It can't be him, rolled through Malcolm's mind as the man slowly turned to face him.

There was no way it could be him.

He was in Gotham.

"Just like it wasn't John back at the, uh, hunting cabin?" A smile creased his father's lips. "You were wrong then, my boy, and it appears you're, ah, quite wrong now."

Malcolm ignored him.

Well, he did his best too, anyway.

Shutting Martin Whitly out wasn't something he managed often. More he tried, louder his father, and the shadow creatures tended to get. Malcolm once told Dani how the inside of his mind was like a movie theater. One he couldn't escape from. It hadn't been an exaggeration. Every traumatic event, horrific moment, and terrifying second of his life played out on that screen while the shadow creatures tossed popcorn and malt balls at him.

His father was wrong, though.

This… Talon wasn't Bruce Wayne.

Malcolm refused to believe, to accept how the man who served as Gotham's silent guardian all these years and this one were one and the same.

Granted, the men were identical.

Had the same height and weight.

Bone structure.

Even the way this man carried himself, from the way he turned his head to the graceful way he moved was the same as the Wayne patriarch.

That didn't mean he was Bruce.

This wasn't the first time someone tried to impersonate Bruce. Bruce's childhood friend, Tommy Elliott surgically altered his voice and face and masqueraded around Gotham as Bruce Wayne a few years back. Elliott, however, hadn't worn a black-leather bandolier slung diagonally across his chest with at least a half-dozen gleaming metal throwing knives. Nor was there a curved blade in a sheath at his hip and another stuck into the top of his right boot.

Most alarming to Malcolm, however, was the twin scabbards crossed across the man's back.

He didn't doubt for a minute how sharp those broadswords would be.

Steel gauntlets ended in a set of razor-sharp claws that resembled the talons of the owl the Court adopted as their signature emblem.

Imposing, intimidating, and incredibly lethal.

Same as Batman.

Only, this man killed.

Batman did not.

"Malcolm Whitly," the man — Malcolm refused to think of him as Bruce but couldn't bring himself to call him Talon — rasped. "At last we meet."

"He's Malcolm Bright here, actually."

"Bright?" Dark brows furrowed. "He is not Malcolm Whitly?"

"He changed his name to distance himself from Martin Whitly years ago." Raya didn't cower when not-Bruce shifted closer to her. She merely angled her head back to meet his penetrating gaze. "Same as I changed mine to distance myself from my sperm donor."

"He's still a Whitly then."

Malcolm flinched and his hand spasmed against his thigh. No matter how many times he heard those words, they still caused his belly to twist and turn.

"I'm still a Berkeley."

Fury tightened the man's face. "You are a Wayne."

"Not here I'm not." Raya moved to Malcolm's side. "I was born a Berkeley here."

"You were raised by the Bruce Wayne of this Earth."

"Yes, I was," she agreed with a slight nod. "Malcolm was, too."

His brows shot up. "Wayne helped raise the boy?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"He took Malcolm in when he was sixteen."

"Did Wayne train him?"

"Yes." Raya side-eyed Malcolm. "Even though he tends to forget that training when chasing serial killers."

"The boy hunts serial killers?"

"Malcolm is a profiler, yes."

Not-Bruce studied Malcolm now through narrowed eyes. "He's not a killer?"

"Malcolm's not a killer." Soft but firm. Her cajoling voice as Dick often called it. Meant to placate or keep a spiraling situation from getting too far out of hand. "He never once used his weapon during the ten years he worked for the FBI." Raya knowing his service history didn't surprise Malcolm. Keeping tabs on her family and knowing everything she could about them was something she got from the man who raised her. "He doesn't use extreme measures to bring in suspects. He talks them in."

"He's still the son of a killer."

"He's the son of a cop and a man who has dedicated his life to stopping the monsters in the dark." Raya matched his steely tone with her own. "Same as I am."

The man grunted softly. "You're not the same."

"Given I'm a girl and he's a boy…"

A scowl greeted her wry comment. "Your comment is unnecessary."

"My God," Raya said with a dramatic sigh. "You are exactly like Bruce."

Taken aback, Malcolm jolted and whipped his head around to look at Raya so fast he gave himself whiplash.

"He is…" he trailed off, blinked. "He is actually Bruce?"

"He's a Bruce Wayne, yes." Raya's fingers skimmed his. Offering Malcolm desperately needed comfort and sorely needed strength. "But he's not our Bruce Wayne, no."

"I don't understand…" Malcolm's brow creased. "If he's Bruce Wayne…"

"He's Bruce Wayne from another Earth."

"I'm sorry…" Malcolm wet his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. "Another Earth?"

"Yes." Raya's tone was ripe with sympathy and understanding. "This Bruce is from Earth-77."

All this multiverse stuff was causing Malcolm's head to throb like a bad tooth. He sorely wanted to go upstairs and lay down. He couldn't so long as this man was here and potentially a threat.

"Is that Earth like our Earth?"

"Mostly, yes."

"Mostly?" Thin, sharp-edged bands of steel locked themselves around Malcolm's temples. Poked at his violently cramping belly. It took everything he had to keep from curling up in a ball at their feet. "What do you mean by mostly?"

"Well, Dick, Jason, Tim, Barb, Damian, and I are dead there." Raya's fingers tightened on his quaking ones. "As are the members of the Justice League and the Titans. Laughs killed all of us. Save for..." She indicated the man standing across from them with a wave of her hand. "Bruce."

"Why wasn't he killed with everyone else?"

"Because I came to this Earth to stop the Darkest Knight from destroying this Earth as he's destroyed others."

"I thought the Court of Owls wanted to bring him here?"

