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Dick nearly cries with relief when he settles into his bed at the Manor. He’s home. Finally, after the year from hell, he’s back where he belongs. Sure, everyone might hate him for faking his death, but he’s willing to work for their forgiveness. He wasn’t going to throw those relationships away (like Bruce would.) No, life wasn’t worth living without his loved ones, and now that he was here, he could begin to rebuild what Bruce had so callously torn away from him.
He wakes up in the Cave, aching all over. His hair is long and he’s wearing the remnants of his Nightwing uniform, and his heart begins to race. Bruce appears, chest bare, wearing his cowl, and tells Dick to get ready to spar. No. Numb, Dick sits on the cot, his ears roaring. This has to be a nightmare. He’s home, safe in his bed, Spyral is dealt with, and Damian is alive. He must be hallucinating. He must. This cannot be happening. He’s done with spies, done with pretending, done with the mind games and tight t-shirts and having his body controlled by others.
Bruce slaps him in the jaw. He rolls off the cot onto the floor, automatically bracing for another hit. Fight, Batman growls, kicking Dick in the back, and something in Dick’s mind snaps into place. He leaps into action, and Batman begins his monologue, repeating almost exactly the same words that Dick remembered him doing a year prior. Resisting is futile, and Dick finally agrees to do Batman’s bidding—again.
If he truly has gone back in time, this attempt will be different.
It takes him less than four months to complete the mission. Bruce has yet to lose his memory, and he’s shocked to see Dick home so soon. Or at all, Dick thinks grimly. Spyral was a suicide mission, and Bruce knew what he was sending Dick into. He was the disposable one, the not-quite-a-son of Bruce’s boys. When Dick had told him that he wasn’t his boy, Bruce didn't even try to correct him. Whatever love he felt towards Bruce was never reciprocated. After his confrontational return, Dick goes upstairs to take a nap. He needs to simmer down before reuniting with everyone later tonight.
He wakes up in the Cave, aching all over. No. This time, he’s as efficient as possible. He barely cracks any jokes and becomes more comfortable with using guns to kill. Still, it takes about three months to wrap everything up. He comes home, only to have to start again.
His fourth go-round, he takes as long as he pleases. When he returns to the Manor, Bruce seems disappointed. In him? In the fact he returned? Dick doesn’t know. He falls asleep and wakes up in the Cave.
During his fifth time loop, he tries getting help from Bruce, but when he goes to bed that night, he wakes up back in the Cave.
Then he tries Zatanna.
Then Constantine.
Then anyone with expertise in magic and/or time travel.
After several tries, it becomes clear that whenever he reaches out for help and that person tries to meddle with time, the loop restarts as soon as he falls asleep—and he can’t stay awake forever.
His fourteenth loop gets him killed. It’s a miracle it takes that long for something to go wrong. He wakes up in the Cave.
The fifteenth, he gives up on contacting Bruce. After so many beatdowns, he can’t bear speaking to the man. Let him think Dick’s actually dead. Will he mourn him, or just be angry? Jason suddenly makes an appearance in Spyral, and Dick is furious. Remaining anonymous, he watches Jason try to take down the organization, helping him from afar. It takes his brother almost three years, but he’s successful and seems to be having a blast. If anything, Jason thrives in the espionage business.
Dick sneaks home to confront Bruce. He never needed Dick there after all. Why couldn’t he have sent Jason in the first place? Why keep Dick dead? Why put Dick through this hell? Was he just something to be thrown away?
Bruce knocks him out for that one.
In the next loop, Dick positions himself so that Bruce kicking him onto the Batboat paralyzes him from the neck down. Bruce’s expression of horror almost makes Dick want to laugh. He forces himself to be silent. When Bruce leads Alfred downstairs, he watches Bruce rattle off one slick lie after another, unable to look at Dick. Bruce leaves the Cave, and as Alfred tends to him, Dick finally speaks. He tells him the truth. Bruce did this. Alfred pauses, jaw clenching, and lays his forehead on Dick’s hand. My boy. My boy. He gently asks what he can do for Dick, and several minutes later, Alfred gives him a lethal dose of morphine.
He wakes up. Loop seventeen. He could just run off and let Jason do the work, but what if Jason died this time? Plus, the Spyral tech erasing the Richard Grayson-Nightwing link from the world made his life convenient. This time, he wouldn’t return to the Manor immediately. As much as it killed him, Damian was in good hands with Tim, Jason, Babs, and Alfred. Maybe the time loop wouldn't restart if he stayed away from Gotham… and didn’t die, of course. A vacation might be nice.
He tries to time his Spyral infiltration so that he finishes just as Bruce loses his memory. He’s a week off, but whatever. He still has months to himself, a luxury he’s never had before, and he lets himself be a tourist. He’s a friendly twenty-something backpacking through Europe, untraceable by camera and carrying a fake passport. He’s anonymous, and isn’t that a thrill? He’s just a polite stranger at a café, one of a hundred sweaty bodies on the dance floor. No one bothers him.
He’s in London, visiting any museum that strikes his interest—and there are so many of them here—when he spots a familiar shock of white hair in the West End. He follows Slade Wilson into the theater and buys a ticket for the matinee. The show is good, but he only has eyes for the mercenary. When the curtain falls for intermission, he turns off his Hypnos and casually stretches his arms in the air. He watches as Slade notices him, and he grins. Slade raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed, and Dick saunters over to him.
“That Ruth Wilson, huh?” he says brightly, nodding his head towards the stage. “So talented.”
“Sure, kid.” The man’s eyes crinkle in a sort of pleasant way that Dick has never noticed before. “Last I heard, you were dead.”
“Last I heard, too. Didn’t stick.”
Slade gets closer, his shoulders brushing against Dick's. “Care to elaborate?”
“It’s a long story.” His smile is bitter, and the two of them stand in place, considering each other.
“I’ve got time.”
“So have I. Dinner? I’ll need to wear this,” he says, turning his Hypnos back on. The man doesn’t seem fazed by his spiraling face.
“Ditch the face and come by my place.”
“So forward,” Dick replies in mock flirtation, wagging his eyebrows. “I like that in a man.”
“Good.”
Oh.
Slade stands before him, forthright and steady, and there’s a fond look in his eye. There’s always been a spark of something between them, Dick muses, and if he’s stuck in a damned time loop, he might as well have some fun. He explores the chemistry between them over dinner, then over the arm of the couch, then over Slade’s lap. They spend the next forty-eight hours together, fucking like there’s no tomorrow, making up for the years Dick has gone without real intimacy. He hungers, and the mercenary does his best to sate his appetite, giving it to him fast and slow, playful and serious—anything he asks for, he gets. He's never experienced that before.
When Slade has to leave for a hit, Dick just lays back in bed and slides his hand over the comforter. Come back once you're done. The man is visibly surprised by Dick’s lack of concern for the target, and Dick lets out a sad laugh. I’ll explain when you’re back.
The next day, they sit at the kitchen table like real adults and talk. Slade listens to every word Dick says with quiet seriousness, and when Dick begins to cry, he takes his hand. His grip is solid and comforting.
It isn’t until much later, when Dick finally stops sniffling, that Slade responds.
“You shouldn’t go back to Gotham.”
Dick gives a minuscule nod. Slade cradles his jaw in his hand and makes Dick look at him.
“Even without the time loop, you shouldn’t go back there. Their treatment of you is unacceptable.”
“I can’t hide forever,” he whispers.
“It’s not hiding if you come with me.” Slade’s thumb brushes Dick’s lips and tilts his head back further. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. Your company is enough."
Dick closes his eyes and says yes.
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The next morning, he wakes up in Slade's arms.