Archive of Our Own

Something’s wrong.

Dick jerks awake with a start, high on alert. His eyes scanned around his room, looking for a displacement that made the hairs on his neck rise.

Nothing seems amiss except…

Except there's someone in his bed.

Their entire head is hidden under the covers, not a single strand of hair in sight. He wonders if they could even breathe under there.

Dick never brings someone home. Not after Kori. Not after Babs. And definitely not after falling in love with someone he could never have. 

So who is—

The sheets rustle, and the mysterious figure in his bed shifts, their arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer, face nuzzling against his side.

It feels familiar. Too familiar.

But it's not possible. Not when Dick was certain he'd returned home from patrol alone, to an empty bed. His friends would've called beforehand if they were in town, and Wally…

Wally stopped visiting after his marriage.

Okay, that's not really true. Wally still visits sometimes, dropping by Titans Tower or Dick’s apartment when he was in town— but never like this. Never overnight. Never in Dick’s bed.

But he’s seventy percent sure that Wally is in his bed. 

Again, Dick is very certain he’d returned to an empty apartment last night. He would've noticed if his best friend was in his bed. And Wally would've called about visiting. 

So why and when was he here?

Maybe this is just a dream?

But then fingers brush his stomach, tender and real, and Dick’s hope of this being a dream dies immediately. His breath hitches— and then he realised something, dread washing over him.

He’s naked. 

Very naked— because he likes sleeping nude.

And judging by the way Wally is pressed tightly against his side, hips nudging his thigh—

Dick swallows, suddenly afraid to move.

He clearly remembers getting back from patrol before falling asleep! Not— whatever this is. Fuck, is this considered cheating even when he’s so very certain that he hadn't gotten in bed with his best friend? 

Oh God.

Linda. 

What would she think? She knew about his feelings for her husband— Wally told him just as much. He wonders if she expected this to happen.

God, how can they do this to her? How can Dick do this to them? Is she against murder? Because if she isn't, he’ll gladly let her murder him. He would rather let Linda kill him than spend the rest of his life as a homewrecker.

“It's too early for you to be awake, baby,” Wally mumbles from beneath the blankets, lips pressed against his skin, sending shivers up his spine. 

Dick doesn't say anything. Maybe he can make Wally believe that this is just a dream—

“Dick?”

Oh, he’s so fucked.

He watches as ginger hair spills from the covers, followed by Wally’s face with a small, sleepy smile. He sits up with a yawn, leaning against Dick.

He looks beautiful like this, even with his messy bed hair. A view he could never look away from, ever since the first time he fell in love. 

Someone else gets to wake up to this sight everyday, his mind unhelpfully supplies.

“Hey,” Wally murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to Dick’s neck like it was something natural. Dick doesn't move to stop him. Too afraid or too stupid, he doesn't know. “Something on your mind? You’re never awake this early.”

“Wally,” Dick breathes— because he doesn't know what else to say. Doesn't know what else to think or do, except for the fact that he's ruining Wally’s marriage with Linda. 

“Mm?” The redhead continues trailing kisses down his neck, making his breath catch and effortlessly cutting his thoughts.  

Dick swallows hard. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, even as he makes no move to pull away. Stupid. Selfish. He hates how much he wants this anyway. 

“Making you feel good,” Wally says, pulling away slightly to press his lips against the corner of Dick’s. “And making whatever thoughts you’re having disappear.”

“I—” Dick bites his lips, staring at Wally. “What about— what about Linda?”

Wally frowns, like the mention of his wife did nothing to him. What the hell? “...Linda? What's up with her?”

Anger fills him as he pushes Wally away, who stares at him in confusion. He can’t believe— he didn't think Wally would do this to him. Dick didn't think he would do this to Linda. 

“What do you mean, what's up with her?” Dick seethes. “Wally— you’re cheating on her! With me!”

Wally's mouth gapes open. “What?”

“Linda? Your fucking wife?” Dick hisses, gesturing vaguely at Wally. “Who you married a year ago? Does that ring any fucking bells?”

“Dick, what are you talking about?” Wally says, looking genuinely confused. “Why would I marry my ex? I’m married to you, dumbass.”

His ex? Married to— wait— 

Dick’s brain refuses to process the information. 