"The Court wants to bring Barbatos here so they can rule this Earth. What they do not want…" Earth-77 Bruce took a menacing step forward. "Is a repeat of what happened on my Earth."

"What happened on your Earth?"

Not that Malcolm didn't have a good idea.

"Same as on this Earth, The Court decided to fulfill their prophecy. For them to do that, they needed you to follow in your father's footsteps." Earth-77 Bruce Wayne took another step forward. Looming over Malcolm. Subtly intimidating, suitably menacing. "And you did, Malcolm. You became just like Martin Whitly: a killer."

Malcolm's breath expelled from him in a whoosh. It was his greatest fear come to life. He — well, another Earth version of him, anyway — had become a killer.

Just like his father.

Who chuckled softly as tremors rocked Malcolm from head to toe.

"Well, it's ah, good to know you finally went into the family business. Even if it wasn't, uh, here on our Earth. Well, not yet, anyway." His father waggled his bushy brows. "A father can always hope, though, right?"

There were times, Malcolm discovered where a slap across the face was preferable to words. The sting from the slap lasted a few seconds, at most.

Words?

They tended to last forever.

"That was Earth-77's Malcolm." Raya squeezed Malcolm's fingers again. "Our Malcolm would never kill. He's incapable of it."

"You cannot be sure of that."

"I have never been more sure of something in my life."

Ridiculously loyal, deeply passionate, and fiercely protective were three of the ways he'd describe Raya.

They were the things he most admired and respected about her.

With Raya, he never had to question whether she'd have his back in a fight, be there to support him if he got arrested for murder, or just sit there and quietly listen as he told her about his dream.

Things like trust, honor, and respect received the same reverence from her as others gave to their religious beliefs.

"He is the reason I lost everyone I cared about."

"That won't happen here."

"How do you know it won't?"

"Because I know Malcolm."

A shadow of annoyance flashed through those magnetic eyes. "You knew him on my Earth, too." He shifted closer to her. "And he killed you. As he will kill you here if Nicholas Endicott is successful in breaking him."

"Endicott will not succeed in breaking Malcolm."

"He has ordered John Watk…"

"Watkins is dead," Raya stated bluntly. "He was killed a few hours ago by Red Hood."

Earth-77 Bruce closed his eyes. More a long blink than anything else. Striving for patience or calm. Malcolm wasn't sure which.

"He will find someone else to break Malcolm then."

Who that person could be worried Malcolm.

Raya?

Not so much.

"Whoever he sends will have to go through my Robin." Cool, confident. Regal as a queen. "And trust me, they'll find that no easy feat."

"It is not a matter of if he will break and become a killer," Earth-77 Bruce stated, "but when."

"Martin Whitly tried to break him, John Watkins tried to break him…" Raya retorted in measured tones. "Malcolm didn't break any of those times and he won't now."

"This is not up for debate."

As if that'll end the discussion, Malcolm mused as Raya harrumphed beside him.

"You're right. It's not up for debate." She crossed her arms over her chest and splayed her feet apart. Her stubborn stance as everyone jokingly referred to it. Malcolm thought it a perfect representation of the man who raised her. "I believe in Malcolm. Trust him explicitly. I know he'll never kill anyone."

"I refuse to take that chance."

"Why?" Malcolm managed around the shards of ice in his throat. "Why did I kill Raya on your Earth?"

Those eyes cut to him.

Malcolm was shocked he didn't burst into flames from the heat in that glare.

He didn't squirm, however.

Well, not much, anyway.

Anyone with half a brain would tremble under that penetrating stare.

Malcolm admitted he was batshit crazy.

Stupid?

No way.

"The Darkest Knight has only two known weaknesses," Earth-77 Bruce rasped. "Nth Metal and the blood of the Burning Muse."

"And Raya's the Burning Muse?" Malcolm guessed. "Right?"

"Yes."

Malcolm's headache entered nightmare territory. He desperately wanted Sorcha to materialize behind him, crooning softly, and filling the stagnant air with her comforting scent.

She wasn't there, though. She was upstairs.

Safe.

As if she sensed his distress, Raya slid a hand to the back of his neck and gently rubbed the throbbing muscles.

"I'm taking Malcolm upstairs and putting him to bed."

"No."

"No?" One brow arched. "And may I ask why not?"

"Because you're coming with me."

"Where?"

"Somewhere safe. Where you will remain," he added in a tone that said he expected her full and immediate compliance, "until this situation has been resolved."

"I'm not going anywhere but upstairs with Malcolm."

The tic in Earth-77 Bruce's jaw pulsed harder.

It was clear he didn't like her arguing with him.

No more than their Bruce did.

Not that Raya cared.

"You're going to do as you're told."

"No, I'm not."

"Raya." Earth-77 Bruce took a step towards her. "Let's go."

"I said no."

His face was a series of hard angles and incarnate. Malcolm mentally calculated how much farther she could push him before he'd lose what patience he had and forcibly remove her from the murder room.

"Raya."

Raya didn't fidget or cave to his demand. She merely tossed her head and calmly said, "You can quit trying to intimidate me into complying. I'm not changing my mind."

Earth-77 Bruce looked down at her, then stepped closer, towering over her and Malcolm, who curled away from him.

"And I'm telling you to change it." He took another step. "Quickly."

"My wife said she's not going with you." Malcolm breathed out a relieved sigh as Dick appeared behind Raya, dressed only in sweats and with his hair damp still from a shower. "I'm here to guarantee she's not."

Malcolm swore he heard swords clash as their gazes met.

"Do you think you can stop me from taking her?"

"Well, if he can't?" An audible click sounded a second before Jason stepped from the shadows where his father had been lurking. "I guarantee you I can." Another click pierced the air as Jason aimed a second revolver at the scowling man. "And will."

A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!

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