Archive of Our Own

They had been on this case for ages. Month after month of non-stop surveillance, research, and take-out dinners, all for measly crumbs to piece together night after night. A tough case, for sure, but one that was satisfying to crack.

It’s been a real pleasure to work with Jason for so long. Team ups with his little brother tended to be short, not all that sweet, and few and far between. To spend so long together, to build up a line of trust, had been something Dick has been working towards for years with Jason.

It was one final night. Together, on a rooftop overseeing goons gather among mounting crates, ready to finally shut the case closed.

It was also, consequentially, Halloween, and the goons were all dressed up in skeleton costumes while Dick was just Nightwing.

“Why do they get to be dressed up?” the words left his lips as more of a whine than Dick would ever admit as he stared down at the goons gathering, his head resting sloppily in his hand. Ah, well, too late to recover from that.

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?” He may be unable to see Jason’s face, but he could feel the raised eyebrow and crooked grin.

Unable to restrain himself, Dick stuck his tongue out. “These are uniforms,” yeah, Jason has a point, but he wasn’t going to let him know that. “I could be out there, in a shitty Superman costume, taking Dami trick-or-treating in an equally shitty Batman costume.”

Jason, the little shit, actually snorted. “I’m sure the kid would love that.” Okay, well, yeah, Damian was resistant to the idea, but Dick was getting closer to getting the kid to warm up to it. He just needed more time. Time he wasn’t going to get because some goons in skeleton costumes woke up and chose crime.

Dick just continued to pout, not dignifying Jason’s dig with a response.

“Y’know,” Jason drawled, a flair of mischief flashing across the whites of his domino. “We could always go to Party City and shop after hours, if you get what I mean.”

After hours? What- “Jason, you-”

“You said you wanted shitty costumes,” Jason shrugged. “I’m just providing solutions.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“We could try Spirit Halloween, if that’s more up you’re alley.”

Dick rolled his eyes. They were hidden behind his domino, yes, but he knew Jason could feel it. See it. For extra measure, he flicked Jason off.

“Now you’re just spitting in my face, Dickface. Honestly, gotta respect the sheer audacity.”

Of course. Honestly, if weren’t for the incredibly annoying timing of the bust, Dick might actually find the offer tempting. Shitty, last-minute costumes and trick-or-treating go hand-in-hand, after all. And theft? Of a major corporation, no-less? Wouldn’t even rank in the top hundred worst things Dick’s ever done.

He gazed back down at the goons below. As important as integral childhood Halloween experiences were, they still did have a trafficking ring to take down. Dick could just take out his frustration on tearing down their entire operation. Did he need more motivation? No, the guys were scumbags. Could he still take advantage of it? Absolutely.

Those bastards, flaunting their costumes, glow-in-the dark skeleton morph suits and witches hats.

Wait...

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “They get to be witches too?”

Jason burst out cackling, doubling over as he found merciless glee in Dick’s mounting plight.

“I’m wearing a cape next year,” Dick mumbled, utterly distressed and planning out the most effective costume for the coming year.

Jason drew in deep breaths, calming his laughter. “You could just whip out the discowing suit, it’s basically the same thing.”

Rude. “I think I rocked that suit.”

“Your belly button was out for the world to see.”

“You say that like it wasn’t the point.”

“You have no shame.”

“Why should I?”

Jason shook his head, words that sound suspiciously like goddamn dumbass tumbled lowly out of his mouth before he started to stand. “Let’s go, they’re starting to move,” he stretched his arms out, a loud pop ringing across the rooftop. “I’ve got the witches.”

“Wait, why do you get the witches?” Dick rose to his feet, running after his brother.

“As the resident zombie, this is my holiday, so I get the first choice.”

“Jason, we’ve all died.”

“I’m sorry, shhk, I can’t shhk hear you. I’m going shhk through a tunnel.”

“Jason, I’m right here-”

The bust goes smoother than he expected. Dick actually got to take out a couple witches, much to his delight and Jason’s exasperation. Honestly, it felt a bit anticlimactic, really, after so much time, it’s over so quickly. So easily.

“If we get cleaned up in time, I may actually be able to take Dami trick-or-treating tonight,” Dick said, dragging a couple bodies to a pole to cuff.

“Do you even have a costume for the kid?” Jason’s voice filled the alleyway as he dragged his own lackeys towards the pole Dick had chosen.

“Well, you did suggest some after-hours shopping, and, well, there has to be a Spirit Halloween somewhere.”

“You can’t say that and not let me join.”

“Then you have to join Dami n’ I tonight.”

Silence, just for a brief moment, but stark in contrast to the quick back-and-forth they had built up over the course of the night. Shit. He fucked up.

.

.

.

“You drive a hard bargain, Dickwing.” a grunt. “I’m gonna have to pass, though.”

Damn. Yeah, Dick really should’ve expected that. He pushed a little too hard.

“A shame. We could’ve used your expertise.”

“However will you recover?”

Silence prevailed once again. Really, that was Dick’s own fault. He was well aware of Jason’s insecurities and hesitance towards family events, yet he still tried to lure him into one. It really was no surprise that he quickly shut down that route of conversation. A rather cruel joke on Dick’s part.

Dick would… Dick would just have to be smarter about it next time.

An apology swam across his tongue. On one hand, it was objectively the right thing to do, just a straight forward “ Sorry for pushing too hard” or “ I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” On the other hand, it’s an awful option for Jason. Dick’s almost entirely certain an apology would just push Jason farther away in the current moment.

Sure, he may look back later and have slightly better feelings about Dick’s apology, but the short term ramifications made Dick swallow the words down, a thick lump nearly choking him on the way down.

“I’ll send you pictures of Dami’s costume?” It was an offering, a weak one, but one that he knew could cause a flicker of older brother mischief to flash across Jason’s eyes.

“You think you can get the kid into a costume and snap a pic of it?” Jason’s words are laced with absolute disbelief and an undercurrent of humor. Dick only grinned, a cheeky thing. “Okay, fine, If, and only if, you can do that, then sure, send it.”

Yeah, okay, maybe he’s putting golden blackmail material in the palm of Jason’s hands, but wasn’t that what big brothers were for? Hell, Dick’s got his own stash, although, mostly comprised of Jason and Tim. He’s got plenty of potential blackmail for Damian, sure, but it felt like a massive betrayal as his trusted adult to actually use it.

Though, in this one instance, if it could warm Jason up to the family, he’d be willing to bend over that boundary a bit.

“Okay, so I’m thinking a Batman costume, but what do you think about a-” the words died out almost immediately, Dick’s gazed locked on Jason’s helmet, his brother’s eyes locked on his.

A red dot. Almost unnoticeable among the red sheen of Jason’s helmet, but so horrifyingly there. There’s a red dot, a red of dot that promised so many horrifying things on his little brother’s head. There’s a red dot red dot red dot red dot -

There were no thoughts, not really, when he immediately jumped over Jason, shielding him with his own body, and, by god, there weren’t many thoughts after. The world became three things: bright, burning pain, panicked shouts, and a blurry kind of light.

“Fuck.”

Dick couldn’t tell where the words came from. Were they his? Maybe. Were they someone else’s? Also entirely possible. Red filled his vision, so shiny. There was a red dot before right? He distantly remembered that, a bright red light, but what happened after that?

The world is all blinding pain, but something warm wraps around him. What? What was- “Dick? Dick, come on, stay with me.”

Jason.

That’s right.

He was protecting Jason. The red dot. The red dot. The red dot red dot red dot-

Soft, feather like touches danced across his forehead. A hand. A hand was brushing through his hair. “Stay with me Dickie,” and “ Why are such a self-sacrificing dumb ass,” were two of the various murmurs Dick could actually make out, the gruff voice and warm arms keeping him grounded despite how his body felt so very far away.

Dick didn’t think there was a way back from this one. Well, as he said just earlier, they’ve all died, and it was Dick’s turn again. He had no regrets. Damian was opening up, Tim was settling into adulthood, Dick and Jason were friendly terms, in the end.

There was nothing to regret. Yeah, he’d miss things, but he didn’t regret anything.

“Ja- I- I-” the syllables spilled from his lips, none of the coherency he desperately hoped for, each passing sound choking him further into silence.

Well, maybe he had one regret.

“I-”

He couldn’t even say I love you.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

He never expected the first sound he’d hear in the afterlife to be that of his extremely annoying alarm. Perhaps a harp, maybe the soft voice of his mother singing to him, or even an oddly comforting embrace of silence, but not…

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Yeah, sure, he’s died before. That was nothing new, but it’s not like he remembered much of it. None of them did. It was this empty time, these periods of their lives a blank spot in their memories.

The great unknown of death stayed veiled away from their sight even as they delved into it’s depths time and time again.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

With a groan, Dick rolled over, throwing his hand out like he did every morning and patting his hand around blindly until he hit the snooze button. He was comfy, cradled in a warm cloud, all cozy, and he wasn’t going to let some stupid afterlife alarm rose him from it.

No, he was dead. He deserved to sleep in for once.

“Grayson!”

“Wait, D, shh-”

Dick grabbed something next to his head, which felt similar enough to a pillow, and squished it into the side his ear, an attempt to muffle their shrill shouts. It was his afterlife, and he wanted sleep.

“Nonsense, Drake, Grayson needs meals too-”

“Yeah, but he’ll eat all the-”

It was a vain effort it seemed. His little brothers, while he loved them dearly, were loud little shits, and his pillow wall was doing nothing to filter out the noise. Why did the afterlife have to replicate this part of his family? Couldn’t they be nice, kind, quiet-

“Grayson!”

“Damian!”

Fuck, fine, he’ll get up and humor them. Hell, maybe he wasn’t even dead, and he was going to have to deal with the very real consequences of ignoring his very invasive and very annoying little brothers.

There was a chance, one so small it was slim to none, that Jason got him to the cave at the same time Alfred got home, coincidences be damned, and Alfred, the walking miracle maker, managed to work his magic.

Though, he highly doubted it. There was a reason he could flip over in his bed, and Alfred was good and could work miracles, but he wasn’t that good. Searing pain should’ve been his beloathed companion from the second he woke, yet all he could feel with the various scrapes and bruises he always had.

Y’know, unless he was on a lot of pain killers. Which, of course, was always possible, but he didn’t feel that familiar haziness he normally associated with the stronger stuff.

Dick was still subscribed to the afterlife theory, but…

Thump. Hushed shouts soon accompanied, obviously failing in their attempt of quiet.

Swaddling himself in what he’s now come to recognize as his comforter, Dick rolled out of bed, and huddled down the kitchen. He may be getting out of bed, yes, but he was going to stay warm and comfy.

Perhaps Dick should’ve expected chaos when he walked down to the kitchen, Damian perched in top of the fridge, clutching a box of cereal to his chest as Tim poked at him with a broom.

“Drake, that is disgusting, put it down.”

“Then hand me the luck-”

“Absolutely not, Grayson needs-”

“Oh, come on, you’d blast the rest of us for eating-”

“Because he is able to balance sugars in his diet unlike some-”

“That was one time!”

Dick blinked.

What was it about lucky charms lately? Just yesterday, the two were glaring over the box, just moments away from a full verbal spar. If Dick hadn’t rolled out of bed and into the kitchen early, then there would’ve been casualties.

The casualties being, of course, his beloved box of cereal.

So odd.

Where was Alfred? He was always so protective of his kitchen; there would be no way he would’ve let the boys climb all over the appliances like this, nor would he have let any of them wield a broom like a weapon.

Whether this be the afterlife or the next day, Alfred should've been there. God, Dick’s been craving his cooking for the past week. Sure, Alfred being out of town meant he could freely eat overly sugary foods, like cereal and poptarts, but nothing beat even just Alfred’s scrambled eggs.

He could just leave. If this was the afterlife, he was sure to get his hands on another box later. If this was reality, then Dick really didn’t want to be here when Alfred walked in. Dick didn’t have to deal with this. He could just turn around, leave, and hope for some peace and quiet.

All it took for that moment of deliberation for his brothers to turn their attention to him.

“Grayson!”

“Oh, hey, Dick...”

How many times had he heard his name this morning? Too many before his coffee, that was for sure.

Did he respond to the scene before him?

Nah.

“Mornin’,” he yawned, considering his next course of action. He could step in, break up the squabble, and snag his cereal. He could always bee-line to the coffee maker and grab a nice large mug. He could walk away, go back to bed, grab Alfred’s food when it was ready later.

So many decisions.