Because he watched Wally get married to someone who wasn't him. He watched them exchange rings and vows, promising to be forever. He had been Wally's best man. 

Wally stares at him for a second, and then something in his expression shifts— confusion turning into something like understanding.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Dick, did you—” His mouth twitches. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Dick just stares at him. 

Wally huffs out a laugh, fond and disbelieving all at once. “Baby,” he says, reaching for him carefully this time, like Dick might bolt. “Were you seriously dreaming about me marrying her?”

Dick doesn't answer. Because he knows what he experienced— knows how the way his heart broke knowing he will never be with Wally.

So if this isn't a dream, and this definitely isn't reality, then what is it exactly?

Unless…

Wally smiles teasingly at him and lifts a hand to cradle his face— only then did Dick catch a glimpse of silver on his ring finger.

But before Wally can kiss him, Dick turns his face away in a panic and blurts out, “I think I’m in an alternate universe.”

Wally freezes for a second, and pulls back slightly, staring wide-eyed at him. “What?”

“I’m not married,” Dick starts, avoiding Wally’s gaze. “To you. Or to anyone. If this is an alternate universe— and I’m kinda sure that it is— you’re married to Linda where I came from. We aren't…” He swallows, “anything more than best friends.”

“Oh,” Wally breathes. Dick glances at him to gauge his reaction— surprised, shocked, as one would after finding out your husband isn't your husband. “You’re serious.”

Dick nods quietly.

“Alternate universe,” Wally whispers, running his fingers through his messy hair. He stops abruptly. “Shit— I’m so sorry— hold on—”

With a blink of an eye, Wally is dressed, standing a foot away from the bed, with folded clothes in his hand as the other rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

Powers still exist here, Dick notes faintly. Which means the Justice League exists. Batman exists. There's a way back home.

“I’m, uh, sorry for…” Wally gestures at Dick vaguely with the clothes. “Y’know. I didn't know— but um. Let’s talk. I’ll give you a minute to—” He places the clothes on the bed, stepping away. “Freshen up.”

“Yeah.” Dick nods once, trying to shoot him a smile but failing. “Thanks.”

Wally nods. “Cool. Cool— uh,” he jerks his thumb behind him. “I’ll… wait outside. I’ll get breakfast ready.”

With that, the speedster turns around and leaves, closing the door on the way out— and all of Dick’s strength leaves him, hand flying up to his mouth to muffle a sob. 

Because of course the universe had to be cruel and put him in a world where he and Wally are married. It’s like they're mocking him, taunting him with what he couldn't have.

With shaking legs, he slides off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

By the time Dick walks out of the room, the table is already filled with an unreasonable amount of food, with Wally shifting in his chair.

“Hey,” Dick says, casual, like he didn't spend the last few minutes in the shower crying his eyes out while processing the fact that he’s married to Wally in this universe. 

“Hey,” Wally greets back, albeit awkwardly. “Sorry. Again. About earlier. If I’d had known—”

“It’s fine,” Dick cuts in before Wally can finish. “You didn't know. I thought I was dreaming at first too.”

“Do you…” Wally trails off, scratching the back of his head. “Have dreams like this often?”

“No,” Dick lies. “But if you were to wake up one day with your best friend in your bed with you, you’d think it was a dream too.”

“Waking up to you always feels like a dream,” Wally blurts out, and freezes. “Sorry— habit,” he adds, unintentionally crushing his heart. “Speaking of— if you’re here… where is he?”

“In my universe, most probably,” Dick replies, taking a seat away from Wally. “The Justice League exists here, right?”

Wally nods.

“Then you don't have to worry. Bruce will find a way to switch us back.”

“We can go to Gotham after breakfast,” Wally suggests. “How did you manage to end up in an alternate universe, anyway?”

Huh.

That’s a question that Dick doesn't have the answer to.

Because he doesn't remember getting hit by anything on patrol. It had been a quiet night, actually. He had stopped a few robbers and thugs but… nothing related to dimension traveling at all.

Dick frowns. “I actually don't know. I just woke up here.”

“That’s alright,” Wally reassures, placing a plate in front of him. “I’m sure Bruce can figure it out.”

“Yeah.” It’d be too selfish to stay. Too wrong to take someone else’s— even though it’s his own counterpart— husband and their life just because his didn't exist. “I hope so.”

