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"Bruce…?"
When the dust finally settles and Dick opens his eyes again, Bruce is long gone. The alternate reality Batman disappeared as quickly as he arrived; but despite the briefness of the whole ordeal, his emergence managed to shook the fundaments of Dick's painstakingly created world.
Before Dick has time to catch his breath, though, he notices another figure lying on the ground, just a few meters away from the place Bruce disappeared from.
He freezes.
The red helmet looks familiar yet novel at the same time, the person wearing it—even more so, in ways Dick can't describe. For a few heartbeats he simply stares at them and takes in all the details: red bat on the chest, worn-out suit, tattered cape, well-equipped utility belt that has seen better days. But what catches Dick's attention the most is the way they move, even though all they do is simply get up.
As the person faces him, gaze almost electric, Dick feels it.
The sharp, painful sting of sorrow and longing long buried underneath fake complacency.
This can't be true.
His presence here is probably a matter of a silly cosmic mistake, a glitch in the fabric of universe, a chance encounter of two beings as insignificant as specks of dust. To the gods and the heart of Apokolips, it's a simple mistake, well within the limits of statistical error; but to Dick?
It's everything.
He takes a hesitant step towards the figure. He can feel his own heart beating rapidly, breath almost stuck in his throat from nervousness. Without thinking, he reaches for his cowl and takes it off. His eyes meet the white lenses without any barriers. It's just him—no longer Batman but Richard Grayson, stripped bare, inviting the other to share this moment of vulnerability together.
He knows it won't last. He knows he shouldn't be here. It would be too good and good things aren't happening to Dick anymore; in this world, he lost his chance to make things right a long time ago.
Still, he can't help but hope, just for a little while.
The red Batman—and Dick knows there's another name he could call him, but it's too soon, too dangerous, too much—finally moves again. He looks around and stops to take in Gotham's vibrant skyline for a moment before returning his gaze back to Dick.
"Is…" His voice is hoarse, whether from disuse or emotion, Dick is not sure. "Is this a dream?"
Dick shifts closer. "I sure as hell hope not," he tries to chuckle, but the pressure in his throat is not really helping. The laugh he lets out sounds a little bit strained. "If it is, I hope it won't end anytime soon. It's been a while since I had those, would be great to stay with you for a bit longer."
He chooses to go for honesty. There's no point in hiding what he's feeling anyway.
The other man simply nods in reply. Dick hates it that he can't see his expression.
"Would you like to take off your helmet? I promise I won't bite."
"And what about your herd of dogs?" He jerks his head towards the dozens of Robins, hidden in the shadows. They would be invisible to the untrained eye, but of course nothing gets past one of the Bats, even if they're from another universe.
"They're more of a flock, you know. Like we used to be." The past tense hurts, even though he's had decades to get used to it. "Robins, scatter."
Their reaction is immediate. Before Dick finishes the command, the silent army departs, leaving the two of them alone on the rooftop. The shift in the red Batman's posture is so slight it's easy to miss but despite the passage of time, Dick knows what to search for. He can't help but smile when he sees the other man relax now that they have their privacy.
"Robins, huh," he says, somewhat wistfully. "You're sentimental as ever."
"Says the one whose hands are shaking." Dick's words carry no malice, they're both old enough to know that. He finally closes the distance between them, stopping just within an arm's reach. He can see more than just his hands shaking but he doesn't comment on that, instead pleading quietly: "Come on, Jay. I think you need this as much as I do."
He underestimated the impact that uttering this name will have on both of them. Jason flinches, as if it physically hurt him; and Dick understands that so well because the agony he himself feels is borderline visceral.
He knows he's panicking when the next breath is so much harder to take than the previous one.
Was it too much? Maybe Jason will leave before he has the chance to hold him, before he can ask for his forgiveness, before—
"Dick."
Dick blinks slowly. His gaze refocuses.
Jason is taking off his helmet.
The reveal leaves him both stunned and relieved. He didn't know what to expect; but the face that greets him is so very much Jason he wants to cry.
"Hey, little wing," he blurts out before his brain can put a filter on his mouth.
The other man—and he's a man now, so much older than Jason Dick knew ever had the chance to be—winces slightly. His skin is marred with scars that didn't exist in this universe, angry red lines that Dick will wonder about in the middle of the night as he recalls each minute detail of Jason's appearance. The familiar white tuft of hair matches now with the silver on his temples.
The silver-blue of his eyes is just as piercing and beautiful as it was the day he died.
"Stop staring," he says, and the deep rasp of his voice, now free from the voice modulator of his helmet, does things to Dick's soul. "Or I will put it back on."
As he takes in the shy redness appearing on his brother's cheeks, he wonders belatedly if Jason and Dick from the other timeline shared the same thing he had with his Jay. Does it transcend the borders of reality? Is it stronger than death? Is it why they're here, rewriting the laws of physics and probability just for a chance of another touch?
