Duo
You are Cordially Invited to Stay
A lone candle flickered in the deepest halls of Wayne Castle, its light obscured by an elegant hand. The figure walked at a brisk pace, not trusting his surroundings, for at any moment, lurking in a dark corner, there may be eyes, watching.
The guests had all returned from whence they came, the lights had been put out, and the Lord and Lady of the household had retired for the night, giving him a momentary opportunity to walk about the castle unnoticed.
He came then to an ancient place, where the brick and mortar of the walls was beginning to show through. A cold, damp corridor, where only the lowest of servants would typically be found. There, in the wall, sat a sconce. A pitiful thing, rusted and broken and ill-fit to carry candles as it used to. The figure reached out his pale hand and with it, pulled down on the sconce, revealing it as a hidden lever.
The wall next to him gave a tired sigh before allowing him passage into a most secret place. A dark place. A place known exclusively to four individuals.
Only when the door had sealed shut again, did the figure speak.
"Come, let us not waste time," said he. "Do you have the medallion, little brother?"
A small face became illuminated by the warm candlelight, and he grinned wide enough for his fangs to show. "To think that such good fortune would befall us so suddenly," he said, fingering the red ruby set into the metal of the medallion.
"Good fortune indeed. For now, all our years of waiting may not have been in vain," said another boy, stepping into the light.
"And yet you all proceed, throwing caution to the wind. Have you all not yet realised that we may very well be trading one unfortunate circumstance for another?" Came a forth voice, low and stern.
"How could it be unfortunate?" The first figure asked. "Why, I heard it right from my twin's own two lips. He is no heir to any fortune, estate, or family name—he is not even family at all." The others shifted, listening intently to their brother's findings. "Neither is Mister Jason or Mister Tim. The only one who does possess the blood of Wayne is their Mister Damian."
"How disappointing that it could not be so for all four of us," the third figure lamented.
"I would not be so quick to call it a disappointment," said the youngest. "From what I could ascertain, my twin is not betrothed, nor is he inclined to attend his father's social events. In fact, he seemed quite to have a mind of his own, speaking frankly to whomever he pleased."
"They all behaved as though they were unfamiliar with the very concept of social etiquette altogether," said the third voice thoughtfully.
"My twin especially," the low voice agreed. "Which also worries me. They may very well be able to match our temperaments, but Father will undoubtedly be able to see through their lack of class."
"And what would our dear, illustrious father be able to do about it? By the time he is able to unravel our plan, we shall already be a world away, and even Lady Zatara herself would not be able to conjure enough dark magic to reach us."
"I dare say, it is the most brilliant plan we've concocted yet," the youngest smiled again.
"And," the low voice paused, "what of our beloveds and fiancés?"
"If we have twins there, why should they not also?" Said the third voice. "My twin certainly seemed to recognise Miss Brown."
"And mine Princess Raven."
"Dear brother, you cannot possibly be making an argument against what is so clearly meant to be," the first figure said, bringing the candle closer to Lord Jason's face.
"Merely offering a word if caution," he replied darkly. "For you all know what the consequence of being discovered would entail."
The room fell silent with a heavy weight.
"And yet," Jason continued. "I too find myself tempted by the idea."
"Then perhaps I may be able to convince you fully," said Timothy, a hand at his waist. "For you see, I was able to uncover what is quite possibly the greatest piece of information." The others leaned in curiously. "Upon inquiry, I was able to discover a prominent absence in our brothers' lives. Their mother is no longer with them."
At once, every yellow eye in the room widened with excitement.
"How soon we can we leave?" Jason asked.
"The spell will take effect at the stroke of twelve, at midday," Damien smiled.
"So cruel to make us wait," Timothy grumbled. "But then, I suppose, what is one more hour after an entire lifetime?"
"Let it be done at once, little brother," said Richard who, out of all his brothers, wore the most unbridled and wild grin. "Free us from this prison."
Damien held aloft the medallion with both hands and as he closed his eyes, it rose into the air and the ruby was lit from within, casting a red glow upon his beaming face.
A blazing ring of light ignited at their feet, fully encompassing them, sealing them into the spell, and when Damian began to recite, though there was no wind in the hidden room, the candle in Lord Richard's hand flickered angrily.
"Across the earth where voices cry, where visages of strangers lie, to flesh and bone and soul arise…" The light of the circle grew brighter, and the presence of dark magic could be felt by all as it took hold of them. "Make haste and bind my soul to thee, he whose body I decree, forevermore… belongs to me."
At once, the circle disappeared, and the candle went out.
A twisting, turning, bubbling, brewing, mysterious and murky magic of the ancients had been thus awoken in the bowls of Wayne Castle, and as the stroke of twelve steadily approached, four cloaked figures keenly found their way in the dark to their rooms, each anxiously awaiting the beginning of their news lives. Already, they could feel the magic pulling at them, preparing them for the long journey, and Lord Richard still could not keep from smiling for joy. He closed his eyes and let the night close in.
Dick stumbled into his apartment, feeling unusually tired. After a long day of fighting inter-dimensional beings, the last thing anyone typically wants to do is put on a smile and chit chat with strangers over dinner for three hours.
He briefly checked his messages on his phone as he got undressed and saw a text from Kori saying goodnight. He smiled and sent a virtual kiss her way before setting the phone back down on his nightstand.
His head hit the pillows and he pulled his comforter close, feeling especially warm and comfortable tonight. He let his breathing slow, his eyes gently shut, and his thoughts wander. Although, he couldn't help but notice that they seemed to want to wander in one direction in particular: back to Wayne Castle.
And he wasn't the only one. Jason tossed and turned in his safe house, fighting off dream-like images of vampires, baring their fangs. Damian uneasily relived the lengthy conversation he had had with his Other Self, and Tim, despite having brewed himself a fresh cup of coffee so that he could stay up just a little while longer to look into the dimensional device and its origin via his personal computer, found himself unable to keep his eyes open for even a second. It wasn't long until his head had sunk to his keyboard, the coffee forgotten, and for the next hour, there would be nothing that anyone could do to wake him.
Back in Dick's apartment, he found himself dreaming of the party and of his counterpart. He recalled the moment the two of them had first met, though this time, Lord Richard seemed eerily delighted to see him.
He tried to leave the room, perhaps exit the dream altogether, but it was as though he was being pulled back into it again and again. Always there was Wayne Castle, always the dining room or the ballroom, and more than anything else, always the face of Lord Richard Wayne, smiling at him like a Cheshire Cat.
Finally, he found a room—a secret room—and went to hide inside of it. It was dark here, which felt safe and comforting after the lights and prying eyes of the party guests. He was not alone, though. In the centre of the room he suddenly saw a tall mirror. Hesitantly, he approached.
His reflection matched his pace, as any normal reflection should, but there was something ever so slightly odd about it. The closer he stepped, the greater the oddness became. His Nightwing suit sprouted a coat tail and lapels and a jabot, his hair became smoothed back, his skin ashen, his eyes yellow, and two sharp fangs emerged from his mouth. He was so close to the glass now that he could see even the tiniest mole on his face.
Then, his reflection smiled.
Dick felt his body being pulled into it, shattering the mirror into a million, tiny pieces, and leaving him tumbling into a deep, dark void.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding quite profusely, but altogether relieved that the dream had ended. Or had it? His whole body froze when his eyes were opened and he found himself very much not in his apartment any longer. These were not his linen sheets, nor his silk pillows or enormous four poster bed or white night gown. This was not his bedroom or even his house. Had he been kidnapped? It wouldn't be the first time.
As he looked down, however, he began to feel as though he himself was different, not just his surroundings. It was almost as if he had stepped into the body of… a wealthy lord.
