Chapter Text
Dick doesn’t sleep.
He tries to, passably at least— a lifetime of burning the candle at both ends working in his favor as he lays across the bed in his apartment, staring up at the ceiling.
If all goes well , he thinks, this won’t be my apartment anymore.
Hope is a fickle thing, slipping through his fingers. Despite his concern for Peter Parker, Dick does legitimately want to get back home— unsure of the time difference when it comes to the multiverse and what home he’d be even going back to, if it worked.
He’s listened to enough stories, from Bruce, Raven, Clark, even Constantine— of what happens when you mess with magic. Time travel, multiverses, magic, all of it was a recipe for more guaranteed disaster than success.
There was every chance that Dick could find that he’s made it home only for the world to be different, to come back to nothing and no one— having left behind a world he might not be able to get back to.
Doubts, much like hope, swirl around in the sieve of his mind— thinking back instead to something Bruce had told him once, during a practice at home.
“Channel it, make it useful,” he’d said, speaking to his anger— though the words now ring true for so much more than that as Dick stares at the ceiling.
Hope— in the potential, in the future, in whatever would happen next for him.
He takes a deep breath and holds on to it like the life raft it is.
When the sun begins to rise enough that the sky turns from an inky black and blue to a warm yellow, Dick gets up from bed— doing his due diligence to do what he set out to do.
He finds some paper and a pen, writing a note to Teana in the hopes that he won’t be returning to read it himself— hopes that she feels the gratitude that he has as he tells her of how appreciative he is of her time, her care.
Once he’s finished, he packs up some things, just to make it easier for the move out and eventual move in— FEAST housing and their structure something he files away for himself.
If he made it home— when— he made it home, there was a lot more good that he could try and do. A lot more good, he thinks, that could resemble this .
Once that’s settled and the sun has started to raises further in the sky, Dick decides to leave— much earlier than the time that he and Peter set for one last trip around the city.
He won't go far, he’s already decided around that— just around a few blocks to sit, to people watch, to listen and learn as he’s been taught to do as he makes his way around.
The city is alive and thriving, millions of people going about their day— all of whom touched in some way by the Blip. It was fascinating to Dick, to think of how quickly they’ve all adjusted to this enormous thing only to smirk to himself.
Considering what he’s been through in his world, he wasn’t in any place to talk.
Time passes quickly, sitting on the stoop of his apartment when Peter Parker stops by— Dick only slightly surprised when he sees him in civilian clothes rather than the suit he had imagined.
“Hey,” Peter says, looking in truth like he’d rather be anywhere else. “You ready?”
Dick nods, taking his presence as proof enough he needs that something had resonated as he gets up from the stoop and follows Peter’s lead.
It’s quiet between the two of them as they walk, the humdrum of the city.
“We’re actually not far,” he says, nodding in the direction that they’re walking. “We could take the subway but—“
“Walking’s fine,” Dick says, “thank you.”
Peter gives a jerky sort of head shake at that, keeping quiet as the two of them walk on.
There’s something that’s clearly on his mind, something Dick could probably make a guess towards but doesn’t want to press. Not, as the voice in the back of his mind that suspiciously sounds like Jason considers, because Peter was his ticket home but because Peter feels as if he’s on the precipice of a revelation of his own making.
Dick would like to give him the opportunity to get there on his own.
Dick takes this time to absorb the city yet again, an endless kind of fascination with the way things are different here. He notices the moment Peter begins to watch him, keeping his face in check and his pace matching his until the inevitable question comes out of his mouth.
“How is it? Where you’re from?” Peter asks, Dick turning to look over to him.
“How do you mean?”
He looks thoughtful, an exhaustion that seems to go right down to the soles of his feet as he purses his lips.
“After everything, with your, um— with your memory,” Peter begins, exactly where Dick thought he would, “how did things go?”
“You mean how did everyone take it?” He asks, Peter nodding as Dick considers it.
It wasn’t an easy transition, for himself, for his family— mind rifling through the dozens of things any one of them had been through in the last few years.
He could give examples, give explanations or reasons for how and why their relationships had suffered or grown but that felt misplaced— not wanting to lie to someone who had been through so much but equally not wanting to make it seem as if trying again wasn’t worth it.
Dick finds someplace in the middle— Bruce’s approval somewhere in the back of his mind as he says, “depended on the person. Some took it better than others. Some…” he stops, thinking of one face in particular, a flare of shame at the look on Bea’s face coming to mind. “not so much.”
Peter considers that, Dick pressing on.