First things first, though. He held his hand up. The motion not being missed by Damian, thankfully, as the boy handed him the box of lucky charms.

“Traitor,” Tim hissed, throwing his arms around Dick to try and snag the cereal box.

Dick didn’t really understand the animosity brewing. There was going to be Alfred’s cooking soon. Their cereal mornings weren’t necessary anymore, nor was Tim’s need to snag the ‘good’ cereal before Dick dug through it. Not that that would matter, now, because Dick totally ate all the marshmallows yesterday as a last ha-rah.

Oh, right, he ate all the marshmallows.

Dick couldn’t really withhold the pout as he loosened the grip on the box, staring down at it in despair. Tim whooped in victory as he grabbed the box from Dick’s slack grip. Which was odd, because Tim saw him fish out all the marshmallows yesterday, dryly chastising him the whole time.

Even more fodder for the afterlife theory, then.

Spinning on his heel, he made his way towards the coffeemaker, watching from the corner of his eye as Damian crawled off the fridge. “Where’s Alfred?” Aside from the garden and library, the kitchen was pretty much his sanctuary. His absence was striking.

All he got were concerned stares.

“What?”

Tim was the first to shake out of his stupor. “You okay, Dick?”

“Uh, yes?” Dick furrowed his brows, trying to figure out where that question came from. “Why?”

“Pennyworth is not due to return until the first,” Damian was the one to respond this time, inching closer to Dick and peering into his face. “I have to concur with Drake, you seem unwell. Is everything alright?”

Okay, so Alfred wasn’t there? Well, then it definitely couldn’t be the next day. Alfred was too punctual to be late, even if he was tied to Bruce’s hectic schedule. Not to mention, if Alfred was still absent, then there was no way Dick survived his injuries last night.

Though, it made no sense for Dick to get fake brothers but no fake Alfred in the afterlife. He was such an integral part of his life, a father to figure to fill in the gaps of Bruce’s parenting, that Dick couldn’t begin to imagine a perfect fake family without him.

Maybe there was a third option he wasn’t considering?

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Dick answered, after too long of a moment. Neither of his brothers looked convinced. “Just stressed, is all.” No kidding. Dying or near dying was one hell of stressful experience.

He kinda got why Jason liked to bring it up so often in fights. It was such an easy card to play.

“I’ll take your patrol tonight,” Tim said between bites of cereal.

What? “Baby bird, there’s no-”

“Well, I’m not getting Cass. You know her and Jason will just get into a brawl- Wait, actually, that's a great idea. Do we have popcorn-”

“Don’t be foolish, Cain is a professional.”

“Perhaps, but have you considered it would be Cass and Jason? On patrol together, alone? Jason just has to shoot someone, and they’ll be at each other’s throats. Oooo, I’m betting on Cass-”

“Tt, of course Cain is the optimal choice-”

“No one’s taking my patrol!” Honestly, Dick should’ve interjected earlier, but his brothers had a bit of a point. Cass would be a clear winner if her and Jason spared. Not to mention, Jason’s stark contrast of ideals and terrible timing of a mouth would lead them towards a full-on brawl.

And all the odds would be in Cass’ favor.

“It’s too much of a risk for you to go out off-footed,” Tim says, staring Dick down. “It’s only you and Jason on that lead. He needs actual support, that you cannot provide if you’re not thinking straight.”

What? He and Jason just took down that trafficking group last night. Sure, Dick died for it, or nearly did, but that patrol for sure already happened. And, per usual, that meant Dick would have to wait a while before he was able to work with his little brother again.

That’s how missions go with Jason. They’re short, no so sweet, and few and far between.

Unless…

Alfred was out of town, there was a patrol taking place with Jase that night, Tim and Damian were fighting over a box of luck charms, of all things. Tim was excited to grab the box out of Dick’s hands.

Looking down at that bowl, Tim’s arms surrounding it in a protective cradle, like he knew Dick would try eating out his bowl, little shapes of grain mixed together with a swirl of colorful, sugary goodness. Marshmallows.

“What’s today’s date?” Dick swallowed, voice dry as a few pieces snap in place.

That concerned look deepened in Tim’s brow. “I’m gonna call Leslie,” his bowl abandoned, Tim quickly jumped out of his seat. God, his little brother was short. Sure, he was an adult now and had muscle mass rivaling Dick's own, but seeing how how Damian already was past his shoulders, Dick couldn’t help but be reminded of how young Tim was. Well, perhaps it was more of an indicator of how fast Damian was growing up, and that just made Dick feel old.

But that was not what he needed to be thinking about right now.

“No, Timmy, you don’t-” actually scratch that, arguing with Tim would do nothing. “ Just, what’s the date?”

Tim paused for a moment, phone clutched in his hand. “Halloween?”

Fuck.

Okay, so maybe everything was a dream? That gun shot sure felt real. Everything was so vivid, tangible, and logical that it couldn’t be. Could it? Nothing made sense, yet…

“I see,” Dick quickly responded, trying to draw Tim’s attention before it can return to that damned phone. “Guess I had a bad dream, then.”

A clear bill of health from Leslie was the only that let Dick out of Tim’s line of sight.

Well, clear bill was a stretch. Leslie was obviously concerned about his... nightmare. Well, not the nightmare itself, really, but the way it distorted his perception of reality. One episode was normal enough, but Leslie was nothing if not thorough.He was to keep a record of any future episodes within the next three months.

Hopefully, he’d remember?

As much as Dick just wanted to push the dream to the recesses of his memory and enjoy a final patrol with brother, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that little nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

The red dot.

It was a fine line, though, to bring up such a glaring hole in their surveillance. Yeah, they checked all the rooftops, double checked them, even, but that red dot still haunted his vision. Could a sniper set up base during their raid?

Jason was too vigilant for that, and Dick knew questioning his ability was a sure way to sour the night. Honestly, Dick knew there would be little chance Jason would miss something as simple as a sniper.

But, still, he ran a third lap through the surrounding buildings, and, as much as it delayed their night, Jason seemed unbothered. Not that Dick should really be surprised, his brother always had a firm grip on his surroundings and had every plan of his meticulously laid out and surveilled. An extra perimeter sweep was nothing out of the ordinary for him.

The reminder as to why was something that always clawed at his throat, at the corners of his lips, at his heart. One moment of unfounded trust, carelessness, faith...

And, that was a train of thought he was not going down.

“Why’d they get to be dressed up?” Unfortunately, even the goons outside of his dreamscape got to dress up in classic Halloween costumes. Hell, they were even skeletons. Again. God, how much of these nights were common place that his dreams could replicate them so easily?

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

He should’ve expected that response. Dream-Jason already had a solid point, having it rubbed in his face again stung. “Yeah, but I wear this everyday,” Dick sighed. “I wanna wear something new.”

“Y’ could whip out that discowing suit. Dust it off a bit first, and I’m sure it could pass as new.” Everything was just a bit too similar. The fight, the costumes, the banter. Maybe just a little bit to the left, but still all following that same line. What did it all mean?

Possibly, that Dick fairly predictable and was easy to tease.

“That’s a uniform, little wing,” even if it was a bit out-dated, “not a Halloween costume.”

“Well… we could always go to Party City, shop after hours, if you catch my drift.”

Perhaps he should start using his dreams to prepare for Jason's quick wit.

Well, two could play at that game, and Dick's got a bit of experience to work off of now.

“After hours shopping? I’ve never done that before,” playing deliberately obtuse was always a favorite pass time of his, and a beloved pass time of older siblings everywhere. “You know what, it sounds fun, and I think I could really rock a cape, tonight, so let’s go.”

Jason sputtered as Dick dusted his thighs, rising to his feet. “N-no,” the word stutters out of Jason’s mouth, obviously trying to recover from his shock.

“Why not, little wing? You suggested it.”

“No,” Jason repeated, firmer. “You cannot be that dumb.”

Dick tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brow for further effect. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he couldn’t help the playful smile the dashed across his face, for the briefest of moments, as Jason stared him down in disbelief.

Then, Jason straightened, raising to his feet to meet Dick’s eyes. “Sure, yeah, let’s go after hours shopping,” Jason agreed, easily, and damn, he gave it away. “Maybe you can teach B a thing or two.”

Oh, god. Dick choked on a startled laugh that bubbled in his throat at the thought. Oh, yeah, B, they want us to be disabling the security alarm, scouts honor.

“Great idea,” well, Dick couldn’t just let Jason think he’s won. “We can bring him with us, kill two birds with one stone.”

Jason tapped his foot. “Nah, we’ve got enough dead robins in this family, no need for more.”

Wait, was that- Oh, Dick was proud. “Oh my gourd, was that a pun?”

“No, it was just a play on words, you insatiable-”

“Oooh, don’t be so bone- headed, just admit you were having some skele- fun, zom bro.”

“God, you’re annoying. I’m gonna go beat up the bad, guys, ‘kay? No need to follow.”

“You can’t run from my skele- puns!”

“No need to continue, I’m deaf as bones!”

Honestly, the night went smoother than it had in his dream. Perhaps, leaning away from the topic of family had done a world of wonder. Perhaps, Leslie was right, he just needed to breathe and relax.

Anxiety dreams. Such pain-in-the-asses. Realistic sometimes and stressful all of the time.

Yeah, the night was good. They even cleared up the area early enough that Dick might actually have the chance to take Dami out after all.

“Say, if I can get Dami to agree to trick-or-treat, do you want the butterfingers?”

“You think you can not only get that kid in a costume and prance around some neighborhood, but allow you to dig through his stash?”

“You want the butterfingers or not?”

“I- yeah, of-fucking-course.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Well, perhaps, Dick shouldn’t be treating seeing his brother like some kind of game, but if Jason made it easier, then Dick wouldn’t have to resort to such measures. Okay, maybe he was a bit salty his brother was so skittish surrounding topics of family, but, god, it was difficult to warm him up to anything resembling it.

Regardless, the promise of free candy meant Jason would have to see him, at least once, sometime soon. Dick just had to take Damian trick-or-treating first.

Which meant he had to get his hands on some shitty Halloween costume, a time honored tradition.

“So, about that after hours shopping suggestion…”

“Hm, not tonight, Dickwing. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like Hocus Pocus?”

“I will not be shamed on my own streets.”

“Don’t make it easy, then,” Dick can’t hold back his smile when Jason turned his full, invisible glare at him. “Back to my plight, where can I find a costume for Dami?”

“Just take Timbers’,” Jason suggested. “He’s got one ready for that party, right? Their basically the same size, anyways, should fit like a charm.”

He wasn’t wrong. “I’m pretty sure he’s at said party, now.”

Jason shrugged. “Kid’s obsessive and a perfectionist,” pot, meet kettle, “he’s bound to have backups somewhere. Hell, he’s probably got a couple different costumes mixed in.”

Okay, yeah, Dick could see that. “I’ll take that into consideration,” he finally lands on. “Just remember butterfingers are on the line-”

And, in a heart-stopping instant, it began again. That tiny little red dot, somehow invisible to Jason’s obsessively observant gaze, nestled right there on his little brother’s forehead.

That god damn red dot.

And, once again, Dick didn’t even hesitate as he jumped over Jason, shielding his little brother with his body, an action so ingrained in his very bones that Dick wasn’t sure there’d ever be an instant he wouldn’t.

Honestly, all he could feel was a dreadful sense of deja vu as pain consumed him once again, strong arms wrapping around him, and fading words, desperate pleas for him to hold on.

And, once again, Dick was left with one regret.

“I lo-”

And the world fades away.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Oh god. Not again.

There was absolutely no way.

Yet, it was unmistakable.

That incredibly annoying

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Dick slammed his hand in the direction of that cursed sound, silencing it with a few well earned, if too hard bangs to his bedside table. There was no way. No way at all that he was waking up again, snuggled in his bed at the manor, as healthy as he ever could be, woken up by that fucking alarm.

Okay, okay, getting mad was going to do nothing. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Now, he needed to backtrack. What was the last thing he remembered?

Pain. Lots of pain. Whispered soft nothings. A warm embrace. A blur of red.

A final, unspoken plea, broken words, gasping breaths.

“I lo-”

God damnit. Groaning, Dick rolled over onto his back, patting down his chest. All solid, no obvious major wounds, just a handful of days-old bruises.

He was fine and whole. Just like he was yesterday. It couldn’t be another dream, could it? Was he in a dream now? Reality was slipping quickly through his fingers, and nothing was even beginning to make sense.

Deep breaths. In and out. In and out.