"No…" he breathed as he looked down at his own hand. No longer was it rough with wear, but slender and pale, with long fingernails that looked as though they received nightly care.
He thrust aside the heavy sheets and slid to the floor, his bare feet shivering against the cold of the wood, and he ran toward a mirror which was hanging over the glowing fireplace. He stood right in front of it, but to his surprise, the only thing looking back at him was his empty room.
"No!" He cried, slamming his hand against the mirror so hard it cracked. This had to be a dream, surely. There was no other possible explanation, especially for the pointed fangs he could now feel in his own mouth, sitting right where his canines ought to be.
"No, no, no, no," he muttered again and again. How was it even possible? Had there been something in the food he ate last night?
Quickly, he pinched himself, hoping that it would break this terrible spell, but he remained right where he was standing. He needed to get out of here as quickly as he could
"Damian?" Came a familiar voice from out in the hall.
"Tim?" Dick whispered. He rushed to the door of the bedroom and threw it open, revealing a grand hallway lined with red carpet, gold sconces, and velvet curtains. Moonlight spilled in from tall windows, making Tim, already pale and wearing a night gown, appear like an apparition. "Tim!" He cried, coming over to him.
"Dick!? You're here too?" Tim exclaimed.
"Where exactly is 'here?'"
"I was hoping you knew."
The two boys took a sickening moment to really observe the other. There was no mistaking their appearances. They were without a doubt, the Lords Richard and Timothy Wayne, and this place they were in could only be the extravagant Wayne Castle.
"Do you think maybe the device…?" Dick started.
"It's a teleporting device, not a rearrange your bodies device," Tim countered.
"But so then—"
A door suddenly crashed open to reveal a wide-eyed Jason, also wearing a long night gown. "You two!" He yelled, catching sight of them. "What the heck did you do!?"
"We didn't do anything!" Tim cried, raising his hands innocently and inching closer to Dick.
"Jason, calm down," Dick said firmly, keeping the two of them at arms length. "I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for this."
"Well I'd love to hear it," said Jason, turning his wild, amber eyes on Dick.
Another door opened and Damian stepped into the hall, watching them. "Is this… a dream?" He asked.
"More like a nightmare," Jason said stiffly.
"I knew we shouldn't have trusted those guys," Tim moaned, looking over himself. "Sure, they didn't suck out our blood, but somehow, I feel like this is worse." He combed a hand through his hair and suddenly felt how long it was. "Ugh. This guy really needs to get a haircut."
"How do we fix this?" Asked Damian with knitted eyebrows.
"You're asking me?" Said Dick hopelessly.
"I bet that Other Bruce has something to do with this," Jason thought, pacing somewhat.
"Or he and our Bruce swapped as well," Tim pointed out.
"We should find him and ask." Dick started walking, but then became acutely aware of two things. First, that he hadn't the slightest idea of where the Marquis might be, and second, that he was still dressed in nothing but his night gown. "But maybe we should change first."
"What are you all doing in the hall in this state?"
The boys turned around and who should they see walking toward them but the imposing form of vampire Alfred Pennyworth. He wore a completely black suit, his side burns were long enough to be called great silver mutton chops, and his skin was so white and wrinkly that it made him appear over a hundred years old. His shoes made no sound as they glided over the red carpet, and his disapproving scowl was aimed at the four boys' disheveled appearance.
"Pennyworth," Damian said at once. "Tell father that we wish to speak with him."
Alfred's scowl only deepened. "You would do well to watch your tone with me, Lord Damien," he snapped, quite startling the young Wayne. "You know perfectly well that your father has a previous engagement in town today. You will see him this morning at the ball."
Dick and the others gave each other a worried look.
"Get dressed at once. You're late for breakfast with your mother." With a crisp snap of his boney fingers, Alfred had seemingly made a legion of servants appear, dressed in identical deep blue coats.
Jason, however, looked royally ticked off. "You don't get to tell me what to do."
Alfred paused and leaned slowly closer to him, his eyes becoming dangerously dark. "I see we have still not learned our lesson."
"You don't scare me, Pennyworth," said Jason quietly.
Like a viper sinking its fangs into a helpless field mouse, Alfred's hand was suddenly clasped around Jason's wrist. "How very foolish of you." He began to pull Jason forward, his bare feet digging against the floor in protest.
"Let go of me!" He yelled, trying with all his might to pry himself away, exerting so much energy that it looked as though he might pop a blood vessel, but Alfred pressed on as if he barely noticed.
"Alfred, stop!" Dick called out, only for a team of servants to block his path and take him by the arms. "Wait!"
Tim and Damian were also forcefully escorted away into their rooms, the doors shut tight behind them.
The servants brought Dick to the centre of the room where they stripped him of his night gown and then began the laborious process of dressing him. Layer after layer of day clothes were put on him, with attention given to even the tiniest thread out of place.
As Dick looked down at the lace cuffs and high collared coat, he felt suddenly relieved that he was unable to see his reflection.
Finally, one of the servants took a wetted comb and brushed it through his wavy hair, relieving him of any lingering bed head, and he was finished. The men bowed low and then left without a single word.
To the door he flew, still worried for his brothers' wellbeing (one in particular.)
Tim and Damian appeared in the hall moments after Dick had, dressed in similar attire, their hair neatly combed, and all of them looking in the same direction; the direction from which came a rather unpleasant sound.
"Get your hands off of me you—!"
The wall suddenly shook with a tremendous thud and the three boys rushed to Jason's bedroom door, only to find him perfectly fine, and a servant clutching his side on the floor.
"You're only making this worse for yourself, Lord Jason," Alfred said sternly as he pinned Jason's arms behind his back. Then, with a single look, Alfred had the other boys shooed from the room and the door locked.
"This is not going to end well," Tim lamented.
For the next five minutes, Jason fought tooth and nail against every stocking, coat, and tie, but Alfred somehow managed it, and he exited the room looking immensely displeased. "Your father will be hearing about this when he returns."
"Oh, I'm real scared now!" Jason yelled after him, ripping the tie from around his neck.
"Jason, maybe don't make a scene next time," Tim said stiffly. "We don't want to make things worse than they already are."
"I'm not some spoiled, pampered baby and I don't need someone else's help getting my own clothes on!" Jason snarled, his fangs bared.
"Jason," Dick said firmly. "I'm sure we can find a way to fix everything. Let's just keep our heads down until we see Bruce tonight, and then we can explain the mixup."
"And what are we meant to do until then?" Damian asked.
"Well…" said Dick, looking around. "I am sort of hungry."
The group started forward, a little aimlessly at first, until they found one of the servants standing by a door. Dick quickly asked which way to the dining room, which the servant did seem to think was an odd question, but he obliged his master and gave him clear directions.
Wayne Castle was a peculiar building, to be sure. The moon and candle light cast leering shadows on the walls, and strange statues and suits of gleaming armour seemed to stare at them as they passed. Not to mention, there was an impossibly large portrait of Lord and Lady Wayne hanging above one of the grand staircases that, for whatever reason, made each of them shudder.
The dining room doors opened for them, revealing a much smaller room than the one they had dined in the night before, and one where the full moon was perfectly framed within the wide windows.
A clicking of someone's tongue suddenly sounded from the foot of the table. "You boys should know better than to keep your mother waiting." Lady Talia Wayne sat with one arm resting gently on the armrest of her chair, watching them all with a cold stare.
"Right," said Dick, glancing back at the others. "We're very sorry."
He approached slowly, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. It had been weird enough when he was just visiting, but this was an entirely new level of creepy. If there was even a word to properly describe how he was feeling, it didn't exist in English, that was for sure. The last time they were this close (excepting the dinner party, of course) it had been under far more treacherous circumstances. Now… they were having a casual breakfast together as—he grimaced at the very thought—mother and son.
