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“You've been keeping to yourself these days
'Cause you're thinking everything's gone wrong
Sometimes you just want to lay down and die
That emotion can be so strong
But hold on
Till that old second wind comes along”
It'd been snowing, with no respite, for nearly two days now. The bay effect snow was hitting Blüdhaven particularly hard this year and the weathermen couldn't seem to keep up when it came to how many inches was to be expected that Christmas Eve.
Dick sat on the roof of a building hosting empty office spaces and apartments far too expensive for anyone on that particular side of town to afford. The wet snow had long since soaked through his Nightwing costume and his body had stopped shivering a few minutes ago yet he made no effort to move somewhere warmer to escape the bitter December weather.
It wasn't as if he had anywhere else to go.
His feet swung back and forth off the edge of the roof, his eyes closed behind his domino mask as snowflakes melted in his hair. When he sighed, his breath could be seen for just a second before the bitter winds blew it away.
Dick hadn't heard from his family since he'd come back from Spyral. Since he'd come back from “faking” his death.
Since he ruined any semblance of a relationship with each and every one of his siblings.
Well, perhaps with the exception of Damian and Alfred, but considering he'd been ignoring their texts and calls until he'd stopped receiving them all together, Dick doubted the offers for him to come to the manor for the holidays were still on the table.
And even if they were, Dick wasn't sure he could bring himself to attend. His presence would just start more fights and arguments and what good would that bring, in the end?
No, the last thing his family needed was him ruining an occasion that was supposed to be happy and carefree.
It would be his first Christmas without someone to spend it with, he realized. Even when he and Bruce were at odds in the past he'd had the Titans, but it'd been radio silence from them as well and Dick couldn't convince himself to bother them. They all had families now, after all; lives they led without the mask. He could never seem to figure out how they accomplished even a semblance of normalcy in their line of work. Perhaps he never would.
What was the point of even trying anymore? He'd burned every bridge in sight and then some. The world seemed to barely need Nightwing anymore, let alone Dick Grayson. He hadn't been on top of his game lately, had taken a few too many hits that he would've dodged in the past. Just last week a nobody bank robber had gotten away from him. It was pathetic, really.
For every good deed in his life it seemed as though he'd counteracted them with something worse. Sure, he'd done good work as Robin and Nightwing, but what about all the people he hurt as Renegade? What about when Haly’s burned down, or, even more recently, Spyral?
Hell, if he'd never been Robin in the first place maybe Jason never would have died. Maybe Tim would've been a normal trust fund kid. Maybe Damian would have a healthy relationship with his father.
Maybe if Dick had never been born at all his parents would still be alive. Maybe everyone would be better off.
Dick opened his eyes and looked down upon the city. Despite it being late on Christmas Eve night Blüdhaven’s streets were still bustling with activity. Cities never slept, Dick had learned that when he first arrived in Gotham, but it still amazed him sometimes just how restless they could be.
Over the sounds of engines braking and horns honking there was a sudden crash, though it didn't come from below but rather a few feet away from where Dick sat. His attention snapped over towards the noise, his eyes narrowed behind his mask as he tried to make out the source of the noise.
Dick assumed it was an animal, a pigeon perhaps getting into places it didn't belong. That was until he heard a bit more shuffling and rummaging through built up snow and discarded trash, a small voice sounding from the shadows.
“Sticking the landing is the hardest part, don't you think?”
Dick stood up quickly, his hands hovering over his escrima sticks, prepared for anything.
Well, perhaps anything but what it actually turned out to be, in the end.
Dick wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not as what looked to be a small version of himself in an identical Nightwing uniform appeared before him, a goofy smile on its face as it balanced on one foot, its arms extended to balance itself. It wore a Santa hat that looked a bit too big for its head that jingled as it moved around erratically.
“Merry Christmas, Nightwing!” It cheered, disappearing in a cloud of smoke only to appear a second later, this time hovering in midair by Dick's head.