First things first, he had to find out the date. All he accomplished last time was freaking out his little brothers, and, honestly, Dick really, really didn't want to have to wrestle a phone out of Tim’s hands again.

Blindly patting his bedside table, Dick reached for his phone, missing several times, and almost succeeding in re-engaging his alarm. It was a bit embarrassing, really, how long it actually took him to grab his phone, which would have been fairly easy if he bothered to open his eyes.

Oh, well. There was no one around to make fun of him for it, so did it really matter?

8:14 am

Good to know he’s wasted nearly fifteen minutes panicking and being a dumb ass. Rubbing his eyes, Dick peered closer.

October 31st

Ah, fuck.

So, there were several theories here. One, it was just another bad dream, but that begged the question: was this all a bad dream too? More than a second of thought unraveled that idea at the seams. The previous two days had been too vivid to really be considered a dream. Once, yeah, Dick could see having a weirdly realistic stress dream. Twice? Okay, weird coincidence. Thrice? Yeah, no, something else had to be going on.

Two: he’s being pranked by his brothers. Sure, it didn’t explain the whole ‘intense agonizing pain’ thing, but they would so mess with him by setting everything to the same date every day. Did they have the time and patience? No, but that’s never stopped any of them before. Would the hilarity of the situation propel them forward, possibly without much thought? Of course.

Though, that very much did not account for the art show Damian had tomorrow, and Dick was sure the kid would throttle one of this siblings before agreeing to keep Dick from attending. Damian bled a need for attention and acceptance, and Dick really couldn’t see him purposefully, with full aware intent, working against himself there.

Which left option three: time loop. Honestly, it was the option that made the most sense, even for how un-grounded it was in relation to any other explanation he could think of. Dick wasn’t a stranger to magic, in fact, this wouldn’t be his first experience with time-based spells, but he sure as hell had no idea what brought it on.

He hadn’t run a wizard afoul. He hadn’t messed around with any books of shady origin. He hadn’t pissed off any cults.

So, why?

Maybe it was the universe’s way of giving him another chance? He does keep dying with regrets. Well, one regret. He hadn’t been able to let Jason know how much he cared for him, let him know that his big brother loved him, that he had a place in their family, even if only through Dick.

Maybe it was a chance to finish that I love you.

Perhaps everything was due to the stupid red dot. Would everything stop, would he see the sun rise on November first, if he took it out?

He just… well, he just had no idea where it was coming from. They checked those buildings, several times, even sealed and secured them. There were no real vantage points for a sniper to take aim from the angle Dick and Jason chose to enter. There shouldn’t be a sniper. There wasn’t a sniper.

Regardless, Dick wasn’t going to leave Jason there alone. If he had to die again, so be it, as long as Jason didn’t have to.

There was no way in hell he’d be able to manage to get Jason to leave the mission, nor could even think of a way to convince him to delay their raid. The timing was perfect. There was absolutely no way they would miss this opportunity.

No, Dick would just have to be extra careful, perhaps even steal extra surveillance equipment from the batcave to catch the fucker that was aiming that red dot.

“Grayson!”

“Wait, D, shh-”

And so it begins, Dick thought as he once again rolled out of bed to deal with very loud little siblings.

He had made it the kitchen earlier, this time, it seemed. What, with Dami currently crawling up the fridge and Tim’s empty hands.

“Nonsense, Drake, Grayson needs meals too-”

“He’ll eat all the-”

Perhaps, he should step in.

“I swear, you have to be supervised over cereal,” Tim muttered, watching Dick like a hawk as he pours two bowls of cereal. Dick hummed in response, popping a marshmallow in his mouth. From Tim’s bowl of course. “Unbelievable.”

In what was most certainly retaliation, Tim reached over, snagging a marshmallow from the opposite bowl, Dick’s bowl, and placing it in his own, a determined, and smug, look on his face.

Dick would let him have this win. He was so fishing out all the marshmallows in the box later.

Damian stared at them, in what was probably mild disgust, before grabbing an apple and walking away. “Love ya, little ‘D,” Dick called out, smiling warmly when Damian turned to looked at him.

“I-” Damian started, eyes narrowing in concern, “you as well, Richard.” With that, Damian left, a quiet "...much too soft..." uttered under his breath on the way. It was essentially the closest to a "thank you, love you too" Dick could've ever hoped for.

Win.

If he was going to die tonight, then Dick was going to make sure all his little brothers knew he loved them. They didn't say the L-word in their household, but if it was going to be Dick's last day... Speaking of which... Dick spun in his chair. "Love you too, Timmy," the words were garbled around a spoonful of cereal, but they were coherent enough for Tim to look straight at him.

And stared.

Dick laughed, throwing a hand around his brother and pulling him in for a side hug. His hand snuck up and ruffled the boy’s hair, and, maybe, perhaps, he let his other hand sneak around and steal a marshmallow from his little brother’s bowl.

“You’re impossible,” Tim grumbled, hand sneaking up to push against Dick’s face. Little did he know. Impossible, hah. Dick’s entire existence right now was so far beyond impossible.

He ruffled Tim’s hair one last time before pulling away. “Quite possibly,” he agreed around the marshmallow popped in his mouth.

Another marshmallow was stolen from Dick’s bowl, Tim staring him down as he chewed slowly. With a shrug, Dick reached for the box.

“I swear, if you eat all the marshmallows out of that box…”

“You’ll do what? Hold it up high so I can't reach it?" So, that was a bit of a low blow, but Tim would get over it.

Tim was unblinking. “I’ll show Damian the photo.”

That, well, that put Dick on pause for a moment. The photo. “You wouldn’t.”

Tim smiled, phone held deceptively light in his hands.

Okay, yes, Dick had no shame. Jason was completely correct about that. But, there was a difference between Dick’s shame and Damian’s reaction. “No, no, he’s had to’ve seen it before.”

“You think he wouldn’t have threatened you with scissors?”

That goddamn mullet. He could get away with discowing, but, by god, Dami would not let him live down the mullet. Drastic times call for drastic measures. “I’ll show him the video.”

“The…”

“Video, yes.”

“No.”

Ah, yes, the video. The one from years ago, when Tim was still so very tiny, and desperately trying to impress Dick at the stake park. With a kick flip, of course. One, that, well… ended up with him landing face first in concrete immediately after a confident “watch this!”

Easy blackmail material. Tim should try being an older sibling some time.

“Fuck,” Tim uttered, glaring down at his phone before lunging at Dick.

“Grayson!”

Oh. The little shit. Dick pushed at time, shoving at hands that kept slipping towards Dick’s own phone. “Really, baby bird?”

“No, your response is invalid, it was already sen-”

“You know what they say, all is fair in love and war.”

“I swear, I’ll-”

“Grayson! Come here at once!”

He did three extra security rounds. No corner left unturned, no nook or cranny left untouched. Any perceivable entrance layered with motion sensors and cameras. Dick may be prepared to die, but he was determined to at least catch the guy who does it.

And, now, for the third ambush in a row.

Jason plopped down next to him on the ledge of the building, phone entirely too small in his grip. "So…" he began, leaning deceptively casual. "Why's Cass blowing up the group-chat?”

It was nice, really, to get confirmation that Jason lurks in the group-chat. Not that it didn’t take several tries to get him to stay, in the first place, but knowing that he at least read through the log once in a while warmed Dick’s heart.

“You mean like usual?” It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Cass to spam emojis into the group-chat. In fact, it was reassuring, to see the notification. It meant she was okay, that everyone was okay.

“You paid her to bury the mullet pic, didn’t you?”

“You saw that?!” Wait, shit. Okay, yeah, there was a reason Cass was flooding the group-chat that may or may not have something to do with him. “I mean- What? No, of course not.”

Dick could practically feel the eyebrow raised directed at him.

“…. okay, maybe.” It was necessary, unfortunately. Tim’s sticky fingers had managed to slip the sim card out of his phone, the little shit, so he was unable to conduct damage control himself. Luckily, Cass was always willing to mess with their little brothers. For a price, of course.

“What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else did you give her?”

“Five bucks?”

“Nah, she’s been at this for hours. You gave her more than cash.”

“… It may have been a recording of Tim attempting a kick flip.”

“Oh, you are so showing me that.”

“You have no respect for blackmail.”

“I have plenty respect for the trade; you just suck at self-control. Now, video, please.”

God damn it. “I’ll send you the google drive link later.”

“I’ll hold you to that, big bird.” Of that, Dick had no doubts. How to get out of it, though, that was the real question. It was prime blackmail material, and Dick may have tipped his hand a little too early.

Well, it might not actually matter, after tonight, but those were thoughts Dick was not going to delve into right now.

Time to pivot. “Did you really scroll through the whole chat just to see the photo?” If so, Dick had to give it to Jason for the dedication.

“Nope,” Jason popped the ‘p’ as he leaned back on his arms. “I saw it when the notification first popped up. Red Robin Yum sent an attachment tends to mean something good.”

“Or it just means he took a photo he’s really proud of.”

“And, that’s art, Dickie. God, you’ve no respect for artists, huh?”

“Eh, I’m more a performer myself.”

“More like a show off.”

“And?”

The bust went as it always did, smoothly, with lighthearted banter to boot. No trips on the sensors, no alerts from the cameras. All smooth sailing and easy night. A part of Dick wanted to take that as blessing, but he knew better.

There was never a sniper.

And, yet, the red dot always prevailed. And, once again, Dick was gasping for final breaths in his brother’s warm, trembling arms.

And, for once, Dick was able to utter out a strained: “ I love you.”

And, then, nothing.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

So, that didn’t work. Fuck.

Well, if he was going to keep reliving his last day, he may as well start knocking things off his bucket list.

Breakfast ran as smoothly as before, bumpy and annoyingly shrill, but Dick had managed to keep Damian off the fridge and snag a bowl of cereal, so that was win?

Honestly, cereal was quickly becoming unappealing, so probably not for long. Regardless, the whole affair only lasted a short while, giving him plenty of time to knock out a few last regrets.

One day really wasn't a lot of time it seemed.

"Hey, B," it only took a single ring for Bruce to pick up, both a feat and an expectation given it was only about ten in the morning.

"Dick, what's wrong?" Ever efficient, as always. If there was anything Dick could count on Bruce for, it was cutting to the chase.

Really, what wasn't wrong?

Hey, B! I'm stuck in a time loop where I die. Just wanted to say I love you, and all that. Think Alfred will make pork when you get back?

Yeah. No.

"Nothing, B," there was a very distinct hm on the other end. "Really, I promise. Just wanted to say hi." And I love you. I need you to know I love you. I need you to be there for everyone.

"Hm?"

A question, this time.

"Y'know, trying to get Dami to go trick or treating and all," Dick pivoted. "Think you'll be home in time for his show tomorrow?"

If Dick couldn't attend, on god he was going to make sure Bruce did.

"Are you hurt?" Perhaps he was being too straightforward.

Dick forced a chuckle from his throat, though he was fairly sure he wasn't being all that convincing. "I'm fine, B," he assured. "Just feeling a bit under the weather, wanted to see if you could go on my stead tomorrow?"

A lie. A big fat lie. Dick would’ve gone even if he had broken all his bones and had a 114 degree fever. Nothing would've stopped him from going.

Outside of dying, that was.

"I'll be on the first flight." And Bruce knew it. Fuck. He didn't mean to throw the man into a panic. Lord knew he was one the most paranoid people or the planet.

"No, no, you don't-"

"Alfred."

"I said I'm fine!" The words were more heated than Dick anticipated, but Bruce had always had a way of getting just under Dick's skin.

"Dick…"

"I just…" he took in a breath, steadying himself. "I just need your word that you'll be there tomorrow. It's important to Dami that you'll be there."

The trick to detectives was laying out pieces to a puzzle they weren't trying to solve. Something enticing, of course, he had to hook them in on a juicy lead. And Dick, as much as he loathed to air Damian's insecurities, was willing to use whatever was in his arsenal to his advantage.

If anything, it was two birds with one stone. Getting Bruce off his back and ensuring his presence at Damian's show.

"I'll…" it was clear that Bruce wanted to say something else, most likely still desperately wanting to get to the bottom of Dick's strange behavior. But, Dick left him enough pieces, he should rise to bait and connect dots that weren't there. "I'll be there, Dick."

Sorry, Dami.

Dick's silence probably said something to Bruce that Dick never intended, as he finished, "I'll have Alfred press my shirt tonight."

As it always went with Bruce's affection. Words? Nah. He just had to go the extra mile on inconsequential details that really meant nothing in the long run.