Most of breakfast was carried out in silence, on account of Lady Wayne's presence, as much as a lack of interesting conversation. The food included (quite aptly) blood oranges and poached eggs on black rye toast, coated in a thick, yellow sauce. Thankfully, there was only one set of knife and fork beside the plates, and despite his obvious discomfort, even Jason behaved at the table for the most part. He refused to make any other face besides a scowl, though.
"I hear that there's to be a new family at the ball tonight," Lady Wayne said casually. "They have a son just about your age, Timothy. Perhaps we shall invite them to pay us a visit."
Tim slowly took a bite of his toast and egg. It was so strange for anyone other than Alfred to call him by his full name, let alone Talia al Ghul. He could only imagine how Damian felt, his mother now doting over all four of them.
She reached for her glass, then stopped just before taking a sip. "Are none of you hungry?" She asked.
"Hm?" Said Dick, looking up from his plate.
"We speak with full words, Richard," she snapped, suddenly looking stern.
Dick swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good," she said, all at once amiable again. "Now go on then, have a drink."
He followed her gaze down to the cup by his plate and felt his stomach give a sudden lurch. But how could he possibly refuse her? An excuse failed to materialise in his mind, and so he reached to take the heavy cup. It brought with it the distinct smell of iron, and inside, where little light could shine, the syrupy liquid looked almost black.
As when one takes their first bite of raw fish or horseradish or steamed spinach, Dick slowly, dreadfully, brought the rim of the cup to his lips. It was still warm.
The first gulp nearly made him gag, its lingering taste reminding him of a nosebleed, and yet a strange relief overtook his senses. It was like breathing for the first time in several minutes, or drinking water after a long, hot day, as though he could not have imagined going about the night without this singularly rejuvenating substance.
He found himself taking another gulp, larger than the first, before finally setting his cup down, half of its contents already gone. The urge to lick his lips was strong, but he remembered that it was considered uncouth and reached for his napkin instead.
One by one, the others each took their own drink, much to the Lady's satisfaction.
"There, now don't you feel better? I heard you were all quite ill-tempered when you woke up." Like a panther, her eyes searched them over, looking for the first sign of bad behaviour. Dick had to give a warning glance at Jason to keep him from saying anything snarky. "You haven't been staying up past your bed time, have you?"
"Of course not," Dick said in his most pleasing voice.
Lady Wayne took a small bite of her blood orange. "Good," she crooned. "Now, I want you all dressed and ready to leave for the ball at twelve o'clock, and not a moment later." She eyed Jason. "The house of El cares very deeply about punctuality."
Tim suddenly threw Dick a surprised look.
After breakfast was concluded, the boys were given some free time, which they used by exploring the castle some. There were many similarities between it and Wayne Manor, though in every case, it seemed to be outrageously more grandiose. There were two libraries, dozens of bedrooms, several studies, an indoor pool, and countless sitting rooms and parlours and foyers.
At ten thirty precisely, the group of servants returned and escorted the boys upstairs to begin getting ready for the ball. First, there was the bath, taken in what looked like the top hat monopoly piece turned upside down, though they supposed this was some manner of tub. Thankfully, the water was warm, set at exactly the temperature that each of them preferred.
After that, a general grooming. Hair was cut and styled, stubble was shaved, nails were trimmed, and perfume applied. (The only thing keeping Jason from completely throwing a fit was the promise of seeing Bruce that night and getting home.)
Lastly, their finest coats and capes were brought out, somehow even more decedent than the ones worn at last night's party, with more lace and frills than any of them thought was comfortable or practical.
At precisely twelve o'clock, per Talia's request, the four of them were sitting in a sleek carriage together, passing through the gates of Wayne Castle.
"I thought that would never end," Tim complained, tugging at the rope that was holding his half-cape in place. "I think this is the longest I've ever gone without internet access in my life."
"I've never felt more ridiculous in my life," said Damian, frowning at his lace jabot. "I can't believe people actually used to dress like this."
"I dunno, I think it kinda suits you," Jason sneered.
"Just like your rose water and orange blossom perfume suits you?" Damian fired back.
"You know what, Damian?"
Dick wasn't listening though. He was staring out of the tiny window, into the night, as the carriage swayed back and forth. "You know, I've been thinking… if we're here… then where did our Other Selves go?"
"Oh no," said Damian, eyes widening.
"If they do anything stupid, I'm gonna kill them," Jason growled.
The sun rose on Gotham City, welcoming in a new day filled with promises. When Richard opened his eyes, it was as though he was rising up out of a grave, coming alive for the first time. Although, he was a bit taken aback by his new surroundings. Surely this small house was not his counterpart's home? He had to be making enough money to afford his own estate. And yet, the dismal bed and crummy light fixtures said otherwise.
Very well. He would learn to make do. If this was the price of his freedom, then so be it.
He found a robe hanging in a closet and threw it over his bare shoulders before entering the dining room. Which also appeared to be the kitchen. Heaven help him, did he not have any cooks or maids in this house? Richard had never so much as held a spatula before, how was he expected to make an entire meal?
Perhaps it wouldn't be too outrageous if he payed a visit to his father at the estate. Adopted father, that is. He might even find his brothers there and join them for breakfast.
It was decided. He rummaged through Dick's closet, looking for anything even remotely acceptable to wear. At one point he pulled out some strange manner of one piece suit that was garishly coloured and had a very deep cut down the chest. Decidedly not. He threw the ghastly thing aside and nearly gave up all hope of find something decent when he came upon a pair of black dress pants, a white button down shirt, and a thick, black jacket. It would have to do. At the very least, these garments did not seem so complicated as to require his servants to assist him.
At last, he was ready, and departed through the pitifully small front door.
Was he still indoors? This was a long hallway filled with several other rooms. A boarding house, perhaps? No, it couldn't be. Mister Wayne would surely have higher standards than that.
Whatever the case, he began looking for the exit and presently discovered a long stairwell, three floors tall at least. His feet felt like they were throbbing at the end of it, the shoes he had found having not been properly tailored to his feet.
The main foyer was even more abysmal than the rest of the building—dark, putrid, and full of unpleasant smells. The people also seemed to be of the working class, which troubled him deeply.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, approaching a man nearby. "Which way to the Wayne family estate?"
"Uh, it's in Gotham, I think," he replied, frowning.
My, what vague instructions.
Richard thanked him and stepped outside into a loud, bright, bustling metropolis. For a moment, he flinched, having stepped directly into sunlight, but then, he paused, for he felt nothing. The sun had not burned him, not even a little. He smiled. Not day or night was barred from him now.
The streets were filthy and crowded and Richard deeply missed his private carriage, though he had taken a keen notice of the many people flagging down strange, yellow, horseless carriages. A service perhaps? He thought he would attempt it.
As many others he had seen, he stuck out his hand and waited for a carriage to arrive. Like magic, it worked, and he climbed into the back, though not quite as gracefully as he would have liked.
"Where to?" Said the driver.
"Wayne Castle."
"You mean Wayne Manor?" He asked.
A manor? How quaint.
"Yes, Wayne Manor."
"Alright."
The man shook his head a little but eventually took off into the street and Richard watched the many strange sights go by. He was quite startled to see so many women wearing men's trousers, and with their hair let down in tangled messes. He felt obligated to overt his eyes from such indecency. The men were hardly any better, wearing nothing more than undershirts half the time, and some were even baring their legs.
Wayne Manor came into view after not very long, though the gate was closed, so the driver stopped the carriage.
"Alright, time to pay up," he said looking back at him.
Richard opened the door and as he slid out, he said, "Charge it to Mister Bruce Wayne."