“It wasn’t all on them. I… didn’t handle it as well as I should,” Dick admits, swallowing down that guilt and the way Bea looked as she walked away from him.
“I didn’t get it right, but I tried,” he says, feeling as if he’s saying all the wrong things from the look on Peter’s face but pushing on anyway. “Sometimes that’s the only thing you can do, you know?”
Peter doesn’t answer that but Dick didn’t think he would, not having to know all the details of the relationship he had with his friends and whoever else to understand the magnitude of what he’s asking of him.
Ric was a version of himself that he’d rather soon forget but Dick Grayson wasn’t always easy to be either, the aftermath of that time in his life one that was just as difficult to manage as his life was now.
There is a part of him, however small, that wonders if he’s doing the right thing– to insist on going home when Peter was so clearly in need of help. The rest of him that thinks of his family– his life, his people at home– helps solidify what he already knows to be true.
Dick couldn’t run away from his own problems– the money that Alfred’s left him, the legacy that he’s left behind– anymore than Peter could, though in the latter’s case Dick can only hope that he makes better choices than he once had.
It feels like too much to say with too little between them, too little time that Dick isn’t sure they have when they cross the street, Peter nodding in front of them.
“It’s just up there. I’m uh,” he stops, looking down as Dick immediately understands.
“I’ll wait over there,” he says, Peter holding his gaze for a beat and then giving a short smile, Dick turning away to cross the street again as Peter disappears into an alleyway for what is no doubt a quick change into his suit.
It speaks even more, to the risk that Peter is taking by bringing him here– Doctor Strange’s hand in Peter’s own predicament and his reluctance to share his identity giving Dick the impression that there was more to the story.
He has more questions than answers, but they’re answers he has to make peace with never getting– barely a minute passing before Peter is swinging beside him, motioning towards the door.
“After you,” he says, Dick smirking as he walks forward.
The steps of the building in front of them are still slick with ice and snow, Dick carefully walking up the steps with Peter beside him.
He goes to knock, then pauses– looking over to Peter’s masked face.
“What?”
“Is knocking… appropriate?” Dick asks, unsure of how magic wielders were like in this world when Peter huffs out a laugh.
“I guess we’ll see,” he says when he knocks for him, the doors opening up as Dick looks inside.
He takes a step in, the grand staircase in front of them and ancient decorations giving the manor a run for its money. It’s the kind of opulence that Dick has never found a way to feel fully comfortable in, but knows how to deal with.
Most times, at least– when a short man in a faded hoodie and jeans with a large pendant hanging from his neck waltzes in from the other room, carefully eyeing the two of them.
“Spider-Man,” he says, looking to Peter and then to Dick. “How can we help you?”
“It’s– he needs help,” Peter says, Dick clearing his throat as he takes a step forward.
“Hello. My name’s Richard Grayson and I… don’t belong in this world,” he says, in what he hopes is a non-threatening enough tone. The man in front of him eyes him carefully before shifting his hands, the pendant glowing green as he does.
“No, you do not,” he says, a gruff looking smile on his face as he nods to Peter. “You found him?”
“He found me, actually,” Peter says, sounding as if he was seconds away from leaving. “It’s um, he was at FEAST–”
“I don’t want any trouble,” Dick says, bringing the attention back to himself. “I just want to go home.”
The man stares at him, then to Peter– eyes tracking over to Dick as he can feel Peter visibly relax beside him.
“We can arrange that. You won’t mind if I don’t do some checks first?” he asks, though Dick gets the sense that the request is more of a formality.
“Not at all.”
He nods, then looks to Peter once more.
“Thank you, Spider-Man.”
It’s gratitude but also a dismissal, Dick hearing it just as clearly as Peter does as he goes to leave.
“Wait, I–” Dick says, turning to Peter who stares back at him, the unblinking eyes of the mask fixed on him.
“Just think about what I said, alright?” Dick asks, wishing that he had some way of knowing what Peter looked like under the mask.
Peter stares then slowly nods before walking away, Dick watching as he does so and wondering if there’s anything else he could’ve done.
I tried , he says– a cold comfort as Peter walks out of the building and the doors slowly close behind him, hating the uncertainty in it as he turns back to the magician in front of him.
“Shall we begin?” He asks, Dick nodding as he sighs and accepts– tries to, at least– his own limitations.
The “checks” mostly involve some kind of biometric scanning, or at least that’s how Dick sees it. Wong, the magician, waves his hands up and around– muttering some kind of spell under his breath as he moves his hands into a circular motion.
