Chapter Text
Somewhere, Dick was sure he should have accepted time travel as being a part of his normal routine. Maybe in another life, he would be so used to the concept, that when the embodiment of time travel quite literally crashes into him, it would not surprise him like it did. By surprise, he meant that he had reacted only a fraction slower than usual, pinning the offender to the floor.
It’s the startled shout of his name that gets him. Has him feel like he’s the one falling out of time, slows his fist down, grip on the front of a shirt relaxing. Slowly, of course, because every nerve ending in his body lights up all at once, repeating his name over and over in that voice.
Dick was not above thinking this was just some kind of awful nightmare, staring down at Wally. But it wasn’t Wally, because they buried an empty grave, and he had watched his best friend disappear into nothingness.
Not-Wally, as his mind supplies, flounders under him, talking a mile a minute. Voice rising, and a snap clicks in Dick’s ears, righting him, almost, and he slaps a hand over Wally’s mouth. Thank god he was still in gear, or he doesn’t quite know how he would’ve reacted to feeling Wally’s lips now.
“Who are you?” he demands, but he knows the answer. Could rattle off nearly every minute detail he knew about Wally, and then some Wally didn’t know himself. Like how Wally liked his eggs sunny side up, how he routinely had a power nap at five in the afternoon for exactly half an hour, and the birthmark he was particularly fond of that sat right above Wally’s—
Stop!! Don’t go into it, he tells himself. This wasn’t his Wally.
“I-I’m Wally West? Hey, are you Dick? You look like him but… older. Oh dude is that a new outfit?! They said we were getting new kicks but—”
Hand back over Wally’s mouth, Dick can feel his eyes prickle. Thank god for masks. This was too much. Breathing through his nose, he tells himself to focus. Work it out. How did a sixteen year old Wally fall through his ceiling, and why now? Why did it have to be on the year anniversary, that Wally comes crashing back? Dick hadn’t even had a chance to visit his grave yet. Was this some kind of weird karma, the universe telling him he was a shit friend, a shit everything?
Don’t think about that, he tells himself. Don’t go there again. It was always so simple to just cut off the feeling that came with someone, to move on. He had moved on from Wally. He had cut his ties and moved on. Liar, his brain tells him. Always lying. Come on, Grayson, keep it together.
Snapping cuffs over Wally’s wrists, and noting that he was much lankier than the first time they had done this (oh, ew, Grayson! He’s a teenager here!), Dick doesn’t respond to Wally’s protests. He needed to figure out how this happened, why it happened. How to send this Wally back home. After all, there might be a Robin out there somewhere looking for his Kid Flash, because Dick was sure as hell still waiting on his to reappear, just not like this.
“I will muzzle you if you don’t stop talking.” There is no weight behind his threat, but Dick does seriously consider it. Hearing that nervous tick in Wally’s voice was so unnatural, compared to how he is. Was. Dick was starting to confuse himself. His Wally had that rather annoying confidence, that was definitely compensating for other areas. Overwhelming, and Dick loved every part of it. Not-Wally, of course, he could attest to nerves. Pure nerves that were shot to all hell as he kept stuttering his name.
“It’s Nightwing,” he corrects, and sits himself up, as if his body finally remembered how to start working again.
“O-oh. Sure. Sorry.”
The roll he falls into was natural, practiced. Something he knew. The appreciation on Wally’s face was something he remembered, but not a recent thing. Not his Wally. It was around this age that he had got adventurous. Wait, no, it was his fourteenth birthday. He had done a triple flip off a tree out the front of the cave, and Wally had been watching. Wally had coaxed him into some dumb trick, and he had hung upside down from one of the lower branches. Upside down kisses were stupidly romantic and the most awkward thing to attempt to do, but they’d done it.
Thinking about things like that didn’t hurt so much anymore. Dick was more than capable of thinking about his adventures with Wally in that respect and not missing it so much. But towering over Wally, young and dumb, who looked up at him with such awe, that was what Dick missed. Did he ever left Wally know that he always thought he was pretty cool at that age? He only remembered snarking over the ‘ninja thing’ he kept pulling on Wally. Did he tell Wally how he really felt?