The driver seemed quite confused as he left, though Richard cared very little. He was on the precipice of his new life. He reached for the gate and…
It didn't open. He tried again, but still it wouldn't budge. It was locked, he realised. So then how was meant to get in?
"Is that you, Master Dick?" Came a small voice.
He looked around until he saw a small black orb embedded in a nearby brick wall.
"Pennyworth? Is that you?" He asked it.
"Yes. Would you like me to open the gate for you?" He asked through what Richard could only assume was some manner of magical artefact.
"If you would, please."
Suddenly, the gates just unlocked themselves, seemingly of their own accord, and Richard stepped inside.
He'd never seen Wayne Castle during the day, so even though this was merely a manor, it still left quite an impression.
"Welcome, Master Dick," said Alfred at the front door. "Dick?" What sort of a name was that? "I see you took the main entrance today."
Richard frowned inwardly. "Yyyes, I did." Not that he knew of any other entrance a distinguished man like himself would use. "I thought I would stop by for breakfast."
"Very good. I'll have it ready within a half hour," said Alfred, and he offered to take Richard's coat before disappearing into some other part of the house.
Alfred answering the door, taking coats, AND cooking? What manner of strange butler was he in this world?
"Richard!"
He looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see his brothers beaming down at him from atop the double staircase in the main foyer. It would seem as though Jason had already arrived.
"You're here!" Damien exclaimed. "You must come see what we've discovered!"
Richard raced up the steps as quickly as he liked and followed them into what he at first assumed was a powder room, though it looked nothing of the sort.
"See here," said Timothy, leaning over a porcelain white chair. There was a silver button on its back, and when he pressed it, it suddenly made an angry sound as the water inside of it began to swirl madly. "And here," he went on, reaching for a sink basin and making water flow into it from a tap.
"Fascinating," Richard exclaimed. "They have water pumped directly into the house."
"But who's pumping it? And from where?" Damien asked.
"There's clearly a well somewhere on the property," said Jason, slightly annoyed. "And for all we know, they might be accomplishing this with magic."
"The lights are almost definitely magic," Timothy went on. "Look at them. No fire whatsoever. They just… glow."
"I say! This place is most peculiar," said Richard.
Damien smiled. "You used an exclamation!"
"And there's no one here to stop me."
"Please, brother," Jason sighed. "Let us make real use of our newfound freedom. There is something I have always wanted to do." He led them out of the powder room and into one of the long halls where he let out a very loud, "HELLO!" It bounced off the walls with a satisfying sound.
"ECHO!" Damien joined in, listening to it fade away.
"Father would have us struck for raising our voices so," said Timothy, almost giddy.
"But are you sure there's no one around to hear?" Richard asked cautiously.
"The only servant in the whole manor is Pennyworth," Damien explained. "And we haven't seen Father all morning. We may do as we please."
From then on, the manor became a veritable playground. They ran through the halls, discovering all sorts of strange new rooms, such as the theatre room, the pool, the computer room, and the private bowling alley. They marvelled at each strange device and how it functioned, slid down the banisters, and touched anything they liked, until eventually they collapsed onto one of the large sofas in a small sitting room. Jason had his feet on the coffee table and Damien was laying sideways, his legs dangling over the edge of the armrest.
"Did you ever think life could be this unencumbered?" He asked wistfully.
"Not in my lifetime," said Richard, leaning his head back. "And we don't even have to attend that stupid ball tonight."
"You said Stupid!" Damien exclaimed.
"Stupid!" Richard said again, smiling, loving the way it sounded.
"Blazes!" Timothy joined in.
"Dratted!" Said Jason.
"Dickens!"
"Tarnation!"
"Bullocks!"
The brothers all had a good laugh as they thought of even more forbidden words to say, until Alfred entered the room and they fell silent.
"Breakfast is served."
Away they went to the dining room, and much to their pleasure, the only persons seated there were themselves.
"I see the unexpected venture last night has had an affect on you all," Alfred said as he passed out the food. Specifically he was noticing their dress shirts and tidy hair.
"Oh, yes," said Richard. "I found the whole experience quite… eye-opening."
Their plates were filled with warm omelettes and bacon, with a side of sticky sweet rolls and a glass of chilled, freshly squeezed orange juice. Before they began, however, Damien noticed that no place was set at the head of the table.
"Pennyworth," he spoke up. "Where is Father?"
"Down in the bat cave still. I'm afraid he was working all through the night again. Cantelope?" He offered, holding a beautifully carved melon platter.
"Yes please!" Damien, Timothy, and Jason cried at once.
Alfred smiled and happily dished out the fruit.
Down below Wayne Manor, in the darkness of the bat cave, Bruce was hunched over the massive computer console. He glanced at the clock. It was already eight in the morning and still, no one had come downstairs, not even Damian. His training should have started an hour ago.
With bags still under his eyes and stubble forming on his chin, he stood and stretched, preparing to find some answers. He was overdue for a break anyway.
The hallways of the manor were all empty, and so were Tim and Damian's rooms. There was no one in the living room, though it looked like maybe it had recently been used. The gym was empty, as well as the pool, the tennis court, the library, and the private theatre too. The only room he hadn't checked was the dining room, which, come to think of it, might have been a better place to start looking from the beginning.
As he approached the door, he thought he could hear something rather unusual emanating from within. Was that… laughter?
He went in at once, unsure of what he'd find, only to see Dick, Tim, Damian and Jason all sitting around the table eating breakfast together. They froze when they saw him, probably because he looked something like a bewildered caveman with his messy hair and Batman suit still on.
"Good morning, Father," Damian said politely.
"Good morning… Bruce," Dick echoed in an odd way, then smiled.
"Good morning," he replied, approaching the table cautiously. "What's going on?"
"Breakfast," Tim said innocently. "Would you care to join us?"
Bruce hesitated. "Alright." He sat down at the head of the table, all the boys watching him. Was it somebody's birthday? A holiday? He was feeling like there was definitely something going on here that everyone but him knew about.
As soon as he was seated, the boys resumed eating.
"Ah, Master Bruce," said Alfred, holding a silver cloche. "I was just about to bring this down to you." He placed before him a freshly cooked omelette, made just the way he liked.
"Okay, what's going on?" Bruce asked, looking around the table.
"What do you mean?" Said Tim, slowly lowering his fork.
"We're just enjoying breakfast," Jason added.
"…Yeah…" said Bruce, narrowing his eyes at the black collard shirt he was wearing.
"Would you rather we didn't eat breakfast together?" Dick asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No." Bruce carefully took up his fork, eyes still narrowed. "It's just… been a while."
"I think it's quite nice that they all wanted to spend the morning together," said Alfred as he made for the kitchen.
The boys all seemed to resume with breakfast as innocently as possible, and Bruce couldn't help but notice that each and every one of them, even Jason, was sitting in a dignified manner, not letting their elbows rest on the table, chewing with their mouths closed, and using knives and forks to eat everything on their plates, including the bacon. Not that he was complaining, exactly—it was actually kind of nice having them all here, minding their manners—it just didn't make any sense.
From the boys' perspective, they were slowly realising that whatever it was they were doing, it wasn't convincing Bruce of anything. This was a problem, as he actually did possess a means by which they could be sent home, so they needed to fix things fast.
Jason was the first make his move. He remembered a time when he was young and attempted slurping his drink for fun. That experience had not ended well. But this time…
SLURRRRRRP!
That had felt oddly gratifying.
The others seemed to get the idea and joined in.
Richard leaned against the table, Timothy started picking food off of his plate with his fingers, and Damien—he was the boldest of them all—he took a knife and cut his bread in half.
From Bruce's perspective, however… he barely even noticed anything had changed.
"So, Jason," he started, clearing his throat. Jason paused just before taking a large bite of bread. "About last night… I wanted to apologise about the way things went down. Maybe if I had listened…"
"It's alright."