“What the hell,” Dick mumbled, his head jerking to the side to track the newcomer’s movement.
“Shouldn't a cool guy like you be hanging out with other cool people, especially right now?”
Dick rubbed his temples. “God, leave me alone, whatever you are.”
There was another pop and more blue smoke before the hallucination (yes, that had to be what it was) was standing in front of Dick, its hands on its hips as it looked up at him sternly.
“Don't be like that! I'm here to help!”
“I don't even know what you are,” Dick retorted. “Right now jury’s still out on whether you're even real.”
The supposed hallucination laughed as if Dick had just told a hilarious joke.
“You’re always so funny! And smart, and handsome-”
“Okay Mini Me,” Dick interrupted, raising his hand to stop it from its continued ramblings. “What exactly do you want?”
“Oh, that's easy, I already told you! I'm here to help!”
“Help with what exactly?”
There was more smoke and Dick attempted to wave it away as it enveloped him. When it finally cleared he appeared to be wearing a cheesy Christmas sweater over his uniform, a knitted Nightwing logo with snowflakes surrounding it across his chest. There was a Santa hat on him now as well and when he removed it he saw it was black and blue to match his uniform. He tossed it aside, watching as the hallucination began walking across the roof on its hands.
“I'm your biggest fan and I just can't stand to see you so down in the dumps!”
Dick tilted his head to the side, his mind running through every possibility as he leaned down and poked the hallucination in the chest, surprised to find that its body was solid. It giggled, doing a flip back into its feet.
“What are you?”
“I'm Nite-Mite, of course! Fifth dimensional imp at your service!”
It saluted sloppily, the same dumb grin still plastered across its face.
“An… imp?”
Dick had vaguely heard rumors of the fifth dimensional imps, of course, from Justice League case notes and files, but he'd never met one in person, let alone one dedicated to himself.
“I've always wanted to meet you!” Nite-Mite said, levitating to meet Dick's eyes. “You're so much taller than I imagined.”
“Really?”
“Really truly! It's an honor, Mr. Nightwing!”
Nite-Mite grabbed Dick's hand and shook it up and down rapidly, almost pulling the limb right out of its socket.
“Uhh, just Nightwing is fine.”
“I've been watching you for a while now and I couldn't help but notice how sad you've been,” Nite-Mite let go of Dick's hand. “I know what you were thinking before I arrived, you know, and I can't say I agree.”
“Agree with what?”
“That the world would be better off without you, of course!”
Dick felt his face flush at the indication that this imp had been reading his thoughts somehow.
“I can say with one hundred percent certainty that a world without Nightwing isn't a good thing! In fact, it's probably the worst thing!”
“Did you come all this way from your dimension just to tell me that?” Dick asked, already growing tired of this troublesome imp. “Because if so, message received.”
Dick turned away but only found himself face to face with Nite-Mite once more, his expression the most serious Dick had seen it so far.
“I'm serious, you know. The lives of all your friends and families without you would be awfully sad without you. I know you might not believe me-”
“I don't,” Dick interrupted. “No offense, but I'm really not in the mood for whatever this is. Thanks for stopping by but could you leave me alone now?”
Nite-Mite frowned deeper. “No one should be alone on Christmas, Dick.”
“Yeah, well that's what I want, okay?”
“No, it's what you think you deserve-”
“Ughh!” Dick exclaimed, his temper getting the best of him. “Stop reading my thoughts or whatever it is you're doing! Go back to your dimension!”
Dick had decided he’d had enough of fifth dimensional imps to last him a lifetime, but Nite-Mite didn’t seem to get the memo. As Dick turned to leave the roof he felt a small hand wrap around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The imp was surprisingly strong, given its size, and Dick couldn’t manage to pull his wrist free until it was too late, the rooftop and city skyline around him vanishing within seconds, replaced by the sparkly blue smoke he’d come to associate with Nite-Mite.