Dick hopes (and hopes, and hopes).
He ends up averting his eyes, too scared of what he'd do if he kept looking at Jason for too long.
"Wanna sit?" He gestures towards the ledge, swiftly changing the topic. "The best spot in Gotham, just for us. Premium view and exquisite company included."
Jason hums in agreement. They take a seat, so close that Dick can feel the heat of Jason's body yet not close enough to actually touch.
His hands itch. He takes off his gloves and sets them to the side. The chilly night air bites his skin, but Dick doesn't care.
"Do you come here often, handsome?" he asks and it's been decades since he felt that giddy. He forgot how easy it was to joke when Jason was alive.
(When there was less blood staining his hands.)
"Every day," Jason replies easily and Dick wants to scream. He missed this. He missed him. It's like finding a piece of your soul you didn't even realize was missing. "A shame we've never met before."
"Let's use this opportunity to the fullest, then."
"And do what?"
Dick Grayson has a list of things he'd kill to do with Jason again, but the one he wished for the most has already come true. He doesn't dare to ask for more.
"Sit and talk?" He glances at Jason and sees the beginning of a smile forming on his face. He looks so soft like this, with the distant lights illuminating his features. Dick wants, so much it drives him crazy. "I'm a great company, if I may say so myself."
Jason nudges him, his elbow brushing against Dick's side so briefly it almost couldn't count as touch, yet to Dick, that gentle caress set his whole body on fire.
"Glad to hear your ego's still intact, Dickhead."
"Some things just don't change, you know. No matter the universe." Carefully, he nudges Jason back, just as soft of a brush as the other initiated previously. He braces himself for rejection, ready to accept Jason's wrath if he deems his touch unnecessary.
Jason, in turn, shifts closer. Their arms touch, a steady pressure from the shoulder down to the elbow.
Even with their suits in between, it feels divine.
"Jay," Dick says carefully. He isn't supposed to ask for more but this—this, he feels, is worth fighting for. Even if he will end up damning the whole world in return. "Can you humor me?"
"That's a bit too cryptic, even for you." Jason takes a curious look at him. "What is it?"
"Take off your gloves. Please."
Jason falls silent.
For a moment Dick thinks he will disregard it and act like the whole situation didn't take place. Jason from the past would do exactly that; set boundaries, create distance, prioritize protecting himself over potential happiness. It took Dick years to dismantle those self-destructing tendencies, to prove to him that he deserved good things happening to him.
He fears they don't have years, but he was willing to try anyway.
Without a word, after what felt like eternity, Jason takes off the gloves. He takes his time, is slow and methodical, as he reveals the the skin of his hands. It's also marred with scars similar to those on his face.
He's beautiful.
"May I?" Dick asks. Jason doesn't look at him but he nods his head in reply.
As he gently takes his hand and slowly strokes the callouses on his fingers, he feels shivers running down his spine. Dick doesn't know what this Jason went through. What shaped him into who he was? How many people has he lost? What horrors has he been fighting against?
Dick doesn't have any of these answers. But if Jay's small smile and shy touch were anything to go by, one thing was clear:
In every universe, Dick Grayson loves Jason Todd.
And in each universe, Jason Todd loves him back.
They stay like this for hours, until the sun begins to rise on the horizon. They talk, they laugh. Holding hands slowly turns into leaning against each other, which then ends up becoming an embrace.
It doesn't just feel good.
It feels right.
Until it doesn't.
"Hey, Jay?" Dick has already noticed some parts of Jason glitch into the fabric of reality. He's still here, but steadily disappears with each passing second. The heart of Apoklips clearly fights to return its parts to the initial order, from before Bruce's disruption. He holds onto Jason's hand—the one that still exists in this reality—tighter. "I will find you. I promise."
Jason presses himself closer into Dick's embrace, his head firmly resting against his shoulder. His legs have already disappeared and the void is slowly creeping up, erasing him from Dick's world for the second time. "I know," he replies. It sounds distant, even though he couldn't be any closer even if they tried to.
"I will burn the whole world just to get you back." He cups Jay's half-glitched face and slowly guides him to meet his gaze. "So wait for me, okay?"
Dick's fingers caress the scars on his jaw, follow the raised skin until they dip into the rapidly spreading void.
"That's all I've ever done," Jason says and leans in. His lips taste like salt and blood, and yet it's the sweetest kiss Dick ever had. "Don't take too long, Dickie."
When they part, he lets out one last breath and, just like the morning fog, disappears into the icy air.
Dick sits there for another while, staring at the single red glove in his hands.
(His suit still smells like Jason.)
His gaze hardens with resolve.
"Robins," he says. "To me."