“It’s late,” he starts, because he’s not sure what else to say. That was stating the obvious, and he can feel the little quirk in Wally’s face before he sees it, wanting to retort. But he interrupts him, as Dick isn’t sure he can handle some witty remark at this time of night. “I need to sleep, and so do you.”
“But, wait, Dick—I mean, Nightwing, I’m—”
“We’ll figure this out in the morning. Please just…” Dick walks over to his cupboards, and digs through the bottom drawer. Wally’s stuff. Pairs of pants and old shirts left behind that he couldn’t force himself to throwaway. There was an old suit hanging in the closet, bought out of necessity when they had to go to one of the Wayne Enterprises fancy balls, but that wasn’t something to think about now. There was also his other suit, kept locked away. Dick always told himself he was hanging onto it just in case.
Cloth too soft from being washed one too many times, Dick smiled at the ironic printing. All over the pants was the Batman emblem in yellow, although it was starting to fade. Throwing them at the end of the bed with a plain shirt, he doesn’t think about the last time he had to do this. Instead, he watches Not-Wally readjust himself, pushing himself up to stand.
“Oh, yeah.” Dick takes the cuffs off, feeling a little guilty when Not-Wally rubs at the skin on his wrists. “You can take the bed tonight. I have work to do.”
Walking before Not-Wally can say anything else, Dick shuts the door behind himself. He lets his head fall back, a dull thunk that indicates he hit the wood, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Yeah, he was definitely starting to lose it. Grief wasn’t a new thing to him, but never had it ever had him hallucinate to this level.
“Uh, Nightwing? Mr Nightwing? Do you mind if I start breakfast?”
Dick’s eyes snapped open, and he had the horrible realisation this wasn’t a hallucination after all.
Breakfast consisted of Dick automatically making an extra plate, just out of habit, except there was someone to eat it now. Not-Wally was far too quiet to just be respectful (or scared), but he ate the eggs and all but licked the plate clean. It was weird, not having food go to waste, and Dick couldn’t even stomach his cereal.
Where did he even start? Should he ask if Not-Wally tried any more experiments in his backyard he really wasn’t supposed to? Maybe he should ring around, see if anyone can guess if a speedster was missing in another universe. How did he even approach the topic short of ‘why the fuck did you fall through my ceiling at three in the morning?’ never mind the fact that he might have to bring up that this universe’s Wally was long gone.
Rubbing a hand over his face, minding the glasses, Dick really did not have enough sleep to be able to process such things. At least Not-Wally retained Wally’s inherent ability to stick his nose in where it wasn’t welcome.
“So… live here by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Not-Wally drums his fingers on the countertop, a little too fast to be normal, and Dick has to catch himself before making any comments that he might leave a mark.
“Do you bring chicks back?”
Derailed. Dick felt completely derailed, but the laughter that comes out of him sounds too stressed to be able to pass as normal. Of course he would ask about girls. They hadn’t quite made it there yet, probably. Well, Wally hadn’t. When he was still just ‘Robin’, he was singing after all of them, and hell, he might’ve been in that awkward Zatanna phase in Not-Wally’s universe. Oh, he didn’t know how to explain that one.
“No. Not really.”
“Lame.”
Shrugging, Dick still can’t fight the manic sort of smile, and tips his cereal into the bin. Washes the bowl under running water and reaches for Not-Wally’s plate. Their fingers touch and Not-Wally is absolutely charged to the max, sending way too much of a shock through the simple brush of skin to be normal. It makes his hand twitch in a way it shouldn’t, and Dick is halfway to calling Alfred for some medical assistance, when he sees the look on Wally’s face.
He doesn’t stop himself from hugging Not-Wally, who cries something fierce and long into his arms. It’s not the same, because he’s too small, too scrawny, still getting used to being Kid Flash that’s part of Young Justice and Dick doesn’t know if he wants to know what specific time Not-Wally walked out of. If only because he blubbers into his chest about how much he missed him, and Dick only murmurs “me too.”
Lying on the couch, he watched Not-Wally run through all the channels on the television, and then all the way through once more. Dick really didn’t know what to do. Did he contact Batman? Did he ask Bruce, let him know about what happened? Fuck, Dick wished there was some guide out there: ‘What to do when your dead boyfriend comes from another universe as his sixteen year old self’. That would be most helpful.