It was a bit disorienting, even once the smoke had cleared. Dick blinked his eyes as he found himself in an entirely new location, though he couldn’t tell where exactly at first glance. It looked like Park Row in Gotham, if Dick had to guess, though it had been a while since he’d spent much time there. Ever since Jason had come back as Red Hood it had unofficially become his territory.
“What the hell?” Dick wondered out loud.
“Just the first stop on the tour!” Nite-Mite said from beside him.
He was still in his mini Nightwing uniform but when Dick looked down at himself he found a simple T-shirt and flannel combination under a leather jacket and faded jeans. The boots he recognized as his own and everything else could have very well come out of his closet, as if he’d given himself the impromptu change.
“What just happened?”
“Sorry,” Nite-Mite winced in sympathy. “Your first interdimensional travel is always a bit jarring.”
Dick furrowed his eyebrows. “Where did you take me?”
“This is the worst dimension I can think of,” Nite-Mite proclaimed. “A dimension without a Dick Grayson.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Richard John Grayson is a multiversal constant. In one way or another, he exists in nearly every dimension, or at least the ones I've seen. What makes him so special, as opposed to others, is that he is the only one to consistently remain unchanged. Even in universes where he is evidently ‘evil’ it's hardly ever by his own accord. There is always good within him because that is what the universe requires.”
Dick kicked an empty can across the alley as he listened to Nite-Mite’s speech. He wasn't sure where the imp was taking him yet and he hadn't been able to get a word in, so he stayed silent, choosing instead to take note of his surroundings.
Gotham looked perhaps a bit more rundown and grungy, but not alarmingly so. Granted, Dick spent more time in Blüdhaven as of late, but he still made it out to Gotham for a family team up now and again, when he could.
“This universe, though? It's the one where you never get to show the world how good you can be. You die before you can make it happen.”
Dick raised an eyebrow. “How do I die?”
“The show in Gotham that killed your parents? You fall instead.”
Dick allowed the new information to sink in. He'd always wondered what would have happened if he hadn't been the one to survive that night. If he'd been the one to fall instead. The social worker assigned to him had called it “survivor’s guilt”. She’d said it was a perfectly normal response. Dick hadn't cared much at the time whether it was normal or not. He'd just wanted the nightmares of his dead parents splattered on the ground to end.
“So my parents are alive?”
Nite-Mite looked uncomfortable at the question, but he must have been expecting it.
“Yes, but-”
“Can I see them?”
“I don't think that's wise-”
Dick stopped abruptly, his hands tightened into fists at his sides. Nite-Mite continued to float in front of him, a look that could be described as pity on his face.
“Why can't I see them?”
Nite-Mite sighed. He seemed to guess correctly that Dick wouldn't drop this, so against his better judgement he continued.
“Your death… it breaks them, Dick. They're forever changed by it and their relationship… it doesn't survive.”
“What? What do you mean?”
Before Nite-Mite could grudgingly reply there was the sound of glass smashing, the noise echoing off the narrow alleyway walls.
“C'mon,” Nite-Mite rushed ahead, towards the source of the destruction, which was the last place Dick wanted to be.
“Wait a minute!” Dick called, jogging slightly to catch up with Nite-Mite, who had disappeared around the corner of a crumbling building. Dick could hear voices growing louder and louder as he finally found Nite-Mite, who was floating off to the side by some trash bins, watching as two men fought.
Well, fought was a strong word, Dick supposed. One was effectively beating the shit out the other, who looked like he might pass out any minute now.
“What the fuck did I tell you, huh? What'd I say, Jones? You looking for an excuse to die?”
Dick recognized that voice and he really wished he hadn't.
“N-no, please. Please, I have kids, Todd!”
“I don’t give a damn,” Jason spat, his blue eyes icy and uncaring. “And neither does Dent.”
Before the other man could offer up any passing remarks Jason removed a pistol from the waistband of his torn jeans and shot him in the head, his method cool and clinical.
Dick couldn't help but jump slightly at the gunshot, his eyes wide as he watched the blood flow from the new hole in the dead man’s head. It’d been a while since he’d seen Jason use real bullets. While it was far from the first time he’d witnessed his brother take a life, it was a jarring scene to see.
“In this universe, Jason Todd works for Harvey Dent,” Nite-Mite said, watching woefully as Jason bent down to remove the man’s wallet, rifling through it only to take the cash and discard the rest. “He’s Two-Face’s right hand man.”
Gone was the ebony hair with the all too familiar white streak in it. It seemed this universe’s Jason had no issue with his natural red hair. He still had scars though there were slight differences in placement and severity. This Jason seemed to have a thing for tattoos as well, with some ink visible on his bare knuckles and neck. He wore a faded leather jacket that was much more ratty than the one Dick had come to know and love and his clothes were dirty and worn, like he'd been wearing them for a few days. He was perhaps a bit slimmer in build but still muscular and athletic, so at least that remained the same.
Dick was so lost in his observations of this strange version of his brother that he didn’t notice Jason’s attention turn abruptly towards him until it was too late.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Jason spat, head tilted as he observed Dick's appearance. “You look a little too clean to be here, sweetheart. Are you lost?”
“Why did you shoot that man?” Dick found himself asking, despite the fact that he had a gun pointed at him. This Jason definitely didn't pack rubber bullets and he most certainly would have no issue killing Dick right then and there, which should have made him a bit more cautious, in retrospect, but Dick couldn't help himself.
“What, was he your boyfriend? The guy was scum, you should be thanking me.”
“What happened to you, little wing?” Dick muttered, more to himself than Jason.
Jason scoffed. “Who the hell are you? One of Black Mask’s men? He must be scraping the bottom of the barrel nowadays.”
“This Jason never got taken in by Bruce Wayne,” Nite-Mite butt in, floating between the two of them. If Jason could see the imp he made no indication, his gun and attention still seemingly aimed at Dick.
“There was no Robin to replace, after all. Without you, Bruce never found the interest in taking anyone in. So after his stepmother died and his father went to prison, Jason was put in juvie. When he was released, he was all on his own until Two-Face found him and took him in.”
“Why did they send him to juvie? Why not foster care?” Dick asked, immediately regretting it as Jason cocked his gun threateningly.
“You crazy or something? Or do you just have a fucking death wish?”
“Batman caught him stealing the tires off the Batmobile. But he turned him in instead.”
Dick sighed, already hating everything about this universe. How could Jason's life be so changed just because he never met Dick?
“It's not just Jason's life,” Nite-Mite replied, reading Dick's thoughts.
“Last chance, buddy,” Jason moved forward, the barrel of the gun still slightly warm from firing its last shot as it pressed against Dick's forehead. “Or consider yourself dead.”
“This is his last Christmas. He gets killed in a hit gone wrong in a few days. He won't come back this time.”
Dick forced himself to breathe, to ignore Nite-Mite’s words. This wasn't his universe. There was nothing he could do to change things.
But that was still his brother. It didn't matter if they'd never known each other here. That was still his little brother.
“I'm sorry, Jason,” Dick said, and he truly meant it. “I'm so sorry.”
Jason seemed taken back slightly by Dick's words, confusion etching itself even deeper into his expression.
“How do you know my name?”
“Dick, we should go,” Nite-Mite said softly, placing a small hand on Dick's shoulder.
Before Jason could shoot or Dick could find the right words to say, smoke enveloped Dick once more and his little brother was no more.
When the smoke finally dissipated Dick found himself in the middle of what looked to be a corporate building, one that reminded him of Wayne Enterprise’s lobby. Hundreds of employees mingled, all dressed in nice suits and gowns and Dick suddenly realized he'd just crashed a company Christmas party.
