There's a flash and suddenly Tim is…elsewhere. He takes in the grey walls and floor with painted lines of direction and decides he must be in a military installation. Although perhaps he could have figured that out from the guys in military gear with guns pointed at him. He acts on reflex and takes out half of the squad, then decides to be safe and take out the rest. He's standing over their groaning bodies when this guy appears at the end of the hall and points something at him. He's able to recognize it as some sort of weapon, but the fact that he can't recognize the type means that it's something alien. He has a batarang out and is about to throw it when it all goes black.
***
He wakes up strapped to a bed and keeps his eyes closed for a few more minutes to see if he can pick anything up, but he knows he can't pretend to be asleep successfully for much longer; they undoubtedly know how long the stun gun affects people. He doesn't hear anything other than a few medical noises so he opens his eyes. The view is no more interesting this way (the ceiling doesn't even have any interesting stains on it), but he's not going to quibble. Far better to wake up held down by medical restraints he can get out of without much difficulty than face-down over a vat of boiling acid (he'd never understood why the acid was always boiling. It seemed redundant and possibly counterproductive), restrained by somebody who knows how easily he can escape from most common restraints. He does his usual post-kidnapping once-over of himself. He can't do much of a visual inspection of himself, strapped down as he is, but it doesn't feel like any parts of his uniform have been removed. He wonders if anybody had tried to remove it, but judging by the lack of people unconscious next to the bed he was on they either hadn't or had tried long enough ago that they'd been taken away before he'd woken up.
"This isn't just some kid playing dress-up," a voice says somewhere outside the room he's in. "Or at least, if it is just a kid playing dress-up, it's a very rich kid with access to high-grade military equipment."
The door opens and two people enter, a woman in a lab coat and a general (her nametag reads Fraiser and his reads O'Neill). He must be in a secure facility, then. Random insecure facilities don't have generals come in to look at their unexpected visitors, no matter how unexpected they might be. They also don't usually have people with alien technology stun guns, but that's a little less predictable.
"We need to give you an X-ray," the woman says, and reaches for the suit. "So this needs to come off."
"I don't suggest you do that," Tim says mildly.
"Why not?" the general asks.
"It's booby-trapped. If you don't disarm it first you'll get tasered, which isn't one of the most pleasant experiences in the world. And I don't think you know how to disarm it." Tim is calm; this is nothing new to him, and he could escape without even dislocating anything. He's only sticking around to do a little reconnaissance. And maybe a little (okay, a lot) because this is fun. He doesn't tell them that the suit only has one charge.
"What kind of a person sends a kid out in a booby trapped Halloween costume?" The doctor asks. Her tone of voice is identical to Leslie's when she does the morally-outraged thing. In fact, Tim once heard her saying almost exactly the same thing to Bruce. He doesn't laugh, of course, even though he wants to at the similarities. Neither of the others picks up on his amusement.
"It's not my fault people keep trying to get in my pants," he says, channeling Dick and giving the Official Robin Grin. It would almost be funny if it wasn't so true, after all. And even though Tim never grins, Robin always does. Tim is nothing if not dedicated to the ideal of Robin, even if he has to work at it while it had come naturally to Dick, to Jason. They're looking at him strangely, because he's (they think) their prisoner, and prisoners aren't supposed to crack jokes and grin at their captors. They're supposed to yell at them, or cower from them, or put up an unconvincing front of bravery. "Look," he says, sitting up (he had freed himself while they were talking), "I have no idea why you want me to get an X-ray, because I assure you I don't have any broken bones at the moment, but if it'll make you feel better I'll remove the tunic and let you take one." He disarms the belt and removes the tunic and cape. "I'm not going to remove the belt or tights though. I have to keep my virtue intact somehow." He sets the tunic down on the bed and tries to ignore how much the doctor is staring at his scars.
The general comes over and inspects the tunic, looking at him for permission before poking at it. "Kevlar?" he asks.
"With ceramic plates for impact dispersal," Tim replies.
"And the cape?" He's fingering the material.
