Getting the cycle was easy, the only thing that was hard was actually trying to figure out how to drive it. The result was to never be spoken again

However, what was important was that Terry was driving it, and going around Gotham. At best it looked like a kid just riding around. At worst it looked like a kid taking a joy ride.

Really, he just needed to map out this new Gotham.

At least he doesn't have to deal with multiple levels like his. Well, if anything Dick's Gotham had three levels: rooftops, streets, and the swears. His Gotham had expanded upwards and sideways. Dick's Gotham was pretty contained.

The buildings looked old yet new. Some were being demolished, others being built. Some shouldn't have existed; some were brighter versions of their broken down counterparts.

Old Gotham wasn't quite old yet.

As he drove, he noticed that the buildings began to… deteriorate. Become more run down.

'This looks like…'

'We're nearing Crime Alley.' Dick finished that thought for him.

He had to stop. He heard about how Crime Alley was, back in the day. And he wasn't sure how the residents would take it with a motorcycle running through it.

Most likely they wouldn't take to it well.

Finding a parking space wasn't the hardest as there wasn't a lot of vehicles parked in the area. However there was a space that was hidden well enough that was calling Terry's name.

As he was getting off of the ride he began to hear something. Something familiar.

Sticking close to the shadows, the Tomorrow Knight crept closer. Down an alleyway, the tall buildings blocked out light, making the area darker than the world outside. Mold clung to corners, dead rats scattered around overturned trash cans, splatters of unknown liquids stained walls and floors alike. The foul stench of rotting food and unknowns combined with the acid bite of cigarette smoke clinging desperately, choking the nose. The sounds of jeers and malicious laughter came closer as Batman narrowed in on the unfortunate souls.

Behind dark sunglasses, the creature of the night glared as he recognized the sound of punches and kicks. As well as the sound of a child in pain.

Ever so closer he began to break down his victims. Three of them, all supposedly male due to their god awful choice of clothing. Backward baseball hats, off white wife beaters, low hanging pants that showed off their boxers, fake chains. Classic retro white trash. However they were taller than him and held more muscles. But Batman fought against Jackson Chappell, a doctor filled to the brim with venom, and he fought against Big Time. And won. This wouldn't be too different. They were surrounding a child, kicking them into submission.

Those dregs weren't going to know what hit them.

If there was one thing that was drilled into him, it was stealth. Every move was calculated to be as quiet as possible. Leather didn't make a squeak, shoes didn't make a click. There was hardly even a breath heaved.

And when the dregs were too preoccupied with the "game", they never even thought that they were going to be ambushed. And then, he struck. Yanking dreg number one away drew a scream of fright.

(It wasn't night, but Batman was in his element.)

Batman then chucked him over and into an open dumpster. The 'gangster' hit it hard enough for the lid to slowly close shut with its rusty hinges.

"What the fuck?!" Dreg number two had yelped out, turning his head over to where his friend disappeared.

"Shit, Gold Rush!" Dreg number three called out.

He didn't let them react more than that. Running forward, he straight up tackled into dreg number two into the wall. And from the smell of it, into some day old vomit.

"Who the fuck are you?" Dreg number three sounded like he was pissed, and possibly going to piss himself.

His response? A punch in the face.

Not one ounce of sympathy was felt when he saw that he left a broken nose and blood spurting out.

Quickly, not wanting to continue the fight in case any reinforcements or even officers to come by, Batman turned to the child, and gently threw them over onto his shoulder.

The kid was his priority right then.

A small fist suddenly (weakly) slamming into his back stated otherwise. "Lemme… lemme go!"

Oh god the voice sounded so small and was slurring.

Batman grunted, not daring himself to speak at the moment.

As they got closer to the bike, Batman began to hear yells from behind. Sounded like backup arrived.

Willing himself to go faster, he jumped over another overturned garbage can. Eyes narrowing in determination, he saw that the bike was still well hidden.

Quickly, he plopped down onto it. He then maneuvered the kid to sit down behind him. Small arms automatically wrapped around him and held tight. Smart kid.

Practically slamming the helmet onto his head, Batman started up the cycle. Just as more gangsters came into view, Batman was already speeding away.