Well, maybe not entirely inconsequential. They were a family of detectives, after all. If Bruce showed up in a rumpled coat, that would be noticed immediately, and of course, theorized to the high heavens.

Though, like many things, that one was Bruce’s fault.

At least he wouldn't have a frantic Batman tonight. Dick couldn't have Bruce on his heels; he had to protect Jason.

There was no sniper. Dick had to be there. Dick had to die.

And Bruce wouldn't let that happen.

"Thanks," Dick eventually lands on. It's a risk, but he really needed to say it… "Love you, B."

There was a very concerned hng , but Dick was quick to disconnect the call.

“Master Dick.”

“Oh, hey, Alfie.” It was a call he was intending to make, but Dick hadn’t entirely expected Alfred to reach out first. “How’s it goin’?”

“Master Dick.” He had that tone again. Stern father. Fuck, Dick fucked up. When?

“Yes?”

“Care to explain why Master Bruce is worrying a hole into our host's lovely carpet?”

Ah, okay, Dick really should’ve expected the call, actually. “Because he’s a paranoid ball of troubled coping mechanisms?” Why couldn’t Bruce just listen? Just sit down, relax, and trust him. Sure, maybe Dick was planning to die, but that was besides the point.

Nothing was going to change the outcome, so Dick really couldn’t have Bruce worrying up a storm and freaking everyone else out.

“You know as well as I do there’s more to it than that.”

It was one thing to lie to Bruce. It was a whole other league to slip one past Alfred.

Dick tried to keep the audible nibbling to a minimum, but there were going to be serious bite marks on his lips later. “It’s nothing, I promise.” He could feel the unimpressed brow through the line. “I swear! It’s just been a rough couple of days, okay?”

“What's going on, my boy?”

And that’s where the issue lied. There were so many things, and honestly, Dick just wanted the whole affair over with. It was nice to get the extra time to make amends and end things on the right note, but, at this point, it was starting to just induce anxiety.

At what point does he actually die? At what point do the consequences matter? Would they ever, during this go around? Would he just repeat the same conversations over and over again, gradually losing sincerity each time he is forced to go the same road with loved ones time and time again?

And it would be so much easier if he didn't die each goddamn time. There was no saying what would happen if he roped his family, the only people Dick would even trust to get him out, into it all.

All possibilities lead to a very dangerous place: they'd keep him off patrol. They'd jeep him from protecting Jason.

Sure, they could try and keep Jason away, yes, but the probability of that working, much like keep Dick from it himself, were pretty much zero.

The sniper didn't exist. And Dick would never risk Jason even if it meant ending his cruel fate.

Yet, Dick could never deny Alfred.

"I just… I can't right now, Alfie," he finally settled on, the words tightening in his throat as he forced them out.

How dearly just wanted to.

"Master Dick…"

"I will, later, I promise," a lie, a total lie, and Alfie most likely knew it. Dick just needed him to trust him. "Just, not today, please."

"Very well." Oh, thank fuck. "I'll hold you to it, my boy." If they ever got there, Dick was gonna regret that.

"Of course. Thank you." Dick sighed in relief. "Love you, Alfie."

"And I'll always love you."

Phone calls. That was all the day became. Phone calls.

Reaching out to everyone else was relatively simple in comparison to Bruce and Alfred. Sure, Babs and his other siblings were damn good detectives in their own right, but they were much more willing to leave him be if he asked.

Well, sorta. He'd be left alone, yes, but they'd definitely be doing their own research in the background. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if he found a tail tonight.

Regardless, they left him to his own devices, more or less.

Similar results from the Titans, of course. Perhaps he had to promise a later discussion, but Dick most likely would never have to deal with that.

Hmm, well, actually, that could be a problem, if they all decided to reach out to each other, but, fortunately, Dick was quickly running out of time to face any real consequences there.

"Are you really that upset you can't bring the ankle bitter trick or treating?" Jason plopped down next to him, loudly proclaiming his presence as he twirls his phone in his hand.

Dick’s not entirely sure what brought that up. Sure, he was moping, but he was moping the loops before. 

"Eh, it's not like Dami's got a costume."

There was a certain comfort leaning close to Jason. To be able to nudge his shoulder, poke his forehead, seep heat from his side. There was a sense of comfort in Jase's trust, so hard earned, yet so deeply given.

Very rarely did Dick lean in, wrap his brother in his arms like so desperately wanted to, protect him from a world that stole from him time and time again. Whether it be from his own hesitancy or Jason's disgruntlement, Dick wasn't ready to find out.

For now, he'd settle on pulling the hem of Jason's jacket, a touch distant enough to be accepted, yet just annoying enough to earn a shove to the side.

"Oh, fuck off."

"Love you, too, little wing," there was giddiness in being able to freely say those words, even under the veil cheeky sarcasm. "Say, we get off early enough, wanna go after hours shopping at Party City?"

"After hours shopping?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?"

"What are you… oh, fuck off." That elicited another shove, gentle despite the the firm force that nearly threw Dick off balance.

Nearly.

Dick cackled.

And, once again, red shot through the dark, and Dick embraced the warm comfort of his brother's arms in all-consuming darkness.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Okay, it was time to get creative, then.

“What on earth are you wearing?” Jason came to a sudden stop across from Dick, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

He kept this loop pretty much similar to the first couple. He had breakfast, helped Tim prepare for his party, purged the kitchen of junk food.

Just one simple change: some dollar store vampire teeth and a thick, scratchy cape.

"'Tis the season, little wing."

"They're not even the right colors, Dickwing."

So, maybe the teeth were pink and the cape was a bright purple. It was Halloween. All the good stuff was gone. "Think you can find better?"

"I think you just have shit taste."

“I’ll have you know that Steph says I’m a man of refined taste.”

“Refined is one way to put it.”

“Excuse you-”

“Have you seen that discowing suit?”

“You know what, I’m thinking of taking it out of retirement.”

“Please, I’ll give you five bucks if you do.”

“Twenty and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Well, he had a deal with Jason to fulfill.

“What bet did I lose?” Jason dropped the duffel bag at his feet, starring incredulously at Dick.

“What do you mean?” Dick turned, puffing his shoulders out in just a way to draw all attention to the tassels across his arms. There was a grin spreading across his face as his brother stared dumbly at him.

“There is no way I’d be subjected to this unless I lost some kind of bet,” Jason said, finally looking away to grab his things from the bag. “Maybe it was Timbers?” His mumbling trailed off, quiet and covered by the ambient wind.

“What if I just wanted to dress up for the occasion?”

“Tell Timbo, if he wants to know why his minecraft world was raided, he knows why.”

Minecraft? “You play minecraft?”  

“God, no, but I will.” The words were dark, promising vengeance for a plight that had never occurred.

“Why can’t I just make my own decisions?”

“To wear that outfit? Absolutely not.”

“I look dashing!”

“You look like a stripper.”

“Hey, there’s no need to insult sex workers.”

"That outfit is an insult to sex workers.”

“Hey!”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Fuck it, he was going trick-or-treating this time.

“Grayson, this entirely ridiculous.”

Okay, Dick had to admit, it was a bit early to even begin thinking about trick-or-treating. With the sun still peaking over the horizon and many home’s lights still deactivated, the only people milling about were families with very young children.

Damian, of course, stuck out like a bright orange traffic cone, towering over many of the children knocking on nearby doors. Dick, himself, resembled many of of the tired parents surrounding them, decked out a bright purple cape and loose white button down.

He was trying for a last minute vampire look, but, just like the last time he tried getting supplies, there was nothing left at any of the stores he visited. So, purple it was. Not that it stuck out as much as Dami, there were plenty of parents who went last minute shopping who looked just as disheveled as Dick.

“That’s the whole point of Halloween!” Dick plastered a blinding smile across his cheeks, reaching out to ruffle Damian's hair. The boy, as to be expected, ducked out of the way of the touch.

“I don’t understand why it has to be orange,” Damian complained, tugging on the brightly colored cape draped over his shoulders.

Jason had been entirely right. Tim had several backup costumes, including, humorously enough, a replica of one of Bruce’s old Rainbow Batman suits. Well, a couple replicas spanning over the color wheel from pink to purple to green and to, of course, bright orange.

Jason had also been right in that the costume would fit like a dream. Well, mostly. It was still a little big on Damian, making him swim in the cape, but, really, wasn’t it Robin tradition to be swallowed whole by a brightly colored cape?

“Would you have preferred the purple one?”

“Batman would never wear such a monstrosity on patrol. It is contradictory to it’s design.”

“You do know B actually wore that, right?”

“Please, Grayson, there is no reason to lie to me.”

“Why would I lie about this?”

“Because, and I quote, you believe siblings should ‘mess with each other.’”

“Playfully!”

“Yes, playfully.”

“Well, okay then. I’ll see if I can find the photos somewhere. There's gotta be a headline out there.”

"And, why, pray tell, would Batman put himself in a position of public scrutiny?"

"So people didn't notice I broke my arm."

“There is no way that worked.”

“Surprisingly enough, the first few times, yeah it did. Now, come on, you have candy to collect.” And butterfingers for Dick to steal and trade with one specific brother. And, maybe, some peanut butter cups for himself.

“If it allows us to go home, I will humor you, Richard.” Win.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Well, he had other things on his bucket list.

Bonding with Tim wasn’t as easy as it used to be. He was all grown up, an adult in his own right now, and just simply was harder to find time to just hang around, talk, all somewhere that wasn’t an old Gotham rooftop in the dead of night.

Not to mention, Dick spent most of his time in Bludhaven, nowadays. A stark contrast to Timmy’s own journey to settle his own ground in Gotham.

All to say, if Dick was going to have infinite last days, he wanted to pursue last days of bonding with all his brothers, and he had just the idea for Timmy.

The skate park. It had been several years since Dick had last been, and he couldn't remember the last time Timmy even mentioned going. 

Perhaps it wasn't a great day to skate. Clouds hung heavy in the air, a sweeping chill swirled around the few people out and about, every breath a thin white wisp dancing in the air. It was the kind of day that Dick would've insisted they stayed inside for, surrounded by lots of fluffy blankets, hands full of hot cocoa, and netflix set on shuffle.

They were dressed warmly. Dick himself was wrapped in his warmest sweater, one that was probably the most obnoxious Flash merch he could find: bright red with golden symbols everywhere. In the words of Damian: "It was an insult to even the blind." Perfect for day out with his brother.

Tim, on the other hand, was swimming in an old leather jacket, that worn Superman symbol shinning brightly on the sleeve, and a t-shirt with a Red Robin symbol. Or, well, a Red Robin symbol a little to the left because the bird was definitely facing the wrong direction and the color was slightly off.

Odd.

It was obvious Tim’s heart wasn’t in it. He seemed antsy, on edge. There was barely a reaction to each of Dick’s overt, tumbling falls. Yeah, so Dick was being purposefully irksome, but that was to elicit a response. There was no fun if Timmy didn’t play along.

So, there they sat on the edge of a shallow ramp, Tim's foot kicking his board back and forth. Only the sound of the breeze dancing around them and the soft roll of Tim’s wheels filled the air for what felt like eternity. There was a hard set to Tim’s eyes, settled like stone as he kicked his board forward to hop over the ramp.

It would soon slide back down, nestling right under Tim’s foot. “Batburger is going to be selling batman t-shirts in a few weeks,” he said, speaking up for the first time. There was something there, lining it way through Tim’s shoulders, a hint of mischief and a dash of sheer pettiness.

A mystery. Dick’s favorite. “I thought Bruce paid them off?” Dick watched as Tim kicked the board forward another time. It was a pitch. Tim was pitching to him.

“Not enough,” Tim muttered, ominous and dark. “He’s gotten comfortable. Forgetful. It’s the perfect time for us to take advantage and swoop in.” Ah. So Bruce pissed Tim off. Question was: how?

It also meant that Tim had this one in his back pocket for a while. A lever he finally decided to pull. “Are we submitting ideas or gathering them?” Both sounded appealing. He and his siblings could make something truly horrible that B would hate, but nothing quite hit like designs pitched by a classroom for thirteen-year-olds.

“For now, just us,” Tim said as he reached into the pocket of his jacket. “Damian has some mock-ups you can choose from, but you can design your own.” He shrugged, tossing a tiny notebook into Dick’s lap. “Jason already made a Batman Smells shirt, so that’s off the table.”

Well, there goes that joke. Dick picked the book up, lightly shuffling through. They were Damian’s doodles, alright. Dick could see the little flairs the boy favored and his preferred color palates curled in the corners.

