Chapter 1
Damian blinked.
The scent of cinnamon still lingered—someone had made pastries.
The sunlight filtering in through the manor windows was warmer than usual, slanting over the table like it had been poured there on purpose. Everything was calm, for once. Still. The silverware gleamed. The clink of porcelain echoed softly as his father set his cup down with the usual care. Across the table, Grayson was laughing at something stupid—probably a story about the Titans or his ridiculous taste in civilian clothing. Damian rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upward when no one was looking.
He poured water into his cup.
It was the first time in weeks—months, really—that they were all here. No patrols. No villains. No city falling apart. Just the three of them. Breakfast.
He didn’t say it, of course. But he’d been looking forward to this.
But as he reached for a sip of water, the world around him shifted.
One blink. Just one blink, and everything changed.
The sensation was disorienting—his surroundings seemed to warp, as though the very fabric of reality had been pulled from underneath him. The air thickened, and he felt his pulse spike. A dizzying swirl of confusion took hold of him, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, he was no longer at the table with his family.
He blinked again, desperately trying to steady himself, but the sudden shift left him off balance. He looked around, taking in the new environment with wide, startled eyes.
This was not the dining room at Wayne Manor.
The table was gone. The manor was gone.
His family was gone.
The ground beneath him was hard. Alien. Dust blew past in waves. The sky above him was cracked in every direction, as if reality itself was bleeding light. There were craters—ruins. Shattered rocks. Smoke. The sting of ozone. A massive tree curled in the distance, its roots twisted like broken fingers. He could smell death in the wind.
But what stood out most, what immediately registered in Damian’s mind, was the overwhelming wrongness of the scene.
Before him, standing too close for comfort, was a man—a stranger. And to make it worse, he didn’t even have time to process it.
One moment, he stood in the middle of some foreign space, on a marble floor so cold it bit into his feet, and the next—
A stranger—a man—was right there, suddenly wrapping his arms around him.
Damian’s heart lurched as he was pulled off his feet, crushed against the chest of someone he didn’t know, his body overwhelmed by the strange pressure of the embrace.
It wasn’t the calm, controlled restraint of his father, nor the affectionate but awkward hugs from Grayson. No. This was a wild, frantic clutching, as though the man—who smelled like metal and something faintly sweet—was holding on for dear life.
A part of Damian froze. Another part screamed—his hands instinctively went to the stranger’s shoulders, shoving him away. His breath hitched, panic rising like an iron fist in his chest.
“What the hell—?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
The stranger’s arms tightened, pressing him harder against his chest, strangely familiar but not at all right.
He could hear the man mumbling something—words he couldn’t understand, broken, rushed. It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense.
Damian’s mind was still reeling from the suddenness of it all, the way his world had shifted in an instant. The room around him was too big, too cold, too wrong.
Damian fought against the stranger’s hold, his muscles coiling to throw him off, but—
"You're okay. You're okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
The voice was deep. Unfamiliar. Panicked.
Damian barely registered the words, because in the next instant, the stranger’s hands were moving—one at the back of his neck, one under his arms, pulling him in tighter.
Damian shoved again, harder this time, throwing the man off balance, but the embrace didn’t loosen.
The world was spinning.
He had no idea where he was. No idea what was going on. His instincts screamed at him to act, but his body refused to listen. His fingers burned as he tried to force the man off, pushing against his chest, but the grip only seemed to tighten.
“Stop!” Damian snarled, pulling his head back and finally catching a glimpse of the stranger’s face, his eyes wide with panic, tears streaking down his cheeks. The man was shaking—shuddering, like the whole world was crashing down on him.
“What the hell—Who—?” The words were breathless from the man.
With that he finally let go of Damian.
The man was tall, his body broad, like someone who spent hours training—his suit, a strange mix of high-tech fabric and what looked like advanced armor, was frayed, torn, and damaged. Bits of metal and glowing panels were barely hanging onto his body, and his face—scruffy and disheveled, covered in the dirt and dust of what must have been a battle—was an utter mess. His eyes were wide, panicked, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as he held onto Damian like a lifeline.
Damian’s heart hammered against his chest. He tried to process what was happening, but the more he focused on the stranger’s eyes—the raw panic in them—the more wrong everything felt.
There was a look in the stranger’s eyes that was so alien to Damian’s world—so different from the cold detachment of his father, or the caring but often distant presence of Dick. It was fear, yes, but there was also something deeper—something that tore at the edges of his focus, drawing him further into this surreal moment. This was a look he knew only from the rare flashes of vulnerability in his own life. It was the kind of desperation that made even the hardest people falter, even break. And it made Damian’s entire body tense in confusion.
Damian’s breath caught in his throat. His pulse thrummed in his ears.
This was wrong. This was wrong.
The stranger—who had, just moments earlier, held onto Damian like he was the last thing on earth—wasn’t supposed to be here.
Damian’s mind spun in confusion. He didn’t know where he was, or why he’d been brought here. He didn’t understand what was happening. His hands were trembling now, the frantic movement of his arms slowing, more confused than furious.
“You’re not him,” the stranger said, voice cracking. “You’re not Peter. You’re not…”
Damian blinked, staring up at him, his breath heavy in his chest.
“Who are you?” Damian asked, voice cold, trying to keep his composure, even though his pulse raced like wildfire in his veins. “And what is this place?”
But the stranger—he didn’t answer.
Damian’s confusion turned to fury. He swung his arms up, twisting himself out of the stranger's proximity with one final push, barely getting his footing under him as the stranger staggered back.
And there, standing in front of him, looking every bit as bewildered and distressed as Damian felt, was a person—no, a stranger—who had no right to be here.
Damian stood tall, eyes narrowing, and said again, with more force this time, “Who are you?”
The stranger still didn’t answer, his eyes wide, his face flushed, and his expression entirely unreadable.
He only stood there, breathing heavy.
Damian stared at him, completely lost.
The world was wrong. The reality around him was a distortion.
And he wasn’t in his own world anymore.