"What?" Bruce said, looking up at once.
"I mean—it's not alright," Jason quickly amended. "I am still very upset with you."
Bruce furrowed his brow. "Okay."
Dick suddenly coughed something under his breath. Whatever he'd said, it was enough to garner a genuine scowl from Jason who tried to kick him under the table.
"Enough," said Bruce before things could get out of hand. Finally, they were acting their normal selves. "Look, you're still mad, I understand, but as long as you're here, maybe we could work on that Scarecrow case together?"
"Well, I don't know," said Jason, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. "I'll have to think about it."
"Okay," Bruce sighed, and he started on his omelette. Apparently, that hadn't been the response Jason was expecting.
"You mean… you're not upset?" He asked carefully.
"I thought you were the one who was 'upset?'" Bruce frowned.
"I am," said Jason, scowling again. "Very upset."
Bruce shook his head. He was never going to understand these boys. Specifically Jason.
As it turned out, the carriage ride took up a good chunk of the night. It dawned on Dick about halfway there that they were headed to the "House of El," that is to say, Superman's house, which was a long way away from Gotham. Lady Wayne had taken her own private carriage and was riding ahead of them, allowing them the freedom to complain about the uncomfortable seating arrangements as much as they liked. There truly was nothing like bobbing up and down in a carriage for hours to make your backside feel like it was worn to the bone.
"So what are we even going to say to him when we see him?" Tim asked. "'Hey, Your Lordship, we swapped bodies with your sons, any way we can fix that?'"
"They have magic, remember?" Said Dick. "Maybe they'll be able to tell it's not us right away."
"Like how Alfred and Talia were able to tell?" Jason deadpanned.
"You know what I mean. Like Lady Zatara last night, she called herself a sorceress," Dick clarified.
Tim was currently watching the window curiously, when he suddenly spoke up. "Hey guys?"
"Yeah?"
"Superman lives on a farm, right?"
Dick frowned. "Yeah."
"Well, then that's the fanciest farm I've ever seen," said Tim, and everyone else crowded around the small window to see what was, quite possibly, the single largest home structure they had ever laid eyes on. It dwarfed Wayne Castle by comparison, boasting three enormous front doors and countless windows, all teaming with light. It was ten stories high, with more wings and rooms than you could count, surrounded by a massive acreage of land that boasted five gardens and two greenhouses full to bursting with every kind of plant in existence, an extensive orchard, a bustling farm with several large paddocks, a tennis court, a cricket field, and a hedge maze. A veritable city unto itself, adrift in an endless sea of countryside. There was a line at least a mile long of carriages piled up in front of it, waiting to enter the illustrious House of El.
Tim turned to them, stunned. "That's just not fair."
The minutes passed tediously by as they inched ever closer to the ball, until finally they came to a full stop just outside the front steps. A footman came and opened their door for them, bowing as they stepped outside one by one. Lady Wayne was already waiting for them in her finest ballgown. Other party guests by the hundreds were being welcomed inside, their carriages driving off to wait for them under a massive coach pavilion. High above them, etched into the stone framework of the doorway, the word "EL" was boldly displayed, as if demanding their respect upon arrival.
Lady Wayne made a small cough that drew Dick's attention. He looked at her, confused, until he saw her hand casually held out to him. Instantly he offered her his arm and apologised for his absentmindedness.
They went through the most great middle door and were welcomed in by two servants on either side. From there, they followed the crowd into what Dick first assumed was the ballroom, only to realise that it was merely a parlour. The men and women were gathering around someone he could not see, before heading further in to another room. The Waynes waited their turn and after much standing, doing nothing, the great person of interest whom the crowd seemed so taken with was revealed.
None other than a very regal Lois Lane stood before them, accompanied by her two sons, Kon and Jon, both dressed in what Dick quickly realised were far more expensive clothes than anything he and the others were wearing, which seemed like it would be impossible, and yet there they were, leavers lace, cervelt silk and baby cashmere practically dripping from their bodies. The most striking feature they possessed, however, was not their clothes, but their red eyes.
"Your Grace," Lady Wayne purred as she dipped low to the ground in a very respectful curtsy. The boys followed her example to the best of their ability, bowing deeply.
"How lovely to see you again Lady Wayne," Lois answered. "You and your sons look to be in good health."
"Thank you, Duchess. As do you and your sons," Lady Wayne replied.
"Thank you for coming tonight. My husband is looking forward to seeing The Marquis again. Speaking of which, why is he not here to escort you?"
"He had to attend to some personal business," Talia explained, but the boys had largely stopped listening at this point.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dick caught Tim suppressing a yawn, and Jason rocking back and forth on his heels. Damian, meanwhile, had been approached by Jon.
"Hello again, Lord Damien." The two bows exchanged bows.
"Hello, Lord Jon."
It was strange seeing him like this, all frilly and done up. Damian had just about gotten used to his messy hair and barn-yard smell. Still, it was good to be met with a friendly face after the day he'd had.
"Have you come to show off your future bride again?" Jon asked with a snide expression.
Damian blinked and felt cold flames rising in his chest. "As a matter of fact—" he started, only for Jon to cut him off.
"Oh, and there she is now."
Damian turned and saw the Princess Raven Roth covered in pearls and lace, standing not too far away from them, flanked by two figures. One, a slender, kind-faced woman with dark hair like her daughter's, the other would have given King Kong a run for his money. His sideburns were so long that they hung from his jaw, his eyes were bright yellow dots floating in a sea of black, his fangs the largest and longest of any vampire Damian had yet seen, and to be a soul caught in the deathly gaze of his glare was most unlucky indeed. He at once understood what Lord Damien had meant about King Trigon being intimidating.
"Why not go say hello?" Jon prodded, leaning in close to his ear. "I suppose she's just dying to see her beloved again."
Damian felt the fire rising into his cheeks, and he was about to say something profoundly nasty when a clawed hand suddenly squeezed his shoulder and made him flinch. His mother, not breaking eye contact with the Duchess, had him in a death grip, as if commanding him to be silent. Jon's mother, however, did not seem to care that her son had been covertly teasing him mere moments ago.
Jon and Damian remained in a battle of death glares until the last. The Duchess Lois El bid them a pleasant evening and the group walked on, into the ballroom. Damian could hardly manage to concentrate on the beehive of activity around him as the words of his would-be friend played again and again in his mind's eye. What reason did he have to berate him so? He was the one with the massive estate and finest clothes and who-knows-what-else. Was this jealousy? Jealous that he would one day be king?
Damian suddenly shook his head. No, the Other Damien would be king, not him. What was he saying?
Still, after this mess was resolved, he made a point to come back here and have a little chat with that obnoxious Lord Jon El.
Though the ballroom was large, it hardly felt like it with how many bodies were crammed into it. Comparing the palace to a small city was no mere exaggeration. It held nothing short of a stadium's worth of people, all talking and laughing and eating hors d'oeuvres as though they hadn't a care in the world. There were even crowds of bats flying overhead, and tables and chairs suspended high above them for guests to sit down at. The size of their kitchen and wait staff had to be nothing short of staggering.
Dick, Jason, and Tim were all anxiously looking around, hoping to catch sight of Bruce somewhere in the chaos, but they were supremely disappointed. Instead, they found themselves unexpectedly face-to-face with a Mister Barry Allen, Missus Iris Allen, and their nephew, Mister Wally West. He and Dick in particular exchanged a few words before his attention was suddenly stolen away by a plate of rose-shaped beef cutlets.
After that, they exchanged a quick greeting with Princess Diana, until they stumbled upon the punch bowl where three very familiar ladies were conversing.