They dig in their food silently, even though he has questions. How alike are their worlds? When did they get married? Who proposed? What was the wedding like? How long were they married for?

Unimportant questions, Dick, a voice that faintly sounded like Bruce says. 

“So,” Wally starts instead. “What is it like in your world?”

Dick shrugs. “We met when we were teenagers. We formed the Titans together with Donna, Roy and Garth. Barry got lost in the timestream and you took on the mantle. I got kicked out and became Nightwing.”

Wally raises an eyebrow. “Kicked out?”

“I almost died. Bruce didn't want me to continue being Robin so he kicked me out. I stayed between Titans Tower and Roy’s apartment because I didn't really have anywhere else to go. I was barely eighteen,” Dick explains. “I take it that my counterpart didn't get kicked out?”

“He grew out of it and passed it to Jason,” Wally replies.

“I see.”

“So our worlds are somewhat similar.”

“Other than being forced to give up Robin and you marrying your ex in my world?” Dick mutters, picking at his food. “Yeah.”

“I’m really sorry again,” Wally says for the nth time. “You probably thought your Wally was cheating on his wife and I freaked you out earlier.”

Dick lets out a short laugh that doesn't sound like one at all. “Yeah. Freaked out is one way to put it.”

Wally’s expression softens immediately.

Dick hates that look. Not because it’s pity— Wally has never looked at him with pity a day in his life— but because it’s the same look he has whenever Dick was hurt, like his first instinct is to gather every broken piece of him and hold it together with his bare hands.

“It’s not your fault,” Dick says quickly before Wally can apologise again. “Really. You didn't know. I didn't know. We’re good.”

They are very much not good.

If he notices, Wally doesn't call him out on it. But Dick can feel the scrutiny anyway, gentle, familiar and impossible to escape. He keeps his attention on his plate, pushing eggs around with his fork like it personally offended him.

“So,” Wally says after a while, too casual to be natural. “Linda and I are married in your world.”

Dick huffs unintentionally. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

Dick blinks, realising what he’d said. He winces. “Not like that— I mean—” He scrubs a hand over his face. “You know what, forget I said anything.”

“No, I don't think I will.” It sounds fond and amused, like his husband is sitting right there, having breakfast with him. Not someone else wearing his husband’s face and name from another world.

Dick puts his fork down with more force than necessary. “Can we not do this?”

“...Do what?”

“This.” Dick gestures vaguely between them, because he doesn't have the words for it. For the easy domesticity of breakfast at their kitchen table. For Wally looking at him like Dick belongs here. For all the little signs of a life Dick was never supposed to have. “Pretend that this isn't weird.”

Wally goes quiet.

When Dick finally glances up, Wally is watching him with a careful sort of understanding, like he’s trying to approach a skittish animal without spooking it.

“It is weird,” Wally says softly. “I woke up next to my husband and found out he wasn't actually my husband. I’m with you there.”

Guilt twists low in Dick’s stomach. “Right. Sorry.”

“Hey.” Wally braces his forearms against the table, leaning just enough to catch Dick’s gaze. “You don’t have to apologise for ending up here.”

Dick swallows hard. He tears his gaze away from Wally, staring at the table instead. “In my world,” he whispers, “you married Linda.”

Wally doesn't say anything.

“And I was happy for you,” he continues, unable to stop the words now that it escaped him. “I am. I mean it. She’s great, and she makes you happy, and the two of you have a life together and that’s— that’s good.” He swallows again. “It’s just…”

His throat closes around the rest.

It’s just that Dick had to stand beside him and smile and hand him the ring and pretend his chest wasn't caving in.

It’s just that Dick went home alone afterward.

It’s just that part of him has been in love with Wally West for so long he doesn't remember what it feels like to not be. 

Wally nods, like he understands exactly how humiliating this is. To love someone for years only to end up as his best man and nothing more.

Then, he hesitates. “Did you ever tell him?”

Dick’s lips twitch into a small smile. “He found out because Linda told him. He confronted me a day before his wedding.” He exhales slowly through his nose. “Told me he could've tried if he knew earlier.”

Wally looks at him in disbelief. “Tried?” He repeats, incredulous. “You don't try for love. It’s either you love or you don’t. It’s that simple.”

