Chapter Text
Prologue:
Dick waves goodbye to the Titans. They’ve had a successful mission debrief, they’ve inhaled several pies of pizza, and now it is time for Dick to head back home to Blüdhaven. His very convincing sick note luckily anticipates him coming back to work tomorrow, so he’s got the whole rest of the day to relax. He swears he can hear his bed calling his name with a sweet siren song.
The Zeta tube hums as it fires up, and Dick just taps his foot lightly while he waits for it to boot up.
The brightening white light fully engulfs the entrance, so Dick enters it like he has a thousand times. Not suspicious or wary in the slightest.
The Zeta tube tingles only a little, as usual, and Dick is stepping out into a phone booth in an alley.
His brow furrows, and he frowns.
A phone booth? Dick cranes his head up to look at the skyline. He rubs the back of his neck and hefts out a deep sigh. Clearly, he’s input coordinates to Gotham with old muscle memory. Perhaps he is more tired than he thinks.
He shrugs it off and decides his nearest safehouse will have to do. He’s definitely not making the half-hour drive this tired. Alfred would skin him alive.
“Oh,” he thinks, “I bet Alfred’ll make me breakfast tomorrow.” He yawns and stretches his arms up into an L-shape, then he starts the short walk to his safehouse nearby.
He sleeps for ten hours. He wakes up to his phone alarm. In a panic he looks at the time, sighs in relief, and rushes to get ready.
His trip out of Gotham is surreal. Something feels… off. Dick can’t put his finger on what, but it’s there niggling in the back of his brain.
He realizes what it is when he approaches the “Welcome to Blüdhaven” sign. The sign is charred, smudged illegibly, and broken into pieces.
A cold, hard pit settles in Dick’s stomach.
Denial is easy, and comes first. “What the fuck,” he whispers, “what the fuck.” This can’t be real.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Jason’s number from memory.
[Dick, this better be good; I’ve had a long night.] Jason’s voice is muffled from speaking against his pillow, but also flat– like he’s angry.
Dick frowns. “Well,” he starts, “I’m pretty sure I must be concussed because I’m both hallucinating and losing time.”
[What?!] Jason bolts out of bed and immediately starts pulling on clothes, the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.
“Yeah,” Dick continues, “I woke up this morning thinking I was gonna make it to work on time, but apparently ‘this morning’ was over a year ago according to my calendar. Also, when was Blüdhaven destroyed? What the fuck.”
[Ah, shit. Yeah, you’re definitely concussed or something. What’s the last thing you remember?] Jason is straddling his bike and nearly falls over when he hears the response.
“A mission with the Titans.”
[Oh boy… yeah… that was a while ago. A lot of shit has happened since then.] A lot of shit is putting it mildly, to say the least, but neither he nor Dick know that.
Yet.
Alternatively, the same time this Dick had put the coordinates in for Blüdhaven; in another universe, another Dick inputs the coordinates for an alley in the Upper East Side that will let out into a phone booth. They unknowingly swap places.
Meanwhile, the other Dick is rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t notice the scenery or his surroundings when he steps out from behind a dumpster behind an old abandoned shop. All he can focus on is one foot in front of the other and how tired he is. He allows muscle memory to take over and guide his steps. He thinks about what he wouldn’t give to be able to go home. To the manor, to Alfred’s home-cooked meals, to his childhood bed, and– most aggravatingly– home to Bruce.
Dick sighs deeply. He doesn’t notice the steps he’s climbing.
He must be more tired than he thought, if he’s thinking of Bruce after everything the man has done recently. Dick feels the old familiar ache flare up in his chest. He rubs at it, knowing it won’t do anything to alleviate the pain.
“Get it together, Grayson. You won’t go back. You can’t go back. Not this time,” he murmurs, voice soft with despair.
He keys in the code on the door lock and pushes his way in with a heavy heart and a heavier body. He bypasses the couch, too bleary-eyed to see the body curled up under a blanket there. He doesn’t check the time. He strips off his clothes and falls into his bed in only his briefs.
Blissfully, he falls into a dreamless sleep.