stay humble in this gig. Keeps you alive." I swallow hard at that but manage to look him in the eye and nod back.

"I know that better than you think, Jason, trust me."

"Know what? Don't call me Jason. Just, call me Jay. I'll even things up and go three letters too. Just Tim now. Cool?" Headway. I like this. I must've done something right to get on this side of him. I smile and nod.

"Cool."

"So…naked scar party?"

We play the guessing game. It's actually pretty fun. Jason's good at it too. He guesses what they're all from and whether they're related to Robin stuff or not every time. He gets a few age-related guesses wrong and just shoots in the dark about who made them, but his scores are solid after four rounds. Mine suck. His scars are weird shapes, odd sizes and all his welts and bruises don't help me corner it down. The only one I've got three points on is the one on his back. It was made by a car aerial whip, about three years ago when he wasn't a superhero. Legacy of a bad life.

"Okay, here's an easy one for you." Jason says showing the underside of his right arm to show some small white circles running in a straight line from his elbow to just before his wrist, "What are these?"

"Cigarette burns."

"Yep. How old?"

"Old. Maybe…hmm…"

"Touch them, might help." He says. I take him up on the offer and run my fingers over the marks. They don't even register as there.

"More than five years old."

"So, five or six?"

"Six years old."

"Two for two. Easy point now. Superhero-related?"

"No."

"Good and…bonus point?"

I don't really want to insult him by voicing my suspicions at who made these on a nine-year-old Jason living in Bludhaven. From what I've read, it's not going to be his mom. At nine, that only leaves one other person, unless it was that person's drunk friends…

"Uh, I really don't think I can say…"

"Sure, you can. You're smart enough. And, you can't offend me, Tim. Let me put it this way, Dick guessed this one right, and I was only mad because he won the game, not because of what he said." He says, trying to assure me. I don't want to say. It's horrible to even think of someone doing that to him, much less telling him what he already knows. I shake my head.

"Jay, this isn't…"

"You need this point, Tim. Like, just to look respectable. Let's go, out with it." He says with a smile that isn't forced or painful. He doesn't care. At least, he acts like he doesn't care. And I may never this chance to be this close to him ever again…without joining him in the ground. I sigh.

"Your dad. Your dad did this to you." I say. He claps his hands together.

"Perfect score for the round, Tim. So, what's my final scar?"

"I've got an easy one for you too." I say, showing him the underside of my right arm. There are four faint scars running horizontally just below my wrist. Jason eyes them in distaste. He knows what they are. For once, he hesitates to answer. He knows exactly what they are. After my mom died and dad went into a coma, things got very dark for me. Alfred stopped me before I got too into it. But I did go deeper than I wanted to. Jason still isn't talking. I smile at him. "You shared something terrible. This is just like yours."

"I…didn't do mine to myself, Tim." He says. I shake my head.

"That's not how it's played. First, what made them?"

"Pen-knife."

"Yep. How old?"

"Less than two years."

"Two for two. Superhero stuff?"

"Not even close."

"And…who made them?"

"…You did." He says after wetting his lips. He looks at me and smiles. "We're calling this game a tie. If the big man hasn't gotten us home by tomorrow, want to play again?" This is a bad game to play, but it's weirdly cathartic. I doubt I'd share like this with anybody else but a Robin who understands how bad things can get. I guess, that would be all of them to one extent or another. I nod my head.

"Sure. I really…"

"What on earth are you two doing?" I turn my head and find that Damian kid staring at us through the open doorway. He slightly moves backwards into the hall. "Are you two having…sexual relations?" He sounds more afraid than disgusted by the idea. Jason looks over at me and smirks.

"Tell him what we're doing, Tim." I consider trying to mess with this kid and tell him we are in the middle of a lover's tryst. But I just tell him the truth.

"Naked scar party." Damian's attitude completely changes. He wanders into the room and regards the pair of us.

"Who is winning?" He asks.

"It's a tie at the minute."

"How many rounds?" He asks. Wow. Scar parties are an actual thing. How is he not embarrassed for us right now? How am I not embarrassed at Bruce's offspring getting an eyeful? Jason holds out a splayed hand.

"Five in. Want to join?"

"Why naked?"

"If you've got nothing to hide, you don't need clothes. Man-test. You are a man, aren't you?" Jason inquires teasingly. Damian narrows his eyes, but is still receptive to the idea. I'm guessing he doesn't like being insulted for anything.

"Neither of you have any memories of me, do you?" He checks carefully whilst reaching for the top button of his shirt. He wants to, but not yet. I get it. He's looking for the advantage, like a real strategist. He wants to make sure neither of us know anything about his scars already. He probably knows about ours…or mine at the very least. Jason sighs.

"Playing or not, Mini Bruce?" That irks him a little. This is way more research than I expected in one morning. Damian unfastens the top two buttons.

"Nothing off limits?" He asks. Jason shakes his head.

"Nada."

Damian strips inside of twenty seconds. I guess modesty is for normal people. He has a lot of scars too. One on his chest looks like a bullet wound. We have some nasty lives as Bruce's sidekick. Seeing us all together proves it. We shift into a rough circle on the bed.

"Why were you coming to see Jason?" I ask Damian as he appraises his own body in preparation for the upcoming round. He shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter at the moment. Five rounds or ten, Jason?"

"We can play to ten if you want." Jason says with a self-satisfied smile. He's got both his successors to play weird naked games with him. I'd be pretty smug too. It's impressive manipulation. Bruce must've had his hands full with Jason.

"Oh, my god." We all turn to the door and find Dick staring at us. He looks amazed by the scene. He doesn't even hesitate to walk in. He smiles at us. "That's genius! A naked scar party! You've got to let me play! I mean, I invented this game. Jason, back me up."