But Dick guessed after this, he might as well write it. Might even be a bestseller. Maybe he would get a movie deal. For half a minute he honestly considered who would be the best actor to play himself at least, before he rolled over on the couch and tried to get at least half an hour in.
He wakes to a blanket pulled over his shoulders, and can hear the sound of his microwave being used. Taking a moment to work out he’d been out of it longer than the intended half an hour, Dick doesn’t move. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers waking like this frequently. He’d be out on patrol, and didn’t want to wake Wally when he got home. End up on the couch, sometimes still in his gear, most times not. Wally would get up when he thought Dick was asleep, and make something to eat. Quiet. Dick missed the quiet times.
He falls asleep again, a frown on his face this time.
It’s still the day, but it’s starting to get late. With a grunt, Dick rolls over, wiping at his eyes. That might’ve been the most sleep he’s had in years, and it made him fuzzier than when he was running on two hours or less. Every part of him felt gross, and stumbling to his feet, he wondered why he was on the couch in the first place. Arm still numb, Dick stretches and walks in the direction of the bathroom, intent on feeling mostly human again before patrol again that night.
Remembering he didn’t get around to his reports, Dick almost considered pleading the fifth to Bruce if he came knocking about the paperwork. There was no real way to explain the situation he was in, really. Especially when he opens the door as Not-Wally goes to, and he gets a solid hit to his chest that was accompanied by an oof and a wet slap of hair in the face. Great day. He had almost forgotten the minor indiscretion that was lingering in his apartment.
Not-Wally splutters and squawks, but Dick just shuts the door behind him, locking it.
Too much for this time of day.
(There is a moment, in the shower, where he thinks about Wally, his Wally, zipping around the apartment like he owned the place. But that thought leads to something bitter and painful, and Dick doesn’t even consider going there with Wally’s sixteen year old self just on the other side of the wall.)
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Pizza? I mean, only if that’s okay…” It was sad how Dick already knew what he was going to ask for.
“How many do you eat?”
Not-Wally lights up like it’s goddamn Christmas at that. Dick hadn’t realised he missed just the absolute joy on Wally’s face at the mere mention of pizza, but there it was.
He knew, deep down, that he should do something about this. That he should ask around, try to throw Not-Wally into some zeta-beam and hope for the best, but it’s getting on to eight at night and there’s a stack of pizzas with a few empty bottles of soft drink on the table. Alfred might lose sleep over his sudden diet, but Dick enjoys himself. No, he tells himself he hasn’t accepted this phenomenon, not in the slightest, but he’s kind of treating it like a dream. Not-Wally is too, probably, as he has gotten decidedly more chatty since breakfast.
“Do you remember that time I broke my arm?”
“There were several of those times, actually.”
“Wait, seriously? Is that like, before or after Zatanna joins? No, wait, when we did the mind thing? Wait, no, was it after that?” Dick’s mouth twitches at just how many times he is told to wait, and he smiles into his pizza as Not-Wally starts rambling off several different missions of particular note.
“I’m not disclosing that information.”
“You already told me I break my arms several times! Tell me exactly when!”
“It might not be the same time for you as it was for… this universe.”
“Hm… I guess.” Finally, Not-Wally falls mostly silent, save for running through one box and into another. When he gets older, he’ll be able to control that, Dick knows. That ravenous hunger to keep up with his metabolism. Or it might be a result of being in the wrong place, the wrong time. Maybe his entire body was kicking it into overdrive just to keep him here. On that line of thought, Dick almost considered starving him to send him home, but knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. It was Wally.
“So, what happened to you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Like, you’re still Dick, right? I mean, you’re Nightwing now, yeah? But you were Robin. Do you still count for a Robin if you’re Nightwing? Also, what’s up with the bird thing? Dude, why couldn’t you go for something like Batboy?”
Blinking, Dick takes a moment to catch up. Wow, it really had been a long time. “I would prefer you would not call me that name. I formally took the mantle of Robin, yes. And it’s just a thing.”
“Look at you, being so polite. I remember when you helped me break into Artemis’ room. Don’t even try to be formal now.”
That was a new one. Dick was sure he would remember something as specific as that. “I have vague memories.” He starts slowly, unsure how to coax that particular story out of Not-Wally. It seemed they had the same memories up to a point, and then their universes split. There was surely some law of the universe telling Dick to not talk about this, or talk to this Wally at all, but they were sitting on the couch in old boxers and faded shirts, eating pizza while a cartoon was on. Like nothing had changed, almost. Maybe that was why Not-Wally could be so comfortable too.
“Don’t you remember? She went crazy, it was hilarious! Something about how you two went to the same academy or whatever, I don’t know. But hey, you did end up making her computer process faster in the end, so water under the bridge!”
That had never happened, at least not here. “Oh, yeah, I remember something like that.”
Dick didn’t allow for a lull, to let Not-Wally register in any way that that scenario did not happen in this time. “So, how did you even manage to jump here?”
“‘Jump’?”
“Travel through time. Or… universes.”
Finally, Not-Wally looks stumped, uncomfortable, as if that had just occurred to him. “I dunno… I really don’t, you know? I just… was sitting at the memori—table. At the table. And I thought about… seeing you? I guess?”
Raising a brow at the change in words, Dick didn’t press the issue. In his current experience with teenagers, none of his little brothers enjoyed it, and probably neither would Wally. This Wally. Not his Wally. They were starting to blur together. “You just thought yourself into another plane?”
Where was his Wally who had a scientific explanation for everything? This one just looked incredibly sad, putting his pizza down, back in the box, and slumping his shoulders. Dick could handle many things, such as his dead partner dropping out of the sky, dead siblings rising again, losing a game of card of games to supervillians. That was all well and good. Having the sixteen year old version of his boyfriend appear on the anniversary of his death (down to the second, if he was going to be particular) was something else. And then, watching him get all emotional, honestly had Dick’s patience start to creep up the scale, beyond what was tolerable and normal. What was he? Scrooge of the good guys? Was this some kind of ghost of Christmas past, except featuring underaged versions of boyfriends and too much pizza?
“You are acting kind of cavalier, you know. I mean, ignoring the fact you cuffed and gagged me—”
“I did not gag you. If I wanted to, we would both know about it.”
“—and then acted all weirdly distant. Like now you’re talking, but you still haven’t taken your glasses off, Dick.”
“Let’s see how you react when your dead partner drops from the ceiling!”
Oh. Well, shit. So much for keeping that under wraps. At least the kid seemed to miss the term for Wally, and instead lost his shit on the dead part.
“Wally, come on! Come back already!”
“No!! You said I was dead!! How can I be—That doesn’t make sense!”
It makes perfect sense, you were born a self sacrificing fool, Dick wants to say, but he just swings after Not-Wally, hand catching the next edge of a building, pulling himself up. If he was grateful for anything that night, that it was Kid Flash who had appeared, slower than how he will be when he grows up. Still, of course, faster than Dick could handle right now, but he was closing in.
He wished he had suited up. Running around Gotham in sneakers and sunglasses was not his ideal kind of night. Should’ve brought a coat. Should’ve expected this reaction. Dick huffed, and was at least glad he had a few gadgets on hand, flinging a net down when he landed ahead of Wally. Whilst it didn’t catch him, it slowed him down enough, and Dick watched as he screeched to a halt, scrambling to catch himself. At least the kid was smart enough to not touch the wiring — Dick had no desire to taser anyone until later in the night.
“Can you just listen to me, please?!”
“Why?! When were you gonna tell me I was dead? Huh, Nightwing? This is what I get—” the rest runs off, as he mumbles to himself. But he had stopped running, and Dick slowly reached the ground. Careful, as he still half expected the kid to run away again. Bruce was going to hear about this, he was sure of it, and he really did not know how to explain it now.
“You can also tell me memorial in your time, yeah? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” A half-hearted attempt at a joke, that gets him a very questioning look, before Wally seems to resign himself.
“I hate how you got… bigger.” His tone is small, and he hunches on himself again. “But I’m glad I guess.”
“You guess?”
“You… died too. In my time.”
“That fails to surprise me.”
“Well it should, Mr. Boy Wonder! You were… are…”
“I know. I’m sorry, Wally. I should’ve done better.”
“It’s… it’s fine. Whatever. Can we go back now?”
Smiling, just a fraction, Dick puts an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go home.”
“You’re still wearing the stupid glasses.”
“It’s making this a little easier for me.”
They make it back, in mostly one piece. No villain to terrorise the street, no missed call from Bruce, or Damian, or Tim, asking him what’s going on. No one seemed to recognise Wally on the street, or questioned why they were walking around looking like absolute bums. It made it a little easier, as Dick nudged Wally around the side of the building. “I left my keys on the bench,” he says, and motions to look up.
The window was still open, and Wally snorts. “Good security you got going on.”
“I have you to thank for that.”
It’s a long way up, but they stay quiet. There really wasn’t much else to say. Dick had too much to think about, anyway. If he had really died in Wally’s time (something he was sure he accepted a little too easily), it must have been before—
“How old was I, when I passed?”
“It was your fourteenth…”
Wally never learned. Maybe that hit Dick a little harder than it should’ve, as they climb back in through his window. Pulling it back in place, he would have to call the maintenance in the morning. Just to make sure it wouldn’t be so easy to open again, especially by a sixteen year old still in training. “Can I ask what happened?”
“You never showed me the memorial for… him.”
“‘Him’?”
Dick doesn’t press it, but shrugs and leads Wally back to his room. With a few discreet taps, there’s the whir of machines he knew so well, and whatever hung in his closet parted, making way for a little room. There, in all it’s glory, was Wally’s suit.
“Why his KF suit?”
“He disappeared instantly. We buried an empty casket. All I had left of him was that old suit.”
A long pause, as Wally finally turns back. He was crying again, but there was no more hugging himself, no more hunching over. Just sadness and grief, that had him clench his fists. “I disappear?”
“No… I wouldn’t think so. Not like he did.”
“You took a bullet for me. It was filled with… something. Designed to react to my fast metabolism, like it would spread faster or whatever. We couldn’t save you.”
“How heroic of me.”
“It was stupid! It was your birthday and you jumped in front of me! Like, who even does that?!”
“A kid named Robin, apparently. I would’ve done the same for him. For you.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn't have!” His voice cracks, and the waterworks flow through him. Dick just watches on, as he bawls, floodgates opened. Wally West openly wailed, and stumbled forward. Catching him, Dick had to sigh over doing this again, but he holds Wally close, wrapping his arms around him.
“I’m sorry you lost your best friend that day.”
Eventually, eventually, Wally calms enough to eat the last of the pizza, down at least three litres of water, before conking out on Dick’s bed. Dick sets himself up on the lounge once more, thinking it would be best for space, especially after all that. Surprisingly, he did not feel overwhelmed, by all the revelations. The corners of his mouth quirk as he thinks he was quite whelmed by it all, and he wonders what Wally might say.
Patrol was quiet. He’s home by two, if only because he gets a call from home, and knows it’s Wally. When he answers, he has to stop himself from answering how he used to. No jokes about the other woman, no questions about what’s for dinner. Just an “are you alright?” followed by telling Barbara he’ll explain later. Maybe. They both know he won’t and that he’s just being polite, as he swings away in an instant.
“I lied, you know.”
They’re on his bed. Dick had vehemently argued about staying above the covers, and only agreed to at least strip to something casual to ‘make Wally feel comfortable’. Rolling onto his side, Dick watched the rise and fall of Wally’s chest, and noted how his Wally’s feet used to hang off the bed. “About what?”
“Artemis’ room. We never went in there.”
“Why did you lie?”
“She died, before she even got a room… I used to hide in there. Imagine her yelling at me.”
There are no words in Dick that would make him feel any better. When Wally had crashed into his room, he had thought he was the one who was supposed to make reconciliations with the past. Maybe it was the both of them. Maybe it was just Wally, sixteen year old Wally, with no one left in the world. “I’m sorry I left you. That we all left you.”
“Me too, Dick. He really did love you.”
“I know. I loved him too.” Dick doesn’t know how Wally might know that fact, but can’t help the smile. “Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”
Dick wakes to an empty bed. It’s cold above the covers, and he rolls, catching the sheets and wrapping them around himself. There was no rumple to suggest another person had been there, pillow far too smooth. Wally’s side of the bed, still entirely untouched since he had disappeared. Pushing himself up, Dick entertained the thought that it might have been a hallucination all along, but when he’s walking to the kitchen, he sees breakfast made. One plate, eggs sunny side up. He finally allows himself to cry.