Driving around Gotham with a fragile package was as it was expected. Zipping around, weaving around cars. All around not too different from what he normally does. With more traffic.

Except he needs to find a place to stop. To help heal.

Slowing down, Terry began to notice that he was in a restaurant area. Then something caught his eye. It looked like a family diner. There weren't many cars in the parking lot, but that was good for them.

Practicing good driving skills, he turned on his blinker and turned into the parking lot. Taking a spot, he turned off the bike. He set the kickstand to hold it up.

Pulling the helmet off brought a gust of fresh, yet forever gross city scented, air into his face, cooling off the sweat. He then turned around to look at his little cargo. The kid was peeling away from the jacket slowly.

Dirtied black hair, splotches of bruises, scrapes and cuts faint and very much scattered. Burning anger filled blue eyes. Black eye. Busted lip. Muddied T-shirt that looked like it had better days. Kid needed some food.

Time to fake an accent.

"Want something to eat?" He fell back to his Brooklyn accent. It was a classic.

The kid just glared.

Alrighty time for plan b.

Terry put the helmet under one arm, and then proceeded to pick up the kid with the other.

"Hey!" The kid shouted.

"Come on kid, we're eating at," Terry paused to look at the name of the restaurant, "Ihop."

'Weird name, but okay.' He thought to himself as he started to walk into the building. He was also ignoring a struggling kid.

As he stepped inside, he noticed the sheer amount of tables and booths. Some music that was probably the hits of the summer were being played softly in the background.

And while he was debating on if he would rather sit at a table or a booth, a little birdie finally decided to speak up.

'Wait what do you mean Ihop is a weird name?' Dick asked.

Terry tilted his head. It felt oddly like a rhetorical question. He also decided that a booth would be decent.

'It just is,' he replied, 'Cheesy Dan's is simple. It's named after its mascot. But Ihop? What's that supposed to mean? What new restaurant wants that for a name?'

The booth furthest from the entrance would be a good one.

'Terry. Are you telling me IHOP doesn't exist where you're from?' Terry… didn't like that tone of voice.

'No? Never heard of it, so I guess it doesn't exist. We got Charley's.'

Terry set the kid, who had stopped squirming, onto one side. He then slipped into the seat across from the kid, and sat the helmet next to the wall.

'Okay so like, two things. No, three. One: what in the world is Cheesy Dan's? Two: what the fuck-'

'Language,' Terry automatically interrupted. Living with a nine year old means no swearing. So if he can't swear then no one else could either. Okay he can totally swear in his head, but apparently he can't anymore if Dickie was going to hear it.

'Okay fine, what the heck,' Dick amended, 'is Charley's? And number three: oh my god you're serious you don't have IHOP.'

Huffing, he grabbed a menu.

'Cheesy Dan's is a pizza place where kids go play arcade games, get prizes, and get pink eye from the ball pit. Their pizzas aren't even that good. Charley's a diner where you can go fight strangers in the parking lot at three am. They make decent enough eggs.' He explained.

The waffles looked good.

'So basically Chuck E Cheese and Denny's ripoffs, got it.'

Okay, that was getting a scoff. 'No, it sounds like those places are the ripoffs. Seriously? Chuck E Cheese?'

'Hey, don't diss Charles Entertainment Cheese.'

Okay what the fuck.

Turning his attention away from Dick, and putting the menu down, Terry caught a nearly escaping kid.

"If you want to go wash up in the bathroom you coulda always says so." Terry drawled out with the fake accent.

The kid froze. They weren't even halfway out of the booth.

Rolling 'his' eyes, Terry got out of the booth, and grabbed the kid again. "Let's get ya cleaned up kid."

"My name isn't kid." They snapped.

That had to be the most Terry heard from 'em. Sounded boyish, but Terry could be wrong.

"Well, until we introduce ourselves you'll be Kid." Ah might as well throw out his real name. Not like they're going to meet again when he gets back to his body. "Name's Terry."

Searching the area, he locked down on the male's restroom. Inwardly nodding to himself, he set out on a mission.

"Well, Terry, if that's even your real name, I ain't gunna tell ya." The kid sounded real snarky.

The teen shrugged. "Okay then Kid."