At least Nite-Mite had dressed him for the occasion: a nice black suit and navy blue bowtie, something he might wear to Wayne Enterprise's holiday party if he’d been invited this year. Dick wondered for a moment if perhaps that's what this was, if maybe he was about to see this universe’s Bruce, but a lit sign positioned above the receptionist’s desks was enough to tell him that was not the case.
“Welcome to the annual Drake Enterprises holiday party,” Nite-Mite exclaimed, floating near the giant, elegantly decorated Christmas tree that took up a great deal of room, though the room could definitely be spared.
“It's kinda a big deal,” Nite-Mite continued, a glass of champagne appearing in his hand. “Every year they try to one-up Wayne Enterprises. They usually win.”
“And let me guess who the CEO is,” Dick mused, his eyes scanning over the crowd as he looked for Tim. There was a small stage set up towards the front of the room with a podium boasting the company's logo. Chairs lined the back of the stage and that's where Dick found Tim sitting, seemingly in deep conversation with a man he didn't recognize.
“That's Phil Marin, CFO. And Tim Drake's legal guardian.”
Dick turned his gaze away from Tim for a moment. He was aware of what had happened to Tim’s parents in Haiti, of course, but his father had made it out alive in his universe. Had that not been the case here?
“Where’s his dad?”
“Well… a few years ago, the Drakes were kidnapped while on one of their many business trips. Don't you remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember. But Batman saved Jack Drake, he should be out of his coma-”
But Batman had no reason to save the Drakes in this universe, did he? He probably only knew of Tim Drake in a professional sense, as the son of one of his competitors in the medical supply business.
“He never saved them,” Dick finished. “They both died in Haiti, didn't they?”
Nite-Mite nodded sadly.
“Marin is a family friend, he offered to take Tim in until he came of age. So that the company could stay in the family.”
“Jack Drake dies eventually in my universe, too, though. And Tim is still a CEO, albeit for a different company. So it doesn't seem like much has changed for him.”
Nite-Mite looked toward the stage, where a woman in a red dress attempted to get the crowd’s attention by tapping her hand on the podium’s microphone.
“Just wait and see.”
Dick turned his attention back to the stage, walking closer towards it as the woman began to wrap up her introduction of Paul Marin. He seemed normal enough and looked like every other rich person he'd had to rub elbows with at galas and corporate meetings, but Dick was well aware that looks could be deceiving.
As the crowd applauded, Marin said one last thing into Tim's ear before standing, a fake smile plastered across his face as he made his way to the podium. Dick had no idea what Marin had said to Tim, but he looked tense.
“Thank you all so much for another great year at Drake Enterprises!”
The crowd cheered once more, raising their champagne flutes and wine glasses in celebration. Marin allowed the crowd to calm itself before continuing his speech, a drunken smile on his lips.
“We far surpassed our projected numbers, but I didn’t come up here to talk shop tonight. I just wanted to express my gratitude to everything you all do. I’m eager to see what we can accomplish next year!”
Dick looked over at Nite-Mite as the employees began to applaud again. The imp didn’t look impressed by Marin’s speech. Dick couldn’t say he blamed him.
“And without further ado, may I have the absolute honor of welcoming to the stage our CEO, Mr. Timothy Drake!”
Tim stood stiffly from his chair, a forced smile Dick recognized from countless Wayne Enterprises meetings and charity galas on his face as he made his way to the podium. Marin wrapped an arm around his shoulders that to the untrained eye could appear friendly and comforting, but Dick instantly saw it as the opposite.
“That man… Marin…”
“You suspect correctly,” Nite-Mite replied sadly. “Marin only agreed to have custody of Tim to control Drake Enterprise’s stock and finances. He’s been skimming from the top since the Drakes’ deaths.”
“Why doesn’t Tim tell anyone, try to get emancipated?”
Dick’s Tim… he was one of the most strong-willed people Dick knew, which was saying something considering he knew Bruce Wayne. His Tim Drake had become CEO at an age far too young, yet he’d never complained even once about the responsibility thrusted upon him. If anything, he welcomed it, and saw it as just another challenge.
But who was to say this universe’s Tim Drake was anything like that?
Nite-Mite had an uneasy look on his face, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell Dick the truth. He never got a chance as Tim finished his speech, one Dick hadn’t been paying attention to until its end.
“And I believe my parents, Jack and Janet Drake, would be very proud to see where we have gone with their company. Thank you and happy holidays.”
Dick politely clapped as to not look out of place, his eyes tracking Tim’s movements as he made his way off of the stage, Marin following closely behind. The music began to play once more and everyone seemed to go back to whatever it was they were doing before the arbitrary speeches, which meant no one noticed Marin lead Tim out of the lobby and down a darkened hallway.
Dick followed, making sure to keep his distance so as to not alert either Tim or Marin. The cheesy Christmas music blasting from the speakers became a bit more faint as they walked deeper and deeper down the abandoned hall. Marin had a hand wrapped around Tim’s arm, practically dragging the teen along with him.
“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Nite-Mite warned, floating behind him at a safe distance despite the fact no one else could see him.
“Don’t worry,” Dick muttered. “I won’t.”
Marin seemed to decide that they were far enough away from the party as he suddenly stopped, shoving Tim against the corridor wall hard enough to elicit a whimper from the younger man.
“That wasn't the speech we agreed on,” Marin hissed, not seeming to care that his grip on Tim's arm was causing him pain.
“I revised it,” Tim argued through gritted teeth.
“Do I need to remind you of our arrangement?” Marin asked as he leaned in closer towards Tim, his lips almost on the younger man's neck. “It'd be a shame for our shareholders to see those videos of us, little CEO.”
Dick started forward, prepared to rip the disgusting creep off of his brother. He never got the chance, Nite-Mite’s now all too familiar magical smoke swirling around him, bringing him instead to a cold Gotham roof top far away from where Dick truly needed to be.
“Why'd you do that?” Dick demanded, turning around to glare at the imp. “I could've-”
“You could have done a great deal of things,” Nite-Mite interrupted. “And none of them would have made a difference.”
Dick glared, watching as Nite-Mite floated closer to him, a sad look on his face, one almost of pity.
“That's what I've been trying to show you,” he continued. “You make a difference by being alive. You make a difference in your universe.”
“It doesn't matter if I make a difference or not back home!” Dick shouted. “They don't want anything to do with me! I lied to them! They have no reason to forgive me!”
“Did you lie or did someone lie for you? Have you ever even explained your side?”
Dick scoffed. “Like they'd ever give me a chance.”
“But have you tried-”
Dick shoved past Nite-Mite, practically growling as he made his way to the edge of the roof. The smog from the various factories surrounding Gotham’s city limits covered the only black sky completely, eliminating any chance for stars to break through the dense air pollution. At least some things hadn't changed, Dick thought to himself bitterly.
The terribly familiar feeling of a cold, sharpened blade against his neck, digging slightly into the delicate skin had appeared so quickly that Dick mentally kicked himself for letting someone sneak up on him. Usually he was much more alert.
“Turn around,” a voice ordered. “Slowly.”
“Okay,” Dick said, his hands already raised in surrender. “Turning around.”
Slowly and with deliberate movement, Dick turned to look into the harsh green eyes of Damian al-Ghul.
Dick recognized the katana Damian wielded as the preferred weapon of the League of Assassins. It didn't surprise Dick one bit. He wasn't sure anything about this universe would, at this point.
The blade was steady against Dick's neck, Damian's gaze cold and deadly as he stared him down.
“State your business here,” he demanded.
Dick's eyes darted towards Nite-Mite, who didn't look like he would be much help. He watched wearily from the sidelines, the same sad look he's had all evening coloring his features.
“Looking to get some fresh air,” Dick finally said.
The katana blade dug in deeper, breaking skin and causing a small stream of blood to begin to run down Dick's exposed neck. He did his best not to wince.
“I should kill you now, for interfering with my plans.”
“What plans?” Dick couldn't help himself, he just had to ask.
Before Damian could even open his mouth to reply a Batarang flew towards his katana, knocking the blade back and away from Dick's neck. Damian turned around sharply, his weapon at the ready as his attention now focused on the looming, intimidating figure of Batman, the eye of the cowl glowing bright against the otherwise darkened uniform.
“You,” Damian hissed.
“Me,” Bruce replied.
Dick backed up, watching as father and son circled each other, his heart racing in his chest.
“Nite-Mite?” He asked hesitantly.
“In this universe Bruce never took Damian in when Talia told him of Damian's existence,” Nite-Mite helpfully supplied. “Damian stayed with his grandfather and mother and continued to train. He's here tonight to kill his father, per Ra’s al Ghul’s orders.”
“No,” Dick’s heart sank in his chest, shattering into a million pieces as it hit the pit of his stomach. “He can't-”
“His grandfather demands it of him. He must do it to prove his worth as heir.”
Dick couldn't take his eyes away from the scene before him, almost as if he were watching a car accident occur in slow motion, unable to prevent a thing. He knew this wasn't his universe, he knew this wasn't his Bruce or Damian, but he couldn't help the feeling of dread and despair that overcame him at the sight.
He had worked so hard with Damian to make sure he had the chance to be as normal as a kid as possible. He did everything within his power to support him and help him come past the teaching his grandfather had instilled within his mind. And now, seeing how Damian could have been without the compassion and kindness Dick showed him, Dick wanted to break down and cry.
“My grandfather demands your blood, Wayne,” Damian spat.
“Your grandfather demands a great deal of things,” Bruce responded. His tone was as cold as his appearance. Batman had always been intimidating, it's what struck fear into the hearts of his rogues and common criminals alike, but he was still a symbol of hope to those who needed him, to those who depended on him.
But this Batman didn't put Dick at ease whatsoever.
This Batman scared Dick.
“I will kill you where you stand, father,” Damian sneered.
“You were never my son.”
That's all it took.
That's all it ever seemed to take, Dick thought.
“Please,” Dick could swear he said, his voice sounding distant, as if someone else was speaking. “Please… just… Nite-Mite, end this, please!”
Damian was good, but Bruce was better. He was faster, stronger, more experienced. All of Ra’s training meant nothing in that moment as Bruce pinned Damian down to the ground, his katana laid forgotten a few feet away.
“Stop!” Dick heard someone scream. It sounded a little like him but he couldn't recall opening his mouth. “Robin!”
He reached his hand out, unsure of what he would even do. Bruce had a Batarang to Damain’s throat and that was the last thing he saw before the smoke appeared once more.
When he blinked, he was standing in front of Wayne Manor, watching as the snow fell silently in glittering piles, untouched by even a wild animal.
“Bruce… he kills him, doesn't he?”
“Dick-”
He sighed, his breath fogging the air around him. The manor in front of him could've been his own, if he didn't know better, but he had no more hope left within him that evening. Tears threatened to come cascading down his cheeks and it took everything within him to hold them at bay.
“Your parents in that universe. You asked me what happened. After their Dick Grayson died… They separated. They couldn't handle their shared sorrow, Dick. And Bruce…”
“I get it,” Dick said softly. “I get what you've been trying to show me.”
“Then go knock on that door,” Nite-Mite smiled softly, his small hand resting on Dick's shoulder. “Go be with your family, Dick.”
“And what if they won't have me?” A single tear escaped despite his best efforts. He couldn't be bothered to wipe it away, leaving it to freeze on his cheek. “What if they don't want to see me?”
“There's no one they'd rather see tonight.”
Dick closed his eyes for a moment, letting the snow collect on top of his hair and shoulders. He took a shaky breath and when he finally opened his eyes once more, Nite-Mite was gone.
