dickgraysonweek - Tumblr blog

dickgraysonweek · 19 days

Text

Eighty Four

Ao3

Summary: Dick has 84 years of memories in his head. Except he doesn’t

@dickgraysonweek 2024, Day 7: A Celebration of 84 Years

It all happens very suddenly.

One moment, Dick is turning in for the night.

He’s just come back from a long patrol, and the worst of Blüdhaven had been particularly brutal today. He loves this city, but it has its moments where it just about grinds him down into dust. Today is one of those days, and all he wants to do is sleep.

Too exhausted to do more than peel off his uniform, he staggers to the bathroom to splash some water down his face to get the smell of the bowels of the city off of him.

The next moment, his head explodes: all colors, shapes, and sounds. The sounds overwhelm him: voices screaming, speaking, chattering , one after another, layering on top into an unstable cacophony with seemingly no end. At first, Dick is certain he’s been shot in the head. His hand desperately roams around his scalp, his forehead, his face, trying to find the source and plug the wound, anything to make it stop.

But he finds nothing, and he searches and searches and searches til his arms are tired but there’s no hole and no blood and the voices in his head won’t stop talking (shut up shut up shut up).

Finally he can’t do it anymore and just gives in, curled up on the tiles and rocking against the pain and waits and waits and waits and waits

Hours (Days? Weeks? Months?) later, Dick can move.

The voices in his head don’t stop, not really. Instead, they settle there, filling out all the nooks and crannies, whisper and yell and scream until the noise is just noise and Dick is able to come back to himself, slowly but surely.

He quietly tests movement, twitches his fingers and his toes. When they move normally, he carefully levers himself up into a seating position, leaning against the bathroom wall. His head thunks on the cold drywall, and he breathes out once, twice, three times.

He can’t think (it would just be another voice inside his head, and there’re too many, too many) but he can move, and waits for a bit more function to return. You got it chum, Dick whispers to himself, pulling on the thread of an old, comforting memory. You got it. You got it. He feels something inside him react in confusion in response.

He waits some more, rubbing feeling back into his arms, wrists, fingers, trying to center himself in the physical world, trying to find his voice again.

Eventually, he can weakly maneuver his arms and, with great effort, push himself up to his feet. The voices don’t get better, but they don’t get worse either. That’s all he can hope for at this point.

Okay. Okay okay okay. Move.

He takes a step, and everything explodes again. Everything goes dark before he hits the the floor.

He wakes up outside the manor.

The first thing he notices is that his headache is much more muted now. The noise is still there, but muffled, moved to the sidelines in his forehead.

The second thing he notices is that the manor looks…different.

There’s small details here and there that look altered, just similar enough that it’s clearly the manor but different enough that it’s triggering the space of uncanny valley in his brain.

He stumbles towards the manor, mind whirling. How did I get here? He thinks. Why does it look so different?

Paranoid, he makes his way over to a window instead of the front door. Cupping his hands, he leans over and peers directly inside only to see…

Himself?

He blinks, and he’s back in his apartment bathroom, cheek pressed onto the tiles. The headache is back, exploding in his head so suddenly he almost throws up.

He breathes through it, then prays.

At some point, he can move again.

He moves slowly, half-crawling out of the bathroom, trying to remember where he left his phone. Help. Is all he can think. I need help.

He moves until he reaches his bed, shakily lifting himself on it and grabbing at the phone on the bedspread. He makes to unlock it, wincing at the light, then pauses.

911 would be a logical choice. However—

His…disappearing act, or whatever had just happened to him? That hadn’t sounded medical. It hadn’t felt medical. This had to have been something else.

And so…

Hoping he doesn’t regret this, he scrolls through his contacts, takes another breath through the pushing headache, then calls Bruce.

Yeah. It’s a mistake.

“I’m telling you,” Dick hisses through his teeth as Bruce takes a sharp turn in his car. “I don’t think it’s medical. I’ve been having—”

“We’re going to get you medical assistance,” Bruce interrupts, like Dick hadn’t been speaking at all. “Then, if it doesn’t work…”

“It won’t,” Dick says. His thoughts are so loud. “It’s magic. I feel it.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Bruce says. He takes another sharp turn. “Don’t worry. I have it handled.”

“It’s not medical…” Dick says again. “It’s not—”

He draws in a quick breath. Something flashes in front of his eyes: shattered images, shadowy figures, memories. Childhood memories rush into his mind: moments from his time as Robin, form the teams he was part of during his youth. There’s Wally and Artemis and Kaldur and—

He frowns. That doesn’t sound right. He’s never…he’s never…

“Hey!” Bruce says, voice joining the shouting in his head. “Pay attention! We‘be almost reached the League. Stay awake!”

The voices get too loud to ignore very quickly.

He starts losing vision too, he thinks: quick flashes of things, of people, of conversations, start running through his brain at a constant pace. He doesn’t really know if what he’s seeing is what’s in front of him or not.

Eventually, he just starts asking.

“Bruce?” He wheezes out. “Where’s Duke?”

There’s a brief silence.

“Docto…”

“I’m calling Zatanna. This is outside of my capability.”

“Duke?” Dick asks, holding onto the name for dear life. “Where is he?”

He feels a hand grab his forearm. “Who’s that?” He hears.

“I’m giving him something,” He hears, and something pricks at his arm.

Dick says “what-” before the images and sounds come back and he can’t see anything and everything’s so much so much so much—

“It’s not magic,” Zatanna says.

Dick steadfastly refuses to look at Bruce. “What is it, then?” He asks. He scratches at his hospital gown. “They said it wasn’t medical—”

“Well,” Zatanna says. “It’s not not magic either. It’s just…it’s just not the magic I’m familiar with. This is…” She pauses, tapping her finger on the solid Justice League medical wing bed. “I don’t know where it’s coming from, or how it got to you. But I know what it’s doing.”

Dick winces. The voices pound at his head relentlessly. “What is it?” He asks. “What’s wrong with me?”

He sees Zatanna make nervous eye contact with Bruce. “It’s the same magical signature. How could you tell?”

“I couldn’t,” Bruce says, sounding defeated. “But from what he was saying…I had to check. I didn’t want to be right.”

“What is it?” Dick repeats, looking between them.

“Crisis,” Zatanna says simply, voice heavy.

Bruce actually freezes. He closes his eyes. “Shit,” He says.

That, make than anything else, scares Dick. “What is that?” He demands. “What does that mean?”

“We have to tell him—” Zatanna begins, but Bruce interrupts her.

“No we don’t,” He says staunchly.

“Then why did you call me if you didn’t want to…” Zatanna argues, and Dick has had enough.

“You put it out there,” He says. “So. Tell me. What’s Crisis and what does that have to do with,” And he gestures at his head. “This?”

Zatanna hesitates. She looks back at Bruce.

Bruce stares back at her, glaring.

“Forget him,” Dick says. “Tell me. Please.”

Zatanna sighs. “Well,” She begins. Bruce makes a gruff noise of disapproval. “It’s…well. It’s a long story. But to summarize: there’s been a few…events, in recent years. Multiverse events.”

Dick’s eyes widen. “Multiverse? Like…like mirror universe multiverses?”

“Yes, and no,” Zatanna says. “The details aren’t important. But. These events sent huge shockwaves over multiple worlds across the multiverse. I got caught up in the stream of events through…some sort of magical feedback. Because of that, Bruce knows too. And the Justice League. But other than that…our Earth was one of the ones that wasn’t caught in the crossfire, so we kept the information secret. Until…until now, I suppose.”

Dick’s head spins. “You’re telling me,” He says. “You guys had access to the multiverse for years? And you didn’t tell anyone?”

The voices in his head shout louder.

“We didn’t want to cause panic,” Zatanna says. Bruce shakes his head. “Since we would likely not be affected…”

Dick turns to Bruce. “Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks. “This seems like a big deal!”

“You didn’t need to know,” Bruce says shortly. “And honestly? Why would you want to. It’s difficult information to deal with.”

Dick can’t help but laugh. “What the fuck,” He says.

“Anyway,” Zatanna says. “I recognize the signature of multiverse connections. And…it’s all over you right now. You’re being suffused by the connection to not just one other earth, but multiple. You’re experiencing memories from multiple multiverses all at the same time.”

Dick places a hand on his forehead. “You’re telling me,” He repeats. “Everything I’m hearing here…it’s real people? Real thoughts, and they’re speaking to me?”

“Not speaking to you,” Zatanna says. “Just…connecting to you. They don’t know you’re there. It’s more like you’ve tuned in to a bunch of radio stations at the same time. And, well. It’s not ‘people’. They’re all…they’re all you.”

“Me?” Dick repeats.

“I didn’t know this part,” Bruce says, eyes narrowing.

Zatanna shrugs. “That’s what’s happening,” She says. “You’ve become…a focal point, I suppose. Of all your multiverse equivalents. They’re projecting onto you, and I don’t know why or how. You’re probably seeing their memories, or thoughts. But yes, they’re all versions of you.”

Dick feels dizzy. “So what I’m seeing…the memories that don’t make sense?”

“Are not yours,” Zatanna says. She looks grim. “Not this Earth’s version of yours, anyway. Earth-84, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

“What can we do?” Bruce says. “How do we fix this?”

Zatanna twists her mouth. “I’m not sure,” She says. “Yet, at least. I can call up Doctor Fate. Maybe Constantine? We’ll try to come up with a way to cut the connection without harming anybody.”

“I thought you wanted help?” Bruce says, sounding disgusted.

“You have got to get over the Constantine thing,” Zatanna starts, before Dick interrupts.

“What do I do, then?” Dick asks. He feels…numb. Empty. But also, much too full. “Do I just…do I deal with it?”

“You’ll have to,” Zatanna says, sympathetic. “We can’t risk anything that might make this worse. Try to deal with it for now. I’ll get back to you as soon as we have a solution.”

Dick looks to Bruce, who still looks displeased. “We’ll deal with it,” He says.

Dick just sits there. The voices keep shouting.

Dick insists on going back to Blüdhaven. Bruce is very much not happy with the plan.

He hasn’t had this bad a fight with Bruce in years. Dick is catapulted back years, to his adolescence and beyond, when fighting was Bruce was an everyday sport for them.

“Don’t be stupid,” Is Bruce’s argument. “You have a multiverse in your head right now. You’re seeing memories that aren’t yours. That’s dangerous. What if they overwhelm you? What if you lose yourself? Be smart.”

“I don’t see how staying here will help with that,” Dick argues. “I can only fight this battle by myself. Which means I get to choose how to do it. And that means going back home.”

In the end, Bruce can’t actually do anything to stop him (being injured or restrained could cause him to lose his concentration and fall into the voices, so Bruce doesn’t even try) and Dick stomps out, borrowing one of Bruce’s cars and hauling ass back to Blüdhaven.

When he gets home, he quickly scribbles EARTH 84 on a post it note and sticks it on his bedside lamp. Just in case.

Dick wakes up in a prison.

Well. Not in, really. It’s more like he’s watching a movie, seeing things move on a flat screen in front of him, two-dimensional.

He blinks at it. Where he is?

He sees a figure in a familiar uniform lying on the ground of a cell in the corner. The suit is black, with blue stripes running across and curling up around the fingers.

The figure groans.

Dick feels the pain and confusion from it like a physical thing. What the hell, he thinks, half hysteria, half curiosity.

Well. If he can help this Dick, why not? He’d have to have been summoned here for a reason, right?

He starts talking, and the man on the floor responds.

One morning, Dick walks out of his apartment to go to work.

He’s halfway to the station when he mindlessly looks down and just…stops.

He’s not wearing a uniform: just jeans, a tshirt, and sneakers. And that’s because he’s not a cop. He’s never been a cop. Some Dick somewhere must have been, but he’s never been. He’d gone on autopilot anyway.

Dick runs home, grabs his post it, and stares at EARTH 84 until his eyes tear up.

Dick’s phone rings. Startled out of his memories stupor, he leans across the kitchen table to grab at it.

“Hey Dick,” Tim says. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What’s up?”

“Oh, you know,” Dick says. A chorus of voices whisper Timmy. “Not much. Just Blüdhaveing away over here. What’s up with you?”

One thing Bruce and him had agreed on? Stay away from everyone. He knows himself, and knows that he’s not going to be able to act normally around them when he’s got so much happening in his head. And if they find out about this…well. There’s a lot that can do wrong there.

He sees the hypocrisy there, but he can’t bring himself to think about it more.

“Just Red Robining away over here,” Tim echoes. “Anyway, wanted to give you a call and see if you wanted to help with something. I’ve been chasing a lead with the League, and I think that—”

“League of Shadows,” Dick says, trying to covertly confirm that his memory of it is the correct one.

“…yeah?” Tim responds, then jumps right back into it. “They’ve been active again in Gotham, which, as you know, is a problem. I don’t want Damian involved either, so. You in?”

Dick sighs. “I can’t, Timbo,” He says. “I’m working on something super sensitive right now. I’ll give you a call if I wrap it up early?”

He hasn’t left his apartment in days. Hasn’t even read a news article in at least a week. He thinks.

There’s a silence at the other end of the line. “Okay,” Tim says. “I’ll wait for your call.”

“Great,” Dick says. His pounding headache increases. “Then I’ll just—”

“Wait,” Tim says. He sound serious. “Dick. Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Dick says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Tim’s sigh sounds tired. “Okay,” He says. “I’ll believe you. This time.”

Dick doesn’t know what to say. “Bye,” He says, then hangs up.

Dick wakes up, heart pounding.

He can still feel it: his stomach flipping as he falls, the momentary pain as his head smashes against something on the floor. And then blackness, darkness and goes on and on and on and on…

He frantically dials Bruce. “What universe are we in, are we 84? Are we 84?”

“I—” He hears the telltale signs of a car pulling over. “Dick—”

“Is this Earth 84?” Dick says frantically. He stares at the post it note like it’s lying to him. “Am I alive?”

There’s a short silence. “Yes,” Bruce says. “On both counts.”

“They need help,” Dick tells Zatanna at their daily check in.

Zatanna looks up from her notes. “Hm?” She asks, more sound than word.

“The other mes,” He says. “I can hear so many of them. But the ones I’m seeing? They need help. They need support. They’re suffering.”

Zatanna worries at her lip. “I was worried about that,” She says. “If they’re connecting to you, they might need you for something. Has anything been happening in the visions that you see?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, biting the bullet. “I think they’re hearing me.”

There’s a short pause. Zatanna looks shocked. “Please explain,” She says.

“I’m talking to them,” Dick says. “And they’re hearing me. Sometimes,” And he thinks back to that first memory, the one that started it all. “They’re seeing me too. But only briefly.”

“When did this start?” Zatanna asks, intense.

Dick shrugs. “Always been like this,” He says. “I just haven’t been engaging much. Not until recently.”

“Why?” Zatanna asks, alarmed. “You shouldn’t. The consequences could be…well. This is existential, here. You shouldn’t even be able to do this.”

Dick shrugs. “You know,” He says. “It’s not just people in here. It’s decades. Almost a century. Years and years and years. All inside my head. I don’t know if they’re dead or if they’re alive. All know is that they’re stuck in here and I can’t help them. The only thing I can do is speak with them.”

“I know,” Zatanna says. She sits down next to him. “You can’t, though. This is greater than them. This is greater than us. We all need you to keep the fabric of this universe, and all their universes, together.”

“I think they’re reaching out to me, though,” He says, practically pleading. “They…I keep hearing our number. Eighty four. Eighty four. Over and over again. And then that’s when I can show up, and when they can hear me.”

Zatanna looks even more troubled now. “You cannot keep engaging,” She says. “The fact that they can reach you at all is troubling. When it was just you crossing the multiverse, it was concerning. But if the rest of them can too? What if they start bleeding into each other’s timelines? That would have potentially disastrous consequences. You have to stop doing this.”

Dick nods. He doesn’t speak for the rest of his visit.

He can’t fight anymore.

Dick stares up at the ceiling, lost in the worlds in his head. He cycles through them, again and again and again, checking in. He sees how own gaze land on him, eyes widening, before he vanishes. He hears whispers crossing the lines between the many versions of himself, sees them making their way into their own heads.

He hears a knock, and it takes him to second to realize that it’s coming from his own universe.

He sits up so fast he gets dizzy. There, at the window, is Jason. He’s not wearing his helmet. Instead, he’s wearing his regular gear, and a Jasonesque frown.

Dick crosses to the window and pries it open. It sticks a little, so he has to push. “I have a door, you know,” He says, stepping back so Jason can leap inside. “It works perfectly fine.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “What, you’re telling me that?” He says. He glances around the apartment. “Whoa. Did a tornado go through here or something?”

Dick shrugs. He really hasn’t been up to tidying up much these past…however long. “Did you need something?” He asks instead.

“Touchy,” Jason says. He looks vaguely uncomfortable. “You been busy or something? Tim says he asked for support on a couple things and you didn’t come.”

Dick feels that familiar guilt rearing back up. “Well,” He says. “You know how it is here. I’m always working on something.”

“Clearly,” Jason says. He eyes the apartment again.

Dick feels itchy, uncomfortable. He feels the tug of the counterparts in his head. “Can I get you anything?” He asks. He searches through his brain. “I don’t have ginger tea or anything.”

Jason gives him a weird look. “That’s specific,” He says.

Okay. Wrong Jason’s tea. “You know what I mean,” He deflects. “Do you want something?”

“Nah,” Jason gives him a searching look. “Well. I came here to get your input on something but. Yeah. I don’t think that’s happening now.”

“Why?” Dick asks, even though this works out for him, actually. “What’s going on?”

“You’re asking me?” Jason asks, disbelieving. “Tim was fucking right. There is something very wrong with you right now.”

Uh oh. “What?” Dick asks. “Why?”

Jason snorts. “You kidding me? Look at this place. Look at how you’re acting. Have you even left this room today? Nightwing hasn’t been in the news for weeks. Maybe longer.”

Dick shrugs. “I have a lot of underground stuff going on right now.”

“And,” Jason barrels on. “You’re not making eye contact right now. Which is. Unusual for you.”

Is it? Dick lifts up his eyes, locking eyes with Jason. He prays that Jason doesn’t see the other worlds swirling around in his pupils. “There,” He says out loud.

“Dude,” Jason says. He keeps eye contact. “You have to be seeing this. What’s going on with you?”

Dick’s head hurts. “I know,” He tells Jason’s eyes. “I know it’s all weird right now. But…I can’t tell you right now. I need you to trust me.”

Jason just laughs. “Do you know how much like Bruce you sound like now?” He says. “You clearly need help.”

“I do,” Dick admits. “And I know you can tell that. But. I’m managing it right now. And I need to do it alone. And. When I’m done, I’ll tell you. But you need to let me do this.”

“Do what?” Jason says. “I don’t even know what you’re taking about!”

Dick breaks their staring contest. “Yeah,” He says. “God. It’s all fucked up right now. But it’s doable. Can you trust me on that, at least?”

Jason doesn’t say anything, and Dick is worried he’ll keep pushing—

“Don’t make me regret this,” Jason says. “Fine. Call me as soon as you can. I mean it.”

He wakes up in a dilapidated mansion this time.

“That’s new,” He says to himself, wandering the space. It’s all dark and cold and misty: something happened in this world. Something bad. “Where are you?” He asks himself vaguely. “Where are you, Dick?”

It doesn’t take long before he finds him: a familiar figure stands a distance away, looking far too put together for his surroundings, at least from the back.

The figure whirls around suddenly, and Dock catches a glimpse of a very familiar face. “What the hell…”

Dick waits for the moment where he’ll vanish from the other him’s sight, where he’ll fade into the background…

It doesn’t happen. The other him keeps starting at him, open-mouthed. “Hey,” Other Dick says. “Who are—”

“You see me?” Dick interrupts, eyes wide.

“Um, yeah,” Other Dick replies. “You’re standing right in front of me, of course I see you! Who..who are you? Why am I here?”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t this…this is the manor, right? Wayne Manor?”

“I guess,” Other Dick says. “I was just there, with everyone else…and now I’m in this one, and everyone’s gone. So. Yeah. I’m just…who are you? Why did you bring me here?”

Huh. This is new. “Um,” Dick says. “Well. I didn’t bring you here. You brought me.”

“How do you figure that?” Other Dick demands. “Look, just take me back, okay? I don’t have time to deal with this. Damian needs me.”

Dick’s heart pounds. “Why?” He asks. “Is he in danger?”

“What?” Other Dick asks. “No! There’s a school thing—anyway, I don’t have time to explain myself to you, bizarro-me. Just send me back.”

Dick frowns, examining the other him. He’s…different than the ones he’s seen so far. Brighter, almost. Colors deep and shiny against the backdrop. Almost too shiny.

“Um,” Dick says. This is…bizarre. Even by these standards. “I don’t really know how. Sorry.”

Other Dick’s eyes widen. “Well that’s just great,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “First I’m haunted by ghosts or whatever, now this? This is possibly the worst week anyone has ever experienced in the history of the world.”

Dick stares at him.

Other Dick shrugs. “Okay. So I may be exaggerating. But, hey. I think I’m entitled.”

Dick can’t help but laugh. “You’re kind of weird,” He says.

“That’s kind of a self own,” Other Dick says. “Considering. Either you’re me, or you’re pretending to be.”

“Can’t argue that one,” Dick says, shrugging. “Um I guess we can try to find a way to get you home? If, you know. I can figure it out.”

“Hey,” Other Dick says, tone pointed. “Of course you can! I don’t tolerate any downer self talk in this house. Even if it’s, you know. Post apocalyptic.”

Dick laughs again. “You know,” He says, before his vision shimmers, and he wakes up in his apartment with a gasp.

“Another one of them saw me,”

Bruce’s disapproving stare radiates over the phone. “I hope you didn’t engage,” He says

Dick hesitates. “Well…” He hedges.

“I don’t think I have to tell you,” Bruce begins, voice icy. “That you’re playing a very dangerous game here. Not just for you, for all of us.”

“I know,” Dick says. “I do. I would never put us in danger.”

“And yet,” Bruce begins, but Dick interrupts him.

“I’m helping them,” He says, almost desperate. “They need me, they need advice, they need support. And I’m doing that.”

“And you would risk—” Bruce begins, voice icy, and Dick quickly interrupts.

“No,” He says. “Maybe I was. But now. Now…after that last interaction? There’s something…” He cuts himself off. “It was different this time. But different good. I think I can figure this out. Maybe…maybe I’ve been going about this wrong. I’ve tried doing nothing, I’ve tried leaving hints. I think I need to be more involved.”

“Remember what Constantine said,” Bruce warns.

Dick chuckles. “A sentence I’ve never heard you say.” He comments. “Anyway. I know. Be careful in crossing the streams, I know. But he also said that I’m gonna have to break this connection on my own. And you know what? I’m gonna try it my way this time.”

“Just,” And here, unexpectedly, Bruce’s voice softens. “Don’t fall on your sword. That’s not your job.”

“It’s not yours either,” Dick responds. “And don’t worry. I got this, right? Who knows me better than me, anyway?”

There’s an amused silence on the other end of the line. “I think you know the answer to that,” Bruce says.

“I’m not gonna say you,” Dick replies. “Anyway. I’ll keep you updated, okay. You know I wouldn’t risk anyone if I wasn’t sure.”

“I know,” Bruce says, then: “good luck.”

“Oh, it’s you again,” Other Dick says.

Dick starts. He glances around the space: he’s in his childhood bedroom. A fire crackles in the fireplace, bathing everything in a warm light. “Huh,” Is all he can think to say. “I don’t have a fireplace in my room.”

“I’m just lucky, I guess,” Other Dick says. He sits cross legged in bed. “So. As fun as it is to see you again, did you want something?”

“Kind of,” Dick says. He crosses, sinks into the chair in front of his desk. “I wanted to ask something, I guess. More like talk things through.”

“Uh huh,” Other Dick steeples his hands. “Sure. I’m doing breakfast with Damian tomorrow so I’m gonna try in turn in early, but go ahead.”

“So,” Dick barrels on. “I’ve been looking for you again, cause, well. In summary, I’ve been seeing different versions of us, at various points in time. None of them have been able to see me, except for you. Why is that?”

Other Dick shrugs. “Are you about to tell me?” He asks.

“The other key difference,” Dick says, staring at the Flying Graysons poster on the wall. “Is I can’t figure out what you want. Everyone else needed help. You…you don’t. At least, I don’t think so. So why? Why did we connect? What did you need?”

Other Dick crosses his arms. “I think you’re missing something here,” He says.

Dick nods at him. “Go ahead,” He says.

“Maybe you called me to help you this time,” Other Dick suggests. “You said all of us needed help, right? You’re one of us too. So maybe…so maybe I was meant to help you?”

Dick thinks about it. “With what?” He asks.

Other Dick shrugs. “Hell if I know,” He says. “You tell me. Give me all your problems and I’ll psychoanalzye you right now.”

Dick laughs. “How are you so game for this?” He says. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re me, right?” Other Dick says. “Who knows me better than me?”

Dick hides a smile. “Good point.”

“Anyway,” Other Dick says. “Look. You’ve been running around solving everyone’s problems for them. What’s going on with everything else? Life? All of that?”

“Um,” Dick says. “Well. You know how it goes. We have certain priorities we have. Vigilante shit.”

Other Dick sighs. “If I may,” He says. “Don’t. You’re not gonna make anyone else happy nor will you be able to do your job if number one,” And he points to Dick. “Isn’t okay either.”

Dick shrugs. “I hear you,” He says, then: “Your world seems nice, by the way. It’s so…it’s so bright here.”

“Why thank you,” Dick says. “I think we do okay.”

“Not that, though,” And Dick gestures at the Flying Graysons poster. “You know, everything’s almost free of tragedy here.” He smiles sadly. “You know that’s one thing I’ve never been able to help with? I can’t change events, but this seems like it happens again and again and again. They die every time.”

“Yeah,” Other Dick also smiles sadly. “Well. Our version of us kinda depends on that happening. You can’t really change that.”

Dick sighs. “And Bruce,” He says. “He’s there every time.”

“Same reason,” Other Dick comments. “But you know what? We’re not so bad. Stuff happens, you know? But sometimes…we can make that work. And all you can do is be you.”

Dick sighs. “Damn,” He says, leaning back. “Does that work on the family? You’re not a very specific encourager.”

“Oldest brother superpower,” Other Dick winks. “Works every time. You should know.”

“I mean,” Dick shrugs. “I think you do that gig better than me.”

“Your world seems different,” Other Dick says. “So, I don’t know. Maybe your gig means a bit of a different approach. Whatever.” He gives him a significant look. “From where I stand, you seem to be doing okay. You helped the rest of us too, right?”

Dick nods. “Yeah, I guess I did.” At those words, he feels a tug at his head. “Oh,” He says. “I think this is goodbye.”

“See you around,” Other Dick says. He waves. “Or not. Hope you figure it out.”

“Me too,” Dick says, before everything shatters again.

It all happens very suddenly.

One moment, Dick is turning in for the night.

He’s toweling his hair dry, contemplating. The last few days have been mostly manageable. He thinks he might have cracked it, he just needs to—

And the voices vanish. Just like that.

Dick drops his towel to the ground. He clutches at his head, looks hard.

Nothing. Not a peep. His head is empty and silence and all him and blessedly quiet. He’d forgotten what quiet sounded like, and it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

Dick breathes out. He can actually feel tears in his eyes. “Oh my god,” He whispers. “Oh my god oh my god,”

He scrambles to his phone. The image of Other Dick comes to mind. Thank you, he thinks as hard as he can. He hopes it gets to him. Thank you.

He dials Bruce before the quiet can get too loud again.

“Earth to Grayson,” the Bluetooth speaker in his car crackles. “You there?”

Dick shakes his head. “Babs,” He says. “Sorry. I got a little lost in my head.”

“Can’t be doing that,” Babs says, laughter in her voice. “Especially when you’re driving. So. Just to confirm. 7, my place?”

“Confirmed,” Dick says. He signals left, changing lanes. “How many people did you manage to get?”

“Pretty much everyone,” Babs says. “Jason too. So. That’ll be fun. I’m gonna make him socialize.”

Dick laughs. “Good luck with that,” He says. “Anyway, I’m gonna pass by the manor and say hi to everyone there for a bit, then drop by yours after.”

“Woof,” Babs says. “Well. Good luck. Hope you make it out in one piece.”

“You and me both,” Dick sees the Gotham skyline in the distance. He basks in the familiarity. “To be honest, it’ll be nice to see everyone again. It’s been a little…lonely up in here.”

He remembers the days he had wished his head would stay quiet. He doesn’t regret that, but…

That connection, that ability to help? It had been a lifeline that was difficult to let go.

Bab’s voice softens. “I get it,” She says, then. “You sound better. I’m glad.”

Dick smiles softly. “I am better. I think.”

“I want to hear all about it,” She says. “You promised, right?”

Dick thinks of Jason. “I did,” He says. “You’re not ready, I can tell you that.”

“Ominous,” Babs says. “Anyway. See you soon! Don’t be late.”

“When am I ever?” He asks. The WELCOME TO GOTHAM sign passed by him in a swirl of green and blue. “I’ll be there. Promise.”

#day 7 #a celebration of 84 years #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

26 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 19 days

Text

Part 2 of today's fill for @dickgraysonweek 2024

Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn

#day 6 #supernatural creature au #fanart #dickgraysonweek2024

33 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 19 days

Text

Part 1 of today's fill for @dickgraysonweek 2024

Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn

#day 6 #supernatural creature au #fanart #dickgraysonweek2024

36 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 20 days

Text

Day 3 of @dickgraysonweek! I am so pumped because I submitted this prompt and I am Living

Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn

“Someone launched a blue shell,” He hummed, ears picking up the sound cue for it, “It’s a serial murder case. Three bodies, all in California, one in Jump. I don’t think any cops have noticed it yet, but I have a program that flags similarities in case files and autopsies.”

Starfire whooped as she passed Beast Boy, who grumbled and hunched further around his controller. Raven also glanced at him before using a speed boost to shortcut across the grass. “Is it bad?”

“It’s not good,” He hummed.

#day 6 #supernatural creature au #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

8 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 20 days

Text

Something Other

@dickgraysonweek

#day 6 #supernatural creature au #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

15 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 20 days

Text

Living Ghosts

Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week: Day 5 Prompt: Batfam Meets Agent 37

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: Cass is tracking down a metahuman trafficking ring in Hong Kong when she meets a man without a face...a man who moves like Dick Grayson but wrong, wrong, wrong.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain

Warnings: Implied abuse

Cass crouches behind a large cooler, letting the shadows cloak her completely. She has grown adept at hiding. But she hates it, hates hiding when there are people being hurt every minute she spends waiting in the shadows.

Patience, Batman growls in her mind. She feels Cain’s hand grasping her shoulder and holding her back, fingers digging into flesh.

A far-away scream. Cass doesn’t even wince. She has heard many, many screams in her life—most of them her own. But that doesn’t stop her heart from tearing itself apart inside her ribcage.

Cass has been after this organ trafficking operation for two weeks. It’s a short time for a police operation, but a long time for Orphan. In the two weeks she’s been working on this, many people have died. All of them because Cass wasn’t fast enough.

Batman would tell her to focus on the Mission—no use punishing herself when there are still things to be done. Cain would tell her to stop being ridiculous.

Cass tells herself that she still has more lives to save, and that she is doing her best, and that she is enough. The voice in her head is her, but it sounds like Barbara. Cass likes that.

Right now, her priority is turning off the automated alarms so she can begin to pick off traffickers one by one. It’ll be fun. Cass doesn’t like hurting, but she does like moving, fighting.

Two guards patrol past. Good. When they’re far enough away, Cass slips out and steps silently through the shadows until she reaches the control room. It takes minutes to disable the alarms. Cass isn’t the best with this, having never seen a computer during her childhood, but she’s adequate. Barbara made sure of that.

With the alarms off, Cass sneaks towards the area where the future victims are being kept. She finds a mass of guards outside one particular room. There are a lot of them. But Cass is good, and she knows it. She can take them.

Like a bullet, she shoots out of the shadows and attacks.

The traffickers fall like dominos. Cass has this under control. She will defeat these traffickers, free the victims, lead them out, and then defeat the rest. Then, she’ll turn them into the police with the evidence she collected. It will go well, and the two weeks she spent on this won’t be a waste.

Only, she hears the sound of fighting from down the corridor, getting closer and closer. Just as Cass knocks her last opponent unconscious, a man backs into view, fighting hand-to-hand with five more guards. Cass watches warily as he knocks each one out. His blows are clean, efficient. He’s not aiming to kill, but he’s clearly well-trained. An unusual combination. He moves like he wants to add in acrobatics but thinks better of it at the last moment—his feet are light on the ground, but every so often he seems to press himself down, holding himself to the Earth. When he’s defeated the last of the traffickers, he walks forward and picks up a hand-held cooler from the ground.

Cass knows there’s an organ in there. Which means…this man is not here to free the victims. He’s here to serve his own purposes.

Cass bristles. “Put it down,” she says in Cantonese. She is not good at speaking Cantonese. English was difficult enough to learn, when she heard only small snippets of it growing up, but learning a second language with entirely new sounds, and forcing her lips to cooperate? It’s difficult. She has struggled with every phrase.

The man turns to face her and—

—there’s something wrong with his face. She can’t make out any features of it. When she tries, her brain just goes fuzzy. It’s like staring at a black hole, only she can tell that there are features, she just doesn’t know what they are.

His body stiffens. Shock. He’s surprised. Cass does tend to have that effect. Five foot five, female, and standing over ten unconscious men. She bets he wasn’t expecting anyone else here, especially not her.

And yet, his surprise seems less I didn’t expect to find someone here and more I didn’t expect to find you here.

Does he know her? He could be from the League of Assassins, but although some of his moves contain slight traces of that fighting style, it’s buried far under other training. Almost as if he was trained by someone attempting to replicate the League’s style. No, this man is not League-trained—or if he was, he was trained very, very briefly.

The man raises the cooler. Cass doesn’t know what he’s trying to communicate. Why doesn’t he speak? She takes in his gray costume, with light blue accents. The gun strapped to his belt. Why does this man carry a gun, if he doesn’t want to kill?

“I won’t interfere,” the man says eventually, in English. How did he know she can speak English? Her Cantonese is not accented with English, but rather the strange accent that infects all of Cass’s speech, a side-effect of her difficulty forming words. His voice is strange, like he’s trying to disguise it. Not disguised in the way of his incomprehensible face, but disguised as if he’s putting on a voice in a play.

Cass believes him. But he is carrying an organ in a cooler. He is not good. And Cass is willing to bet that he does other not good things, if he does this.

Cass chooses her words very carefully. “Died for that,” she says, in English this time, pointing at the cooler.

“I know,” he says, sounding regretful. The way he stands, the way he speaks—it feels familiar, but slightly off. Wrong. So wrong.

“I will stop you,” she decides, and leaps forward.

“We don’t have to fight,” the faceless man insists, dodging her blows. “I just need to take this to my employer.”

Cass doesn’t waste time talking. This fight is difficult, and if she pushes her opponent far enough, he may be willing to use that gun on his belt. She will give it her all. But she’s Cassandra Wayne. Black Bat. Batgirl. Orphan. She knows that she will win.

Cass tries to figure out the strangeness of the way the man fights. He clearly is used to having weapons—likely short-range, bludgeoning. One for each hand. Perhaps tonfa or batons or escrima. None of them are common for a mercenary, and the man mentioned an “employer.” He doesn’t seem any worse off with only his fists, though. Notably, he doesn’t fight like he’s used to having a gun in his hands.

Why is a man who isn’t used to a gun carrying one?

Cass dodges a headshot and throws a kick at his chest. He stumbles.

“We don’t have to fight,” the man insists. “If I didn’t know you were here, I would’ve taken them down anyway.” Cass stops, watching him warily. His body doesn’t scream liar, but everything about the man feels off. Familiar, but wrong. She doesn’t know why. And Cass is not inclined to trust anyone she can’t fully read. “I swear, I’m not part of this. We can work together to stop the rest of the traffickers.”

“And your employer?” Cass asks.

The man shrugs. “He won’t be happy, but he’ll have to deal with it.”

Cass points to the gun in the man’s belt. He winces. It seems he doesn’t like to be reminded of it.

Suddenly, the man flies into a blur of motion, shooting forwards and pushing Cass to the ground. Cass isn’t supposed to be surprised like that, but nothing in the man’s body language was indicating an attack. Only, an attack would mean that Cass should be in pain, right now, and she isn’t. Instead, she watches the man do a strange flip over her head and land in front of a trafficker who snuck up on her, hitting him swiftly in the jaw. The mercenary takes advantage of the trafficker’s stumble and sends an elbow flying into the enemy’s skull. The trafficker falls to the ground, unconscious.

In that moment, it clicks. The man’s movements are…wrong. But not so wrong that Cass can’t see.

He’s supposed to be dead. Tim told her that he was dead, over a long phone call where Cass barely spoke. Alfred confirmed it, when she checked in with him during a brief visit to Gotham. And Alfred wasn’t lying.

But Cass trusts herself, and her eyes don’t lie.

“Dick Grayson.”

---

The second Dick sees Cass, he realizes why Helena didn’t let him bring his escrima sticks on this mission, why she insisted that she would be the one entering the trafficker’s lair. Only, she ended up delayed, fighting against some other organization that wanted the organs, and sent Dick ahead. She promised him that someone else was taking the ring down and he didn’t need to waste any time on it. Just get the spleen, pay, and get out.

Dick is clearly failing at this. But in his defense, Dick hadn’t known that Spyral been outbid.

It felt better, fighting for the organ. Still wrong, still dirty, still disgusting, but better than just paying for it. Spyral is a vulture, and so, by extension, is Dick.

It’s a mission, Dick reminds himself. Infiltration and sabotage. He’s here to stop Spyral, and anything he does would have been done anyway. It feels like a pointless excuse, because it is one.

He doesn’t want to fight Cass. He knows he can’t beat her, and he’s not crazy enough to try. But what else is he supposed to do? She rightly recognizes him as a villain, and she’s never been one for letting villains go.

Dick tries to reason with her, and just as he thinks she’ll agree to work together—Helena is going to hate that, but what choice does he have?—he notices a trafficker sneaking up on them. He’s been controlling his movements, his voice, his every action, trying to avoid tipping Cass off to his identity, but in this moment, the trafficker’s raising a gun and it’s his life or hers. And Dick knows that he’ll protect his little sister, even if it destroys his mission.

He turns around to see Cass staring at him, eyes narrowed.

“Dick Grayson,” she says, and he knows that he has failed. There’s a scream from down the corridor. “They need help.” Dick nods. They move forward together.

Between the two of them, taking down the ring is easy. They slip out into the darkness of the night, and Dick tries to split, but Cass catches his arm. “We need to talk,” she says.

Dick sighs. He doesn’t even know if he can return to Spyral after this. He needs to check in with Bruce. Sure, he could make his own decision, but he doesn’t know if it’ll be the right one, and this is Bruce’s mission. Whatever Bruce orders, goes. Dick would love the excuse to leave, but it could very well make everything worse.

Dick lets Cass lead him back to what he hopes is a safehouse. It’s sparse and undecorated and very probably moldy, so Dick hopes that his sister is normally living in better conditions.

“Alright,” Dick says, sitting down on the couch next to Cass with a sigh. “What do you need to know.”

“Stop,” Cass orders. She scrutinizes him carefully and Dick just sits there, waiting for her judgement. And then she leaps forward and wraps her arms around him, pulling him close.

It’s amazing. In Spyral, well, it’s not that he didn’t ever have contact with people, but it was never just a hug. It was never this warm, this gentle, this careful. It never makes him feel like a person. Dick hugs Cass back, holding her close like a lifeline. When she pulls away, she’s smiling.

“Missed you,” she says, like Dick was away at college or something.

“I missed you too.” Dick swallows. He knows that what he did was wrong. He knows that he lied to his family and left them and let them believe he was dead. He’s not expecting a happy reunion at the end of this. But Cass, at least, doesn’t seem to be responding with violence at the moment. “I’m sorry, Cass.”

“Tim said…you died.”

“Bruce—” Wait, no. Dick didn’t rehearse this, he doesn’t know what to say, but he does know that he cannotblame Bruce for this. “I faked it. I didn’t die, not really. It was…an opportunity. To go undercover. We had to use it to our advantage.”

Cass bites her lip. “Lying.”

“I really didn’t die.” His heart just stopped, for a minute or so. It doesn’t count. It can’t count.

“Lying,” Cass repeats.

“My heart stopped,” Dick admits. “There was a bomb that would go off unless…unless I died. Lex Luthor stopped my heart and then revived me right afterwards. I just had a…close brush with death.”

“You died.”

“I didn’t.” Dick shakes his head vigorously. “I didn’t die.”

Cass frowns. “Why do you need to believe?”

She can probably see the desperation. “I…it can’t have been that bad. I have to be fine. And…” Cass is so against killing, she isn’t the person to discuss this with, but…she’s letting him in her safehouse. She deserves to know what a monster he is. “Years ago…I beat the Joker until his heart stopped beating.” Cass presses against Dick’s side. She should be pushing him away, not burrowing closer. “Bruce revived him. He said…he said it didn’t count. I didn’t break the rule.” Dick meets Cass’s eyes, but her gaze is off to the side. She can’t see his face, can he? The Hypnos implant is still hiding him. “If I died…if I died…” If Dick died, then he killed the Joker. If Dick died, then he broke Bruce’s one rule. And after Blockbuster…

…it’s no wonder that Bruce sent him to Spyral. “I trained you to live and I watched you die!” Bruce had screamed. If Dick died, then he’s a killer. A murderer. How could he have expected Bruce to respect his protests, to listen to his pleas about family, when Dick is the very evil that they fight?

“Stop,” Cass hisses. “Your mind is going around and around. You need to stop. You’re…hurt.”

“I deserve to be,” Dick says. It slips out. It stays there. He can’t take it back, but it’s not wrong, so he doesn’t see why he should.

“Do you regret what you did?” Cass asks.

Killing the Joker? Most of the time. Sometimes, Dick wishes that Bruce had let that monster stay dead. Wishes Jason had come back to a world where someone at least had avenged Robin. Wishes that he could have spared Jason the pain of discovering that the Joker still lives. But for the most part, Dick can see the disappointment in Bruce’s eyes and the fear in Tim’s and wishes that he could take it back and never find out what he was capable of.

But then again, he found out he was capable of stepping out of the way only a year later.

“I try to,” Dick says honestly.

Cass lifts a hand to Dick’s face. She’s feeling for his features like she’s blind. The implant can mess with the visual cortex, but not the somatic. Cass is seeing him, as best she can. “Brother,” she says.

Dick smiles softly. “I didn’t die,” he says. “I’m not trying to lie to you, Cass.”

Cass lifts her hand away. “Under…covered?”

“Undercover. Yes. Spyral is…they’re hunting metahumans. They want to discover your identities. Someone had to go.”

“Why?”

“To keep you all safe,” Dick says.

“Spyral is…bad,” Cass says.

That’s certainly an understatement. Dick sighs. “I hate it. But it has to be done. I wouldn’t have gone if…if there was any other option.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Dick wanted to. He didn’t understand that part, didn’t understand why the family couldn’t know. It’s more realistic this way, sure, but they’re all excellent actors. And Dick knows that after Jason’s death, after Bruce’s “death,” after Damian’s death, yet another death would strike deep.

He wanted to tell the family. He didn’t want to hurt them.

But Bruce said.

Dick doesn’t have an answer for Cass. Any excuse he could try to give would be halfhearted at best, and she’d know it.

“They’re hurt,” Cass says. She points to her heart. “Here. Hurts. Hurt me.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers, voice broken.

Cass pulls back. Dick doesn’t deserve to be near her anyway. “Why?” She asks again.

“Why am I sorry?”

“No. Why did you lie?”

“It was safer,” Dick tries. That’s not the answer, though, and Cass knows he’s lying.

“Lie,” she says, voice hard. “Why?”

“Bruce insisted,” Dick says. He half-expects Cass to call that out as a lie as well, because, yeah, Bruce had insisted, but Dick had agreed in the end. Instead, Cass pulls her feet up onto the couch and tilts back against him.

“Hurt,” Cass says.

Dick freezes. He doesn’t know what Cass is implying, and he doesn’t want to betray himself by answering a question that wasn’t asked. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” Dick says eventually. That’s the safest option.

Cass shakes her head and his heart sinks. “No. Hurt you.”

Dick swallows. “It doesn’t matter.” He forces himself off the couch. “I should go. The organ won’t keep for very long.”

Cass just watches him.

“You can’t tell anyone I’m alive, okay? Please, Cass. I need you to promise.”

“Fine,” Cass says. Dick can’t read bodies the way she can. He doesn’t know if she’s lying. But he does know that he has to go now before Helena gets suspicious. He gives Cass one last hug and tries to remember the feeling of her arms around him to carry him through the rest of the mission. “Love you, brother.”

“Love you too,” Dick says as he leaves.

---

Cass sits alone in her apartment, fists clenched and toes curled into the couch cushions. Dick moved wrong. He moved like a ghost.

And some part of her is overjoyed that her big brother is alive. It’s amazing. It’s a miracle.

But most of her—most of her is afraid.

She said she wouldn’t tell anyone that Dick was alive. She doesn’t know if she was telling the truth, yet. For now, Cass won’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know.

But Dick’s fear, his shame, his guilt is seared to the backs of her eyelids. He was hurt. He was hiding.

Cass has to have a talk with a Bat.

#day 5 #batfam meets agent 37 #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

34 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 20 days

Text

fic: turncoat (3/3)

Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dick Grayson & Tiger, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne Characters: Dick Grayson, Tiger (DCU), Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Helena Bertinelli Additional Tags: Comic: Grayson (2014), Spyral (DCU), Identity Porn Series: Part 1 of Dick Grayson Week 2024 Summary:

Dick didn’t know how he felt about doing a job in Gotham.

Honestly, it had been a surprise he’d even been assigned to it; he would’ve thought he’d be considered too close. Too likely to be compromised. Which would’ve been an incorrect assumption—he knew he had a job and he knew what he had to sacrifice to do it—but a credible one. The familiar skyline made the usual pre-mission jitters worse. If he hadn’t been in a car he would’ve been pacing; instead his heel beat a rapid rhythm into the footwell.

“Stop,” Tiger said. He was driving, even though Dick would know the streets better.

“No,” Dick said. He managed to keep his voice serene, at least. He was trying to keep his attention on his tablet, like not looking would make the familiarity go away.

—

Day 6 of @dickgraysonweek: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn

#day 6 #identity porn #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

20 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 20 days

Text

Dick Grayson Anniversary Week 2024 Prompt: Dick (Helen) of Troy

It’s amazing how many pairings there are for Dick Grayson, and there are fiercely loyal fans that will defend their ‘ship. Even if shipping is rather pointless… it’s so much fun! So grab a camomile tea or a straight up black coffee and set sail on whichever ship floats your boat!

Summary: Robin and Raven are having a quiet night at Titans Tower, when it’s interrupted by Control Freak’s special episode of: The Booty That Launched a Thousand ‘Ships!

@dickgraysonweek

#day 5 #dick (helen) of troy #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

5 notes · View notes

dickgraysonweek · 20 days

Text

Responsible

Ao3

Summary: A case of mistaken identity kicks off a dilemma.

@dickgraysonweek 2024, Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn

On the morning that everything goes down, Dick answers a ringing phone.

To be more specific, he answers a phone in Bruce’s office. And that’s where everything goes to absolute shit.

He’s in there picking up some documents Bruce texted him to get. The office in question is his study in the main house, his Brucie office, where everything to do with his civilian job is located. And, since Bruce is away for a multi week mission with Clark, he’s had to kick up the slack on some Brucie work.

And, while he’s in there, the landline phone on his desk rings.

Dick pauses right after picking up a folder. He eyes the ringing phone, uncertain about what he should do.

Should I pick this up? He asks himself. Do I…would this be the right thing to do?

The phone keeps ringing.

Because he’s a nice guy (and he’s kind of curious, okay?) Dick picks up the phone. “Bruce Wayne’s office?” Dick says, a vague question in his tone.

“Ah,” A woman’s voice says on the other end of the line. “Yes, hello. Would that be Damian Wayne’s parent?”

Oh. This must be someone from the school. “Yes,” Dick says. “That’s correct.”

“Excellent,” He hears some papers shuffling. “We just wanted to inform families that all students have their art exhibitions on Friday next week. Can we confirm that Damian’s family will be coming?”

“Yes!” Dick says, beaming. He hadn’t known Damian had a family school event coming up. “Absolutely, yes.”

“Great,” The woman says. He hears typing in the background. “And can we confirm that you’ll be able to take a photograph with Damian’s artwork in it for the photo wall?”

“Of course!” Dick says. He smiles wider. “I’d love to.”

He hears more typing. “Amazing,” The woman says. “We needed each child to have one with their parent or guardian. Damian was our last holdout. We’ll see you there, Mr. Wayne.”

Dick’s eyes widen. “Wait—”

He’s met by a dial tone and the sound of his mistakes.

Dick slowly lowers his face onto Bruce’s majestic desk, phone still held up to his ear. How could he have made a mistake like that? Bruce is away for another few weeks at least. How is he going to get him to show up for Damian’s event? He can’t have him be the only person there with no picture…

He hears a whisper on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” He asks, confused. He waits for a little, but he’s greeted by nothing further. A little unsettled, he places the phone back down and leaves the room as soon as he’s able to.

“So. Yeah. I think I made a mistake.” Dick grimaces, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“You think?” Jason says. He chews on a chocolate chip cookie. “Dude. You answered the phone in Bruce’s office and you didn’t think that they would assume that you’re Bruce? You serious?”

“I know,” Dick groans. “It was stupid. But it’s done, and now the school thinks Bruce is coming when he isn’t, and Damian thinks Bruce is coming when he isn’t, and I’m in big trouble.”

Tim chews his own cookie thoughtfully. “I mean,” He says. “I really don’t think so to be honest. You just have to tell Damian that there was a miscommunication and Bruce can’t make it. We’ll go instead. Whatever. No big deal.”

Jason frowns. “Hey, don’t volunteer me for this.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “We’ll go anyway. But he’ll be so disappointed.”

“Wouldn’t it be more disappointing if he thinks Bruce is coming when he isn’t?” Tim asks, raising his eyebrows.

Dick sips his tea contemplatively. “You’re right,” He says. “But the school? And Damian being the only one with no parent/guardian there? That sucks. Think we can get around that somehow?”

“Um,” Jason says. “I don’t think you could impersonate Bruce, if that’s what you’re asking. First, he’s a literal celebrity. Second, I’m pretty sure impersonating a parent to get into a school is vaguely frowned upon.”

Tim raises a hand. “I think it’s illegal,” He volunteers.

“You guys are no help,” Dick sighs. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll make it there for him anyway.”

“You never came to my school events,” Jason comments. “I bet you never knew a single project I ever did.”

Dick lifts the mug back to his lips. It hides his grin as he stage whispers “Ka-chow” into his tea.

Jason’s face goes pale. “You son of a—”

“Cars?” Tim says, voice rising about two octaves in a second.

“NO!”

“Oh, yes,” Dick says, putting the mug back down. “Do you know how many times I heard ‘Oh, same old, same old. What's up with you?’ Whenever the word ‘wasabi’ was said? Years. I heard that for years. And I had to hear it again for his film review presentation.”

“FUCK OFF!”

“Cars Two?” Tim says, two seconds away from hysterical laughter. “It wasn’t even the good Cars?”

“Hey!” Jason points at him. “I’ll have you know that Cars Two is a very serviceable sequel to—”

“It was about Mater!”

“Yeah, and he’s—hold on, how did you recognize the quote was from Cars Two?”

Dick makes his stealthy exit at the sounds of the now heated debate, grinning all the way.

As he ducks around the side of the kitchen, he sees someone turn the corner. Alfred, He thinks, speeding up. Alfred may have some sage advice for these moments

When he turns the corner, there’s nobody to be seen.