“Let’s discuss this over some food.” Batman Smells. And Robin laid an egg. Tim’s easy acceptance meant that anything was fair game. Which meant that Bruce messed up bad. Looking at Tim’s shirt, once again, Dick had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

“And let you smudge grease over everything? No,” Tim said, exasperated.

“Aw, c’mon. It’ll just be chicken tenders or something,” Dick pushed further as he leaned in, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. There was a low growl as he moved. “See? We’re hungry. And there’s a Red Robin just ar-”

“I’ll kill you,” Tim threatened, shoving Dick’s arm off his shoulders. “I’ll burn that place to the ground while I’m at it.”

Bingo.

He decided to tug on that string. “And here I thought birds of a feather stick to-”

“Nope! Absolutely not,” Tim shoved him. Yeah, Dick deserved that. “You go there, and Batburger will have Discowing merch too.”

Mystery solved. “Try it,” Dick said with a casual shrug. Time to tip his hand. “I’ll just buy everyone a Red Robin t-shirt.”

At that, Tim blanched. “God no,” he groaned. “If anything, they’re scratchy and stiff and the wrong color and you could get so much better.” A pivot. Tim was trying to redirect him off course, and away, of course, from that shirt.

“And yet you wear one,” Dick pointed out, tapping his brother’s chest.

“Don’t remind me,” Tim leaned forward, running hand down his face. “Bart got ‘em for us, and now Kon won’t take his off.” Pot, meet kettle.

That left one very important piece of the puzzle unsolved. Or, really, had been yanked from the picture Dick though he had completed. “Wait… then what did B do?”

Tim peaked at him through his hand. A beat. Then another. “He stopped my acquisition of Red Robin.”

Oh. Yeah, Bruce deserved some backlash for that one. “The copyright would’ve been nice,” Dick said. Truly, it would’ve. As vigilantes, they really didn’t get the opportunity to generate revenue off their merch, nor could they even regulate the distribution. With Red Robin, though, who already had it’s own trademark…. Well, that would’ve been easy.

“Right?” Tim sighed, leaning back. “Now I just have to let them run around, selling my symbol- the wrong way, mind you. Let’s see how B likes it…”

Dick looked down at the little notebook. “Well, I do like this one,” he pointed out, holding the page up for Tim to see. It was a little bat-blob with little white eyes peaking out from under the cape and caption that read: Don’t talk to me or my son or my son or my son-

Beautiful.

“Yeah, that one’s good,” Tim agreed, eyeing the page.

The revenge was fun, but Dick did come here for a reason. “Let’s discuss some more with Dami,” he began, reaching for his bag. “ After you teach me a kick flip.”

“You know I love you, Timmy.”

“I’d believe that if you’d just take off those stupid superman knee pads.”

“They’re for protection.”

“You literally had to glue longer velcro straps to them. Why are you like this?”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

If there was going to be one regret Dick was going to carry into the afterlife, it was going to be missing Damian’s show. There was very little he could really do about that. Nothing he could do would advance him just one day forward, so it would remain just inches away from his dying grasp.

A part of him desperately just wanted to have Damian preform a mini show, just for him, to show off all the pieces he’s been working on for the past few months. To get just a taste of what November first held. To know, even when he finally passes on, that he got to be there for Damian, even if only in spirit.

That, of course, was a terrible idea. Any suggestions from Dick like that would immediately crush his brother, possibly even shutting him down and pushing him very far away. It was, for all intents and purposes, admitting he wasn’t going to be attend his show.

Dick couldn’t do that. It had taken so long to get Dami to open up. It was such a leap of vulnerability that it could decimate any of their progress for Dick to crush it now. Sure, tomorrow didn’t exist at the current moment, but that didn’t mean today didn’t.

Not to mention, Dick wouldn’t even get what he wanted out of it. Chances were, he wouldn’t get to see the work, see Damian proudly show it off, to bundle his baby brother into a hug and sing praises of all the hard work he’s put in.

So, plan B it was.

The Museum of Modern Art was not something Dick had ever really had an interest in visiting, but Damian had asked before, and it was only in New York, so Dick had no problem planning the whole day around it.

There were many pieces, from a wide variety of artists, and Dick had no real idea of where to start. Fortunately, Damian had already formulated a plan from the minute they entered the car.

“First, we should visit the Video Games and Interactive Design exhibit on the first floor; that seems like it will hold your attention, Richard.” Ouch, that hurt. “Perhaps even the Video gallery on the sixth floor as well, but that will have to be later on.”

Dick should’ve expected at least one of the galleries to speak to him. Hell, even just one piece on display that would call to him in some sort of way. That’s how art works, right? It’s how Damian always explained it.

He just didn’t expect it to be such a well known piece that would garner his attention so rapidly.

The Persistence of Memory. The way the clocks draped over everything, the way time was sown so deeply into people’s lives, the way that time moves on but the memory stays. The way that Dick now had memories that didn’t exist anymore, attached to so many ordinary things.

Tim’s pocket notebook. Party City. Butterfingers. Shitty Batman costumes and stiff, scratchy capes.

Dick was perpetually trapped in the same clock, the same twenty-four hours, walking along the hour hand until he fell right off the edge and right back on it again, doomed to repeat the same journey over and over again.

But, the memories stayed, the clock always prevailed, and no one else would ever remember.

“There is a mastery to art,” Damian said, staring at the piece alongside Dick. “To convey such strong emotion in something so simple.”

Ice cream, afterwards, was Dick’s greatest decision ever. His own cup, filled with with a delicious concoction of mint chocolate ship and rainbow sprinkles, was the perfect comfort food for such a trying time. Damian’s cup, a single scoop of vanilla, looked in desperate need of color, which, of course, meant it was Dick’s duty to add a spoonful of his treat into his baby brother’s cup.

The challenge, as always, was getting past Damian’s defenses.

“I have tickets to the zoo, if you wanna go?” Dick proposed, popping a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

“We went last week,” Damian said, pushing his spoon around his bowl and turning the ice cream to slush as it melted. Dick tapped his spoon on the side of Dami’s bowl, watching as the boy slapped his hand away. “I see no reason to return so soon.”

“Well… I was thinking a petting zoo.” It had been ages since Dick had been to one himself, and the idea of being able to see an alpaca again was something he was looking forward to.

“Aren’t those for children?” As if Damian wasn’t a child himself. The boy’s face was scrunched up at the thought, spoon gripped tightly and ice cream nearly abandoned. Aha, an opportunity.

“There’s a new baby goat-” Dick leaned forward, spoon racing towards Damian’s bowl.

“a kid, they are called kids-” Damian corrected, lifting his bowl into the air just moments before Dick accomplished his goal. Well, he’d just have to wait for another opportunity.

“-a new baby kid, and they’re looking for name recommendations.”

There. A brief flicker of determination. Damian looked up, obviously with the perfect name in mind, and stared straight into Dick’s eyes. “Then we must leave at once.” Aha! Dick knew there’s be no way Damian would leave something as important as a name up to the masses. Especially, the masses of small children.

“After you finish your ice cream,” Dick instructs, taking the moment of deliberation to drop the last spoonful of his ice cream, mainly just a ball of sprinkles, in Damian’s bowl. The boy glares at him with heated distate.

“Richard-”

“Love ya, baby bird,” Dick threw his arm out, pulling Damian into his side, wrapping his arm around him in a side-hug. Damian tensed for a moment before melting into the embrace.

“Tt,” was Damian response, after a short moment. “I know that. You’re much too soft, Richard.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Dick wondered if he could change his alarm tone and it for to stick into the next day. Because at this point, that

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Was starting to drive him a little crazy.

“Y’know, I didn’t think you had it in you.” It was a dig, Dick knew that, but, really, it took so many loops for him to get to this point, that he couldn’t really refute.

“If they didn’t close so early, then my hand wouldn’t be forced.” That was a lie. Dick probably wouldn’t have ever resort to theft. Well, from a store that did nothing wrong. Well, from a store that did nothing wrong that didn’t hold what he wanted.

The lack of actual lasting consequences opened so many doors.

Dick knew there were only oddly colored, scratchy capes left and a few vampire teeth, but oh well. It was a fun little challenge and a massive change of pace to the mundanity that had become his life.

“And, what would batsy-dearest say?”

“Oh, after hours shopping? What an interesting concept. Young people these days, so innovative!”

“That would be Alfred, and you know it.” And it would be entirely sarcastic.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

It was time to mess with his brothers again. Which begged the question: what was the easiest way to inconvenience dear ol' Tim?

Why, eat all the marshmallows of the box of lucky charms before he even walked down the stairs.

It was difficult to get up before his brothers. He always woke up with his alarm and that, unfortunately, was perpetually set just minutes before Tim would shuffle his way to the kitchen. So, time was of the essence, and Dick had pretty much leapt out of his bed at that first BEEP.

All worth it to eat those little marshmallows, all before Tim could. Well, sorta. Cereal had really lost its appeal over the past loops, and Dick couldn't eat a spoonful if he wanted to.

So, those little magical shapes found their way into the garbage, and Dick wormed his way back into bed.

The next thing that woke Dick up was the never ending buzz buzz buzz of his phone. That was new.

It took a few rings for him to work up the energy to roll over and snag his phone. Another few to answer the damn thing.

"Wha…" Dick mumbled into the receiver, not really coherent, and not prepared in the slightest for any conversation. Not to mention, he had no idea who was on the other line; he hadn't really bothered to check.

"Tell the brat to meet me in the cave." Jason. Okay, that was odd. Why was Jason calling him? For Damian nonetheless.

"Why?" It was too early for this.

"Payback," was Jason's way too simple response.

"Why me?" Dick pleaded, mainly to himself. "Can't you call him yourself?"

"Kid's got me blocked."

"Call Tim?" Dick just wanted to sleep in more, goddammit.

"Absolutely not."

"And why not?"

"He knows what he did."

"And what, pray tell, did he do this ti-"

"Drake!" Okay, now that was Damian. Damian screaming at Tim. Dick ran a hand across his face. 

Okay, one thing at a time. "Can you at least tell me what's going on before someone starts a fire?"

"Don't worry about it, Dickie. Just tell the kid to meet me in the cave."

"Grayson!" Ignore him for now.

"If you want Dami, you better start talking."

"God, you're insatiable. Fine, if you really wanna know, he surrounded the house with mobs."

"What?"

"Drake, get over here!"

"He surrounded. The house. With mob spawns."

"He did what to your apartment?"

"Not my apartment. The house."

"Grayson!"

"Fuckin' christ," Dick mumbled. "One sec, Dami!" He threw out the door. One thing at a time. One thing at a time. "What house are we talking about?"

Jason was quiet for a moment, leaving ample time to hear the shuffling outside his door. God, Dick needed a day off. "... the minecraft house."

Wait… this was over a video game? "What in the… you woke me up over a video game?!"

"He blew up the house! We had months of stockpiles. Months!"

"I thought you said you didn't even play minecraft?"

"When did I say that?"

"Like, a week ago."

"No?"

Oh, right, shit, that didn't happen here. "You know what, forget that," Dick said, eyeing the inward bend of his door as Damian knocked incessantly. "Did he blow up Dami's house too?"

"Our house. He blew up our house." They were playing minecraft together? His little brothers were playing minecraft together without him?

Oh, that one hurt. "You guys are playing without-"

"Grayson, I need your assistance immediately. Drake has-"

Okay, goddammit, he had to do something. "Okay, fine, yeah, we’ll meet you in the cave."

"I just need the-"

“We’ll meet you in the cave." With that, Dick hung up the phone, rolled out of his precious, so very comfortable bed, and headed towards the caving door.

Which, of course, did nothing to save the poor thing as Damian soon burst through the splintering wood. "Grayson, Drake has committed an unspeakable act, and I demand retribution!"

Breathe. In and out. "Okay, first I'm getting coffee," Dick needed to prioritize, and there was no way he was getting through this day without some caffeine. Damian, though, had opened his mouth to refute. "Then, we have a playdate with Jason in the cave."

Warmth seeped through his hands, the mug nice and hot in his hands, rejuvenating steam a pleasant tickle on his nose. In that moment, just him and his mug of freshly brewed coffee, Dick felt at peace.

“Oooh, Let’s change his passwords.”

“If you propose JasonIsMyFavoriteBrother#2 again, I will end this partnership, Todd.”

