Chapter Text
Dick had been on the run for a month now, these para-demons were not letting up one bit, and he was exhausted. It had been a month since the last of the remaining civilians were killed off, and barely any remaining. Those include other heroes too, now leaving Dick alone, desperate for this war or fight or death to hurry up and be over with.
He was on his last breath, when he came to a stop. Safe at last and allowed himself to take a moment to breathe and think for just a moment.
He was alone now, no friends, no family and no one to look after. After three years of fighting it came down to this, A loss. A loss of everything, even himself. Dick felt completely empty, down and lost, like nothing mattered anymore, like there was no point in living anymore, because what was the point?
He was hungry, cold and hurt. His suit, one he hasn't washed in ages, torn, ripped and blood soaked. From his or others? He couldn't tell with how much death there has been.
But now, slumped against a broken, cracking and falling apart apartment wall building, he knew it was pointless to keep fighting, because there wasn't anything left to fight for. He was so goddamn tired and hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he ate something other than gross canned gooe. Don't asked, they had to make a food source somehow.
But now? Dick reluctantly forced himself up and took another step, he had to keep moving. Otherwise he'd die. Which wasn't sounding so bad the more he thought- no he had to stay strong, he would stay strong.
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At one point during this journey, Dick had realised that no matter how much he fought, he just wouldn't win. It has been days and he can't tell if he's still in Gotham or somewhere else with how much destruction and damage there has been, all he knows is he's on an edge and it doesn't seem so scary at the idea of just... falling.
No one would miss him, because there isn't anyone too miss at all. Because they're dead and so was he. Emotionally or physically, Dick was dead. Tired and so done. He leaned over the edge a soft smile found its perch on his lips. He could be free. Free as bird once more.
And so he took his last leap, one foot after another.... And now he was falling... falling...fallingggg
"GAH!" Dick screamed, sitting upright in bed. It was just a nightmare, it was just a nightmare.... But yet it felt so real, everyone's death felt so real . This had to be a mind game. But he was home.
Back in his childhood bedroom in the manor, the haly's circus posters, the flying Grayson's. Zitka. It was the same. But there weren't any stray batarangs, or even his domino mask from a to lazy late patrol.
Dick stood up from his bed, and looked around before a shock gasp left his lips. "Holy shit..."
In the long full body mirror, didn't stand his tall learn Nightwing figure, no instead was ten year old Dick Grayson. His skinny and boney bone structure made me feel dizzy and nauseated.
This couldn't be happening! Either everything he just went through was some kind of lucid dream or he was in a nightmare of last moments before death.
"Master, Dick. If you could keep it down this early in the morning." Alfred's pristine and British accent drifted from outside of Dick's door, and god did Dick miss that.
He took a moment to calm himself, and bring back his composure. Because this was just another mission. If he was somehow in a nightmarish past, he couldn't make anyone suspect a thing, good thing Dick was an amazing actor, through Robin training and before in the circus.
Because everything is a stage and he was the main actor. "Yes, sorry Alfred." Dick spoke with a voice he only had used when talking to Alfred. A soft but not overly sweet tone. Something a child would use when talking to a parental figure.
"Very good, be ready for breakfast, must not keep master Wayne waiting." Alfred spoke once more before the soft clack of his shoes were heard as down the hallway as Alfred walked away.
Okay so... he may be in the past and it's throwing Dick off so much he wants to break down and cry. But that's a horrible idea Dick! He sighed and looked back in the mirror once more and frowned.
He was already hating this.
Dick then went through the movements of getting ready; shower, dressed, hair and teeth. But the entire time he couldn't shake this uneasy feeling that something was wrong... extremely wrong.
Walking out of his bedroom, everything seemed like 19 years of trauma just never happened. It was clean, and all in order like Alfred had just finished cleaning. He definitely needed to hug him once he got over this.
The more Dick ventured through the manor, the more it sunk in. He really was back. But it was all wrong. He should've died, everyone he knew should be. But now? Now he was home. But it wasn't the loud, full and semi functional hime he was once used to.
Now Dick stood in front of the dining room where his once great mentor/father figure sat. Oblivious to what Dick was feeling, hell Dick didn't know what this timeline would be like? So fair There's not a single trace of Batman anywhere and it was throwing him off.
Dick took in a deep breath and stead himself. He needed to stay composed and vigilant. Observe and watch. Because behind this door was his Foster father... 19 years in the past. Dick pushed through and open the door to the dinning the room. And there sat at the head of the to big of a dining table, Bruce Wayne.
Bruce looked up and smiled... that was new and completely tilted Dick's view on Bruce upside down and before he could say more he spoke. "Morning' chum, how'd you sleep? Alfred said he heard you shout, is everything alright?"
And holy shit, Dick was so thrown off. He stuttered for a moment before clearing his throat. "Uh yeah... nightmare." That should be enough, he took a seat at the table and leaned on his hand.
But when Dick looked back up, he wasn't met with that stern cold look he was so used to, no this was concern and warmth. Something Dick was getting nervous about.
"How bad was the nightmare?" Bruce pushed forward, concern honest god concern in his words. It was so hard for Dick not to break down because it's been a fod awful time since someone showed him an ounce of love or affection or concern or anything in that matter.
"It wasn't that bad.. just a spook, that's all." Dick deflected. And that seemed to warn down the man.
"Just making sure." Bruce said once more before Alfred came out with plates of food and dishes them out breakfast. And then they ate in silence.
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It was later that evening when Dick found himself pacing in his childhood bedroom, he had come to a conclusion... his in another timeline. And this one? Something's wrong about it and he was getting to the end of it. But first he needed scope out wjat was different here than back from the timeline he came from. The first thing was he was ten years old again... so that's fucking fantastic. 29 years old in the mind and 10 years old in body form.
This will be a lot, and he has to make sure he doesn't mess amything up.
Not now, not ever, not again.