"You did, Golden boy. No arguments here. You can have all the credit for this one." Dick pulls off his pyjamas and sits opposite me in the circle. This is beyond surreal now. Four fifteen-year-old guys sitting in a circle, completely naked, about to have a scar-guessing competition. Even without the time-travel thing, this is uncharted territory for me. I kind of hope it is for everyone else too. If they do this on a regular basis…I honestly don't know what to think anymore. Maybe I got into the wrong racket. The game starts.

After five rounds of a, no pun intended, round-robin format, all scores are fairly close. We play in pairs and take turns. After each person in the pair has a turn, we swap partners to keep things fresh. It only takes us a few rounds to start really looking for difficult scars to identify. It turns out everybody's good at this game. Most of us have really similar scars by really similar circumstances, so guessing what made them and how old they are is the easy part. Everyone's trying for bonus points and thinking really hard before they answer. I've been sat on one of Dick's scars for almost three minutes.

I know it's a bullet graze, small calibre. Roughly eighteen months old. Definitely superhero-related. Problem is all bad guys use bullets. All bad guys fire at us. It could be anyone. I can't remember Dick ever telling me anything stand-out from when he was thirteen. I shrug. "Mad Hatter?" Dick finally rolls off his side and back to a sitting position. He nods.

"Good guess! Tim gets four."

"How did he clip you that high up?" I ask. The bullet graze was literally sitting just underneath his left ass cheek. A millimetre further up and it would've been on it instead. He shrugs.

"Guy's a really bad shot. I don't think he was aiming for me at all." We now have a scoresheet to amend, courtesy of Damian. He takes this all very seriously. I watch begrudgingly write four next to the round-six column. He clears his throat.

"Through six rounds, the scores are as follows: Dick, you have nineteen. Jason, you have twenty-one. Drake, you have now miraculously moved to twenty. And I have…twenty-two." He looks up from the scoresheet. "And here I thought my future knowledge would prove insurmountable in such a contest. I see now why Father regards you all so highly, despite your respective flaws." Jason smirks.

"I wouldn't be talking about 'flaws' when you're butt-naked with your peers, little man." He says looking directly at Damian's crotch. I really don't have an opinion. I'm waiting for fireworks between them. Damian's jaw clenches for a moment before relaxing. He smiles.

"A poor choice of words on my part. And, if it is to be considered small, at least I do not shave to draw attention to the fact like Dick." We all stare at Dick's crotch. It looks like a freshly cut lawn instead of a slightly ragged shrub. He shrugs.

"Bruce does it. Ladies appreciate the thought. He would know." Damian frowns.

"Father shaves his…?" He indicates his own hair. Dick nods.

"And Jason at least clips his down from time to time." He adds gesturing to Jason's crotch.

"Yeah, because I actually get ladies from time to time, instead of just hope. Nice of you to notice the effort though. I always knew you had a thing for me, Golden boy." Jason says with a shake of the head, "But I'll pass." He grabs his workout sweats and gets off the bed. "Game's over. Anyone got a problem with just giving Damian the W? He looks like he needs it." He checks shoving on his jogging pants. Dick shrugs.

"He'd have won anyway. I've probably shown him my best scars a dozen times by now where he's from." He shakes Damian's hand and joins Jason in getting clothes back on. I look at Damian and concede too. I offer my hand.

"I know you and I must have a bad relationship where you're from, but will you at least let me congratulate you on winning?" I say. He calls me Drake, like a military recruiter. He doesn't do that with the others. I know animosity when I feel it. He doesn't like me. This little act of good sportsmanship earns me a smile though.

"I find I like you better here than elsewhere, Drake. You are…far smarter." He shakes my hand.

"Hmm. Interesting." We turn to the doorway to find Bruce standing there with folded arms. "I send you to fetch the others and instead you decide it is better to conduct a…naked scar party?" Damian shields his crotch. I would if Bruce hadn't walked in on me naked before. The big man doesn't look angry or even sound disappointed. He just sounds and looks generally bemused by it all.

"We…lost track of time, Father."

"I see. Whilst I am glad to see you all…'bonding', the time has come to begin working on the solution to our predicament. There are several tasks to be carried out in the next few hours that may prove pivotal. Kindly get dressed and meet me in the cave shortly."

"Yes, Father."

He regards us all again and shakes his head. "Strange children." He mutters turning around to leave, "I forgot how strange my children were. I must remember this. They like naked scar parties…"

"Give us one of yours, big guy!" Dick calls to him before he's out of earshot. Both Damian and I get off the bed and put on some pants. Bruce turns back. He looks at us all with a slight frown. He's thinking about it.

"Just one?" He checks as I finish putting on Jason's spare sweats and Damian re-buttons his shirt. Dick nods. He seems less bewildered now everybody is covered up again.

"One we all know. Just describe it. See if we know which you're talking about." Dick replies whilst we stand in front of him in a semi-circle. He towers over all of us. We watch him consider carefully.

"The scar shaped like a shark on my hip. What made it? Dick?"

"Molten marshmallow." He answers. Bruce nods. He glances at Jason.

"How old is it?"

"Must be…like thirty years old now?" The big man nods again.

"Close enough. Superhero-related, Damian?" Damian scoffs.

"I would say not, Father."

"And who gave it to me, Tim?"

"Tommy Elliott. He accidentally dropped it on you when you went camping in the woods." I say with a smile. It's one of his oldest scars and actually predates the death of his parents. It's also one of the few that was caused by a genuine accident. Rare as hell. He nods in satisfaction.

"Congratulations. Now that's been settled, and you are all decent, let me show you some actual deduction. Follow."