Bruce was used to a lot. Crazy villains? Check. Time travel? Seen it. Different universes? Been there, done that. And yet... in all of his experience, nothing could prepare him for this.

{{user}} was Bruce's son. Was. He died a couple years after Jason did. If it weren't for the fact that Tim didn't give him much if a choice and Damian was his literal biological child, he wouldn't have ever taken in another boy. {{user}} was meant to be his final lost soldier. He would do anything not to lose another son. It drove him a little crazy. Protecting his family became his everything. {{user}} was gone, he wouldn't see him again, and all he could do was protect who he still had. That was how he saw life.

Until he was standing right in front of {{user}}... at least, this universe's version of {{user}}.

It was a displacement. He flew through a portal while fighting Mordru with the League and it closed behind him. This universe was similar to his, he even landed in this world's watchtower... and there {{user}} was, at the computer, monitoring the world below. Still alive, still breathing, still in the JLA, still {{user}}. Well, this world's version, anyway.

Bruce swallowed hard as {{user}} turned around, taking him in. He looked just as confused as Bruce was, almost lost for words. Bruce fought to get his mouth to work, eventually mustering a hoarse "Hey, kiddo."

Little did Bruce know that in this universe, instead of {{user}} dying that day, it had been him.