"Partly Kevlar, partly…not." He knows exactly what it's made of, but doesn't want to share the details. They probably assume he doesn't know. He grins. Being underestimated comes in handy sometimes.
"X-rays," the doctor reminds the general. Her unending stare at his scars would probably be more disconcerting if he hadn't been stared at, glared at, by experts. Hers is so far from holding a candle to those stares that it doesn't even make him feel naked. He grins at her as they leave the room and pick up a pair of guards as escort. It isn't as if he can't take them out in no time flat, anyway.
***
After the X-ray Tim's taken to another room altogether, which looks like it's made for VIP guests and confinement if need be (both?). Fortunately they allow him to stop and get his cape and tunic from the original room on their way to his new room (of course he'd memorized the route from there to the X-ray room), so as he sits in one of the chairs his cape falls comfortably around him. There really isn't much to do in this room, so he takes a few minutes to spot the cameras (he actually spotted them all in the first few seconds, but he continued his visual inspection until he was sure) and begins playing mental chess with himself.
Tim doesn't, in the normal run of things, like to play chess. Most people are hilariously awful at it, and playing down to their level to draw the game out for a little bit longer sucks the fun out of it. The few people he knows who play at his level have better things to do with their time, like fighting crime (usually, so does he). And he's never been able to get into playing against himself because he's just so predictable to himself. Mental chess is different, like it's a form of meditation. Remembering where all the pieces on the board are takes enough effort that Tim can't plan his moves as far in advance as he can otherwise, and makes him actually make errors sometimes, makes him unpredictable to himself.
He's almost managed to put himself in checkmate when the door opens and a man with glasses walks in. "Hi, I'm Dr. Daniel Jackson," he says, extending a hand for Tim to shake. "Jack told me to come down here and, you know, entertain you."
"Robin," Tim introduces himself. Dr. Jackson raises an eyebrow at that for some reason, but doesn't comment on it. "Who's Jack?"
"Oh, sorry, I meant General O'Neill," Dr. Jackson says. "He said you looked bored."
"Mental chess isn't the most exciting thing to do with my time," Tim admits. "Are you a doctor of medicine, or what?"
"Oh, no, archaeology." Tim twitches internally at that (his father had been an archaeologist) but doesn't, he thinks, show anything physically. He almost asks what period, but that would lead to the inevitable how much do you know about archaeology and how do you know that much about it questions. Which would lead back to his father.
"How do you plan to entertain me?" he asks instead. "I can't imagine a top secret military facility having much in the way of entertainment."
"How do you know it's a top-secret military facility?" Dr. Jackson asks. Does he even realize how much he's giving away with that question? It's obvious that he doesn't think Tim broke in, because military facilities are pretty obviously military facilities from the outside (he supposed it could be disguised somehow, but not with that body language). Which means he has evidence (if not actual experience) of alternate dimensions or sight-unseen teleportation.
"I Yahoogled it," he says with a grin.
"Yahoogled…?"
"Do you not have the internet?" Tim asks. "Yahoogle's the biggest search engine, everybody uses it."
"Ah. Right, right," Dr. Jackson says hurriedly. It's obvious that Yahoogle doesn't exist in this universe.
"But seriously, do you honestly think that people can't figure out that this place is a top-secret government facility just because they never see the outside of it?" Tim asks. "I mean, I've been in top-secret military facilities before, and the décor really doesn't change between them. The paint's even the same color. And most normal military facilities don't have generals come to see their unexpected visitors, or guns that knock you out which aren't tasers and don't operate on the same principles because the suit's insulated so tasers don't work on me. Do I need to continue?" He could continue all day, although after a while he'd venture into speculation.
Dr. Jackson looks a little green. "Uh…why were you in a military facility before?"
"Most recently, an elite group was trying to recruit me," Tim says. "But I decided against it."
"Recruit you?" Dr. Jackson says, confused. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen," Tim replies. "But that was when I was sixteen, right before everything got crazy." He considers for a second. "Crazier, anyway."