That causes a startled laugh out of Dick.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dick shakes his head, resisting the urge to cry in front of Wally. “It's just that I said those exact words to him.”

“Good,” Wally approves, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because it’s a fucking dumb thing to say,” he sighs, shaking his head. “I think I might have to meet my counterpart and give him a good beating.”

Dick arches his eyebrow. “Even when I’m the one who told him to choose Linda over me because I’m not someone he wants?”

Wally’s frown deepens. “Dick,” he says, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “If someone loved you and still made you feel unwanted, that’s on them. Not you.”

“I don’t think it’s good to be bashing your counterpart like this,” Dick says weakly, sipping on his orange juice just so he had something to do with his hands because he doesn't feel much like eating anymore.

“Well, it’s either this or me punching him in the face for being stupid.”

A snort escapes him. “I’ve moved on, Wally,” he murmurs, but it didn't sound convincing, even to him. “He’s right to choose her. I couldn't give him what he deserved— what he needed. If anything, I’m glad about that.”

“Maybe you’ve moved on from him,” Wally says carefully. “But not from what you wanted. Otherwise you wouldn't be looking at me like you’re trying not to want something you can't keep.”

Dick stares at him for a long moment, throat tight.

Then he sets his orange juice down with careful precision and says, “So. Gotham.”

Wally’s mouth twitches. “Dick—”

“How soon can we get there? The sooner I’m out of here, the sooner you get your husband back.”

Wally sighs, but he doesn't press on the subject further. He gestures to the table. “Let me finish up and shower. Then we’ll go.”

“Great.” Dick nods once, standing up to make himself comfortable on the couch, putting a distance between them. “Let me know when you’re done.”

He sinks onto the couch and stares blankly at the wedding photos, at the version of himself who got everything Dick never would.

Wayne Manor looks identical to his own, right down to the front steps and the ivy curling up the stone walls. Dick hates it instantly.

After the whole… conversation with Wally, they barely speak during the drive to Gotham. The radio fills up the silence between them, and every few minutes Wally throws another glance in Dick’s direction— one Dick pointedly ignores.

He can tell Wally feels guilty— which is ridiculous, because all he did was tell the truth. Dick’s the one who just can’t seem to accept it. Because accepting it means admitting he’s been lying to himself for months, maybe years. About how he feels. About how he never really moved on at all.

The front door unlocks and swings open under Wally’s hand, and Dick has to resist the urge to stop in the foyer and look for ghosts.

Wally hovers at his side like he’s waiting for Dick to bolt, and Dick has to fight the urge to roll his eyes and tell him to stop fussing.

“Bruce?” Wally calls out, loud enough for the whole Manor to hear. “We’ve got a problem, Houston.”

But instead of the man himself, Jason appears from the kitchen with a kid— Lian— perched on his hip, one eyebrow arched questioningly. 

Dick’s brain short-circuits a little at the sight. Jason being here is one thing. Jason standing in Bruce’s foyer with Lian on his hip like he belongs here is something else entirely.

His own Jason barely visits the Manor, much less with Lian and Roy in tow. Bruce may dote on Lian and make a genuine effort with Roy, but that’s never enough to stop every visit from feeling like a potential landmine.

“What kind of problem?” Jason asks, adjusting his hold on Lian as the little girl naps on his shoulder, walking closer towards them. He studies the two of them carefully, his gaze lingering on Dick, and frowns. “You’re not our Dick.”

A noise escapes Wally. “How can you even tell?”

Jason’s sharp gaze turns to Wally, his expression incredulous. “You mean you can’t even recognise your own husband?”

“Not until I told him,” Dick replies with a shrug. 

Jason barks out a laugh. “Did he try to have sex—”

“Anyway!” Wally interrupts loudly, his cheeks turning a faint red. Dick has the instinctive urge to tease him. “Where’s Bruce? In his study I assume?”

Jason inclines his head, still grinning like a shark. “As usual.”

“What about everyone else?” Wally asks, like he knows exactly what Dick’s thinking.

“Tim and Cass are out hanging with Babs. Duke somehow managed to convince Damian to hang out with him and Steph, so it’s just us.”

“Great,” Wally says, and then mumbles, “Less people to tease me.”