Of course, it was all the fleeting peace he’d achieve on this loop. He hadn’t figured out much more of what happened, outside of “he blew up our house,” and “our ore, all our ore." What he did know was that Jason and Damian were having a field day messing with all Tim’s accounts.

So far, they’ve turned his twitter into a Red Hood stan account, changed all his profile pictures into some still of him face planting off his skateboard, and his desktop background into a weirdly well-edited collage of Red Hood and Robin. With hearts, of course. Had to show that he loved them, apparently.

Whatever Tim did, it was worthy of significant backlash, it seemed. Remind Dick never to get on their bad side.

“How about we change it to his message.”

“Oh, shit, that’s perfect, baby bat.”

Wait. “What message?” Dick spoke up for, really, the first time since his hands wrapped around that heavenly cup of coffee. It seemed to startle them, Jason jumping up just the tiniest bit and Damian aborted reach fr a sword that was not on his hip. “Tim left a message?”

“Way to scare a motherfucker, Dickface,” Jason responded after a moment. “Warn a guy next time.”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Dick reminded dryly, walking over to lean over the bat-chair. “Again, what message?”

“Next time, don’t touch my shit,” Damian answered. “As per usual, Drake has provided no context."

“Maybe he referring to us killing his cat?” Jason said, and hold up. Tim had a cat?

“You killed his cat?” There was a startled heat to his words. Tim had a cat, and they killed him?  It so bizarrely out of character that Dick honestly felt himself off footed.

“In minecraft,” Jason rolled his eyes. “And, it was an accident.”

“I told you it was foolish to have Drake the Cat follow you along,” Damian glared at Jason, who, of course, rolled his eyes again. “I will enact vengeance for Drake the Cat.”

“Like to see you try,” Jason challenged, leaning over the boy.

“And I would like to see you try changing a profile picture,” Damian said, pointing back at the screen, which brightly displayed Tim’s new twitter handle RedH00d_stan3.

The two began bickering, a useless back and forth that Dick had no energy to follow along with. He knew, deep in his heart, that he should step in, stop the fighting and, hell, the violation to Tim’s accounts. But, he also knew, on a deep level, that none of this would matter. In just a few hours, Tim’s accounts would revert, and whatever caused Tim to wake up and choose violence would, hopefully, disappear as well.

So, Dick took a long, lingering sip of his coffee, and turned and walked back up and out of the cave.

When was the last time Dick ate scrambled eggs? Way too long ago. Warm, creamy, a hint of garlic. God, why did he forsake real food when Alfred left? It was so nice.

“If we join forces, our effective retribution goes from 76% and 58%, individually, to a total of 97%.” Perhaps, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Tim was the one to seek Dick out. Whatever happened this morning, while Dick was all comfy and blissfully unaware, had to have Tim looking for the most efficient and potent revenge.

Dick just hadn’t figured out what that was yet.

“I’ve got a a dossier of plans you can enact now, but I am open to new or different ideas,” Tim was listing off things in that professional, formal cadence he always favored when listing off an after-patrol report. “What plans have you set in motion so far?”

What? “What?”

Tim sighed. “Don’t play dumb with me, Dick,” there’s no hint of humor in his tone, and Tim stared at him through tired, half-lidded eyes. “As I’ve mentioned, we are significantly more effective together, so, again, what have you already done?”

Did Tim think Dick had something to do with this morning? Or, at least, had some sort of stake in whatever pissed Tim off so bad?

Laying into the confusion wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Tim was seeking out a partnership and was likely to close up shop if Dick didn’t have his whole soul in it. His best bet was to lean into whatever Timmy suggested and piece together answers from there. Dick could play along, for now.

He held up his steaming cup of coffee, raising a brow at Tim. “Coffee first,” is all he said, lowing the cup and taking another sip. Perhaps it was wildly unhealthy to consume so much caffeine. Dick could feel his heart beginning to race in a way he couldn’t beat down, but who cared. However he destroyed his body today would no lapse into the next morning.

It didn’t matter.

Tim stared at him, also raising his own brow. He didn’t believe him.

Okay, well, Dick could work with that. Sure, he had no idea what the boys did, but Dick always had a few ideas up his sleeve to mess with them. They could always dog ear a book in front of Jason, mispronounce shojo and manga in wildly wrong ways while talking to Damian, fill the library with fake, blank books from etsy, mess with the size and weight of the weights in the gym.

There were endless options. Dick just had a very finite amount of time for things to actually happen.

“Gonna replace some of the books in the library with terrible fanfiction,” Dick finally landed on. “Same covers, same formatting, the whole shebang. You know the drill.”

“Only that?”

“What do you mean only that?”

“Well, I’m already in the process of adding a fake checkmark to Jason’s twitter,” Tim said, tapping away on his phone. “Gonna let his ego do all the damage before someone tells him.”

Oh, yeah, that’s right. “You may wanna check your twitter, actually.”

“If my password’s JasonIsMyFavoriteBrother again, I swear-”

It was when they were roping in Cass and Steph that Tim finally let something slip.

They were gathered around the library, gathering several randomly selected historical fictions books from the shelves, with a pile of the worst rated manga they could get their hands on at their sides. The bookcases were soon to be much more colorful then they had been in a very long time.

“Dog ear some of the Jane Austin ones; we can put those back,” Tim mumbled, reaching for a book in Steph’s hand.

“Damn, what did big Red do this time?” Steph whistled, handing over the book before reaching for one of the manga. “I mean, I’m always down to swap Jase’s sugar and salt, but damn.”

Cass laughed from her position at the table, currently scooping mayo into little pudding cups. Lots of food based pranks, it seemed, were of Cass’ preference. Hell, her and Tim were planning on switching much of the food in the fridge for little plastic toddler's food for lunch, ready to nibble on them like nothing was wrong when Jason swung in for food.

Psychological warfare, really.

“The little demon got him in on ruining my plans,” Tim rose to switch out some books on the shelves. “The little asshole.”

Steph whistled again, handing another book over to Tim. There was silence for a moment, just the sound of the flipping of pages, the thump of books… but no shudder-inducing plop of mayo. Cass?

Dick directed his gaze at his sister, watching as her gaze flickered between him and Tim, a spark of mischief flashing across her eyes. There was no doubt in Dick’s mind that Cass was well aware Dick was just kind of faking it ‘til he made it, adding to the chaos despite his mounting confusion and curiosity.

“Cereal?” she asked before plopping a spoonful of what Dick could only desperately hope was the discarded pudding into her mouth. A smile danced along the corners of her lips, eyes alight with some sort of giddy anticipation.

Tim sighed, tossing a book Steph’s way. “They knew,” he said, exasperation slipping from between his teeth, a hint of resignation mixed underneath, like he was breathing the words I should’ve known. “Yet, they took ‘em all out anyway.”

“And that changes...?” Steph seemed to catch on to what Cass was laying down, leaning in to poke Tim’s shoulder.

“I was supposed to eat all of them in front of Dick,” Tim bemoaned, seemingly unaware of Dick’s presence just a few feet away. “All that potential satisfaction, wasted.”

What? This day had so suddenly gone off course, and after weeks of repeat the same day, the same variations of the same interactions, Dick was having a hard time wrapping his brain around anything else that could happen.

“Oh, you dick,” Steph exclaimed, snapping shut a book. “We were supposed to share.”

Tim blinked. “Do you mean I’m Dick or a di-”

The glare Steph sent Tim’s way burned like dry ice. “Both.”

Tim… wanted to eat his cereal? In front of him? The thought of just one more spoonful of those taunting little sugar shapes sent a wave of bile up his throat, just barely blocked by Dick’s quick cough.

Cass made her way towards Steph, dropping a little plastic bag in her lap. “Took some,” she said, a smug smile permanently plastered on her face. Holding the bag up, bright, colorful marshmallows shining through, Steph’s face lit up.

Dick, on the other hand, early gagged at the sight of all that sugar.

“You’re the best, Cass!” Steph cheered, leaping up and throwing her hands around Cass’ shoulders.

Dick returned his gaze to Tim, watching as the boy’s mouth hung open in a wordless reply, his eyes slipping to Dick’s shortly after. Something danced across his face before Tim shook his head, grabbed a book, and tossed one at Dick.

Okay, so Tim wanted to eat all the marshmallows out of Dick’s cereal this morning, hoping to watch in satisfaction as Dick poured a marshmallow-less bowl. Yeah, Dick could see Tim doing that, and, honestly, Dick could understand his desire to do so. It was easy. Sadly, Tim probably wouldn’t get that sweet, sweet reaction anymore, but oh well.

But that didn’t explain… “Why them?”

Flipping through a manga, Tim didn’t return his gaze to Dick. “Huh?”

“Why them?” Dick repeated. “I’m the most likely suspect. Why not me?”

That drew Tim’s attention, the boy glancing up with a furrowed brow. “It was in the trash.”

Huh, okay, Dick could see the logic in that. If this had been any time before the endless loops, yeah, the would be no chance Dick would’ve thrown them out. Hell, Dick had eaten all the marshmallows out the box right in front of Tim to mess with him originally. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

Tim stared. “You didn’t know.” The words were simple, and Dick knew he’d been caught. Cass and Steph rummaged through the little baggy, eating all those little treats, completely disengaged. Yeah, Cass knew, and Steph picked up on Cass’ hints immediately.

Well, no use in hiding it now. “Nope.”

Then, Tim dropped the book and shot towards Dick, his sleepless, heavy eyes boring into Dick’s own. “You did it.”

“I…” Fuck.

Cass cackled.

It was how he ended that loop, once again dying in his brother’s arms, but with bright red glitter tangled in his hair and a utility belt stuffed full of pudding.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“I want in,” Dick declared, placing a plate of freshly scrambled eggs in front of Tim. Who, of course, was buried in his laptop, an old bowl of soggy cereal marshmallows abandoned at his side.

“Wha?” Tim questioned, eyes lifting from his screen for the first time. His face was flushed under the harsh, blue light, skin pale, eyes sunken and dark. He really needed a break.

“I want in,” Dick repeated simply as he swung into the seat next to Tim, another plate of eggs in hand.

Tim considered him for a moment before grabbing a fork and digging into the eggs. “In what?”

“The minecraft server.” Yeah, Dick didn’t play minecraft, and he had, at most, a passing knowledge from when it was popular when he was a kid, when it was free. But he didn’t like being excluded.

Tim sputtered. “Who told?”

“A little birdie,” Dick chuckled at his own joke.

“Jason.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Despite his best efforts, Dick hadn't quite been able to replicate something so utterly new and different like the marshmallow loop.

"Morning, Timmy."

"Awake already, Tim?"

"Good morning, baby bird!"

"Want coffee?"

"Hey, Dick."

"Oh, shut up. I can say the same about you."

"It's too early for that."

"If you put in any cream, I'm unadopting myself."

"Enjoying those marshmallows, hm?"

"I'm feeling hot pockets today, want the last of the cereal?"

"You know, Alfred would be incredibly disappointed in your dietary choices."

"And this is why I always buy a second box."

"Of course."

"Who are you and what have you done with Dick Grayson?"

"Eh, I burned through enough calories fighting Damian off to justify it."

"You're impossible."

"Have you picked out a costume yet?"

"Want to go with Dami and I to Party City? We can find some last minute additions."

"How do you feel about going to the skate park today?"

"Wanna do an early patrol together, for old times sake?"

"No comment."

"I'd rather take my chances have a random stranger choose my costume than that, thanks."

"Depends on when and where. I have work on my suit to finish."

"Maybe, I don't know. I need to finish my costume first."

"Here, let me help."

"There could be a jacket you could get Bart. Maybe some glasses Kon might like."

"Come on, you need a break. We won't be long."

"How about we work together? Twice as fast."

"With your fashion sense? No."

"They'll just give me more Red Robin shirts…"

"You're going to pester me until I say yes, aren't you?"

"It would be nice to patrol together again…"

"You wound me, baby bird."

"From the restaurant? I'll take 'em."

"Maybe. You know, I've always wanted to learn a kick flip…"

"Then, let's do it. I'm sure you already have the perfect costume designed."

And it repeated the same again and again and again. The same conversations, the same handful of interactions, the same outings repeated over and over and over and

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Deep down, Dick knew he should treat ever loop like it was the last. One of these loops, Dick would finally find the trigger, flip whatever goddamn switch was needed, and he would die for real.

He was well aware he'd never know when it'd be. He couldn't prepare for it. He couldn't fuck around until he found out.

These loops, while they meant everything to Dick, wouldn't even be a speck of a memory for his family. However he ended his last loop, that's all they'd remember.

