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Darkseid is.
A swarm of ships and creatures sweeps over the earth, overwhelming the Justice League in a surprise attack that should not have been possible.
The invasion happens so swiftly that Dick doesn’t realize it’s happening until half the League is cut off from one another and he finds himself suddenly dropped through a portal from Gotham alongside Batman and Superman. The latter two are dropped into cages and bindings; Superman trapped within a cage made of metal that glows a sickly green in the eerie light of the room while Batman is trapped by living chains and locks that shift constantly, countering his attempts at escaping from them neatly.
Dick drops down onto bare ground, crouched in a fighting stance, confused and disoriented, but prepared to fight through it as he has before.
“That was easier than I thought,” a looming form says from the shadows. Darkseid steps into the light. “The only threats to my advancement are contained, and my army marches on.”
“You--” Superman wheezes. Dick isn’t sure what he’s hoping to say.
“One of the people in this room will die,” Darkseid says, bored.
“Not one of us,” Batman growls.
As an answer to that, Darkseid produces a knife from his belt and throws it at Dick with such speed and force that it goes through his chest. Dick stares dumbly down at himself, shoots Batman a ‘you just had to say something’ look and collapses.
A flash of gold and red fills his vision just before the darkness takes him.
* * *
Dick wakes up to that same flash of gold and red, lying flat on his back on top of the roof of a building. The sound of traffic fills his ears, and the air is cool and crisp the way it is in spring, when the snow and ice are gone, but there’s still a slight chill in the air.
“Oh. You’re not dead,” a voice says above him, relieved and curious. “Thank god. I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain this one.”
Dick blinks, sitting up and staring up at the form of a man sticking to the side of a wall, feet and back pressed against it in a sitting position. He’s wearing a super suit--blue and red fabric woven around armor and lined with webbing, with a white spider symbol across the chest. The suit has a full mask, and the eyes of it blink.
The man waves at him cheerfully. “Hi. I’m Spider-Man. I help people around here.”
“Uh, hi,” Dick says quietly, and with a little uncertainty. He stands up and looks himself over. No wound is visible; his chest feels odd, tingly, but not hurt. Numb, but regaining feeling. He runs a hand over his chest to be sure, tracing the edge of the phantom wound. “Huh.”
“You aren’t evil, right?” Spider-Man asks, tilting his head. “I mean, I probably would’ve sensed it if you were, but sometimes people can trick that particular power, so I wanna be sure.”
“I’m not evil. Just unbelievably confused,” Dick says. He adds, almost as an afterthought, “I’m Nightwing. I’m a--” Hero sounds pretentious, but it would be true enough in his own world. He aims for something a little less self important. “I’m like you. I help people.”
“Oh, good,” Spider-Man says, relief in his voice. “I’ve had a long day, you have no idea. I was hoping this would be a nice meeting.”
“You were expecting me?” Dick asks, turning to face him with a frown.
“Kinda,” Spider-Man says, shrugging. He pulls out a small note on honest to god parchment paper and hands it to Dick. “I’m supposed to give you some super neat rocks and this note, courtesy of the local wizard.”
Dick takes the paper, reading it quickly.
Spider-Man: Someone who needs your help will appear at this point. Beside it, a sketch of the city and the building they’re currently standing on. Below the sketch, another note is scribbled out:
To Nightwing: crack the pellets to open a new portal home. You will return moments after the Incident. This will continue until you succeed, and it is imperative that you do.
There’s no signature, and the handwriting is jerky and barely legible, almost as if it’s been written by a doctor struggling to control his own hands. Dick considers the note for a long moment before handing it back to Spider-Man, who’s dangling a bag of pebbles in one hand.
“How many are in there?”
“I dunno,” Spider-Man says. “A few dozen, maybe? I’m supposed to give you one at a time to throw down.”
“Right,” Nightwing says, holding his hand out.
“You sure you wanna go back so quickly?” Spider-Man asks hesitantly. “You look a little rough.”
“My friends and family need me,” Dick says.
That’s enough to convince Spider-Man. He holds out one of the pebbles without another word, and steps back to give Dick room.
“Thanks, Spider-Man. Hopefully this is the last you see of me,” Dick says. He snaps
* * *
The trip back is disorienting, but it happens so quickly that Dick retains his balance. He appears behind Darkseid and leaps in for a surprise strike with both of the escrima sticks, hoping to land a blow strong enough to throw him off balance. He’s too close to run away, and too slow to cover the ground between himself and Superman and Batman without some kind of distraction.
The sticks cracks across the back of Darkseid’s head. And shatter.
Darkseid whirls around to face him.
His fist caves in Dick’s chest.
A flash of gold and red overtakes him.
* * *
This time, when he wakes up, the air is thick and humid, and a storm rumbles in the sky above. A summer storm; one of the steady, grumbling storms that hover above a place and pour rain and thunder from above.