Opening the door to find no one was a nice sight to see. Setting the kiddo down, Terry went to go grab some random amount of paper towels. First he got them wet from the sink, then he put some of the foamy soap onto them. He turned back to the kid, who was just standing there, arms crossed.

Oh goody, the kid had jeans that had holes in them and had duck tape wrapped around the shoes. Not to mention they were favoring their left foot.

Terry had to stuff down the urge to go back and pummel those punks down into the dirt.

Trying to keep his face neutral, he got to work. First to be cleaned was the kid's face. Grime and blood were gently wiped away as soap went in to kill off any bacteria as best as it could. Underneath all the dirt was pale skin, turning red with each wipe. No one tried to wiggled off and away. (No one tried to make it as painful as possible.)

Every so slowly did a pile of dirty paper towels began to fill the trash.

Washing an area with soap, wipe off area with water and towel, dry area with dry towel.

The black eye was something he wasn't sure to touch. He hadn't had any proper materials to clean that up. The restaurant soap would probably make things worse. So he left it alone.

But once the face was cleaned, Terry wasn't sure if he were to clean anywhere else. He didn't know the kid's boundaries. So far he was able to clean the face, but the torso? Most likely not.

Arms it is.

Grabbing some more towels, Terry lathered, rinsed, and repeated. However he didn't bother with the kid's hands. They could do that themselves.

Which when given the opportunity they certainly did.

"Feelin' better?" He asked, looking at the semi clean kid.

For some odd reason the scowl that was set onto the kid's face looked familiar. But Terry couldn't put 'his' finger on it.

Growl gurgle gurgle

A deep blush began to set within the kid's face. Terry couldn't help but smirk.

"Guess that means it's meal time." And then he went to pick up the kid again.

"You don't have to do that every time you know." The kid grumbled.

At this Terry snorted. "Yeah, and you don't have a limp."

He felt the kid stiffened. "How could you tell?" The words were whispered. They held a tint of fright.

"I got into a fight or two when I was young and dumb."

"I am not dumb." They snapped.

By that time they got to the booth. He gently sat the kid back down. There was a couple eating at a booth by the entrance and a young person sitting alone at a table.

"Not saying you are. I'm saying that I was," he said as he sat down on his seat.

The kid scoffed. "And why's that?"

He gave the kid a rueful grin. "For one thing my dad should've hit me for all the trouble I made."

He then handed over a menu. "Take a look. I'm paying."

One blue eye was staring at him distrustfully. The other eye was currently swelling shut. After a moment or two, the kid finally opened the menu to take a look.

Going over the menu was something that sort of brought a sense of normalcy in his otherwise chaotic life. Especially more so lately.

Who else gets to say that they're Batman at the ripe young age of seventeen and was currently in the body of an alternative world's first Robin? Certainly no one. Unless of course this was somehow a common occurrence across the multiverse or whatever is going on.

Real freaky that.

'They got all day breakfast.' Dick chirped up from somewhere in their shared head.

'I can see that.' Terry thought back. And there it was in bold letters. 'All day breakfast'.

Good to know.

Maybe he'll take the Split Decision Breakfast.

Out of the corner of 'his' eye, he saw a waitress walked towards them. She looked a bit nervous. It could be due to the fact of how Terry was handling the kid, or perhaps of how said kid was dirty earlier and took ages to come out of the restroom semi clean.

Or she could have had a crummy day and some punk kid came waltzing in what looked like a drowned cat.

"Hi! Welcome to IHop! What would you like to drink?" Her voice was held with fake cheer. Terry felt bad for her.

Her red hair was a mess. It was in a bun, but it was a mess. Her green eyes looked like there were dimming, and her smile was as plastic as a Barbie doll.

She did not want to be there.

He wanted to try to make things easier for her.

"Thanks doll, I'll have a Sprite." He said, giving her a charming smile.

She blinked at him, rather owlishly, and looked… a tad uncomfortable.

'Wait did you just call her doll? What is this? The 40's? No one says that anymore.' Dick snarked from the peanut gallery.

"Ah, sorry 'bout that," he glanced at her name tag, "Beverly, but back at my ol' town my friends and I ended up picking up the word. Kinda became a thing between us. Won't say it again if it makes you uncomfortable." He apologized.