“Yes, you should go!” Steph says. “Are you kidding me? Go!”

Dick sighs, leaning against an old city gargoyle. “But,” He says, “Batman should…”

“Oh please,” Steph scoffs. Her legs swing as she sits on the side of the roof, blonde hair blowing in the cold Gotham night. “You know Robin would prefer it that you went instead of Batman anyway.”

“No he wouldn’t!” Dick protests.

The comm buzzes in his ear. “Um, guys? Shouldn’t we be paying attention here?”

Dick laughs under his breath. “You’re right, Signal. Sorry. Keeping an eye out now.”

“Yeah, Signal,” Steph says. “What do you think? About Nightwing’s predicament?”

Dick smiles, looking back to the street below.

There’s a short silence. “I mean, sure,” Duke says. “We’re all going, right?”

“Not about that going,” Steph says. “About the parent picture going. For Nightwing to be in the picture instead? Since Batman isn’t gonna be there.”

“But he’s not the parent,” Duke argues. “Isn’t that, I don’t know. Not allowed?”

Steph sighs. “Come on, dude,” She says. “You’re being too literal about this.”

“I mean,” Duke says. “Legally speaking. Will the school even let it happen? It’s possible we’ll all just get kicked out and it’ll be even more embarrassing for Robin.”

Dick frowns. “He’s right,” He says. “I didn’t consider that part.”

“Oh come on,” Steph says. “Don’t make it a big deal. Just do it. Nike style.”

Dick looks back down at the silent street, considering his options. Which would be the better option for Damian?

At his next blink, the street changes.

Instead of a street corner with a white parked car and fire hydrant, there’s now a shattered image overwhelming his vision. The canvas of his sight has cracks running down the image , separating Gotham into various pieces. Each piece looks different (night, day, early morning). It’s like he’s looking at different times of day layered over each other, all of time passing by simultaneously.

Dick slams his eyes shut. He rubs them furiously.

“Nightwing?” And that’s Steph, voice concerned. “What’s up?”

Dick’s almost scared to open his eyes. “Give me a sec,” He says, trying to keep his voice calm.

He works up the courage and opens his eyes back up, and in the second it takes for his vision to readjust, he sees that it’s back to normal.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “All good,” He says. “Any updates on—”

He cuts himself off as a dark figure leaps onto the roof next to him, elegantly landing and slinking towards the rest of them.

“Hey,” Steph grins, standing up. “Any movement?”

“Riddler’s group are on their way,” Cass says, and there’s no mistaking her battle-readiness. “Be prepared.”

“Yes!” Steph says. She stands up, stretching. “Let’s gooo! Formation eighty four, right?”

Her voice echoes strangely on the number, bouncing around Dick’s head, layering over different voices.

He shakes his head hard, then stands up too. “Right,” He says on comms. “We go in together.”

He looks at Cass, giving her a smile. “Ready?”

Cass shrugs, voice sparkling with humor. “As I ever am,” She replies. “Also…”

“Hm?” Dick says, mind already on the best way to flip back onto the ground below.

“You should go,” Cass says, and approaching voices interrupt Dick before he can respond.

After that, things just get weirder.

Dick doesn’t have much time to spare: he has to decide how he’s going to handle Damian’s issue, how he’s going to make sure he can be as happy as possible. But things just keep happening to him, with no clear explanation and it’s really starting to freak him out.

He knows that he should be asking for help at this point. It could be one of many things: medical issue, psychological issue, work issue? He hasn’t been in a situation where he thinks he could’ve been magicked or anything, so…maybe this can wait, just so the school thing can go without a hitch.

So he just decides to ignore it. But sometimes, when he starts seeing things out of the corner of his eye or hears things that don’t make sense, he needs a moment to recover.

Like now, hanging out with Alfred in the manor while he straightens up in his biweekly spring cleanings. Dick helps however he can, although sometimes he thinks he hinders more than helps most of the time.

This time around Babs is there too, and it’s so wonderful to catch up that he loses concentration and when he starts to see colors at the edge of his vision, he knows that he needs to pull himself together. So, he excuses himself and runs to the bathroom.

Dick splashes water on his face, breathing in deeply.

Pull yourself together, He thinks, staring at his face in the mirror. Pull yourself together.

Is this stress? Is he so stressed about Damian’s school thing that he’s starting to hallucinate? Surely not.

He sighs, clicking open the bathroom door and making his way back to the living room. He enters to see Babs still on the couch, book in hand, while Alfred straightens picture frames behind her.

“I believe your path forward is clear, Master Dick,” Alfred says. He picks up the conversation that has been started moments before, without missing a single step. “Go to the school event and offer your support where it’s needed. Including the individual pictures. When Master Bruce is unavailable, you have the right in absentia.”

“Well, yeah,” Babs says. “I don’t think anyone denies that part, Alfred. It’s just a matter of approaching it intelligently. And since we’ll all be there to back him up, it should go okay.” She gives Dick a piercing look. “Although…I’m pretty sure we can make you look like Bruce, pass you off as him. Problem solved.”

“I would advise against that,” Alfred says. “The ethics of doing this would be dubious to say the least.”

Dick groans, settling back on the couch. “I gotta say,” He says. “I’m getting a lot of opinions from the peanut gallery on this.”

“You asked,” Babs says, rolling her eyes.

“Regardless, Master Dick,” And here, Alfred’s voice takes a softer quality. “Whatever you decide, know that it’s with Master Damian’s well being in mind. And that is the most important element of this situation.”

Dick smiles to himself. His eyes wander to the window, and the rain that lashes through the dark sky. “Thanks, Alfie,” He says softly.

He blinks, and sees a face pressed up against the window. The face is set on a wild expression, blue eyes flashing against the darkness of the sky.

Dick practically jumps, almost falling off the couch. He blinks again, and the face vanishes.

“Dick?” Babs asks. “You okay?”

Dick shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry,” He says, shaky. “Lost my balance. I’m good.”

He keeps staring at the window. It remains empty all night.

“Let’s go,” Dick says. He taps his foot, straightening his tie nervously. “Everyone ready to go?”

He does a headcount of the group gathered by the Manor’s entrance. It had been an ordeal making sure everyone got there on time. “Who’s missing?”

Jason glances around the group critically. He has forgone Dick’s strict insurrections to “dress nice”. “Still missing Tim,” He says, then mutters under his breath “Of course.”

Steph smirks back at him. She, at least, had followed the dress code. “Yeah, I know, right?”

“Be nice,” Dick says mildly. He checks his watch. “Okay, maybe we should go in groups. That way, we can get there early enough to—”

Another blink, and his watch vanishes. He looks up, startled “What—”

He’s still in the manor. But…

Everyone’s disappeared. The warm glow of the halls have vanished, replaced with dark hallways and a cold air surrounding him. The familiar walls and floors have a haze of gray surrounding them, and he feels choked on the feeling of despair that radiates out of every corner.

He steps back, and everything goes back to normal.

Babs raises her eyebrows at him. “Get there early enough to—?”

They hadn’t noticed. What in the hell is happening to him?

Dick feels his mind start to whirl, and he desperately tries to hold on. “Enough to—”

He blinks again, and he’s back, he’s back at the empty manor, but this time there are sounds too: whispering in the hallways, silent tapping on the floors.

Dick whirls around. “What the hell…”

He comes face to face with a familiar face, a face with bright blue eyes, a face that he had seen both at the window a few days ago, and in the bathroom mirror every day of his life.

His own face blinks back at him, looking just startled.

“Hey,” Dick says. “Who are—”

The world shatters.

#day 6 #identity porn #fanfiction #dickgraysonweek2024

16 notes · View notes