Then Wally catches Dick by the wrist and leads him to Bruce's study. Jason disappears from their sight— and Dick suspects that he’s putting Lian to bed so he can be nosy and listen in on their conversation.

“I can walk on my own just fine,” Dick mutters, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't know why his body refuses to listen to his brain.

Okay, maybe he does. Because he’s a selfish bastard who wants to savour every moment he can get, even though this isn't his world. This isn’t his life. This isn’t his Wally.

But Wally doesn't let go. 

Dick doesn't know if that's worse or not.

The door to Bruce’s study is already open, letting them step inside without a knock. Bruce glances up from his work, eyes immediately assessing them both. 

Then he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “What happened?”

“Code Orange,” Dick replies. Wally lets go of him, and he has to fight the urge to be disappointed. “I’m not of this world. We’ve been switched.”

Bruce doesn't look surprised by that. Just like Jason hadn't. “How?”

“I don't know,” Dick answers. “I remember going on patrol, but it was quiet. I went home after and just woke up here.”

“How did you realise that this isn't your world?”

“I’m not married to Wally,” Dick says, barely able to keep his voice neutral. “My Wally is married to someone else.”

“Wow.” Jason lets out a low whistle. “A world where Dick Grayson and Wally West didn't end up together? That’s one thing I’d pay to see.”

Dick has to stop himself from flinching.

Not from Jason’s sudden appearance, but from his words. Because Dick is hopelessly in love with Wally— with his Wally— who chose someone else long before Dick ever told him to.

“Jason,” Bruce reprimands, before shifting his focus back to Dick. He exhales. “Since we don't know what caused the switch, I’ll need to run a few tests. It might take days to try to get you back to your world.”

“That's fine,” Dick agrees easily. “I’m sure my counterpart is on his way to my Bruce or has gotten in contact with him. Maybe solving it from both ends makes the process faster.”

Bruce nods thoughtfully. “Hopefully.”

Then he crosses over to the grandfather clock, and Dick falls into step behind him automatically, with Wally and Jason following close behind. The hidden passage opens, leading them down into the BatCave that— if the rest of this universe is anything to go by— looks identical to his own.

“What’s first?” Dick asks, as Bruce leads them to the medbay.

“I’ll start with a blood sample and a full body scan,” Bruce replies, already moving around the room. “If this is a dimensional switch, there should be some kind of residual signature— magic, Speed Force, chronal interference, something.”

Then he turns to Wally, narrowing his eyes. “Did you sense any disruption in the Speed Force?”

Wally shakes his head. “Nothing. I would've known right away.”

“And if nothing shows up?” Dick questions. 

“Then I look for what isn't there,” Bruce says, voice firm. 

He doesn't wait for an answer, and motions Dick toward one of the medbay chairs, already pulling on gloves from a drawer.

Dick sits, rolling up his sleeve without complaint. Bruce ties off his arm, swabs the inside of his elbow, and slides the needle in with practiced ease. The vial fills quickly before Bruce seals it and sets it aside for the BatComputer to process. Then he gestures toward the diagnostic table tucked against the far wall. “Lie down.”

The scanner hums to life the moment Dick settles onto it. Blue light passes over him in slow sweeps from head to toe, pausing once over his chest before continuing down to his feet. Bruce studies the results on the nearest monitor while Wally and Jason hovers over his shoulder— vitals, cellular structure, toxicology, neural activity, dimensional residue. For a long moment, the only sound in the medbay is the low whir of the machine and the faint tapping of Bruce’s fingers against the keyboard.

Wally is the one who breaks the silence. “Well?”

Bruce’s eyes narrow at the screen. “His DNA matches Dick’s, but there’s no foreign toxins, no magical residue, no chronal instability beyond the displacement itself.” He goes still for half a second, reading over something again. “There's traces of dimensional energy on him, but no direct signature.”

Dick pushes himself up on his elbows. “Meaning?”

Bruce looks over him, expression grim and certain. “Meaning whatever caused this didn't happen to you, exactly.” His gaze flicks back to the monitor. “You’re carrying the residue of the transfer, but not the source of it. The event didn't originate with you.” 

A beat passes. “It originated here.”

Wally’s shoulders tense. “From our world?”

Bruce nods once. “Which means our Dick was exposed to the trigger. You were pulled into the displacement as a result of that reaction.”