Spider-Man says, somewhere off to the side, “Hi, Nightwing. It’s been two months since we saw each other. How do you feel?”
“Like I just got hit by a train,” Dick says with a sigh.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” someone says near him, tinged with the slightest hint of a Puerto Rican accent.
“Did you seriously think I was lying?” Spider-Man asks.
“No, but it’s funnier if I say yes,” the new voice replies cheerfully.
Spider-Man scoffs, and pops into view, leaning over Dick. “Nice to see you again, kinda.”
“Right back at you,” Dick replies, slowly sitting up. He rolls his shoulders and sighs, looking around before taking Spider-Man’s offered hand and standing up. To his surprise, he sees a second Spider-Man, balanced on top of a nearby metal chimney. This one’s suit is black, trimmed with red, and he’s smaller and clearly younger than the one helping him up. “You have a friend.”
The new Spider-Man in the black suit waves at him, saying cheerfully, “I’m also Spider-Man. Just cooler than him.”
“Respect your elders,” Spider-Man says.
“Earn it.”
Dick fights back a laugh. “Nice to meet you. Tall Spidey, do you have that thing we used before?”
“Tall Spidey?” the younger one says, insulted.
“Sure do,” Spider-Man says, ignoring his counterpart’s grumbling as he pulls another pebble out of a hidden compartment in his suit. “Are you sure you want to go back so soon?”
“Yes,” Dick says, taking the device. “Thanks.”
“Good luck!” the younger Spider-Man calls out. “Medium height guy!”
Dick gives him a quick thumbs up and leaps through the portal, pulling out his escrima sticks as he falls.
* * *
He lasts longer this time, snapping into action to duck up and beneath Darkseid’s startled swing to drive the tip of both of his escrima sticks into the dark god’s chin before letting loose the full voltage on both. On someone human, this would be enough to fry them from the inside out. On Darkseid, it stuns him.
But only for a moment.
The plan was to stun Darkseid, get out of his reach, and sprint for Superman’s cage, freeing him to run interference on Darkseid while Dick released Batman and signaled for help from the rest of the League.
What happens is this: he stuns Darkseid.
And Darkseid slams his massive head down across Dick’s nose, sending stars into his vision shortly before he whites out from shock and pain.
He isn’t entirely sure what kills him this time until his vision fades back into view just long enough to see the escrima stick buried into his chest.
“Oh,” he says, dumbly.
A flare of golden red energy sweeps over him.
* * *
When he wakes up on the rooftop this time, the sky is clear and warm, with the moon shining brightly in the sky above. Dick sits up with a sigh and is greeted by the smell and sight of a greasy bag of food.
“Hungry?” Spider-Man asks, his mask rolled up over his nose and his mouth half full.
To his own surprise, yes, he is. Starving, in fact. He idly wonders exactly how many calories he’s burning from dying and undoing that death over and over while he takes the bag and peers inside. He’s greeted by the sight of a double cheeseburger and fries that look exactly like the kind Jason would kill to have.
Dick grabs and peels open the burger, squinting at the greasy food. “Do you seriously eat this stuff every day? And then go swinging through the city?”
“Yeah, why?” Spider-Man says around a mouthful of food.
“If I did that, I’d have to triple the size of my suit,” Dick remarks dryly. “I’m guessing you’re meta?”
Spider-Man tilts his head, shrugs, and says, “The polite word is ‘enhanced’ but the more common word is ‘mutant.’ The rude version is ‘mutie.’ Try not to use that one very often, you could seriously piss people off with it. And yeah, I’m not entirely human.”
“Huh,” Dick says. “Noted.”
They eat in companionable silence after that. Afterward, Spider-Man swings back to that lonely rooftop with Dick. They crack open another of those magical pebbles, and the portal tears itself open above it. The web slinger walks around the portal, eyeing it curiously before stepping back.
“Huh. Spooky,” Spider-Man says. “Are you sure you wanna hop through that right away? We don’t have to rush into this. The local wizard said it’d take you back, but it didn’t say you had to go right away.”
“I can’t risk it,” Dick says. “They need me. I have to go back.”
“I get it,” Spider-Man says. He holds out his hand. “Good luck, Nightwing. I hope it works out for you.”
Dick takes his hand and shakes it firmly. “Thanks. It was nice taking a break from getting killed.”
“Wow, add that to your list of ‘things to tell my therapist’ when you get out of this.”
Dick grins in spite of himself. “I’ll do that.”
He leaps through the portal.
* * *
This time, he tries to send an alert to the rest of the family moving away from Darkseid as quickly as possible.
To his credit, he’s able to send the emergency signal before Darkseid’s knife flies through his stomach.