“Can I ask… is Doctor Strange still around?” He asks, Dick noticing the twitch in the corner of his mouth.
“He is busy with other matters,” Wong says simply before looking over to him. “Do you have business with him?”
“No,” Dick replies, because he doesn’t– what little he knows of Doctor Strange being too intertwined with Peter and his life. Despite how much Dick hopes– beyond all reason– that Peter will make a choice better for him the self-imposed exile he seems to be living in, it wasn’t his place to interject in this way.
Dick’s learned the hard way– time and time again– what happens when he does.
Wong hums at that before moving his hands again, a golden ring forming in front of him.
“If I have it right, this should take you to where you need to go,” he says, sparks and embers crackling across the ring as Dick turns to him.
“ If ?” He asks, Wong giving him a look as Dick takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. “Yeah, okay.”
He braces himself, looking to Wong once again before saying, “thank you.”
Wong only nods before moving his hands, waving them around as Dick closes his eyes and the ring passes over through him.
He opens them, blinking a few times before he looks around in disbelief– in the living room of Titans Tower.
He barely has a chance to huff out a laugh when he hears footsteps, Kory immediately rushing into the room as he smiles.
“Dick?”
“Only on weekdays,” he jokes, a sharp laugh coming from her before she’s on him in an instant– holding him tight as he laughs.
“It’s you,” she says with certainty, Dick seeing movement out of the corner of his eye as more of his team, his family – rushes into the room.
Dick is immediately overwhelmed with the amount of hugs, cheers, and exclamations of the people around him, Raven coming up to him and searching his face.
“You’re back,” she says, feeling the way she’s rooting around in his brain. “You have stories.”
“Yeah,” Dick says with a smile, thinking of Peter– a softness in Raven’s eyes that tells him that she sees it too.
“I do.”
“Are you sure–”
“I’m fine, Wally, really,” he says, smiling as the two of them walk down the street together. It’s been a week since he’s made it back home, a week to regroup and rethink– a week to figure out who was trying to kill him and how close they came to succeeding.
A week for Dick to reach out to the rest of his family, to let them know he’s okay– ending with a particularly surprising phone call with Jason who he regrets now, sharing by which name he went by in another universe.
“I’m never going to forget that,” he’d said over the phone, Dick smiling as he walked through his apartment.
“I’m counting on it.”
A week now, for Dick to reach out to Bruce– only for the man to be at his doorstep, calm and intentional, Dick inviting him in for coffee as the two of them sat together.
The uncharitable part of him wondered if Bruce was checking in for recon but the better part of him– the hope that he tried so hard to instill into Peter– tells him that there’s more to it than that, the weighted concern in the way Bruce asks about his injuries and his adjustment back telling him more than words ever could of the way that he cared for him.
It’s been a week, long enough for Dick to wonder how things were going for Peter– the question of what kind of path and choices he will make still lingering in the back of his mind as he did his dishes, as he went on patrol, as he watched the city below him and thought of another orphan in another universe– doing the same.
There wasn’t much that Dick could do for Peter now, but the time he spent there was illuminating– to think of all the different ways that one life could change everything, of the ripple effect of what good can come from the choices that are made.
“I’m so sorry,” Wally apologizes again, an apology that Dick has told him again and again is unnecessary and bringing him back into the present as Wally continues, “The Wraiths were coming after me and–”
“I’m fine,” Dick says gently, putting a hand to his shoulder. “I made it home, yeah? I always do.”
Wally laughs at that, clapping a hand to his back as Dick brings his own hand down, Wally looking at the abandoned building in front of them. “Where we going, anyway?”
Dick stops in front of the building, looking at it up and down.
Stand up straight.
He smiles, thinking of the time he spent on that other earth– of the kindness of strangers, of one in particular.
Speak with clarity.
He considers the choice, the legacy that he carries and what he could still bring– what responsibility he has to do with what he has.
You belong there .
Dick takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he lets go of his own doubts and insecurities– thinks once more to Peter and the home that he had created for himself, in the face of such imaginable loss.
He couldn’t change what had happened to him, nor could he force any decision or choice– but choosing still, in the face of everything, to get up and help others both in and outside of the suit was something that in the week since his return had resonated with him.
Dick cannot change the past, anymore than he can predict the future but he can do something about the now– can think back to Peter and to Teana, to all the people who had helped him to get where he is now.
Alfred might be gone but Dick is still here, ready and willing to do what he can to make him proud.
Haven could be better.
He could be better.
Dick’s smile widens as he looks over to Wally.
“I got an idea.”