Decked out with holiday lights and a Christmas tree, the lounge area near the Bativac's console was looking especially festive. Though the holiday itself was still three days away, the executive board of BatCo (for which read Terry and Lena) had decided to have the party tonight. This was mainly because Christmas fell on Sunday this year, and weekends were generally the firm's busiest times, holiday weekends doubly so. The whole crew was in, suited up in case of a sudden emergency, but sans masks and relaxed as they gathered on the sofas, knocked back soft drinks, and eagerly awaited this year's fantastic holiday spread from Nora Fries and Alfred.

Kirk Langstrom stood regarding the Christmas tree's crowning decoration. Instead of a star or an angel, the traditional choices, the Bat Cave's tree sported a hood-ornament-like sculpture of Man-Bat, in a dynamic flying pose with wings outspread, his eyes the tiny bright points of red LEDs. He had a Santa hat on his head and a large sack marked TOYS slung over one massively muscled shoulder.

"Cute," Langstrom said. "Do I even want to know where you found this?"

"A friend of mine at school made it," Stephanie Brown reported. "She's very artistic."

"It's a good likeness," he admitted.

"I didn't think of it until it was too late, but I should've had her do a third LED for the nose," Stephanie added.

Langstrom eyed her skeptically over his glasses, making her giggle, then turned back to contemplating the tree topper. "It's just as well," he said dryly.

"I might get her to make one every year," Stephanie said. "Like a Hallmark series. Next year's can be Victor," she added, drawing a chuckle from Dr. Fries.

"Won't she get suspicious eventually if you do that?" wondered Maxine Gibson.

"Nah," Stephanie replied. "She just thinks I'm weird."

"About which she is not entirely wrong," Ozzy Cobblepot remarked.

"True," Stephanie admitted cheerfully.

"Speaking of weird, where's Harley?" Terry asked.

"Clinic's open 'til 8:30 on Thursdays. She should be along anytime," Lena told him.

"Good, good." Terry got up and rubbed his hands together. "So! What should we do first? Pictionary? The Guns of Navarone?" He gave Lena a comical leer. "Twister?"

She laughed while Ozzy and Langstrom facepalmed and Stephanie rolled her eyes.

"That's for later," Lena said with a grin, then - without looking at her - elbowed Stephanie while the latter made an exaggerated gagging noise.

Before anyone could say anything else, an unfamiliar voice made them all freeze in place, the hairs on the backs of their necks standing on end, as it demanded,

"What the hell is going on in here."

There followed a slightly absurd and undignified scramble for masks before Terry turned around and faced the source of the demand. Standing next to the giant penny, nearly invisible in its shadow, was a small, dark-clad figure. While the various members of BatCo stood and stared in disbelief, it stepped out of the shadow and advanced toward them, revealing itself to be a young boy. He was about 10, Terry figured, wiry and hard-looking - a bit like he himself had been at that age, when he'd been a budding juvenile delinquent. This kid wasn't dressed the way Terry had at 10, though; he looked like a miniature commando, all ripstop synsilk, chunky boots, and one of those black sweaters with the elbow patches.

The boy advanced into the "lounge", his face set in a scowl incongruous on one so young, and stopped in front of the tree. This he regarded as one might regard an unexpected and unwelcome visitor on one's doorstep; then he said to no one in particular,

"What is that."

Batgirl found her voice first. "... It's a Christmas tree."

"Why is it here?" the boy demanded.

"Because Christmas is this Sunday?" Batgirl asked. Then she shook her head and said, "Wait, why am I explaining this to you? Who are you and how did you get in here?"

"I belong here," the boy replied. Then he gave her a hard, flinty look and added, "Unlike you, Miss Brown."

Batgirl threw up her hands. "Oh, nice. Complete strangers who've somehow wandered in off the street are now telling me I shouldn't be here. This is a new low even for me." Whirling, she stalked away toward the Bativac's console and snapped, "Batman! Handle this, I'm out before I punch a ten-year-old."

"She raises a fair point," said Terry, who even under the circumstances felt no particular need to go into Terrifying Scourge of Crime mode when talking to a fifth-grader. "How did you get in here?"

"Through emergency access tunnel six," the boy told him, then added sharply, "You haven't changed the code in more than three years, McGinnis. Sloppy."