“Merry Christmas, Nite-Mite,” Dick said to the night sky.
He could have sworn a star shone through the fog bright enough to twinkle in the sky.
Dick's hand hovered a mere inch from the door. He was trying desperately to bring himself to knock, but despite Nite-Mite’s reassurances and life lesson, he couldn't help but still be afraid of how his family might react to seeing him.
What if they didn't want a thing to do with him? What if they all wanted him to leave and go back to Blüdhaven. Dick wasn't sure he could handle the rejection, after the night he'd had.
The door swung open, Alfred's calm, knowing smile greeting him despite never actually knocking. The old butler always had a sixth sense when it came to where his grandkids were, Dick supposed.
“Master Richard, you're just in time.”
“In time for what?” Dick croaked.
Alfred shook his head slightly, as if Dick had just asked a ridiculous question.
“The festivities, of course. We'd been waiting for you.”
“Why would you wait for me?” Dick was confused.
Alfred ushered Dick in, mumbling something about Dick letting all the cold air in. Dick stumbled over his words, not sure what he was even trying to say at that point. He should have known nothing would convince Alfred once he had made his mind up. He was joining the family whether he wanted to or not.
“Look who I found out in a snow bank,” Alfred announced once they had reached the main lounge, the massive tree they put up every year covered in enough lights to brighten a small village. The menorah sat in the window, the candle melted and extinguished for quite some time now. Everyone was sitting in their usual spots, smiling and so obviously enjoying the holiday. Dick felt like an intruder almost immediately.
Everyone turned to look towards them and Dick couldn't help but shrink in on himself, Alfred's arm wrapped securely around his shoulders for support.
“Dick,” Bruce smiled, though it felt a bit forced. “I didn't think you'd come.”
“I… I'm sorry,” Dick managed, feeling his brothers’ scrutinizing gaze bore into him from every angle. They all seemed so relaxed, in their nice sweaters enjoying Alfred's homemade hot cocoa. Dick felt like he was walking in on a classic Hallmark moment and ruining every minute of it.
“Sorry for what, chum?”
Dick couldn't help himself. He couldn't hold them back anymore.
His face crumbled, tears streaming down his face as he quickly tried his best to wipe them away, though they just kept coming despite his best efforts.
“Richard?” Damian looked… worried. They all did, even Tim and Jason.
“I'm so sorry!” Dick sobbed. Alfred's grip tightened. “I know you hate me, and you have every right-”
“Nobody hates you, Dickhead,” Jason said, though his words lacked his usual sarcastic nature.
Dick didn't notice that Bruce had stood from where he'd been seated in his usual armchair until he was standing right in front of him, wiping away his tears as they fell.
“Dick, I’m the one who should be sorry. I never meant… you should never feel this way.”
“You… no,” Dick stuttered, something he never did. “I thought, after everything… I lied-”
“We've all lied,” Tim interrupted. “About one thing or another. We've all done things we regret, we've all hurt each other. That… that doesn't mean we don't still care about one another, at the end of the day.”
“I thought I wouldn't be welcome here this year,” Dick finally admitted. “You never… I just assumed no one would want to see me. I didn't want to ruin-”
Damian wrapped his arms around Dick's torso, silencing his words. Dick felt himself automatically return the hug, his body desperately craving the physical touch.
“You could never make me hate you, Richard.”
“I’m sorry, Dick, I thought you would've just known that you were expected to come join us. I never… I should have done more…”
“We’re all sorry and let's leave it at that, before the cocoa gets cold,” Jason clapped Dick on the back, a smirk on his face. “Merry Christmas, Dickie.”
Whatever apologies Dick still held within him, whatever doubts, fears, or hopeless thoughts he still tried desperately to cling onto no longer mattered in that moment. The only thing that Dick could seem to care about was that he was finally exactly where he wanted to be.
He was exactly where he needed to be.