Shock colored her features. Then she softened into understanding. "No, it's okay. Although I do appreciate the offer." She turned to the kid. "And what would you like to drink?"

The kid frowned harder. "Orange Juice."

Scribbling the orders down, she said, "alrighty I'll get that for you and then I'll get your orders."

And with that, she left.

Hidden blue eyes watched as she walked away, seemingly okay with the… situation.

"Seriously? Doll? Literally no one calls people that anymore." And so the kid pipes up.

Terry smirked at this. The kid must've been on the same wavelength as Dick. "Well kiddo, didn't you just hear my story? Friends managed to get me to say it and now it's a habit."

Red rimmed blue eye rolled. "Yeah right." They then put an arm on the table. "How old are you anyways? Don't think a twelve year old is allowed to ride a motorcycle and call older girls 'doll'."

A black eyebrow rose up. "Twelve? I know I look young, but not that young. Would ya believe me if I said that I was seventeen?"

'Wait you're seventeen?'

"I call bullshit."

Terry clicked 'his' tongue. "I'd say language but I don't think you think that's not a good word to say. And I am seventeen thank you very much." He answered to Dick's benefit.

Silence reigned king after that.

He and the kid kept staring at each other, but in reality he was keeping an eye at the window. Had to make sure none of those 'hooligans' managed to find them. It was unlikely, but still. Never could be too careful.

Especially in his line of work.

"You're not really from Brooklyn, your name isn't actually Terry, and you're not actually seventeen." And so the kid was so set into denial that he was unaware that he was given two truths and a lie.

Although to be fair he's in the body of one Richard Grayson and the guy's actually thirteen or something.

'Wait how old are you?' Terry asked over to the boy wonder.

'…Thirteen.' He sounded like if he could he would be pouting.

Wow he was right on the dot on that one. He was just guessing this whole time.

Terry shrugged. "Whether or not you believe me, that's on you."

A heartbeat moment later he noticed Beverly walking her way from the kitchen area with two drinks. Upon her face was a smile, and he saw how much more genuine it was compared to the other one. It was nice.

"Here you go," she said as she set down the two drinks, "one Sprite and one orange juice." Beverly then straightened up and held out a pen and notebook. "Have you decided anything to eat?"

He gave her a smile, "I'll take the Split Decision Breakfast."

She jotted it down. Turning to the kid she asked them, "and what would you like?"

"T-Bone Steak and Eggs." They replied, still as angry as a kitten as ever.

Beverly seemed a tad off put by that, but nodded and wrote that down as well. She paused for a moment. "How would you like that steak?"

"Medium rare."

Nodding, she added that little note.

"Alrighty! We'll get it to you as soon as possible!" With a glance at the duo, she walked away.

A familiar song popped on. The tune was nagging at the back of his mind while the lyrics were too soft to be fully heard. Probably one of those classics that his mom liked to listen to every once in a while. He wouldn't be surprised. Although with everything that he's finding out, he wouldn't be surprised if the song wasn't the same either.

But then he heard it. The one line that brought out a flood of memories.

"Ah, so that's what song it is." He muttered to himself.

"And what's that?" The kid immediately asked.

Ohh, so that's how it's going to be huh?

"Ah ya know. The Only Exception by that one band. What's it called again?" He then began to snap in false remembrance. "Oh yeah, Paramore. Been awhile since I heard it."

A dark eyebrow rose. "Really? It's been playing everywhere."

"Not for me it isn't." He replied.

Memories of his mother singing that song to his father and him swirled around. Just remembering her singing it to all three of her boys once Matt was brought into the mix sent nostalgia down 'his' spine.

It was a happier time.

But once their parents got a divorce well… the song became rather ironic. Or at least, in his opinion.

"Jason." The kid suddenly said.

Terry actually blinked in surprise. He hadn't been expecting that.

"Name's Jason." The kid, Jason, repeated.

The teen smirked. "Well nice to meet ya Jason. As I said before, I'm Terry." He then held his hand out to shake.

Hesitantly, Jason reached out. They shook hands and faintly something felt like approval fluttered around.

"So Jason," Terry began, taking his hand away, "think you wanna tell me what that was about?"

Aaaand back to the arms crossing.

"Why are you so interested?" Jason countered.

Terry shrugged, leaning back. "Need to know if those guys need to be avoided if they're going around picking fights I suppose." He even scratched his chin.

Jason sure was doing quite a bit of scoffing. "Yeah, they do nothing but look for random people. A bunch of muggers is what they are. And if you don't got anything they beat you like a dog."

That… did not sound good.

He frowned. "'S that all?"

"Nope." The kid popped the p. "Heard rumors that they don't take kindly to newcomers, so I suggest you don't do anything, 'Terry'."

Ooo mocking his name now huh?

He nodded. "Thanks for letting me know."

Then came Beverly. In one hand was a large black tray, holding their food, and in the other was a foldable table. He watched as she set the table down first, then put the tray on top of it.

"Here we go, one Split Decision Breakfast," she sat it in front of Terry, "and one T-Bone Steak with Eggs." She sat the plate in front of Jason. Two plates of pancakes were set off to the side of their own. With a smile she said, "I hope you enjoy it all!" And so, Beverly left them to their meal.

Terry had what looked like two slices of French toast with butter on it, two eggs sunny side up, two sausages, two pieces of bacon, and two pieces of pancakes with maple syrup and butter on top.

Jason on the other hand had T-bone steak, three sunny side up eggs, and three pieces of pancakes with maple syrup and butter on top.

The two began to eat, and another familiar song popped up. However unlike the last song he couldn't remember it.

They were in relative silence. The only noises they really made was eating and drinking. Terry was secretly glad that Jason was eating everything. His mom would've probably tutted at the fact that he looked so thin.

Probably would've wanted to feed the poor kid too.

As Terry ate his meal, he thought that it was decent. It was something and maybe would make Alfred proud that he was consuming some food.

He might've made Alfred worried.

Terry stole a glance at Jason. The kid was drinking his juice and it was getting close to the bottom.

"If you want," he started, "you could have more juice."

A lone blue eye stared into dark sunglasses. "What if I want milk?" His voice even, and somehow challenging.

"I'd buy that too." He matched the tone.

A new waiter slid in. "Everything okay over here?" He asked.

Terry didn't pay attention to the new waiter.

"One glass of whole milk." Jason stated, not tearing his gaze from Terry.

"I-I'll see if we have any." Awkwardness emitted from the waiter.

It was the two of them again.

And Terry's not going to look away because even if Jason couldn't tell whether or not he's actually looking, he's going to assert his dominance. He is going to buy the kid some milk. And no one is going to stop him.

"So." Jason was the first to break the ice. "Ya new in Gotham?"

He could argue that he's both new and simultaneously a resident for his whole life. He was born in raised in Gotham. Just not this one. Know what? He'll go with it.

"Well," he began, "I was from Gotham, but I ended up going somewhere else. But here I am. In Gotham."

Yeah that sounded good.

He could feel someone being very unimpressed. And it wasn't Jason.

'Really?' Dick's voice was rather deadpan.

"Are you serious?" Jason asked in the same tone.

'It's not exactly wrong you know.' Terry thought to Dick at the same time he said, "yep."

'Well yeah, but you could think up a better cover story! It's not like you're being interrogated by some guy who's a living lie detector.'

'That's true, but it's better this way. Don't want to mix any stories up you know? If, of course, I have to say anything over and over again. I don't feel like testing my luck.'

"Okay so let's say I believe you," the younger boy began to wave a piece of steak around from the tip of his fork, "why are you here? Why leave wherever you were to come back to Gotham? Of all places?"

He actually had to stop and think about that one.

'Well,' Dick prompted, 'what are you going to say?'

What was he going to say?

So, instead of saying anything, he hummed and tapped his fingers on the table. "A bit personal, don't you think?"

Jason jabbed the piece of food into his mouth. "I'd think it's a fair trade for the info I gave ya."

Smart kid.

"Your milk," the waiter that no one really cared about said as he set the glass down.

Terry absentmindedly thanked the man.

The man walked away, knowing that he wasn't wanted.

"Alright. Ya got me. I'm not really supposed to be here. Was a accident an' all ya know?" He drawled out. "Now I'm stuck here."

One good eye narrowed. It was clear that the kid was debating on whether or not he was being truthful. And he was.