"How did you - " Terry paused, leaning forward, and squinted thoughtfully at the boy's face. "Ohhh no," he said, drawing back slightly. "Do not even tell me that you're the old man's unknown son or - "

Next to him, Lena put a hand on his shoulder, leaned toward him, and said quietly, "Terry. Look at his eyes."

Terry did as he was told, performed an epic double-take, then pulled off his mask and stared hard at the boy. The boy stared back, his eerily familiar face pugnacious and determined. Terry's own face passed through stages of puzzlement, startled realization, and disbelief before breaking into a huge grin.

"You gotta be kidding me!" he cried, throwing his arms wide, but before the boy could reply, another new voice cried from the top of the stairs leading up to Wayne Manor,

"Helloooooo Bat Cave! The party may now officially commence!"

For the first time since he'd appeared, the boy's face took on a new expression - one of near-infinite shock. He turned, looking up, and saw the figure, dressed in civvies but unmistakable, of Harley Quinn standing triumphantly on the upper landing, in the manner of the heroine of one of those musical-film production numbers that take place on a grand staircase.

Lena slumped, resting her forehead against Terry's shoulder. Terry was too busy facepalming to notice. The boy stared at Harley in horrified astonishment for a second more, then turned a furious glare to Terry.

"You let her in here, McGinnis?" he snarled, then added sarcastically, "Oh, wait, what am I saying - clearly you've let everyone in here."

As was her usual procedure, Harley made the journey from the landing to the lounge level in a series of expeditious, acrobatic, and not necessarily safe leaps from various rails and bits of structural ironmongery, alighting next to Terry in a gymnast's "ta-da!" pose, then noticed the glowering young man he, Lena, and all the others were currently staring at in disbelief.

"Oh!" she said, blinking; then she leaned forward, hands on knees, and said, "Well, hey, cutie! Who might you be? Terry's kid brother?"

"Uh, no, Matt's twenty-seven," said Terry. "And he lives on Yocha. Anyway," he added wryly, "you two've known each other a lot longer than I've known either of you."

Harley gave him a puzzled look. "Batguy says wha?" she said, then looked back at the scowling boy again. Just like Terry's had, her face passed through all the stages of puzzlement and disbelief, then cleared into a beaming smile.

"Brucie!" she cried, delighted, and then - to Bruce Wayne's abject dismay - swept him up in a huge hug.

Stephanie Brown shoved back her mask and scratched her head at the sight while Terry barely contained his laughter, Lena didn't bother, and Max, Langstrom, Fries, and Ozzy just stared.

"Man, I picked the wrong week to stop sniffin' glue," she quipped.

"I know, right?" said Ozzy, slack-jawed.

Bruce had just about struggled free from Harley - which he supposed he could have done more expediently if he'd been willing to break her collarbone - when the double-secret elevator dinged and Alfred emerged.

"Dinner will be served in 30 minutes, Master Terry," he announced. Then, noticing the young man just extricating himself from Harley's embrace, he added without missing a beat, "Shall I notify Mrs. Fries that an extra place setting will be required?"

"I, uh, think that'd be a good idea, yeah," said Terry. Before he could go on, Bruce wrested himself entirely free, straightened the sleeves of his sweater in (given his appearance) a comically grown-up manner, and then stepped around Terry so Alfred could see him plainly.

"Hello, Alfred," he said.

Everyone in BatCo knew and cherished Alfred Pennyworth's unflappability. No matter the circumstances, the man was never put off his stride by any eventuality. Even a pitched battle with the synthoid soldiers of General X on the grounds of Wayne Manor itself had elicited from him only a bland, "Mind the glass, sir," in the aftermath. As much as they loved and valued him for it, though, each one of them had long secretly harbored a wish to see his veneer crack just a little, just once.

Now they all got their wish, for at the sight of Bruce - a sight he, alone among them, recognized instantly, for had he not been here the first time Bruce Wayne was ten years old? - he froze for a moment, eyes going wide, struck absolutely speechless.

And then - just like that - the moment passed, his composure returned, and he said as calmly as if Bruce had just returned from a trip downtown, "Welcome home, Master Bruce."

Friday, January 13, 2412
Titans Tower
Pérez Island, New Avalon

"This is a mistake," Bruce Wayne said flatly. "I shouldn't have come here."

"It'll be great," Tim Drake reassured him. "You're gonna love it."

"I don't love things," Bruce growled, as much as a man in a ten-year-old's body can growl.