Dr. Jackson nods in understanding, and Tim wonders what he actually does. Archaeologists don't usually have much experience with things being crazy and getting crazier. Or spend much time in secure military facilities. "Why did they want you?" he asks. "I mean, no offense, but normally they wait until you're old enough to enlist, and then they just send out brochures and stuff instead of taking you on tours of top-secret facilities."
"I've been doing this since I was thirteen," Tim replies. "And I'm good at it. I mean, I'm still alive, right?" Though Jason had been good at it too, and he'd still died.
"Doing what?"
"Being Robin." Dr. Jackson looks at him like he's never heard of Robin before. Right, alternate dimension. "Catching bad guys, stopping crime, working with Batman. That sort of thing."
Now Dr. Jackson's looking at him like he's crazy. "Batman is fictional," he says.
"Maybe here he is," Tim replies. "Because I've obviously ended up in an alternate reality."
Dr. Jackson really isn't as surprised as he could be. "Why aren't you more upset?"
Tim shrugs. "Well, either it's possible for me to get back, and I'll need your help to do that, or it isn't possible and I'll need help to establish a new identity because I don't have any contacts in this universe. Also, this is way better than fighting my creepy older evil self."
"My help?"
"The yous were plural, but I suspect you have at least some say in what happens to me." He waited, but Dr. Jackson seemed too stunned at his relaxed attitude towards dimension-hopping to say anything. "So I'm fictional here? There are books about me?" That was kind of cool, actually.
Dr. Jackson snaps out of it. "Huh? Oh, uh, no, actually. Comics and movies. And the movies are more about Batman, really. Sorry."
"Hey, that's cool too," Tim replied. "I noticed there's a TV and DVD player here. Is there any way I can get a hold of those movies?"
"I bet Teal'c has them," he said. "He's really big into pop culture."
"Teal'c?" Tim says. "Interesting name."
"Teal'c's an interesting person."
***
Teal'c is an interesting person, and not only because of the strange decoration on his forehead (he's gotten used to aliens enough that their appearances no longer shock him, so he has little trouble refraining from staring at it. Still he wonders what it's made of and how it's attached). Teal'c seems to be immersed in pop culture; he has a large DVD collection and reads tabloids and collects comic books. But he doesn't seem to be quite normal. Not that Tim really knows what the standards of this universe are, but the others he's met have seemed more or less normal. Teal'c actually reminds him somewhat of Batman (not of Bruce, really, but of Batman) with his reticence, with his unconscious fighter's stance.
The Batman movies are hilarious, and not just because he knows Batman and Gordon and everybody (though that's a large part of it). They really aren't that good even without the various critical views he brings to the table. Still, it's slightly disturbing to know that there are movies in this universe which come so close to the truth. They know that he's Bruce. They know about Dick. They even know about Alfred, about how important he is. And he realizes it's an alternate reality but he's panicking a little thinking about all of those people who know who they are (interdimensional travel being what it is, any one of them could end up in his universe at any time) and the movies really aren't as hilarious as he'd thought at first.
Before the start of Batman Returns he meets Lieutenant Colonel Sam (presumably short for Samantha) Carter, who apparently does some sort of research (Dr. Jackson teases her about finally getting out of the lab). Tim wonders how she's so close to Dr. Jackson and Teal'c, since they seem to have little in common. Perhaps in this universe people have more than one full-time job even without being superheroes, because he doesn't know how Dr. Jackson is so close to Teal'c and Lt. Carter, either. More likely they're deeply involved with whatever makes this facility so important, which means that if he asks it'll just be uncomfortable and they won't tell him anything true. He doesn't ask, but watches them as much as he watches the movie.
Eventually General O'Neill comes and joins them too, and he fits in with this group not like he's their commanding officer but like they're part of a team, like the Titans or the JLA but with less wariness. "Isn't this hot?" the general asks, holding up a corner of his cape, and he's a little tense because normally people know better than to touch him, but not as much as he could be. He's used to Bart, after all.
