Work Text:
October 31st, 2022
Dick blows softly on his Earl Grey tea, looking at the coffee stains on the old cup. The rain rhythmically hits the window, and Dick makes up a melody up in his head, ignoring the tax evasion cases on his table.
He really needed a new cup.
He turns to the TV above his head, bored by the silence of the office.
It plays a man in a navy-blue suit talking without any passion, about the weather.
Eh, his suit looks mediocre. Dick’s worn better suits to birthday parties.
The channel switches to a women’s tennis match, and Dick nearly looks away, before laughter fills the screen.
There’s Harley Quinn, and the Joker. They hold up Nightwing, and Dick almost looks away, before realizing, oh.
That’s him. So why was he there?
An internal crisis.
Was he a clone? Was his whole life a lie generated by fake data? Was he real? Was this a simulation?
He looks back and an ad is playing. It’s Colgate and he and the office watches in silence as the ad zooms in on a woman’s teeth and picks apart the spinach stuck inbetween the crevices of her teeth, before showing a uncomfortably slow 360 of the toothbrush and it’s bristles.
Harley and the Joker come back on, looking more than annoyed.
“Do they not make enough ad revenue? This just ruined the whole I-am-evil speech I was preparing!” Harley stomps out of frame and starts shouting at what seems to be a graphic designer.
Joker’s eyes stray from
the live for a few seconds, slightly embarrassed before turning back with a maniacal grin. Good to know he could still feel awkward.
“This is the unmasking of Nightwing!” Dick blinked.
He gets a call from Barbara, and it’s loud.
Blaring. Peter, who at this point rushed out of his office and was standing intensely close at the TV, looks for the source of the sound.
Curse Batphones and their no silent mode. Dick was feeling very alert and anxious already, no need to add onto that.
Dick takes the call in hushed whispers.
“Babs,whatdoIdoamIacloneIdon’twanttodieohmygod-“
“What?”
“Are you a clone? Is that a clone?” Dick rushes our, squinting at the TV.
“No, does not that look like me,” Dick mutters.
“What?” Barbara repeats, completely thrown off by Dick’s sudden inability to use proper grammar.
“Oh sorry, identity crisis. That dude doesn’t look like me at all,” Dick states.
“Oh cool. Not a clone, then?”
“What if it’s just some dude?”
“…Dick, what day is it?”
“October 31st.”
“Aw, crap, it’s Halloween. That’s just some dude Joker stole off the streets.” Dick heaves a sigh of relief.
Key mistake.
Peter’s eyes lock onto him like a target.
“Oh Babs, I gotta go. My shoes are typing. Fix that issue with the dude, bye!”
“What? Dick, you know I don’t get your-“
“Interesting little device you have there,” Peter smiles tightly, reaching for it. Dick smoothly drops it down his hand to a secret compartment.
“Yes! I practiced that move so many times,” He mumbles, and Peter reaches for his arm before groaning in defeat.
Sound erupts from the TV again and both Dick and Peter look back on it immediately.
“Ok, is this on? One, two three- Yes? Ok. Ok. Uh, so we’re back live and we have Nightwing here? Going to unmask him. Yes. Ok. Three, two, one!” Joker rips off the mask, to reveal a man Dick has never seen in his life.
“Take a good, long look, because this is the identity of Nightwing!” Joker cackles as the man wakes up.
“Joker? Did it have to be you, on Halloween? Why am I being recorded? Come on Harley, we’ve met before. You know I hate being recorded,” The man rambles, clearly confused.
“Are you Nightwing?”
“Heavens no. I respect his work in Bludhaven though.” That made Dick smile.
Joker’s smile drops and he looks irritated.
“Again? Oh my god, Harley? Set a calendar date on every October 31st. You don’t have a phone? How do you not- expensive?! We’re mass murderers you think I have a limit to what I do?”
“Can I leave now?” The man looks around nervously at Joker shouting st Harley before getting up and walking away.
“Wow. Rollercoaster of a ride, huh?” Dick jokes, as the channel switches back to tennis and everyone looks away from the screen, turning to each other to chat about what just happened.
Peter opens his mouth when Damian drops onto his head like an assassin.
Dick nearly screams and Damian stares at him.
“Didn’t we talk about jumping onto people’s heads?”
“Most people have disgusting hair. Your’s smells like Lavender and is clean. It’s a good place to land. Why is Nightwing on the news?”
“Mr. Non-violent, what is going on?” Dick ignores Peter, adrenaline leaving his system.
“That’s a weirdly nice thing of you to say. Thank you. I also think my hair smells good. Mutual agreements are good,”
“I also just want to add that maybe if you had looked at Tim’s texts you could’ve known what was going on? Or called me? Or knocked instead of dropping on my from the vents?” Dick suggests, and Damian stares at him, unimpressed before the window explodes and he’s gone.
“I hate this family. Why do I try,” Peter rushes over to the window, probably expecting a splat of Wayne blood smothered on the pavement. He finds nothing. No trace of Damian.
Peter’s staring at him in silence and he raises a finger slowly.
“You,” Dick freezes.
“Are cleaning that up.”
“Nooooooo.” Dick groans dramatically, grabbing his hair.
Then he realizes his Earl Grey teas gone cold and he shouts even louder.
“Damn you stupid assassins!”