He hadn't exactly lied. Except for the doll bit. He lied about that.

Although he was starting to hear some retro slang being picked up again. Having bat hearing had its benefits. Wouldn't be surprised if people started saying 'tubular'.

"Okay." He finally said.

Terry perked up at this. "Okay? That's it? Just okay?"

Jason rolled his eye. "Don't push it."

He couldn't help but grin. He thinks he likes the kid. And as he watched the younger boy drink his milk, he slowly came to realize something. Something rather startling.

Jason acted an awful lot like he did. Back when he was fighting thugs for his gang.

And in a moment Terry came to realize that he didn't want Jason to end up like he did. In juvie. A rotten kid that would've been better off in a ditch rather than breaking their parents' hearts.

But there was the question of if Jason had parents. And if he did then were they good to him. ('If he had any siblings to take care of and protect,' something as hazy as smoke whispered into 'his' head. It was Dick. No, it was something from Terry.)

Terry was having some thoughts, and he wasn't sure if he liked them or not. If he would go through with them or not.

Dick was probably going to kill him somehow for this.

"So Jason," he took a bite out of his sausage, "do you know how to protect yourself?"

Snapping his head up from his plate, Jason stared at him. He moved so fast, Terry feared that he was going to get whiplash.

"I know how to protect myself." Teeth bared, anger rolling up. It was almost like seeing a small kitten trying to puff up enough to scare away a predator.

Good thing bats ate fruit and insects. Not kittens.

He tried to give The Look, even though it was hampered by the sunglasses.

It seemed that Jason was able to sense The Look.

"They just managed to snuck up on me, that's all."

Stare.

Throwing up his arms into the air, Jason cried, "okay fine! Not as much as I'd like!"

The Look was rolled back into the vault. Never to be seen unless summoned once more.

"What if," Terry began, slowly, "I teach you how to not only protect yourself, but get away."

Everything paused. Something from within him was holding its breath. Was it Dick?

"… why… why would you do that?" Jason finally asked. He was tensed, but seemed to be… intrigued by the idea.

"Because you remind me of me." Because he doesn't want history to repeat itself. "And knowing Gotham, it's best to know how to save your skin."

He could see Jason toy with the idea.

"We could do it on the seventh." Terry offered.

"You mean the day after tomorrow?"

He nodded. "You can tell me a time and a place if you want."

This seemed to make it all the more appealing.

"How about…" Jason stopped for a moment, and began to chew on the idea and a piece of one of his pancakes. "Central Park at seven am."

He can do that. "Where exactly in Central Park?"

"West end. By the fountain."

Seems reasonable.

"Alrighty. Sounds like a deal." He then held out a hand.

A lone blue eye stared at the hand. Debating. And then… "yeah."

A smile grew upon 'his' face. "You won't regret it, Jason," he said, giving a firm shake.

The black haired boy took his hand back. "I hope not."

"Why are you giving me twenty dollars?" Jason was completely and utterly baffled.

The duo (trio technically) had just exited the diner. After making that deal, Dick decided to (not exactly) yell about what had transpired.

He was right when he said that Terry should've talked to him about it first.

(Why didn't he actually went and talk to Dick about it? It would've been so easy to think up the words and ask how he thought of it. But he didn't.)

The teen shrugged. "Why not?"

He then took one more look at the young boy. Jason was standing in the parking lot, favoriting that one particular foot still. A twenty dollar bill was in his clean hands, slowly getting closer to his dirty shirt. Egg yolk was smeared close to his lips, but it wasn't all that noticeable. His one good eye had a small twinkle to it. Something that might've been akin to hope.

The teen felt like he shouldn't leave him alone.

"You want a ride home?" Terry asked.

Jason's head snapped over to him for the second time that day. He looked…guarded.

"No." He stuffed the money into his pocket. "I can get back by myself."

He didn't want to believe him, but… "Okay."

Making Jason let him take him home wouldn't be a good choice. Dick would make him regret it. Maybe. Terry was already doing things he shouldn't do. Making promises that he probably couldn't keep for one thing.

So he walked back to the bike.

Glancing over it showed no signs of abuse. Obviously no one even touched it. Not even a single fingerprint. Good to know.