"Only when I have to run into burning buildings," Tim replies, amused. "I've gotten used to it. And it's very useful during winter." He gently pulls his cape out of General O'Neill's hands like he does with Bart. Did. Bart isn't the same any more.
"Run into a lot of burning buildings, do you?"
Tim rolls his eyes, knowing they can't see it through the lenses on his mask. "As I told Dr. Jackson, I'm clearly from an alternate reality in which Batman," he nods at the screen, "is real and I'm Robin. Thanks to the joys of the multiverse, to you we're both fictional. For all I know you're fictional in my universe."
"You don't know?" General O'Neill asks.
"The job doesn't exactly leave a lot of time for fiction," Tim points out. "Besides, if you are fictional in my universe, you could be in anything from a top movie to a short story a six-year-old wrote and that never got published. Theoretically, everything that can happen has happened somewhere in the multiverse."
"Not this again!" O'Neill exclaims. "I hate alternate realities."
"Better than time travel," Tim says. "At least with dimensional travel you don't have to invent new tenses just to be understood. Or see just what your future could be."
That leads into a discussion of which of the science fiction clichés they'd lived was the worst (it's disturbing how many they'd all dealt with), which leads into a general comparison of experiences, with each of them divulging as little as possible (they may know who Bruce is, but the movies aren't very accurate; Tim prefers to keep as much to himself as possible. They are constrained by the classification of their adventures and the fact that they only believe him about 80% if Tim is any sort of a judge of these things). Tim does pick up that this reality's version of mind control is done by physical beings implanted in humans, which explains the X-ray.
Eventually the movie night breaks up and Tim heads back to his quarters with a stack of comic books. He sits down on the bed and opens one of them at random…to a page of his father's cooling corpse, a boomerang buried in his chest. He gasps and can't hold back his reaction. The picture, although a drawing instead of the real life it had been when he'd seen it before, brings all of the emotions he'd felt flooding back, like it's happening again. He shoves the comic books off of the bed (part of him wonders if Teal'c will be mad, he's almost certainly damaged at least some of them) and huddles up in the corner, yanking the mask off (it hurts, you aren't supposed to do that without using the solvent first, but it's nothing to his emotional pain) so he can cry. It doesn't matter if they can see him through two of their three cameras. He's fictional in this universe.
***
The next day Tim asks to go to the base's gym. He's dressed in the civvies which were (pointedly?) left for him, and the only things out of place about him are the belt and his age. As long as he acts like he belongs, and not his age (not that he's ever acted his age), nobody gives him a second glance. The gym is apparently one of the places he's cleared for, because his guards take him there without argument.
The gym isn't nearly as impressive as the Cave's, but then what is? Most of his usual exercises don't use equipment anyway. Tim stretches and starts doing his first kata, the familiar feel of the movements flowing smoothly into each other dropping him into a meditative state. After a few unarmed katas he begins working with his staff and the moves Lady Shiva had taught him. He hears a sound and knows that somebody has entered the room, but he continues his workout. He doubts that anybody in this reality is his equal in staffwork.
Teal'c enters his field of vision, holding an oddly shaped staff. Tim nods at him. If you think you can, feel free to join in. Teal'c understands the message and nods back before closing and beginning to spar with him.
Katas are fine if they're all you can do, if you don't have anybody to spar with, but there's nothing like sparring to practice for combat in which the other person is trying their hardest to kill you. Except more of that combat. Personally, Tim prefers sparring; you never know when you might make some small mistake that could be the death of you when your opponent is trying to kill you. Teal'c is good; not Tim's level, not Shiva's, but good enough that Tim can enjoy the experience.
They finish, breathing heavily, and Tim almost blushes at the applause which tells him they aren't alone in the room. Not because he's embarrassed to be observed, but because he was so absorbed in the combat that he hadn't noticed that anybody else had come in.
***
There's no way back. They've tried and retried the mirror device, but it seems to only go to certain universes (presumably, in the others it was never built). Certain universes not including his. His hopes had sunk lower and lower as the months wore on, until finally he gave up. He hadn't gotten here through the mirror, anyway, or via any means he knew of. There had been nothing except the flash of light, no people or alien devices.