“Dick never told me he got hit by anything,” Wally mutters. “But he came home with a migraine. Said he’d sleep it off.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Jason grumbles, shaking his head. Then, as if reading Dick’s mind, “So is there a way you can pinpoint this Dick’s world and get him back home?” He glances at him. “No offense.”

Dick shrugs noncommittally. “None taken.”

“It’s possible,” Bruce says, but his eyebrows furrow. “But it’ll be a little harder since the breach originated here and not from his world. I might have to call in some help.”

“How long will it take?” Dick doesn't think he can stand being in a world where he’s Wally’s husband any longer. “To get me back home?”

“A few hours. If not, a day or two.”

That’s too long. Or not long enough.

Dick nods once, not trusting himself to speak, and pushes himself off the table.

He leaves before anyone can say anything else. 

Dick finds himself in his counterpart’s room without realising it.

It looks somewhat like his own, except there’s more photos of him and Wally. It feels more lived in too, like he’s been around more than Dick ever did in his world. There’s a couple of things that he doesn't remember having—

Oh.

This isn't just Dick’s room. It’s both his and Wally’s. 

“Fuck,” Dick mutters, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed, fighting down the nausea. 

He exhales slowly and pulls his hands away from his face as he stares blankly at the floor. He doesn't want to look at any more pictures. He doesn’t want to see the perfect life his counterpart has. He just wants to go home, and watch his Wally be happy with someone else. That hurts less than seeing evidence of his fantasy.

What a liar, a voice that definitely sounds like Donna says.

A small knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. 

Part of him doesn't want to answer it. He doesn't want to see anybody right now, especially Wally. He just wants to be alone for a while.

But before he can decide, the door opens, and a small head peeks in. “Uncle Dickie?”

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he isn't exactly the Dick of this world. That he doesn't belong here. But he plasters a smile anyway. “Hey, kiddo. Shouldn't you be napping?”

Lian shrugs, walking towards him and climbs onto the bed. She grabs Zitka from the pillows— which Dick had only just noticed— and hugs her close to her chest, leaning against him with a yawn. 

“Jayjay said you and Uncle Wally were visiting,” Lian mumbles sleepily, eyes already drooping. “W’nted to see you.”

This time, the smile on his face is genuine. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“I would’ve waited until you were awake, sweetheart,” Dick muses.

“Wanna play—” Lian cuts herself off with a yawn. “—with you. Grandpa Bruce promised me but he keeps doing adult stuff. Boring.”

Dick lets out a soft chuckle. “He is pretty boring, huh?” Lian nods tiredly. “Okay, how about we finish our naps and then we’ll play?”

Lian narrows her eyes, staring at him warily before sticking out her pinky finger. “Promise?”

Dick immediately links their pinky fingers together, and presses his thumb against Lian’s waiting one. “I promise.” 

Lian seems to consider that for a moment, then nods, satisfied, and curls closer against his side.

“There you are, you little monkey,” Jason’s voice interrupts them from the doorway. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

Lian giggles as Jason scoops her into his arms, Zitka slipping from her hands. Dick catches the plushie instinctively. “Wanted to see Uncle Dickie. Missed him.”

“You saw him three days ago, Li.”

Lian tilts her head innocently. “So?”

Dick smiles at the sight. Both Jasons, apparently, take their role in Lian’s life seriously— whatever shape that role actually takes. Dick doesn't know if Jason and Roy are officially co-parenting or if Jason has simply become a permanent fixture in their lives, but either way, they clearly adore each other. 

Jason rolls his eyes, his gaze shifting to Dick. For once, he doesn't question why he’s hiding out in his brother’s room, or why he looks like he’s somewhere else entirely. “I’ll get this one back to bed.”

He just nods, watching them leave as Lian waves over Jason’s shoulder. “You promised me, Uncle Dickie!” She reminds him on the way out.

Dick stares down at Zitka in his hands, worn and frayed by the edges with age. He turns it over in his hands, thumb brushing against the soft, flattened fur.

When was the last time he'd seen his own precious elephant plush? The last time he visited Zitka and stayed long enough to actually hang out with her?