If it was going to be his last loop, Dick knew he’d have to roll out of bed, stop Tim and Damian from an all-out brawl over a cereal prank, call up his family, let them know he loved them, evade their attempts to help him, and, as always, die in his brother’s arms. He had to end it well; he couldn’t stomach leaving his family’s memory of him on a less than satisfactory note because Dick just didn’t care anymore.

It didn’t change the fact that Dick was just tired. He wanted to sleep the loop away, just give up for once. All he really needed to do, no matter what, was to take that invisible bullet for Jason.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

So, for the first time, Dick threw his alarm clock at the wall, rolled over, and fell back to sleep.

Eventually, yes, he rolled out of bed. It was inevitable; Dick was bound to gain some sort of energy and get bored. That was, of course, a given. So, he found himself sitting on the roof of the manor, staring out into the dreary sky, focusing on the gentle sway of the wind against his skin, the soft tickle of his hair against his forehead.

A moment alone, for the world to both fade away and surround around him. Just him, the sky, and the wind.

And Batman.

Really, Dick should’ve expected that eventually.

Per usual, Dick would have to be the one to cut the tension. “You’re early,” he said, not bothering to turn around and look his father in the eye. Instead, he stayed staring out at the limitless sky, hoping the world would swallow him whole, erasing him of his duty of caring about people despite how meaningless the consequences were.

Per usual, Batman grunted.

Per usual, Dick needed to move the conversation along, because Bruce needed to talk about something, but, like always, he wouldn’t just out right say it. “You know they’re gonna call Tim in because you missed that meeting,” Dick decided to say.

Silence. Then, “Tim called.” I am worried. “He said he heard a loud crash in your room, and then you never appeared for breakfast.” I am concerned. You’re not yourself. Are you alright?

Always with the words unsaid, wasn’t it? “I’m fine.”

“Dick.” You’re not, but if I call you out you’ll lash out. Tell me.

Dick, well, Dick didn’t really care to do that whole song and dance. “Why’re you here, B?” It was better to rip the bandaid off than to dance around what Bruce wanted to talk about. He could hear his cape flutter a bit in the wind, a tell-tale sign Dick was talking to Batman and not Bruce.

Which meant Bruce was unsure. Uncertain. Anxious. Scared. I’m worried, the words hung heavy in the air despite them never once leaving Bruce’s lips.

“Tim called,” Batman repeated. “He’s worried.” I’m worried.

“And I said I’m fine, so why are you really here?” Just say it. That’s all Bruce needed to do, say it. Say he was worried. Say he felt the need to check up on Dick. Say that he wanted answers to Dick’s odd behavior. Say he wanted to help.

Of course, as things always were, Bruce was Batman, and Dick was asking for too much. “Alfred is preparing kielbasa and couscous for dinner.”

Just say it. “I’ll be on that bust with Jason tonight. I won’t be at dinner, and you know that.”

“You will be attending dinner, tonight.”

Just say it. “I’m twenty-eight, B. You can’t tell me what I can and can't do. What are you really trying to say?”

Silence, for just a moment. Batman was very well aware his next words were unlikely to elicit a satisfactory response, and Dick was ready to pounce. “I will be… relieving you of patrol tonight. I will join Jason in your steed.” I’m worried. I don’t want you to get hurt. Let me get hurt-

Always so goddamn formal when he had no idea how to put how he was feeling into words. “And you think Jason wants that?” Dick whipped around, finally facing his father for the first time. “Are you even thinking?” Dick knew, oh he knew, that he shouldn’t be raising to bait Batman unknowingly laid down, but, god, his blood boiled as the words, unspoken or not, swam around him.

Batman stayed still. Always stoic. “I will speak with Jason when we are finished.” No, I wasn’t, but I won’t budge, because I’m a stubborn bastard.

“You will do no such thing,” Dick glared, taking a deep breath to tamp down the rage the threatened to bubble up and slip between his teeth. He should stay civil. He had to stay civil. For Jason. “I’ve been working with Jason on this case for months, and I will be the one to see it through.”

“You’re compromised,” Batman argued, unflinching, repeating the same sentiment Tim had uttered on that first loop so long ago. “I will join Jason, tonight.” I don’t know what’s wrong, so I’m going to bulldoze my way through your plans until I get an answer.

“Absolutely not,” Dick could feel the heat searing across his tongue. “It’s my case, so I will be there to finish it. It’s just a trafficking bust, so let. it. go.” Trust me.

“Dick-” No. I won’t.

“God damn it, Bruce!” the words rammed full force threw his teeth, mouth hot and eyes beginning to water. “Just trust me, for once in your goddamn life.” That was unfair, Dick knew as it tumbled out outside of his own control. Bruce has trusted him, Batman too, so many times before, but that didn’t matter.

Batman was trying to keep him from saving Jason.

It wasn’t intentional. Dick didn’t care.

“Dick.” I trust you. Trust me. “Listen-”

“No.” Dick stalked forward, shoving a finger at Batman’s annoyingly steady chest. “No. You listen to me. Do you understand how hard it is, to know that I can’t rely on you? Talk to you? Because you won’t listen. Because you- you can’t fix it!” I want to cry on you shoulder, but you’ll just hurt me as you try to fight what doesn’t exist.

Batman sucked in a breath, the audible nature of it causing Dick to pause. Bruce. Perhaps, Dick was being too straight forward. Bruce. Dick loved his father. Bruce loved Dick. Yet they could never stop hurting each other. Even in a world where nothing mattered, where there were no consequences, they were staring down bullets neither of them would stop.

Just say it.

“Dick, please.” Quiet, soft even, were never words Dick would associate with Batman, yet his gentle plea barely carried through the wind. Dick gazed into the unscratched surface of that cowl, searching for any movement of his eyes, any indication of feelings.

The cowl was shiny, almost certainly new. The cape recently ironed out. The armor light and polished.

Bruce wore his new suit. His best suit. I want you to know I care, Dick.

Tears prickled at the corners of Dick’s eyes. “Please, B,” he pleaded. “Not now. Not today. Just trust me, okay?”

They stared at each other, unblinking. Gazes locked, the air electrified between them as emotions sparked that would never be named. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

Then, faster than the blink of an eye, Batman departed back through the open window, just the flicker of his cape before he was gone. Dick blinked; it was just him, the sky, the wind, and the single tear rolling down his cheek.

He needed to get out.

He went to a different rooftop. That rooftop. The rooftop that started it all. The rooftop that haunted his every waking hour. He sat on the edge, once again staring into the endless abyss of Gotham’s dreary skies, kicking his feet back and forth. Like he was Robin again, gazing out into Gothams vast abyss, and knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, he'd never fall.

Yet, here he was, shadows licking at his heels and wondering if he'd ever hit the ground.

Dick couldn’t even begin to think of any new way to leave. He’s said I love you so many times, he’s become privy to so many secrets, he’s done everything he could that he wanted to do. His bucket list, as far as he could manage, was empty, yet the universe refused to let him kick it.

In the end, it felt hopeless. Nothing mattered. Nothing could ever matter. The only thing pulling him along day by day was the mere image of Jason’s head blown open by that taunting little dot.

And, so, Dick stayed, perched on the edge of the rooftop that would never cease to haunt him, waiting for that damned BEEP.

“You’re early, Dickwing,” Jason’s voice filled the empty air, the wind swirling the words across the rooftop and through Dick’s hair. It was comforting, really, to hear his voice. The only reason he was still here. Jason alive.

“Got antsy,” Dick said, leaning back, staring at Jason upside down. It was kinda funny looking at him from this angle. For just a single, agonizing moment, Dick could feel like he wasn't the only one falling. “You know how it is.”

“Hmm...” Jason began, long strides bringing him closer to Dick before he plopped down beside him. Dick stayed laying down, watching the as the clouds slowly moved across the sky, darkening with potential rain that would never fall.

A soft weight thudded against his chest. “Oof." Perhaps the sound effect was a tad dramatic, but, eh, who cared. Dick lifted his head, gazing down at a small snack sized bag of cheetos. "Why?"

"Eat," was all Jason said, head tilted to the side as he watched Dick intently.

Dick, who, for the life of him, had no idea what was up, shrugged and tore into the little bag. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment, Jason's concealed eyes boring into the side of his head before he grabbed a flask from his jacket, took a sip, and threw it Dick's way. 

Which Dick caught seamlessly, and by seamlessly, he meant he nearly dropped it off the edge of the roof as he sat up. Nearly. He took a whiff. "Strawberry vodka?"

"It's a flask, what do you think?"

"Touche," Dick tipped the flask forward before taking too big of a gulp. "What's the occasion?"

It was Jason's turn to shrug this time. "Looked like y' needed it."

"B would be disappointed."

"Who cares?"

"Fair enough."

The breeze swept between them, ruffling their hair and settling quiet, ambient sounds around them. Perfect for soft conversations. And, well, Dick wanted to talk.

"You know," he began. "A part of me just really wants us to just not." Jason just stared. “Another part of me just wants it to end.”

Just him, the wind, and Jason.

Tension wove it way between Jason’s shoulders, hands spasming just for a moment. “What’cha mean, Dickie?” There it was again, with soft words from unlikely places. Dick kept marching into unknown territory, and it wasn’t even funny like the minecraft incident.

Dick shook his head before slumping over, flask craddled to his chest and empty bag of cheetos swaying in his lap. “I just want it to stop.”

Silence, for just a moment. “Damn, Dickie,” Jason began. There was humor laced into the words, a defensive wall being built up where Jason found himself lost, concerned, and blown way out of his comfort zone. “You could just say I stink.”

It was a bad joke. Jason could do way better. Dick knew that. Jason knew that. Yet, Jason bulldozed forward, using any weapon in his arsenal to slash threw the tension, like a butter knife to an old oak tree. “A bit rude, y’ know?”

Despite himself, Dick snorted. “A shower wouldn’t hurt,” he threw back. The banter didn’t alleviate the weight of the world pushing him down into Gotham’s cracked cement, but it was familiar. Comforting.

“Alright,” Jason stood, voice a little firmer, dusting off his knees. “I need a drink. You really need a drink.”

“What?” Was Jason suggesting what Dick thought he was? “We’ve got drinks here.” Dick waved the now half empty flask in the air.

“There’s a bar nearby, good folks,” Jason held out his hand, helping heft Dick up from his seat, completely ignoring Dick’s statement. “Give damn good discounts, and the strongest shots you could dream of.”

“Jason, we literally have work tonight.”

“And? It’s just a shot, ya lightweight,” Dick could see Jason’s eye roll just barely visible behind his mask. “Do you want free booze or not?”

“Alright, alright,” Dick gave in. “But just one.”

“Then let’s go, already.”

“And I’m not a lightweight.”

“Babs’d disagree.”

“Babs is a liar.”

So, Jason was entirely correct. Those were the strongest shots he could ever think of. Yes, shots, plural. Dick hadn’t quite considered just how on edge he’s been throughout however many endless loops, and the relief, however slight, was a god send.

And very easy to seek out.

A strong hand patted his back, the weight warm and comforting against the thin material of his shirt. They were in civies, probably the smartest idea as Dick was sure he'd dropped their names several times already. “Wanna talk?” It was Jason. Of course it was Jason. This whole mess, all these loops, were always for Jason.

“Hm?” Dick only really hummed in response, tracing his finger around the rim of his glass. It was a fruity drink, very reminiscent to gummy bears from his childhood. Not a shot, no, and not all that strong, but it tasted good and was easy to sip.

“You were…” Jason trailed off, taking a sip from his own glass. “… saying some things, back on the roof. Wanna talk about it?” It was odd, really, for Jason to broach such a topic. Him and vulnerability were like oil and water.

What did Dick do? “I’m just tired, Jay,” his tongue was a little loose, alcohol will do that to ya, so Dick had to be a bit careful with how he went forward. “Goin’ through some stuff. Just kinda wanted not to be, you know?”

Jason considered him for a moment before taking another sip from his glass. “What kinda stuff?”

I keep repeating my death over and over and over, but what really bothers me is repeating the same day over and over and over, and now I just kinda want to die, like permanently.

Yeah, no. Honestly, Jason was probably not his worst option to talk to. In fact, Jason would probably have the best frame of reference out anyone in his family. But, Dick knew, oh how he knew, that the minute he told Jason, he’d never be able to push him out of the way at the end of the day.

“Nothing really feels like it matters,” Dick eventually let his tongue loose, resting his glass to his lips. “People need me, but… the days keep… blurring together, and it just feels like I can’t escape.” That was close enough, right?