* * *
When Dick wakes up, sore and freezing, on top of the same apartment block as before, it takes him a moment to orient himself.
This time loop nonsense is getting really old.
A red gloved hand reaches out and takes his, hauling him up easily. Spider-Man’s strength is carefully understated, the way Superman’s is, and he uses just enough to help lift Dick up onto his own feet. There’s no strain to the movement, no bracing himself to take on a sudden, large amount of weight.
“I wondered if you’d end up back here,” Spider-Man says.
“How long has it been this time?” Dick asks. The air is notably cooler than the last time he was here, and carries with it the first hint of frost. The nearest trees visible below have red, brown, and golden leaves attached to mostly bare branches. Every loop lasts seconds for Dick, but months are racing by for Spider-Man.
“A few weeks. I check every night just in case,” Spider-Man says. “So does the other Spider-Man. We’re calling it our ‘bird watching’ duty.”
“Oh,” Dick says, both grateful and a little confused. Spider-Man has only met him a few times and he’s gone out of his way to make sure a near perfect stranger hasn’t shown up unconscious on a random rooftop for months. “Thanks.”
“I’m guessing the last plan didn’t work, huh?” he says.
“I think I broke my record for ‘fastest time to die’ that time,” Dick replies dryly. The memory of Bruce staring at him, teeth gritted, flashes in his mind’s eye. Once they get out of this, he can expect a two hour power point presentation on how poorly that particular loop went. “Definitely not my best show.”
“Well, back to the drawing board,” Spider-Man says. “You up for a swing around town? I think better when I’m moving.”
“Lead the way. I could use some simple patrolling after that last one,” Dick says.
Spider-Man shoots him a thumbs up, clearly grinning under his mask, and leaps off of the building. Dick follows, swinging after his new friend.
They don’t do much; a mugging her, a kidnapping there, a few directions given. Dick discovers that he’s been popping in and out of an alternate universe New York City for the past several months, and that this city adores their hero in a way that only matches Metropolis or Keystone City in his universe. There’s an occasional jeer or taunt from passers by, but most of the people they pass by or help clearly adore Spider-Man, and it’s a love shared by the man himself judging by how jokes and chats with them.
Dick gets a few curious looks himself.
“Who’s the new guy, Spidey?” a man standing outside a bodega asks, nodding in Dick’s direction. “First the shorter guy, and now this one. You startin’ some kinda hero school?”
Spider-Man laughs. “I doubt I could teach him anything he doesn’t already know. This is Nightwing, we’re partnering up for the night. He’s a good guy.”
The man eyes Dick for a moment and nods. “Any friend of Spidey’s is a friend of mine. You need anything, let me know.”
“I will, thank you,” Dick says.
The bodega man squints at him, and laughs. “I like him. He’s polite. You could learn some manners from him, Spidey.”
“Like hell,” Spider-Man says cheerfully, swinging back up into the sky with a well placed web.
The man scoffs, catches Dick’s eye and says, “Keep an eye on him for us.”
“Yessir,” Dick says, swinging up after Spider-Man.
They meet back at the apartment roof building. Spider-Man hands him another pebble; there’s more hesitation this time when Dick takes it from him.
“What’s up, Spidey?”
“I’m not sure this is smart,” he admits. “You’ve died a few times now, and you’re just coming back more harried and brooding than you were before. Are we sure this is what we’re supposed to be doing?”
“Do you have any other ideas?” Dick asks.
After a moment, Spider-Man shakes his head with a sigh. Dick bumps shoulders with him.
“Don’t worry,” he says, slightly rejuvenated by the night’s regular patrol duties. “I’ve got this.”
He throws down the pebble. A portal snaps open. Dick leaps into the mouth of it, leaving Spider-Man behind.
* * *
He doesn’t last long.
Darkseid catches him midair and slams him into the ground hard enough dent the steel floor. Dick barely has time to wheeze in pain before he’s picked up and slammed against the wall with an equally violent amount of force.
The process repeats three times, the force behind each blow strong enough to shatter bones and rip skin and suit before the familiar darkness takes him.
Just before he fades, he sees Batman struggle against his restraints, practically breaking his own arms in an attempt to get free to help Dick.
Frankly, this isn’t his best showing.
* * *
He doesn’t wake up immediately this time. When he does, it’s slow, and painful, and the frigid air makes it worse. He groans, blinking awake to stare up at a cloud covered sky and snow falling gently down around him.
“You’re coming back with wounds now,” Spider-Man says, and his tone is tense and tinged with anger. Dick’s assumption that the man is both unused to seeing close friends hurt seems to be true. Spider-Man clearly isn’t in the habit of seeing his allies hurt. “You can’t keep this up.”