Putting the helmet back on was easy. So was getting back on the bike. Waving goodbye to the kid?

Well, maybe Bruce was starting to rub off of him when it came to the kids. He kind of hopes not. His allowance wouldn't allow it. And his mom. She would probably say that he needs his own house.

Wonder if Mr. Wayne would be kind enough to share his house 24/7. God knows how much room the old man has.

Once they were a couple of blocks away Dick began to talk about the history of the building's they passed by. It wasn't long until they both noticed the position of the sun.

Somehow Terry got back into Dick's room without any confrontation. Thirty minutes until supper was served, as Dick informed him, and he had plenty of time to take a quick shower. He had to get the gel out of his hair after all.

It was a real shame that the nearest bathroom wasn't connected to the bedroom.

'Okay, just grab some random clothes and that should do it.' Dick talked to Terry as the teen did just that.

"Yep." Gathering what was necessary was easy.

'So go to the left, and like, ten doors down to the left there ya go.'

And so when he opened the door, Terry was impressed. While the bathroom that Terry was more so associated with was a tad more… dark, this one was brighter.

They both had the Victorian aesthetic going on, but while his Bruce's bathroom was a dark gothic, this one had golden accents. The fixtures itself were sleek, silver contrasting well with the gold. A dark Victorian vanity was a pop of darkness within all the light. Tiles and wallpaper were embedded with elegant designs. A long wall to floor mirror, which was a lot more fancy than the one in Dick's room, sat across from the entrance.

(If Terry were to be honest, he wouldn't be sure how to feel at the mere sight of the bathroom. It was in the same place as the one he was used to, and yet… and yet it still wasn't what he expected. What he was used to. He knows this whole building wasn't the same as the one he came to know. He just needs to accept the fact that it isn't the same.)

Ignoring the mirror, he got himself ready.

Finishing with the blow dryer, he put it away. Just in time too.

"Master Richard," the voice of the one and only Alfred Pennyworth filtered through the closed oak door, "I have come to inform you that supper is ready."

"Just a sec Alf," he called back, making sure that everything was where it should be. A quick glance in the mirror showed that Richard Greyson looked just fine.

Adapting a sheepish grin, 'Dick' opened the door. "Sorry."

"It is rather alright. Although do try to take a shower earlier." He gave a pointed look.

Yeah, Terry got what he was implying.

Laughing a bit nervously, and a "will do", Terry slipped out into the hallway. Once Alfred began to walk towards the dining area, he followed.

The walk seemingly took ages, and yet the next thing Terry knew they had arrived.

Bruce was kind enough to wait for him.

'Did he wait long for us?' Terry asked Dick.

'Not sure. Knowing him it could be for a while or just a minute. Kinda hard to keep him waiting when your mad at him and you don't actually know if he came early or not.' Dick replied. Which, honestly wasn't all that surprising.

Old Man Bruce Wayne was a bit more punctual, as he didn't have the playboy excuse anymore. But he would play the "traffic was terrible", or the "I'm not as young as I used to be" card when he needs to.

Blue eyes darted to the plate filled with food. Paired with an empty chair. Next to Bruce.

Oh and not to mention that he's still, if anything slightly, mad at Bruce. Not too hard to fake that.

Silently, Terry sat down.

It was meatloaf, asparagus, green beans, and roasted red potatoes for supper. It smelt delicious. Except he had to wait for Bruce to start eating. Or make the first move.

"How was your shower?" Bruce asked, reaching for a fork. He poked at a potato.

'Of course he would know.' He thought a tad bitterly to himself.

"It was nice." Terry went to eat a random component of his meal. It didn't matter, as long as he kept eye contact with Bruce. "How was the Justice League."

Bruce didn't even twitch. Or maybe he had, but was an expert at hiding it. Terry might never know.

The man exhaled through his nose. "Well, we found out that there were some trigger words hidden within Superboy."

Everything froze. The fork was set down. Food was swallowed. Terry didn't hide any shock. No, he let his eyes grow wide. "Are you serious?" He asked.

The billionaire nodded, quite serious. "Yes, and we managed to disable them. It came as a shock to Superboy."