His gaze drifts, against his better judgement, to the photos scattered around his counterpart’s room. Him and Wally at the beach. At Christmas. One of them half-asleep on the couch with Lian sprawled across both their laps. Another from what looks like their wedding day— both of them laughing at something off-camera, foreheads pressed together.

Dick hears him before he sees him, footsteps soft against the floorboards, and his gaze drops back to Zitka. Wally lingers in the doorway for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Bruce is up at the Watchtower right now. He says he’ll need some time.” Wally shifts his weight. “Thought I should let you know.”

Dick doesn't say anything. He only nods in acknowledgment, gaze still fixed on the plushie in his hands.

Silence stretches between them.

Dick can feel Wally still standing there, still watching him, and it makes something tight twist low in his chest.

“For what it’s worth,” Wally says after a moment, voice softer now, “I’m sorry. For earlier. I shouldn't have pushed.”

Dick’s fingers tighten around Zitka. “You don't have to apologise,” he says, voice quiet. “You didn't say anything wrong.”

Wally doesn't answer right away, and Dick can feel the weight of his stare even without looking up. 

“Dick—”

“You were just being honest,” Dick cuts in before he can say anything else. He forces a shrug, like the motion doesn't cost him anything. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if it’s making you avoid me,” Wally points out.

“I’m not avoiding you,” Dick lies. “I’m just… processing.”

Wally is quiet for a moment. “Then look at me, Dick.”

Dick swallows hard.

For a second, he considers refusing just to be difficult— just to keep this conversation from becoming what he knows it’s turning into. But Wally waits, patient and infuriatingly gentle, and Dick has never been very good at denying him anything for long.

So he looks.

And it's a mistake immediately.

Because Wally’s expression softens the second their eyes meet, and Dick can’t stand it— the concern, the guilt, the affection that doesn't belong to him and somehow hurts anyway.

He almost looks away. 

Almost.

“What do you want me to say, Wally?” Dick asks, voice thinner than he intends. “That I’m fine? That being here doesn't hurt?”

Wally’s gaze goes impossibly tender. “Dick,” he says. “I don't expect you to be fine, you know. But you don't have to pretend with me.”

Dick scoffs, looking away. “You don't really know me, Wally. I’m not your Dick. I just look like him.” He swallows. “So stop talking to me like I am.”

He can hear Wally inhaling sharply, and Dick feels a little guilty about it. But he can't help it. Because the longer Dick is in this world, the longer he’d want to stay.

And he doesn't want to. He can't do that to anyone.

So he does the only thing he knows how to do when wanting something starts to feel dangerous— he pushes.

Wally is quiet for so long Dick almost thinks he’s finally pushed too far. 

“I know,” he says finally, voice rough around the edges. “I know you’re not him, but you’re still Dick. You’re still you. And right now you look miserable, so forgive me for caring.”

“I don't need you to care about me,” Dick says, barely able to keep his voice steady. “The only person you should be worrying about is getting your husband home. Not me.”

Wally moves closer until he’s standing right in front of him. “You know this isn’t going to make me stop caring, right?”

“Wally, please,” Dick whispers, looking up at him with something dangerously close to desperation. “Stop making this harder for me.”

Wally’s expression crumples for a second.

Then he closes the distance and wraps his arms around Dick before he can stop him.

Immediately, Dick stiffens and tries to push him away. “Wally—”

“I know,” Wally murmurs, one hand settling between his shoulder blades. “I know.”

“This isn't helping.”

“Probably not,” Wally says softly. “Still not letting go.”

Dick should keep fighting him. He should shove Wally off, say something cruel, put some space between them before this gets any worse.

Instead, one of his hands fists helplessly in the back of Wally’s shirt while the other clings to Zitka, and Dick squeezes his eyes shut against the sudden sting behind them.

Just for one selfish second, he lets himself have it.

Bruce finds a way to send him back home later that night.

It’s weird to be up at the Watchtower without his suit, since he only ever visits during emergencies. But it’s even weirder to see Bruce Wayne here instead of Batman.

Wally follows after them, clearly intending to say goodbye to him and welcome his husband home. Jason is back in Gotham, preparing for patrol with the others who seemingly just got back from their day out. Dick never got the chance to meet them.

The Watchtower is surprisingly empty tonight. Courtesy of Bruce, probably.