Dick's heart flipped in on itself when he saw her—Princess Koriand'r—with her signature waterfall of red ringlets draped down her back, and he all at once realised it was he whom she was romantically attached to (if the party last night was any indication.) It was he, not the Other Dick, with whom she would be spending the evening. His throat became suddenly dry.
"Do not be rude," Lady Wayne whispered in his ear. "Go to her. Now."
With all his courage, and a gentle nudge in the back, Dick stepped forward, hardly knowing what he would say once he had approached her. It was as though he was meeting her for the first time all over again.
One of the other ladies, the spitting image of Stephanie Brown, caught sight of him first, and as soon as she looked his way, she smiled.
"Well look what the bat dragged in," she said playfully.
Kori and Artemis turned around, and whatever courage he thought he had mustered abandoned him completely.
He opened his mouth to speak, but only strange sounds were coming out.
"I do believe he's been rendered speechless," Artemis declared, sipping a small glass of blood.
The other two laughed and Dick forced out a, "How do you do?"
"Quite well," Kori replied gently, and she raised her hand.
Dick suddenly realised that he was meant to take it. Without thinking, and possibly remembering the night before when Lady Wayne had greeted her husband, he bent over slightly and planted a kiss on her fair skin. The ladies giggled to themselves in delight.
"I have missed you, Lord Wayne," Kori whispered, her eyelids dark and heavy. It was as though he'd stepped into some sort of dream-like fairytale. The atmosphere, the dresses, the suits, the music—such magical things he once thought were but silly nonsense now became as tantalisingly real as the emerald-eyed woman standing before him now.
Just then, Kori's smile faltered and her eyes widened expectantly. "Oh, uh—" he stammered. "I've missed you too… Princess." Her smile could have brightened up an entire solar system.
"Pray, why do you stare so? What strange magic has bewitched you tonight that you have misplaced your keen tongue?"
"You," he thought to himself, only to realise a horrifying moment later that he had spoken aloud. Kori's eyebrows rose high in a mixture of surprise and flattery.
"Bewitched, indeed!" Stephanie exclaimed.
"And he's not the only one," came Tim's voice behind him.
"Lord Timothy," she gasped, coming to his side at once.
"Miss Brown," he said, awkwardly smiling.
Artemis frowned and turned to Dick. "And where is your brother?"
"Jason?" Dick looked around, sure that he had been behind him a short while ago.
"He's by the window," said Tim, nodding his head in that direction. Sure enough, there was Jason, nursing a small glass and trying very hard to avoid making eye contact with anyone. He suddenly caught the group staring at him and fled his hiding place.
"He shall not be rid of me that easily," Artemis said firmly, and took off into the crowd. Tim and Dick exchanged a look.
But all at once, those thoughts left him, as two small hands suddenly wrapped themselves around his arm. "So tell me, what has changed between last night's party and now?" Kori asked, smiling up at him. "I sense a change has come over you."
Dick swallowed hard. "I believe… you're correct."
"You are quite mean, Sir. Do not leave me to guess," Kori smiled, aghast, and Dick found himself nervously chuckling, wondering what he should say next.
"I believe it has something to do with his dream he had during the—day," said Tim with a playful grin.
"Dream?" Kori repeated.
Dick was shooting warning looks in Tim's direction, but it was too late now.
"Oh yes, he would not stop going on about it," Tim rambled, getting far too invested in the part he was playing. "He had a vision of the two of you on your wedding day—"
"That's QUITE enough, Timothy," Dick declared pointedly, but by now, both Stephanie and Koriand'r were covering their faces in giddy excitement. Tim, meanwhile, closed his mouth with a wide smirk.
"My, what deep notions of affection," said Kori, feeling Dick's arm.
As colour rushed to his face, Miss Stephanie leaned closer to Tim and whispered, "You are quite the troublemaker, Lord Timothy." Which prompted him to begin tugging at his collar sheepishly.
For as wonderful as this moment felt, it was sadly not to last. On the stroke of three, when a large bell tower began suddenly chiming, the music stopped and the crowd went silent as all eyes turned to the doors at the top of the grand staircase where the figure of one Duke Cal El had appeared, dressed in royal blue with a bright red cravat. At his side, his wife, Duchess El, and behind her, Lords Kon and Jon.
As one, the whole ballroom began to bow, and the boys nearly offended the Duke by bowing too late.
The El family descended the stairs and joined the crowd as idle talk resumed and the blood glasses were refilled.
"Richard. Timothy."
They turned around to see the looming figure of Bruce Wayne, Marquis of Gotham, standing over them.
"Your Lordship," said Kori politely, letting go of Dick's arm and curtsying. Bruce scowled at all four of them (or was that just his normal expression?) and Dick had to resist calling him by his first name.
"Fa-Father," he said clumsily. "We've been waiting to see you."
"Where is Jason?" He asked roughly.
"With Artemis," Tim answered, realising a second too late that he probably should have addressed her as "Lady Artemis" or "Miss Artemis" or "Princess Artemis" or whatever her formal title happened to be.
"Come with me," said Bruce quietly and a whole new kind of dread took hold of Dick's heart.
He and Tim said goodbye to their dates and followed the Marquis through the crowd. Eventually, they did find Jason. He was being endlessly harassed by a very put-out Artemis, who couldn't understand why he did not wish to be seen with her. Bruce, strange as it was, saved him from the awkward encounter, bidding Lady Artemis a very stern goodbye.
Along the way, Damian was also fetched, and so all four boys now were following the Marquis out of the ballroom and into a private study. He gently clicked the door shut, making certain no one had been spying on them, and then gave the boys his full attention.
"Thank goodness," Tim started. "We need to tell you something—"
"Timothy," Bruce said in a deep voice, icing the room over. "You will speak when spoken to. And we do not address the Ladies of Bana-Mighdall by their first names."
Tim swallowed.
"Look, we're not—"
"Jason," Bruce cut him off with a forceful step forward. "I have warned you time and time again not make a scene in public. You and Lady Mighdall will conduct yourselves as the distinguished young man and woman that you are, or face the consequences." Jason's mouth opened wide, but Bruce continued, not giving him a chance to so much as breathe. "You have all been slated for the first dance, as usual. Do not embarrass the name of Wayne any more than you already have."
Dick was about to try and explain to Bruce what had happened with them and the body swap and how they weren't actually his sons, when Jason suddenly retorted, "I'm not going to be some dancing monkey for a bunch of stuff shirted snobs."
A shadow fell across the room and everyone was silent.
Bruce's eyes were like embers, glowing in a hot furnace. He took one heavy step closer, then another, the whole room shaking. It was almost as though he had doubled in size, his leering shadowy form towering over them, and his eyes boring into Jason like a vulture's. "Don't. Talk. Back. To. Me." He whispered.
"Or what?" Jason said, scowling.
Bruce's eyes lit up and at once Jason let out a terrible, wailing scream! He clutched his head and fell to the floor, shaking profusely. The others could only watch in horror.
When the screaming ceased, Jason propped himself up on his knees and spat, "I'm still not gonna do it."
Again, Bruce's eyes came alive, and the screaming started anew. To Jason, it was like someone had taken a molten lump of steel and shoved it right into his head, making his ears ring as loud as a grenade blast, his vision go completely white, and his forehead sweat worse than the middle of August in Houston Texas. By the end of the second round, he was gasping for air, meanwhile Bruce just stood, unbothered.
"Do I make myself clear?" He asked calmly.
"Father," Damian started, only for those terrible eyes to be turned on him and instantly he was silent.
"I will give you one chance." Bruce stood high above Jason, still clutching his head and heaving heavy sighs. "You will walk out that door, you will smile to the crowd, you will take Lady Mighdall's arm, and you will dance with her alongside your brothers. You will be the embodiment of grace and congeniality, do you understand?"
It was clear to any of the other boys that what Jason really wanted to say involved several four letter words, but to the Marquis, he said only one. "Okay."
"Yes. Sir." Bruce corrected him.
"Yes, Sir," Jason breathed.
"You are all excused."
Dick moved first to Jason's side, offering to help him up, but as soon as he was standing, he shook off his hand. "I'm fine," he lied.
Outside, the party sadly seemed to have lost its zeal and magic. With the distinct feeling of Bruce's eyes on them, the boys put on fake smiles and nodded to the other party guests, who would never have guessed what had just happened in the little room mere moments ago.
Jason was still dabbing at his forehead with his handkerchief when their dates found them again. They smiled and welcomed their company, but Bruce's watchful eyes forbade them from acting too familiar. Then, as the orchestra prepared themselves, Dick turned to Koriand'r and asked, "May I have this dance?"
"Of course," she replied softly, and took his hand.
Behind them, Tim asked the same question to Stephanie, and she also accepted.
Jason then turned to Artemis, his throat feeling tighter than when he'd been strangled in a fight. She was watching him, waiting for him to ask her, and so was Bruce just a few yards away. "Would…" he started.
"Yes," Artemis answered, her face softening.
Eyes on the floor, they walked out into the middle of the room where everyone could see.
Finally, Damian approached Princess Raven and (keeping from gritting his teeth or rolling his eyes) bowed stiffly. "Princess. May I have this dance?" He held out his arm and she nonchalantly took it, her expression never changing.
"I would be honoured, Lord Damien," she replied dully.
It was at this moment, when all four of them were gathered on the floor, surrounded by dozens of other couples, that a certain, rather important fact came to their minds. They did not know how to dance. Jason quickly looked around him, wondering what on earth he should be doing, when Artemis grabbed his hands. She pulled his right hand around her waist and held the other suspended in the air, all the while watching him knowingly.
Then, as one, the room seemed to take a breath, and the first notes of the violins fluttered around them, as if commanding them all to begin.
None of the boys knew what they were doing, and so their first movements were but cheap, belated mimics of what the other dancers were doing. At some point, Artemis realised something was very wrong and began back-leading her partner, but it only helped so much. The whole ballroom watched, dumbfounded, as the Wayne brothers bumbled and staggered across the floor, stepping on toes, missing cues, going the wrong direction constantly, and at some points, nearly crashing into other dancers. It was worse than a total disaster. It was a waking nightmare. They could already feel Bruce glaring at them as the crowd murmured and laughed with every misstep and awkward turn they took.
"Lord Richard, you seem out of sorts," Kori said quickly as he haphazardly tried to spin her. She was the only one responsible for it turning out halfway decent. "Is something wrong?"
The music swelled, filling his ears with loud cymbal clangs and pounding piano keys. "I—I—" he stammered, but it was difficult enough just to focus on trying not to rip her dress without talking.
At one point, Tim nearly let Miss Stephanie fall to the ground completely, and he hurried to grab her, only for their heads to collide and the crowd to laugh harder.
"Sorry!" Tim cried.
"What has gotten into you?" She demanded to know.
"It's a little difficult to explain." The music swelled again, and Tim desperately hoped that it would be the last time.
Damian prided himself on being a quick learner, but this silly dancing stuff was miles out of his depth.
"You seem confused," Princess Raven said in her monotone voice as they maintained something of a simple box step.
"Maybe I am," said Damian, eyes darting all around him, trying to catch up to everyone else.
"That's very unlike you, Lord Damien."
Gee, was she always this great at stating the obvious?
Feeling somewhat tested, he decided he would try one of those underhand moves the other dancers were doing, only when he did it, his elbow nearly went flying into her face.
"Next time, you should be more careful," said the Princess. "Or perhaps, don't even bother."
"—Tt—" He scoffed.
And when finally the last chords of the piece were strung and the dancers came to a stop, the only ones the crowd could see where the four couples at the centre of it all, standing awkwardly and wishing that they were invisible. Dick spotted Kori's parents in one corner of the room, the King and Queen of Tamaran, frowning at him with disdain. Tim saw Lord Cal El standing at the head of the room, smirking, and he hung his head. Damian turned and saw King Trigon's eyes angrily locked onto him and he gulped. And Jason… he knew Bruce's gaze had never left him… and he dreaded what was about to happen next.
"It's alright," Artemis whispered to him. "It's just one dance. Surely your father can forgive you."
The two of them lingered there, out in the open, for the dance floor was currently Jason's only safe space. "He's not my father," he muttered, then turned on his heel and started making for the exit. Artemis, not wanting this to look like more of a scene than it already was, followed closely at his heels as though they were leaving together. Dick, Tim, and Damian caught sight of him marching toward the door and a second wave of panic hit them as they chased after him.
"Lord Richard!" Kori called to them.
"What was that all about?" Stephanie wondered.
Outside, on the palace steps, Jason gulped down massive breaths of cold night air and ripped his tie from his neck.
"Jason," Artemis said, alarm in her voice. "Jason, tell me what's wrong." She tried to move around to his face, but he turned away.
"Jay!" Dick called to him from the top of the stairs. "What are you doing?! You're gonna get us all in trouble!"
"We're all screwed anyway!" He shouted back at him, and Artemis flinched at his strong words. "Maybe if we just… start running, we can…"
"Jason, stop this madness," Artemis pleaded, reaching for his shoulder. "Don't you remember the last time you tried to run away?" He stared at her intensely. "I can't watch your father do that to you again."
"Look," said Tim, trying to remain calm. "If we can just explain everything to him—"
"Do you honestly think he'd believe us? Or listen, for that matter?" Damian asked seriously.
Dick was dragging both hands down the back of his head as he started to pace. "What are we gonna do?" A cold wind brushed past them, howling in the night as low rumbles of thunder sounded in the distance.
"Zatanna," Jason suddenly said. "Do you remember? She said that she can see into other worlds—if we can find her and get her to show Bruce our world—"
"Better yet, if she can confirm that we're not from here," Tim threw in.
"—then maybe we've got a shot," said Jason breathlessly.
"Well, whatever you plan on doing, you'd best do it before the Marquis finishes speaking with the Kings and Queens of Tamaran and Azarath," Artemis told them, furrowing her brow.
At once they set back up the stairs and into the ballroom, but the crowd was just too extensive.
"Let's each take a corner," said Dick. "Good luck."
With that, they split up, frantically scanning the sea of faces for the one they needed. Damian passed by a vampiric Duke Thomas, Oliver Queen, and Aqualad, but still no sign of Zatanna. Tim had the unfortunate displeasure of trying to avoid Lady Wayne's ardent stare while looking around the crowd and Dick was set upon at once by Koriand'r.
"Lord Wayne," she said fervently. "What is the meaning of your strange behaviour? Why did you disappear so suddenly?"
"I'm sorry, Kori, I don't have time to explain," he said in a hurry.
"I beg your pardon?" She cried
"Your Highness!" he said, suddenly remembering. He closed his eyes and sighed, then he took up both of her hands pleadingly. "Look, I am so sorry, but I will be in major trouble if I don't find Lady Zatara right now."
"Lady Zatara?" Kori repeated, visibly confused, but at least not upset. "Why she's right over there talking to Lord Blood." Dick turned around and all of a sudden, there they were, right in front of him.
"Thank you!" He smiled, and instantly planted a small peck on her cheek before running off in their direction. "Lady Zatara!" He called to her.
"Lord Wayne," she replied, quite surprised to see him. "Is something the matter?"
"It's extremely important—I need to speak with you."
Zatanna excused herself from Lord Blood and led Dick into a more private corner of the room behind a set of window curtains. "What did you wish to discuss?" She asked quietly.