Tim sighed. "Bruce, you know we had to do it this way. If you'd stayed on Kane's, you and Steph would have killed each other by now."

Bruce snorted. "She's welcome to try."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't be such a baby."

Bruce glanced at him sharply, then smiled ever so slightly. "Touché."

"C'mon," said Tim, "we're up," and then he led the way through the door and into the Titans' main briefing room. His appearance - and that of the unfamiliar boy in the brightly colored costume with him - quieted the chattering murmur of his teammates in a moment.

"Everybody, I want you to meet a friend of mine from New Gotham," he said, putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "He'll be working with me and/or Dick here in town for a while. I know we don't usually do the secret-identity thing here in the Tower," he added, "but for right now, he'd prefer it if you just call him Robin."

Rose (the Ravager) Wilson put up a hand. "I have a question!" she said brightly.

Tim hesitated, as he always did when Rose had a question, but as always, he couldn't quite bring himself to just ignore her. "... Yes, Rose."

Looking straight at the new Robin, Rose asked, "Is he really the original Batman, mysteriously de-aged with weird science for some nefarious purpose and now on the run from the villains responsible?"

Both Robins stared at her in dumbfounded silence for a couple of seconds. Her one visible eye widened in amazement. "Get out," she cried as all the other Titans' jaws dropped around the table. "I totally thought I was joking! That is James Bond intuition!" Breaking into an impromptu sort of "butter churn" end-zone dance, she chanted, "Go Rosie! It's my birthday!"

Tim and Bruce looked at each other.

"This was such a mistake," Bruce said.

"It'll be fine," Tim replied, then added with a small grin, "Also, incoming."

"WhaURK," said Bruce as - entirely flummoxed by the situation and, for obvious reasons, not completely on form lately anyway - he was unwontedly blindsided by one of his new teammates and, for the second time in a month, subjected to an unsolicited hug.

"Welcome, formerly old Batman!" Starfire declared, squeezing him soundly. "Since Timothy has evidently forgiven you for your shabby treatment of him when last we met, I shall as well. Let no one say that Queen Koriand'r the First of Tamaran clings to unnecessary grudges!"

As he had in the Cave, Bruce considered several different ways of escaping, but discarded them all - in this case, either as unworkable vs. Koriand'r's alien strength or certain to cause too much of a scene, not that she wasn't doing a fairly good job of that last part all by herself. Instead he just tried to fend her off as best he could, which wasn't terribly effective, and managed to grate out a deadpan, "... I'm so pleased."

Batgirl leaned toward Raven and murmured, "Wow. Who knew Batman was Boy Raven in the fifth grade?"

"Shut up," Raven muttered back.

Tim leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched the scene with undisguised glee. He had mostly forgiven Bruce, and the poor guy did have enough on his plate without Tim piling on just to get him back for messing everything up with his grumpy old control-freak ways back in the day... but that didn't mean he couldn't stand back and enjoy the moment.

By the time Kori turned him loose, Bruce found himself surrounded by most of the other Titans as well, crowding in to exclaim about the amazing circumstances that had brought him among them and profess themselves pleased (or, in Elise Thawne's case, "totes stoked") to be working with him.

"This is gonna own," Rose declared. "Wait'll I tell Uncle Jay who I'm teaming up with this weekend. He'll go mental-er. Is that a word?"

"No," said Batgirl. "And please don't do that."

"Awww... oh, fine," Rose relented as Cassie gave her the Look. "Still gonna own, though," she added with a grin.

Bruce turned and looked out of the crowd at Tim, who still stood watching with a broad grin.

"You're enjoying this, Drake," he said accusingly.

"You bet I am," Tim said. "But mostly because I think you will too, once you get over being angry at everything and realize what a chance you've been given." Then, putting on his mask, he gestured to the briefing room's full-height windows and the city beyond.

"What do you say, sport?" Red Robin said, clapping Robin on the shoulder. "Getting dark out there. Let's go fight some crime."

Bruce tried to maintain his scowl, but found it impossible in the face of the Titans' welcome, Red Robin's grin, and the prospect of punching some bad guys. He smiled.

"Now you're talking," he said.

"Renew" - a Future Imperfect Mini-Story by Benjamin D. Hutchins with Chris Pinard, Geoff Depew, and Philip J. Moyer
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© 2012 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited