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alyakthedorklord · 8 months

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I’m having dramatic thoughts about Damian being born to Fem!Bruce ok I’m having THOUGHTS

(TW for alluding to Damian’s conception being nonconsensual)

Okay so set the stage of our Drama- Fem!Bruce (or just AFAB idc) is out on patrol or something and League Parent (Either Talia as in canon, or Ra’s if we’re feeling the creepy old man tonight) drops Damian off with “Hey, watch our son that you birthed and then I stole and let you think was dead for ten years, there’s some infighting in the league.”

(If we’re using Ra’s as dad then Talia is absolutely trying to kill Damian for the position of heir)

Bryce is, understandably, shocked. Her other children? Even more so. Because what do you mean you had a biological child? How did we not know about this?!

Damian isn’t old enough to be pre-robin unless he was cryogenically frozen. Did Bryce really hide a whole fucking pregnancy from them?

Dick is screaming, Jason shows up because he has to see this shit for himself, Bryce is standing in silence, staring at the results of every single test she can think of to confirm that yes, this is her son, this is her Damian, all the info matches up…

Tim tries to speak up, but Jason just turns on him, asking if he’s ready to be replaced too. Bryce didn’t even have to go looking this time!

Tim looks him dead in the eye and points out the birthdate(and death date) on file for Damian Wayne.

It’s exactly eight days before Jason was taken in.

How did Dick and Jason not know about this?

Because they weren’t there.

In the short period of time when Dick was striking out on his own, and before Bryce picked up Jason, League Baby Daddy of your choosing shows up and takes advantage. A simple greeting, a spiked drink, a blurry night, and a pregnancy test later…

Bruce is, as always, in any universe, is terrible at communication. But honestly she can be excused in this case. How exactly do you tell your wayward son ward that, after chasing him off because he was “being reckless” and “putting himself in danger,” you’ve gone and gotten taken advantage of, trusted someone that you had absolutely ZERO business trusting, and now you’re pregnant with an Al Ghul baby? And you’ve decided to keep it? That this isn’t you replacing him or demanding he return, because you understand his need for space, but also you desperately want him back with you because you’re scared but you can never admit it?

How do you do that in a text? Because Dick is not answering the phone.

You don’t. Thats a conversation you have face to face. So the messages Bryce leaves are all “there are some changes and i’d like to talk to you” “there may be a new member of the family soon” “please answer me chum”

Dick doesn’t answer.

Meanwhile, Gotham crime is being weird because “hey robins gone! Dynamic duo is out!” And Bryce is being careful because of her belly and sometimes she has to take breaks and hormones are bullying her and nothing is going her way right now.

And them she goes into labor too soon.

And something goes wrong (League Baby Daddy happens) and she’s told her baby is dead, and now she’s lost two children.

She recovers, and goes back out onto the streets, taking her rage and pain out on the criminals that got a little too bold with her in a hospital bed…

And then there’s a street rat jacking the tires off the Batmobile.

The fucking audacity. The guts. The challenge in his bright blue eyes, the sneer on his lips, the shaggy black hair. Skin just a bit darker than hers, not quite an Al Ghul’s deep olive but somewhere in the middle.

Is this what her Damian would have looked like? Is this what her son would have grown up to be?

Maybe its the hormones, maybe she’s projecting. She knows its a bad idea, but Bryce takes the kid home. Alfred gives her a knowing and slightly disapproving look, but accepts the new child with open arms, because there’s worse things. Jason fits in easily, and soon enough, Batman has a Robin again, and Bryce is smiling again, and begins to heal from the pain of losing Damian.

But Dick? Dick is PISSED.

Upon seeing news of a new Robin/Wayne, he finally looks though his messages, and comes to the wrong conclusion that Bryce was looking for a kid to replace him this whole time. She might have tried to get his input, but had eventually made a decision like this without him. And so he’s back, and he’s angry, and Bryce gets defensive because Jason is a good kid and she can’t use her dead baby to win an argument, not when the wound is so fresh.

So life continues. Jason dies, comes back, is angry because he listened in on a few arguments and now ALSO thinks Bryce actively hunted him down to be Robin, and now she’s done the same with Tim.

Bryce keeps quiet, because how is she supposed to explain after all these years? Jason is right to be angry. She let her emotions get the better of her and dragged a sweet boy into her life. The loss of all three if her children was her own fault, because she put him into the line of fire. There’s no excuse for that.

So years pass. Tempers settle somewhat, Bryce holds her grief close to her chest because she can’t do that to her children, but… then Damian is back. And it all explodes.

The story comes out in bits and pieces. Tim figures out a timeline based on the rest of the info in the file, and Bryce and Alfred slowly fill it in.

And like- they’re all still angry, and it is justified, because what the fuck, Bryce. But also…

Dick is horrified. He had been so angry, so so angry, reading those messages that he now knows, with this new information, were a cry for help. Bryce had been desperate and scared and wanted nothing more than to just talk to him after their fight, and when he had come back after something like this had happened he had immediately started another fight.

Jason isn’t sure how to feel. He hadn’t been taken in to be a replacement soldier, he had been taken in to be a replacement son. What is he supposed to do with that? Knowing that Bryce had seen him at his worst, and taken him in and shoved down her grief to help him?

Tim is wondering if every time Bryce backed away with an unreadable expression, it hadn’t been keeping herself emotionally distant, it was grief for the sons she had lost.

Steph is realizing that Bruce wasn’t lying, when Steph had to give her own baby up and Bryce had hugged her and said “I understand.”

Damian is sitting in a corner wondering what the ever-loving FUCK is going on. Why is everyone crying this is pathetic. Father take him home he prefers the threat of imminent death.

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dickgraysonwayne · 9 days

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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.”

#dickgraysonweek #dick Grayson #nightwing #Bryce Wayne #Batman #speaks #Zatanna

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