"Something happened last night—something magical. Do you remember those visitors who came out of nowhere?" She nodded. "I'm one of them."
"Yes, you're his doppelgänger," she said slowly.
"No, no, not like that. I am literally him. Inside." Dick hoped that he was coming through, but Zatanna was only looking more perplexed, not less. "We swapped places. I know I look like him, but I'm really not him. Can you use your magic on me? To prove that I'm from that other world?"
She took a measured breath. "There is such a spell."
"Please, use it on me. I'll prove to you that I'm Dick Grayson, not Richard Wayne."
"Very well." She raised a hand and light tendrils of magic suddenly floated around him. They curved about his head, spun under his arms, and brushed along his frilly lace coat, before quietly vanishing. She opened her eyes and Dick watched her hopefully… only to have his heart plummet to the depths of the earth. "I'm sorry," she said. "But my magic does not lie. You are Richard Wayne. Son of Bruce Wayne. This is your world."
No… no no no no no nonononononono—the magic was wrong! It was this stupid body—his stupid body—that was messing up the spell!
"Please, Lady Zatara, conjure up an image of my world—of the visitors' world—I need to see them!"
"As you wish," she obliged, still unsure of what he was trying to accomplish. This time, a great wind seemed to surround her as magic flowed through her veins. She chanted a few latin words, and then a round image began to appear between them. It was far too blurry to make out much at first, but soon he recognised it. The bat cave, and Bruce was standing at the computer next to—
He felt the urge to snarl. That little weasel imposter of his was there, talking to Bruce as though they'd known each other all their lives. But that was his life! His Bruce! His bat cave! Damian and Tim walked into frame, holding the brand new grappling hook prototypes they'd been working on recently. He and Tim were going to test run those together! If only he could leap into the picture right now and fix everything, but it was as solid as a mirror.
"Is there any way for you to send me there?" He asked desperately.
"As I told Mister Wayne last night, no such spell exists in our world," said Zatanna, closing the image. "Are you feeling well?"
"No," he admitted shakily. He did not feel well at all. And he was only about to feel worse.
"Richard."
Bruce's gravely voice did not sound pleased. Standing behind him and Lady Wayne, looking like animals being led to the slaughter, stood Jason, Tim, and Damian.
"We're leaving," he said, his face dark. "Now. Goodnight, Lady Zatara."
"Lord Wayne," she curtsied as Bruce took Dick by the arm and the family made for the exit.
Dick knew that the only reason Bruce was acting so calm was because there were people watching, wondering what was going on, but as soon as they got home, it would be a whole different story. He didn't even have time say goodbye to Koriand'r.
As Bruce had arrived in his own carriage, they split into three groups. The Mister and Missus in the first, Dick and Jason in the second, and Tim and Damian in the third. The ride home was long, and after the first half hour, Dick and Jason found themselves dozing off, savouring their final moments of peace.
A little less than three hours later, when Dick opened his eyes, he could see Wayne Castle on the horizon, black against a pale, early morning sky. Had he really gotten so used to the night that seeing the sky turn grey felt odd to him?
"We're almost there," he mumbled to Jason, who was wide awake and staring out the window, lost in deep thought.
"What are we supposed to do?"
"What?" Dick asked.
Jason turned to him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "How are we supposed to get back home?"
Dick stared back at him, an equally unreadable feeling coursing through his chest. "…I don't know."
Despair hung about the Wayne brothers as the carriages brought them ever closer to their demise. By the time they had reached the front steps, the birds we starting to roost in the trees, and sunbeams just touched the topmost clouds in the sky.
The Marquis and his wife stepped inside bitterly, and with their heads hung low and their fancy outfits wrinkled and their ties undone, the boys followed them in.
They found Bruce and Talia standing together in front of a massive fire place in one of the sitting rooms, and as if things couldn't get any worse, Alfred was there, whispering into Lord Wayne's ear.
Dick's throat felt too dry to swallow anymore.
When Alfred finished, he went away, and Bruce stood still for an uncomfortably long time. Dick was beginning to wonder if maybe they could just sneak off upstairs, but then his voice rang out, nearly making them jump.
"Boys… come here."
They obliged, bracing themselves.
Talia eyed them all with a cruel sort of disappointment while her husband stared into the fire.
Dick wanted to say something. He wanted to shout that this was all a huge mistake and that they just wanted to go home, but his lips wouldn't move. Instead, they waited until they were spoken to first.
"Do you all… know the lengths that I have gone to… the hoops I have had to jump through," Bruce began. "To get you even within the orbit of the royal families? Do you know the elaborate measures I went to convincing King Trigon that Damien would be a good match for his daughter?" He turned slowly, facing them one by one. "I ask very little of you by comparison. I ask you to sit, to stand, to smile, to dance… to be presentable. For your actions reflect upon your family's legacy—my family's legacy! And the legacy of your grandfather before me, and his father before him, and his father before him! And yet what do the people see when they look at us? They see my witless—!" His eyes burned with fire and all four of them crumbled to the ground, screaming and moaning and shrieking. "—bumbling—!" The pain doubled, making Dick's head feel like it was going to crack. "—foolish—!" Tim was in a fetal position, not knowing how to minimise the pain as it tore through his whole body. "—disgraceful sons!" Damian felt sick to his stomach, like he was never going to move or breathe again. "And they laugh! I was able to convince Lord El that you had fallen ill so as to keep rumours from spreading, but rumours will be the least of our problems if you keep this behaviour up. And Richard…" The pain cleared just enough for him to look up, clutching at his side, every word feeling like poison to his soul. "I expected better from you. The others might think it's funny to embarrass themselves in front of the entire Inner Circle, but you never used to stoop to their level. Shame on you. Shame on all of you! And just when I thought we were finally moving past this."
Dick let his head drop as he heaved deep breaths on his hands and knees. It wasn't just his head that was throbbing anymore, regardless of the fact that the words had been intended for the Other Him.
Bruce had finally relented, and they all could see and hear clearly again, but the pain lingered.
"Go to your rooms. No dinner. No supper. I will arrange for you all to personally apologise to the Princesses Koriand'r and Raven, Lady Mighdall, and Miss Brown, but until then, you are confined to the castle. Starting tomorrow, I will be personally overseeing your reeducation. Good night."
Dick was just about on his feet, and trying to prop Damian up as well when Bruce scowled and repeated, "Good night!"
"Good night, Father," Dick, Tim, and Damian echoed weakly. They attempted to bow, though it came off more like swaying, and then they were surrounded by servant escorts. Two of them took Damian from Dick's hands and helped him up the mountainous stairs which seemed to double in length under their burning muscles.
At one point, Jason failed to raise his foot high enough and tripped on a step, but Dick reached out and stopped him from falling. All Jason did was cling to the side railing for support.
In their rooms, their servants undressed them and made them ready for bed by the firelight, for all the drapes had been tightly shut to keep out the sun. Dick's eyes felt so heavy as he watched the flames flicker up into the chimney flue, and his heart longed to be reunited with his own world and his own Bruce and his own friends and his own Kori. For at the moment, it felt as though he had just been suddenly sentenced to a life in eternal purgatory, from which there was no escape. No means by which they could contact Bruce. No way to survive other than to adapt as quickly as possible, and follow the Marquis' rules to the letter.
"Lord Richard?" Said one of the servants, shaking him awake where he was standing. Dick blinked and saw that his nightgown was already on.
He walked himself over to his bed and climbed into the sheets, feeling their heaviness weigh down on him as though they were pinning him there, preventing him from leaving.
One of the servants placed a warm metal object under the thin top later of the mattress, and then went away with the others. Dick looked up at the canopy of his bed, watching the firelight dance across it until he was well and truly asleep.