The wound on Dick’s chest is pretty deep, seeping blood through the tear in his suit at a somewhat concerning rate. His left leg is stiff and sore, but unbroken. Still, he won’t be able to jump back to his universe like this. If he can’t manage this in perfect health, he’s going to struggle with a bad arm and what feels like bone deep bruises along his left leg. Dick sighs, grunts, and tries to pull himself up, not bothering to answer.
Spider-Man lifts him up and steadies him. He doesn’t bother trying to hide his strength. He almost picks Dick up like a child. He eyes Dick with a critical eye and seems to come to a conclusion.
“Okay, so, I have a crazy idea,” Spider-Man says. “What if I take your place? Or go back with you?”
“Is that possible?” Dick asks. Darkseid is always ready for Dick when he comes back. Adding in a variable he can’t account for might just even the odds. Or get Spider-Man killed. “That’s risky.”
“Probably, but we’ve done this song and dance a few times now, and it’s going nowhere,” Spider-Man says, shrugging. “It’s worth a shot, right? We’ll track down the local wizard after we get you fixed up.”
“Yeah, I don’t suppose you have a bandaid?”
Spider-Man flicks his wrist and a glop of web fluid smacks into Dick’s chest, sealing the wound. “That’ll do in a pinch, but I know someone who can help. Can you swing? Do you need me to carry you?”
“No, I’ve got it,” Dick says. He hasn’t been carried in a swing since he was a child, and he’s not eager to repeat the experience as a fully grown adult. Both of his arms work, and he can swing easily enough if he’s careful. “Lead the way.”
Spider-Man tilts his head, but nods. He clearly hangs back and doesn’t swing as fast he normally does, but otherwise doesn’t make a show of hovering over Dick. Dick pretends to not notice, simply following him to a humble rowhouse in Queens, sneaking into a back window after Spider-Man taps out a rapid message against the glass.
* * *
“So, this is the infamous Nightwing,” MJ says. She’s beautiful, and completely at ease with having a stranger sitting wounded at her dining table. A golden wedding ring hangs from a necklace around her neck, and small Spider-Man plushie peers at them from the couch. “You know people think you’re Spider-Man’s sidekick.”
“They think the other Spider-Man is my sidekick, too,” Spider-Man adds, apparently comfortable sticking to the ceiling. “Why are they so eager to give me a sidekick?”
“Maybe they think you need someone with common sense following you around,” MJ says sweetly, sealing the bandage on Dick’s chest.
Spider-Man scoffs as Dick stands up and stretches with a grunt.
“Go ahead and clean up in the bathroom,” MJ says.
Dick ducks into the bathroom to do just that. He can hear muffled conversation through the door while he cleans up and pulls on his borrowed clothes--a t-shirt with ESU stamped across the front, and sweatpants that don’t quite fit him. He still keeps the mask across his eyes. It’s probably not necessary, but he feels more comfortable behind it; a trait he shares with Bruce and one he will never fully admit to.
When he steps back outside, the conversation dies. Judging by the body language between them, MJ is more than just ‘someone Spider-Man comes to for help.’ His suspicion grows just a bit more when he sees a picture of MJ standing beside a plain looking man the same height and size as Spider-Man, both of them wearing wedding rings and grinning brightly at the camera.
“Thank you,” Dick says to MJ. “I appreciate this.”
“You aren’t the first super guy to stumble into my home and bleed everywhere,” MJ replies, smiling. “I’m guessing you won’t need an entire bottle of ibuprofen for the pain.”
“Just two,” Dicks says, wincing as he moves his leg.
“I can do that,” MJ says, getting up to grab a glass of water and the medicine from the kitchen.
“You’re going to need to heal before we do anything,” Spider-Man says thoughtfully. “There’s a bed in the workshop you can use, and it’s quiet and has its own bathroom. Will that work?”
“Yeah, it will.”
“Great, let’s get you settled in.”
* * *
He spends three weeks living in that apartment, tucked away into Spider-Man’s workshop so he can have privacy. He spends most of his time researching the universe he’s found himself in, falling into old habits Bruce trained into him as a child, and fixing his suit. Spider-Man is famous around New York, but there are other heroes around, too.
By the time he’s back to full strength, his suspicions about MJ and Spider-Man’s relationship are all but confirmed, and he’s more than a little amused to see the ‘intrepid reporter falling in love with a red-and-blue clad superhero’ theme play out in this universe as it did in his own. Sure, Spider-Man is no Superman, but he’s not far off either. Dick is pretty sure Lois Lane and MJ Watson share more than a few things in common.
He pulls on his newly fixed suit and steps into the kitchen one day. Spider-Man is hanging upside down from the ceiling, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. He drinks from it easily, as if this is the most natural way to drink coffee. Dick pauses and stares at him.
“MJ’s working on a story out of town,” Spider-Man says. “So we’ve got the place to ourselves. Coffee?”
“No, thanks. Is that comfortable?” Dick asks him.
“Honestly, I feel weirder standing on the ground these days,” Spider-Man admits, downing the rest of his coffee, and idly flinging it to the sink. He pins the mug to the sink with a glob of web fluid. At Dick’s raised eyebrow, he shrugs. “It’s easier than crawling over there and it’ll fall apart in an hour or so.”
“Exactly how much spider are you?” Dick asks.
“I’m trying not to find out, really,” Spider-Man. He nods to Dick. “Ready to pay a visit to the Wizard of Oz?”
“Let’s do it,” Dick says. Weeks of rest have given him back his strength, and the urge to leap into the fight again--wizard or no wizard--is almost too much to ignore. “Lead the way.”
* * *
The trip doesn’t take long. They end up outside a building near the apartment Dick’s dropped on top of every time he’s killed. The two of them stand on the sidewalk outside of it after Spider-Man’s insistence that they approach on foot. Dick can guess he’s had some bad experiences skittering across the building on all fours before.
“Meet the home of Dr. Strange, sorcerer supreme and general weirdo,” Spider-Man says. He adds, “Don’t tell him I said that.”
The doors to the building slam open, revealing an elegantly decorated and warmly lit entryway.
“You should know a sorcerer can hear all that occurs within his domain,” Dr. Strange calls out from inside. “Nightwing, Spider-Man, please enter.”
“If he turns me into a newt, make sure he shrinks the suit, too. I worked too hard on it to lose it,” Spider-Man stage whispers.
Dick smirks, and steps inside, followed by Spider-Man. They’re greeted by a tall, thin man whose dark hair is streaked with white. He’s dressed in clothes that look archaic at best, with a cloak that moves in a wind that doesn’t exist, shifting in place across the sorcerer’s shoulders as he greets them silently.
Dr. Strange is an imposing man, sharply intelligent, and more than a little arrogant and aloof. He listens to them in utter silence while they explain the situation and what they need help with. When they finish, he strokes his goatee, staring off in thought. After a moment, he nods.
“I can help you,” he says. He looks at Spider-Man. “This is dangerous for you. None of your technology will work in this other universe. Are you sure you want to help this stranger?”
“Yes,” Spider-Man says firmly. His answer is immediate.
Dr. Strange stares at him hard for a moment, before nodding. There’s an odd weight to his words when he says, “You have one chance. Good luck.”
* * *
The portal tears open.
Nightwing doesn’t appear.
Darkseid stares at the portal, eyes narrowing. “What--”
Something red and blue flies through the portal, striking Darkseid like a freight train, sending him flying across the room. The figure that came through the portal idly shakes his fist. His suit is blue and red, like Superman’s, but it covers his whole body and it’s lined with black webbing with a white spider symbol across the chest and back.
“Hi, I’m Spider-Man” he says, his tone friendly and eager for a fight. “You’ve been beating up my friend. I don’t like that very much.”
“This is the last mistake you will ever make, insect,” Darkseid growls, pulling himself up.
“Feel free to test that assumption at your earliest convenience, pal,” Spider-Man says, crouching down into a fighting stance, head tilting and twitching in a distinctly not-quite-human way.
For every swing Darkseid makes, only a quarter of them land. Spider-Man dodges, ducks, or simply leaps up and out of the way of each blow, sometimes by skittering across the roof or wall. It’s something Darkseid apparently has no answer to aside from moving all the quicker and striking harder. It’s thrown his mental balance. He still lands hits, but Spider-Man shakes off even the worst with a sharp word or a spray of some sticky glue that pins Darkseid’s feet to the floor or arm to the wall. It only takes Darkseid a moment to break free of the glue, but every second is precious in a fight, and Spider-Man manages one or two devastating blows on his own during those brief moments.
While the two trade blows--Spider-Man taking strong enough hits that would kill mortal men--Nightwing slips through the portal, sprinting for Superman’s cage. It takes him almost no time at all to work through the locks and the restraints. It takes him considerably longer to drag the man out of the kryptonite cage, but he manages it in record time.
Superman gasps, shuddering from pain as he shakes off the painful daze he’s been trapped in. “What--”
“Catch your breath and help Spider-Man,” Dick orders, already sprinting for Batman. Superman nods, taking in deep breaths to shake off the worst of the kryptonite poisoning.
Dick crosses the room in record time, sliding to a stop beside Batman. He can hear the fighting behind him and forces himself not to look. He can’t afford to be distracted; there’s no guarantee that Spider-Man will simply fade back into his universe if this goes wrong.
“New recruit?” Batman asks, his tone neutral. The shifting locks are taking more time for Dick to work through.
“New friend,” Dick corrects. “A creepy-crawly Superman. You can trust him. He saved my life.”
Batman nods tersely, shaking his arms out once they’re free. He stalks towards the fight, adding over his shoulder: “The others are on the way.”
Once Superman and Batman enter the fray, the fight turns against Darkseid. Spider-Man distracts with web fluid, quick strikes, or simple taunts, giving Batman and Superman the openings they need to attack. Dick focuses on the control panel in front of himself, slamming his palm against the button to open the cell doors deeper inside the bunker.
When Wonder Woman erupts through the nearest wall, wielding a golden sword and as furious as Dick’s ever seen her, it ends completely.
Spider-Man slumps against the wall with a groan, arm slung across his waist. There’s a rattling sound to his breath that sends alarm bells through Dick’s mind.
“You need a hospital,” Batman says.
Superman squints at Spider-Man’s limp form, tilting his head the way he does when he uses his x-ray vision and winces. He says, almost too quiet for Dick to hear, “I’m not sure a hospital will help.”
Batman’s jaw clenches. “Robin, bring the jet around. Alert the League’s medical staff and tell them we have wounded. Superman--”
“I’ve got him,” Superman says, leaning down to pick up Spider-Man. The man groans in pain and Superman winces. “Sorry. Just hold on.”
He’s gone in a blink, using super speed to take Spider-Man to safety, leaving Batman and Dick alone.
Batman watches him for a moment before gripping his shoulder in comfort. It’s awkward, but genuine, and his tone his surprisingly gentle. “Let’s go. He should have a friend nearby while he recovers.”
“You think he’ll survive that?” Dick asks.
Batman says nothing.
* * *
When they reach the Hall of Justice, the entire building is in chaos. Most of the League is busy cleaning up the leftover army from Darkseid’s invasion, with others trying to coordinate search and rescue for the members still trapped within the personalized prisons Darkseid designed for each member. It’s chaos, but managed chaos. Batman stops at the control room, giving a quick nod to Dick before disappearing to come in and take charge of the younger heroes who have had to manage the invasion without one of the League’s founders nearby to help.
Dick nods back, half paying attention, sprinting through the halls towards the hospital wing. Superman is standing outside of the double doors, waiting for him. Dick does his best to ignore the blood smeared across the front of yellow and red S etched across his uniform.
“Where--”
“Inside,” Superman says. “They’re prepping for surgery, but he’s still awake.”
Dick nods, sweeping past him to duck inside the medical wing. It doesn’t take him long to find Spider-Man’s room; it’s the busiest part of the ward, with nurses and doctors moving back and forth, calling out to one another as they prepare for emergency surgery. His room, by contrast, is surprisingly quiet, save for a few machines attached to him making some troubling beeps and alarms. His mask is off, revealing the same man he saw in the photographs peppered around MJ’s home back in New York; plain, but earnest looking, and a few years younger than Dick himself. One eye is swollen shut from bruising, and black and blue bruises cover his neck and face, mixed with a half dried stream of blood that lines a swollen jaw.
Spider-Man stirs when he hears Nightwing, squinting at him with his one good eye. It takes him a moment to focus, for his eye to lose the cloudy look.
“That guy hits way harder than I thought he would,” Spider-Man says blearily. “Man, no wonder you kept getting crushed. No offense.”
“Stop talking and rest,” Dick orders, crossing the room to stand beside him. Bandages and splints cover the length of Spider-Man’s body, and a creeping dread starts to fill Dick. He grips Spider-Man’s good hand. The squeeze he gets in return is featherlight and weak. “Let yourself heal.”
“Not sure it’ll help at this point,” Spider-Man admits. He doesn’t sound scared; just tired. He drifts for a moment, and shakes himself back awake. “If this goes bad, I need someone to tell MJ--”
“I’ll talk to her,” Dick promises, feeling sick to his stomach. “And the other Spider-Man.”
“The cooler one,” Spider-Man corrects, his tone fond. Dick can’t help but smile a little at that. “Thanks, Nightwing.”
“Rest.”
The nurses and doctors burst into the room seconds later. Spider-Man is wheeled down towards the operating room and Dick is gently chased out of the medical room. There’s no room for the healthy here.
* * *
Spider-Man doesn’t make it.
Superman is the first to react to the news, sucking in a breath the same moment Batman curses vehemently under his breath. Spider-Man dies in the Justice League’s medical facility, surrounded by strangers he sacrificed his life for. Dick realizes, sickly, that the man didn’t even know the names of the heroes he helped.
In the end, Darkseid’s words rang true after all: One of you will die.
And so did Batman’s: Not one of us.
They add his name to the Justice League and put his body in stasis until they can figure out a way to send it back home.
The invasion is still being cleared up.
Dick throws himself into the work, taking out his grief and anger on Darkseid’s parademons and lackeys alongside the rest of the League. It doesn’t take long once the Flash is set loose from his personal prison cell.
After that, it’s just clean up.
* * *
To his frustration, the rest of the Bats circle the wagons around him. Damian and Bruce in particular are leery of leaving him alone for too long; Bruce saw Dick’s death play out over and over, and Damian is twitchy at the thought of losing family. He’s even seen Jason lurking around in the shadows, letting himself be seen just enough to send a message: I’m watching. Cass, Duke, and Stephanie are less obvious, but still present. Tim hyper focuses on the time loop, but frequently checks in on Dick. It takes some effort and time before Dick can get free of them, and longer than that to find Zatanna to ask her for her help.
After listening to him, she agrees immediately, and they set a time and place.
That time and place come quickly, but not so quickly that Dick can’t find a moment to sit by himself with the sleek, white stasis coffin Spider-Man’s body had been placed inside. He rests a hand on the coffin, brooding. When he hears the door behind him open and shut, he isn’t surprised to find Superman walking inside.
“Is it over?” Dick asks.
“It is,” Superman answers.
“How many did we lose?”
Superman is quiet, his eyes darting to the coffin under Dick’s hand. “One. There are injuries, but Darkseid was stopped so quickly that no one else died.”
One. The only casualty from this will be Spider-Man himself. Dick sighs.
“Did he leave anyone behind?” Superman asks after a moment.
“A few people, yeah,” Dick says quietly. “His wife’s currently working on a story out of town. I don’t have her number.”
“A story?”
“She’s a reporter,” Dick says. “A damn good one. I don’t know how she’ll handle this.”
Superman doesn’t respond, likely busy imagining himself in Spider-Man’s place. Finally, he says, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No,” Dick says, shaking his head. “No, I should do this alone. I owe them that much.”
Superman squeezes his shoulder and moves away, giving him space.
* * *
The trip back happens instantly. They leave the coffin behind for now; they can bring Spider-Man’s family to it when they’re ready.
Dick steps through the portal and swings for MJ’s home, ignoring friendly calls of ‘hey, it’s that bird guy’ and ‘going it alone tonight, new guy?’ from people on the streets below. After a few more cheerful and happy calls asking after Spider-Man, he swings higher to avoid them outright.
* * *
MJ handles it better than he expected. Not well; god no, she breaks down completely. But she doesn’t blame him or curse him or--
Well. He wouldn’t have blamed her for popping him in the jaw, or screaming at him. Instead, she merely drops down onto her couch, subconsciously groping for the small Spider-Man plushie hidden among the thick blankets. She stares at him blankly, too numb for tears.
After a moment, Dick says, “We still have him at the Hall of Justice.”
“He has a plot here,” MJ says haltingly. “Next to the rest of his family. He’ll want to be buried there.”
“Is there anyone else we need to tell?”
“No, no he was--his family’s dead. It was just us,” she says. “Just...”
Dick closes his eyes against that. There isn’t a Justice League here, no hidden support network for heroes doing what they do. At least, not for Spider-Man.
“Who was he?” Dick asks gently.
“Peter Parker,” MJ says numbly. “He’s--he worked at FEAST. A homeless shelter his aunt used to run.”
The more he learns about the man behind the mask, the more Dick wonders if asking Spider-Man to help him was worth it. He only nods numbly, unsure of what to say.
She stares at some point behind Dick and says, quietly, “Thank you for telling me. I need to be alone right now. Can you see yourself out?”
“Of course,” Dick says quietly, standing up as she rises from the couch and goes up the stairs.
The bedroom door opens and closes. A moment later, a broken, half screaming sob comes from the bedroom.
Dick, hating himself more by the second, quietly slips out of MJ Watson’s home, making sure to shut the door behind himself as he does so.
* * *
The younger Spider-Man does not handle it well. It takes Dick a moment to track the younger hero down. He finds him in Harlem, balanced on top of a half finished building. He perks up when he sees Dick, waving at him cheerfully before swinging up to meet him on a nearby rooftop.
“Hey, man,” he says, cheerful and happy. “I wondered when you guys would come back. Where’s Spidey? He said we would train together tonight.”
Dick pauses, takes a breath, and says, “He isn’t coming. He died. I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean?” he demands, standing up. Gold lightning crackles along his arms and hands, an instinctive response; either defensive or furious, Dick can’t be sure. “He said he was just going to help! And you let him die?”
“I’m sorry,” Dick says quietly. “We tried to save him.”
Spider-Man stares at him for a moment and scoffs.
“Whatever, man,” he says, his tone angry, hurt, and lost. “I hope it was worth it.”
With that, he leaps off of the building and swings off into the night.
Dick doesn’t follow him.
Somehow, that was easier than speaking to MJ.
He decides to make one last stop.
* * *
The doors to the Sanctum open for him gently and close with a near silent click when Dick steps through them. Dr. Strange stands in the entryway, hands clasped behind his back, a grave look in his eye.
“Nightwing,” he says. “It seems you have something to tell me.”
He does. Dr. Strange does not seem surprised. After a moment, Dick realizes why.
“You knew,” Dick says, clenching his fists against a sudden swell of rage. “You knew this would happen if he went with me.”
“Yes,” Dr. Strange says simply.
“And you let him do it?”
“In the grand calculus of the multiverse, a sacrifice must sometimes be made,” Dr. Strange says. He pauses, and adds, “I’m sorry. A death was required. Your universe needs you more. This universe will survive without him. It was an even exchange.”
He almost loses it then.
“Tell that to his widow,” Dick snaps.
Dr. Strange winces, and glances away. “I don’t think that would be wise.” After a moment, he adds, quietly, “For what it’s worth, I regret it came to this. If Darkseid had succeeded, your universe would end. That could not be allowed to happen.”
Dick stares at him for a long moment, biting back angry words that would solve nothing. He instead scoffs and shakes his head, turning to leave. Zatanna opens a portal in front of him, allowing him to step through, back home.
* * *
Dick makes sure to attend the funeral. A few of the others from the League join in--Diana, Clark, Bruce--though they stick to the edge of the crowd. That’s done easily enough; Peter Parker wasn’t at a loss for friends in his civilian life, and it’s standing room only for most of the service. The Justice League members are merely a few more in a crowd.
It’s attended by people he’s helped at FEAST, MJ, a young black man in an ill fitting suit that frowns at the grave more than he pays attention to the service, and others. A beautiful woman with blonde-white hair that sticks to the edge of the crowd. A man in a military uniform sitting in a wheelchair, who sits beside MJ and squeezes her hand comfortingly when she needs; he looks shellshocked and sick, but is clearly holding himself together for her sake. Beside them, a frail looking man with a sharp widow’s peak sits, looking as if he’s one step into the grave himself.
When Dick starts to make his way towards the front of the crowd, to MJ, a slim white cane crosses his path, blocking him. A man in a trim suit stands up behind him, eyes hidden behind round, red sunglasses. Blind, then, though he moves as if that isn’t any obstacle to him.
“Haven’t you done enough damage?” he asks simply.
Dick blinks, suddenly aware of the fact that a number of others are watching them. A tall, blonde man that could match Superman in stature is watching them closely. A red haired woman in a slim black dress circles around behind Dick. A black haired man with a goatee, eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, is doing his best to look as if he’s not paying attention.
This universe’s heroes are here as well. And they know who Dick is and where he came from, likely thanks to Dr. Strange. He goes very still, suddenly wondering if he can get out of here with his skin attached. He can only imagine if the reverse happened; if Spider-Man had sauntered into his funeral back in Gotham.
“I’m only here to pay my respects,” he says.
“He isn’t yours to grieve,” the man says. “This is a private affair--”
“He can stay,” MJ says quietly, parting through the crowd. The man in the red glasses bows his head towards her voice slightly and neatly steps aside so she can get close. She doesn’t recognize Dick at first, not until a moment passes. When she does, she ducks in and hugs him, briefly and warmly. “I’m glad you made it.”
She means it. Dick’s heart breaks all over again; he’s the reason her husband is dead, but she’s glad he survived. She takes in a shaky breath and asks, “Was he alone when he died?”
Dick’s throat tightens, and he can only manage a short shake of his head. He clears his throat and says, “He wasn’t alone.”
Her shoulders droop in relief. “Thank you. I was always afraid he’d--that it’d happen when he was alone. You just helped end a few nightmares for me.”
He can think of nothing to say to that.
She squeezes his arm. “Thank you for coming, but you should probably go now. Okay? I’ll keep in touch.”
“Of course,” he says quietly. She gives him a weak, watery smile and leaves, walking back towards the ground she had been sitting with earlier, who all watch Dick closely and curiously.
The man with the red glasses steps forward again as soon as MJ is out of earshot. He adds, “Do us all a favor and stay on your side of the line when you leave. We’d like to keep the Spider-Man we have now.”
Dick stares at him for a moment, nods stiffly, and turns to leave. "I'm going."
Bruce, Clark, and Diana slip out of the crowd, forming a sort of living shield around him as they leave. He lets out harsh breath once they’re out of view of the crowd and back at the spot where Zatanna will bring them home. He isn’t surprised to see the shape of one of the heroes watching them leave.
The portal opens.
Bruce squeezes his shoulder, a silent show of support, and steps through first. Diana gives him a respectful nod, and steps through as well. Clark frowns up at the funeral for a moment before following.
Dick takes one last look at this universe, breathing it in, before sighing.
He steps through the portal out of Spider-Man’s world one last time.