“Cyborg managed to isolate the dimensional signature tied to your world,” Bruce explains. “We used the Watchtower’s zeta tube system as an anchor point to stabilise a portal long enough to send you back through. Which is why I had everyone clear out first. If something goes wrong, I’m not risking anyone else ending up in the wrong universe.”

Dick exhales quietly. “Can you give Vic my thanks?”

Bruce inclines his head in acknowledgment before moving to one of the monitors— still a little strange to see without the flare of his cape—  fingers already tapping across the keyboard as the portal powers up.

Dick turns to Wally. “I’m sorry.”

Wally arches an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For earlier,” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “For trying to push you away when you were only trying to help.”

“No biggie,” Wally says easily with a shrug. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of stubborn birds. I can handle another.”

The corner of Dick’s lips twitch. “I can't really say I hope to see you again, because that would mean something’s gone very wrong, but… you know.”

A laugh escapes from Wally as he nods. “Yeah. And hey, if you see your Wally, tell him he’s an idiot for me, will ya?”

“I will,” Dick promises, even though a part of him knows he won't be able to look Wally in the eyes after this. “Tell Dick I said hi.”

The speedster gives him a two-fingered salute and takes a few steps back until he’s next to Bruce. 

Dick inhales deeply, then exhales through his nose. He wants to go home— he does— but he isn't sure how he’s supposed to face it now that he’s seen what his life could have been, or what to do with the fact that it doesn't feel like home anymore.

“Portal opening in three… two…”

Bruce’s voice fades away as light engulfs him completely. 

For one disorienting second, Dick feels like he’s being pulled apart at the seams.

Then the light spits him out.

He stumbles hard, shoes skidding against the floor as the world snaps violently back into focus around him— the white walls, the endless void of space beyond the window. His knees nearly buckle if it wasn't for hands holding him up.

Home.

He made it home.

It should feel like relief. It should feel like the knot in his chest finally loosening after hours of being somewhere that isn’t his, wearing a life that had never belonged to him in the first place.

Instead, he feels hollow.

“...ick—?”

The voice hits him harder than the dimensional jump did.

Dick freezes as the ringing in his ears fades.

No.

Slowly, he lifts his head. 

Wally is holding him up in full Flash costume, cowl tugged down around his neck, concern written all over his face. His chest is rising a little too quickly like he’d run all the way here without his speed. But the sight of him is so achingly familiar that for one awful second Dick’s brain tries to overlay the wrong life over the right one— tries to put a matching wedding band on Wally’s finger, tries to remember the warmth of arms around him that had never truly been meant for him at all.

Something inside Dick caves in.

Wally is here.

His Wally.

Not the one who looked at him like he hung the moon. Not the one who shared a bed with him and a room full of photographs and a life Dick had wanted so badly it made him sick. Just his Wally— his best friend, his partner, the one who had chosen someone else and probably always would, no matter what part of Dick still wanted to believe otherwise.

And somehow that hurts more.

Wally’s grip tightens on his arm. “Dick?”

“It worked!” Tim’s voice cheers from somewhere.

“Hey,” Wally calls out again, when he doesn't answer. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”

Dick laughs.

It comes out thin and frayed and dangerously close to breaking.

Wally’s expression shifts immediately from worried to alarmed “Okay,” he says, voice lighter than his face looks. “Not the response I was hoping for.”

“I’m fine,” Dick says, even though he wants to scream and hate himself for feeling like this. “I’m fine. Just had a long day.”

He pulls away from Wally— as much as it pains him— only to stagger forward when his knees completely give out beneath him. His forehead knocks against Wally’s shoulder as every last bit of adrenaline keeping him standing drains from his body.

Wally makes a startled noise, then immediately shifts his hold, one arm coming around Dick’s back to keep him steady.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

And that’s the worst part.

Because Dick believes him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the front of Wally’s suit with shaking fingers, hating himself a little for it, hating the way relief and grief twist together inside him until he can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. He doesn't cry— not really, not fully— but his breathing goes uneven in a way he can’t quite hide. Wally must’ve noticed, because his hand presses warm and solid between Dick’s shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Wally whispers softly. “You’re okay. You’re home.”

Dick almost laughs again.

Home.

Right.

If this is what home feels like now, Dick isn’t sure he knows what home means anymore.