"Well yeah!" He couldn't help but say. "Wouldn't you be if someone went into your brain and found the same thing?"

"Yes." Bruce nodded.

That was… a bit surprising.

"But that isn't all." Bruce's voice grew grim. He sat his fork down, and put his hands together. "We also took a look at Guardian's mind, to make sure there weren't any lingering effects from the gnomes. As it turns out that most of his memories are actually… false. Not real."

He choked on his own spit. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Bruce began, "that Jim Harper isn't the real Jim Harper. If Jim Harper even existed at all."

Shock that didn't belong to him crawled up his spine.

'Does Roy know?' The voice of Dick Grayson rattled within his mind.

"Does Roy know?" He repeated. 'His' voice was quaking. He couldn't control it.

At this Bruce looked… unsettled. "We haven't been able to contact him."

Emotions swirled around him. Within him. Drowning him. Leaving him breathless. Feeling light. Feeling heavy. It was his own. It never belonged to him.

"Why not?" He blurted out. He almost… felt like he was losing his grip on reality.

"It seems as if he doesn't want to be found." Was the words that managed to filter through.

He needs process this… Dick needs to process this.

So Terry starts to eat again. Keep the mouth moving. Preventing the need to continue conversation.

Maybe he shouldn't have bought the food at IHop.

"Dick." Bruce's voice was oh so ever soft. So gentle. It hurt him to hear it. "Alfred and I have decided it's best if you don't go to patrol today or tomorrow."

He nearly choked. Bruce never tells him not to go out on patrol. The only times he actually does that if there's something very much wrong or he was fired from being Batman.

But Bruce isn't talking to Terry. He's talking to Dick. And Bruce doesn't want his Robin to fly.

Gulping down water helped clear 'his' passageway. "Why?!" He demanded after taking a deep breath.

"Dick, you have to understand. You had disobeyed orders-"

"So this is my punishment?" He interrupted, doing his best not to growl.

"Yes and no." Bruce pressed his lips together. "You got hurt, and not only will this give you time to heal, but to think about what happened." Icy blue eyes softened. "This will also give you more time to be just Dick Grayson."

Terry turned away. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Thanks for the meal Alfred. I'll heat it up later." Terry said, pushing away from the table.

"Dick-"

"I'm not leaving the manor okay?" Terry spat out.

He needs to make sure he can get around the place without getting lost. He just wish he didn't hurt Alfred's feelings in the process. After all, it was rather rude of him to not finish his meal. But he just couldn't stay there with Bruce.

It was getting all too much.

The golden light of the setting sun sent this new world ablaze.

Darken wooden floors and walls, grew lighter with this new light flooding in. White curtains stained with yellows and oranges. Any metal objects reflected this light, as crystals magnified it's brilliance.

Any colors that were there were warped, twisted into something almost unrecognizable.

Armor, cases containing valuables, vases standing proud on top of pedestals, pictures and paintings. Different places, same style. Different looks, same spaces.

Nothing was covered up, hidden away within sheets. It was free to show its glory to someone who did not belong.

It was almost like… he was a ghost. Wandering around in a whole new world that he did not belong in. It never was and never will be.

Martha and Thomas Wayne, however will always look the same. Same smiles, same clothes, same pearl necklace. Same warmth while together with their son. The two who unwilling started it all.

It was rather funny, a stray thought came by to say, that they were like his grandparents. They were the parents of the first Batman, and there he was. The second Batman.

He always wondered what they would be like, if they were alive. If he ever met them.

Time travel seems to be the only option. Because even in this whole new universe, they were dead.

And he hasn't even been born yet.

Turning away from their gaze above the fireplace would be a good thing to do. Except he couldn't stop staring.

They looked so kind. So understanding. They reminded him of his own parents. And then he began to wonder if they were born yet, here, in this new world.

Longing of gentle kisses on foreheads, of rough hands ruffling hair, ran through him. Of little annoying brothers trying to get a rise out of him.

He missed them all.

'Terry.' Whispers fluttered softly like butterfly wings down onto him.

He pulled himself away from the painting. He had to go exploring.

And if it gets to late, he could always go to bed…

Finally! We get to meet our little Jaybird. And things are already diverging from canon even more so. Wonder how this will effect everything. ;)