However, giving up meant that he can't stay on the base any more. SG-1 invites him to join them, but even though he is no longer Robin (he was almost certain), he still refuses to kill. So he can't. And he doesn't even have his high school diploma yet (not that he hasn't learned everything he would have in school from Batman, but it's the principle of the thing). He wants to get his diploma, but he knows he'll be bored out of his mind if he doesn't have something to do besides the usual. So he's at an impasse when he, in his idle reading of the mission reports they don't think he has access to, comes across mention of a certain clone of Jack's. He does a little mental arithmetic and realizes they're the same age. The next day he makes his proposal.
"Look, I can't stay here forever," he says. "You know it, I know it. I'm never going to get home. Plus, I need to go to school."
"You don't have to," Carter says. "You know as much as most of our scientists."
"Not my point," he says. "I'm willing, even eager, to work here part time. But I need to go to high school. My life is messed up enough without spending time with people my age."
"So what do you want to do?" General O'Neill asks.
"I was reading through your old mission reports-" They look stunned. He raises an eyebrow at them. "Your security is like Swiss cheese compared to what I'm used to dealing with and I was bored. So anyway, I was reading through your old mission reports and apparently Jack is attending Jefferson High school. Which is where I want to go."
The lead-up had apparently been enough because they don't look confused when he says "Jack". "Are you sure?" General O'Neill asks. "You don't have to."
"I know I don't have to," Tim replies. "But I want to. If there aren't any major problems with that?"
"You need somebody to stay with."
"Emancipated minor," Tim suggests. "I have experience living on my own. Shouldn't be a problem. I assume I'll be getting paid enough at my part-time job for that?"
"We can arrange that," General O'Neill says.
***
Jack is easy to spot, even in the crowd. It may have been two years since he thought he actually was Jack O'Neill, but he still moved the same. Maybe a little bit less warily, which was probably a bad idea in these halls. Plus, there was a distinct family resemblance. They had English together, but he wanted a chance to observe Jack in his natural settings, or at least ones that aren't quite so strictly controlled. He doubts he'll ever think of high school as any Jack O'Neill's natural settings.
Jack actually makes overtures of friendship to him in English. Tim thinks it's more natural friendliness and interest in the new guy than desire to be friends, but that doesn't really matter. Bernard had only been interested in the mystery of Tim Drake after all, and he hadn't minded that. He realizes that he's very laid-back about his friendships, but it's difficult to be otherwise when you can't tell anybody about what's most important to you. He's been closer to strangers who don't even know his name (and think he doesn't know theirs) for so long that he isn't sure he knows how to have a relationship without secrets. He has to try.
He allows a couple of days to go by before he invites Jack over, promising pizza and a movie.
"This is where you live?" Jack asks, looking around the room. "It's only a one bedroom. Don't you have parents?"
"No," Tim says. "My mom died four years ago, and my dad died and my stepmother went insane a year ago. And then I came here and the SGC set me up with a new identity as an emancipated minor." And there it was, out in the open for Jack to do whatever with.
Jack almost does a spit-take of his coffee (Tim keeps it in stock for himself, not that he needs extra energy; he can sleep eight hours a night now if he wants to). "The SGC?" he says. "Wait, you came here? From where?"
"Alternate reality," Tim explains. "Apparently I'm fictional here."
"Hate alternate realities," Jack mutters. "At least it's not time travel, though." Tim nods in agreement. Time travel is always a major headache. "So why are you going to school instead of going back?"
"The mirror device can't reach my reality. My original reality," Tim amends.
"I take it since you're telling me about it somebody blabbed?"
Tim shakes his head. "Hacked their computers and read the mission reports."
"Nice," Jack says. "So the clone thing doesn't bother you?"
"My best friend was a clone! Sort of…"
"How can you be sort of a clone?" Jack asks. "Even I know how cloning works, and it's a pretty all-or nothing process."
"It's kind of involved…" Tim says. "Maybe we should order pizza first?"
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