Jason clicked his tongue. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t being all that coherent. “Dickie… I…” he trailed off again, searching for words to a truth Dick would never utter. “Have you… talked to anyone. About this?”

“No?” Dick blinked. “That’s not really something we can do, in our business. You know that.” Sure, he had a therapist before. In Metropolis, but it had been years and it was so far away. It would take his entire day just to see them. That’s all he had. It wouldn’t be worth it.

Not to mention, the resets meant they would get absolutely nowhere.

Jason hummed before waving down the bartender. “Another round, for us both. Thanks.” He pivoted in his seat, fully facing Dick. “You know you can talk to us, right?” He took the glasses from the bartender with a quiet thanks. “Maybe not me, and, dear god, not the Bat, but there’s plenty of us to go around.”

Why was Jason the one approaching him on this? It made no sense. Jason and vulnerability. Oil and water. They were swirling together in a way that defied the laws of nature, and Dick wasn’t sure…

Oh. “B called you.”

“God no.” The look of total affront nearly made Dick believe him. Nearly.

Dick rose a brow.

“Okay, he tried.” Jason downed a shot. “Keyword: tried. Which ever of those brats gave him my number is gonna regret it…”

Dick continued to stare. Say it. “Tim, then.”

Jason shook his head.

“Damian.”

“Nah, brat’s got me blocked.” Huh, that explained some things. Jason tapped his chin, obviously considering the potential ways he could move forward. “Steph called, wanted me to check on ya."

Dick downed his drink in one gulp. "Is this because of breakfast? I swear…"

"Dunno," Jason shrugged. "She just said you freaked the boys out. Freaked B out. Thought y' might do something stupid."

"Well, I'm not, so there's no need," Dick snapped, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

A shot glass slid his way. "I didn't say y' would."

Right. Right. "Right."

"Do y' wanna talk?" Jason offered again. "Nothing'll get to the B-man, swear it on my grave."

Just say it.

The offer was tempting. It had been so long, so very long, so many loops that Dick had lost count along the way, and Dick did desperately want to let it all out. He just wanted to make it to Damian’s show, tease Tim when he comes home from his party, offer Jason candy in exchange for getting lunch together.

Just say it.

He wanted to move on, and that goal was always just inches out of his reach, and he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Just say it.

“You won’t tell anyone?” Dick clarified. “And you wont do anything stupid?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jason agreed, too easily. “I won’t lie; I can’t promise anything else.”

At least he was honest. They were so close to the reset, so close to that bust that would always end poorly. Where was the line Jason might cross? Would it be immediate? Could Dick get him to hold off for just enough time so he could save him once again?

Just how much could Jason mess up, right here, at this moment, with time running out?

Fuck it.

Dick downed his shot. “I’m stuck in a time loop,” the words slipped from Dick’s tongue easily enough. Alcohol worked hard, but Dick worked harder. “Been repeating the same day for a while now.”

“No shit?” Jason asked, shot glass abandoned as he stared, almost dumbfounded, at Dick. He must’ve reacted in some way because Jason nodded solemnly. “Damn, Dickie. Who’d ya piss off this time?”

Who indeed. “Some sadistic bastard, I guess,” Dick hazarded to guess.

“How many so far?”

That was… Dick really didn’t know, anymore. “I dunno,” he said after a moment. “A long time, though.”

Jason whistled. It was a quiet thing, yet sharp among the bustling noise of the bar. “Damn, Dickie,” he repeated. “We definitely need another round.” There was a brief flicker of movement in the corner of Dick’s eye that he could only assume was Jason trying to get the bartender’s attention.

He reached out and grabbed Jason’s hand in his own, lowering it to the table. “Nah,” Dick declined. “We still got that bust tonight, remember?” Speaking of that bust… what time was it? Dick reached for his phone, glass abandoned.

Thunk. The sound distracted Dick, for a moment, hand in an aborted motion towards his pocket. “What have you tried so far?” Jason suddenly asked, shot glass still rocking on the table. “To get out, I mean.”

Everything. “You know, little this and little that,” Dick decided to be a little shit. Jason glared, unimpressed. “Pretty much everything, I think. Most of my bucket list, for sure.”

A soft hum. “When do you reset?”

Now that. That was a landmine of a question. “Tonight,” he landed on being vague. Enough detail that Jason got something to chew on but too little to really dig his teeth into what Dick was saying.

“After the bust?”

Dick stayed silent.

Jason hummed again.

Perfect time for a segway. “Really, it was nice to actually tell some one for once,” he admitted, reaching again for his phone and checking the time. “But, really, we should get going. We’re gonna be late.”

Jason’s hand shot out, covering Dick’s hand that held his phone. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

“What? Jase-” Dick pulled his hand away, tugging against Jason’s tight hold on his phone. “We already talked about this; therapists really aren’t equipped for this-”

“No,” Jason shook his head. “Why haven’t you told us? No,” he repeated firmer when Dick opened his mouth to respond. “You could’ve been out ages ago if you talked to us, I know it. You know it. So, you’re scared of something. What?”

The landmine. Jason had just bulldozed his way over that landmine Dick had been dancing around the whole night. It was all so Jason that it honestly shouldn’t have surprised him. Yet, Dick still found himself scrambling for a convincing enough lie to contain explosion as best he could.

“Nothing!” Dick exclaimed. Jason just glared. Okay, so now he was fanning the flames. Fuck. “Really, Jase, it’s nothing, now if you could please let me go-” No one ever said Dick was the best liar, in general, really, but definitely not while tipsy. But maybe… maybe he wasn’t trying to lie.

“Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid, Grayson?” Jason said, venom spilling from his tongue.

The drip on his hand tightened, and Dick could see the bartender flicking glances their way. Fuck. Dick had to shut this down now. “Way to make a scene, Jay.” Okay, so maybe he wasn’t. Damn. They always had a way of igniting each other’s tempers, flames engulfing them as they went for the throat time and time again.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you would just answer my goddamn question,” the words were, well, not quite soft, but Jason’s booming voice had dulled a bit, sanding down at the edges. Just say it.

“It’s none of your business.” Just say it.

“It’s my fucking business when you start talking about dying, Dickie!” Just say it.

“I’m not going to let you stop me,” the admission slipped from his tongue like oil, dripping down to his heels and further igniting the fire below his feet. Dick maybe shouldn’t have gone drinking. “I can’t let you stop me...” His voice had gone soft, barely a murmur. The only indication Jason had heard him was the hard, intense stare that seemed to be boring straight through his eyes and into his very soul. "I won't..."

His very, very tired soul.

“Dickie…” Jason’s voice matched his own, entrapping them in their own little world. Just him and Dick. The only constant in very loop. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

The threat was evident, and it would probably have much stronger potency if the bartender didn’t choose that moment to approach them, slamming two glasses of water in front of their faces and drawing their attention. “Break it up,” he said, bitter disdain laced into the words only in the way a person who’s worked too long in food service ever could. “Sober up or get out.” A check was placed under one of the glasses.

Jason let out an audible hmph while Dick nodded. The bartender glared at them for a moment longer before walking away.

“We should go,” Dick said, pulling his hand, and, by extension, his phone, from Jason’s now laxed grasp. He quickly took a glance at the time, internally groaning. “Dammit, we’re gonna be late, at this rate.”

Jason pulled away, though he made no move the place his card down for the check. Little mooch. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He was relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he could be, considering the conversation they just had.

He shouldn’t be. There should be absolutely no reason Jason should be relaxed about missing this bust. Not only have they been working their asses off for months to get there, it was Jason’s turf. Jason didn’t just let people get away on his turf.

If Jason was anything, he was ruthlessly persistent. Even with Dick’s concerning words, Jason would never sideline this bust.

Which meant…

“Jase, what did you do?” Panic rose in his chest. This hadn’t happened before. They had always been there, right next to the god forsaken rooftop, Dick walking straight into the stupid little dot. What would happen if they weren’t there? “Jay. Jason.”

“I thought we weren’t answering questions,” Jason threw back. Goddammit. Not now.

“We don’t have time for this,” Dick groaned, reaching for his wallet just to throw some cash down. “We have to get there, Jase, come on.”

“Then answer my question,” Jason snapped. “If you want us to go, then answer my question.” He had obviously picked up on Dick’s stress, lifting it up high and dangling it before Dick like a particularly juicy steak.

He was too calm. Too in control. Some one was there.

“Who’s there?” Dick pleaded. “Jase, who’s there?” Was it B? Tim? Would that red dot even show its face if Dick wasn’t there? If Jason wasn’t there? “Please,” the word broke on his tongue. “Just… who’s there?”

Jason takes a long moment, sipping slowly at his water. “Timbers,” he admitted, glass still held at his lips. “Steph called Timbers.”

Time slowed to a thick molasses, the world blurring around him. Tim was there. Tim was right there, next to that roof, free picking for that god damn red dot, and Dick wasn’t there. “We have to go,” Dick lept from his seat, a wad of cash thrown at the check. It was definitely way more than was owed, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Tim.

“Dickie, slow down-”

“No, we’re going,” Dick asserted, grabbing Jason’s arm. “And you’re coming with me.”

That garnered Jason’s immediate retaliation. Jason’s hand wrapped around Dick’s wrist, struggling to pull Dick’s hand out of it’s ensnared death grip. “You can’t make me go anywhere,” Jason grit out, digging his heels in and pulling Dick to a stop.

“You have to-”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Breathe. In and out. In and out. Tim needed them. They had to go.

“Fine,” Dick conceded through grit teeth. “Fine. I’ll tell you everything, but after we get to Tim.”

“No,” Jason remained firm, finally managing to pull his arm from Dick’s grasp. “You’re dodging the question-”

“Do you want to know or not?” Dick interrupted hotly, twisting so he could stare right up into Jason’s eyes. Jason stared right back down. Something dashed across Jason’s stormy gaze. Something hard, stony, sharp.

There. Sheer determination.

Dick grabbed Jason’s arm one more time, and they were out the door.

Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim Tim Tim TimTimTimTim.

That was all that was running through Dick’s head the entire trip. Granted, it wasn’t a long trip, but it certainly had its way of pissing Jason off very, very quickly.

“What the hell goes down tonight?”

“I don’t- This is- Tim is there.”

“I can’t help you help him if you won’t tell me what’s fucking going on.”

“We have to find Tim first.”

“No shit. It’s the only fucking thing you’ve said since the bar.”

“Tim is there.”

“If you would let me go, I can sweep in from the other side and find the kid faster.”

“No.”

Honestly, Dick could understand Jason’s mounting frustration. If Dick were of a more sound mind, he probably be more aware of just how illogical he sounded. But he wasn’t. Because Tim was there. And Dick had to make sure that goddamn red dot didn’t seek out a new target.

The walk was short. Incredibly short. Crime Alley had never been all that big, but, for the first time, in all of Dick’s very short, infinite loops, time seemed to stetch further and further and further away. Sticking him in place, pulling him down in the pavement, pushing and pushing and pushing and pushing and

“… is your size.”

“I’m not wearing a goon’s suit!”

“I mean… it matches the theme. Think of the authenticity.”

“… You have a point. Think we can find one of Luthor’s men? They’ve got better quality.”

Steph and Tim. That was Steph and Tim.

“Happy?” Now that was Jason. “Can you let go of me now, you goddamn mamabird?”

Steph and Tim and Jason. All alive and breathing. But where was…

Dick let go of Jason’s arm, barely aware enough to hear his brother’s sigh of relief as he dashed forward.

“Dick?” that was Tim, soft voice echoing through the empty street. Concerned. Worried. Emotions that Dick really should be taking care of at the moment. He should be reassuring Tim, keeping him calm, controling the emotional environment, but…

Where was that fucking dot?

His hands were gripping Tim’s shoulders before he really processed what he was doing, Jason still perfectly visible in his line of sight. Where was it? Where was it? Where was- “Casualties?” Simple. Like a mission report. Was that really what he was resorting to? Such emotionless measures? Tim was concerned; he should be softer, but…

He couldn’t find that dot.

Which meant… which meant…

Who died?

“None?” Tim responds after a moment, an unspoken question clear in his tone. “I mean, outside of the normal cuts and bruises, but that doesn’t even count. Steph might get a scar on her cheek, though.”

Steph leaned in behind Tim, resting her chin on his shoulder, right over Dick’s hand. There was a thin trail of blood trickling down her mask. Light, but enough to require a stitch or two. “It’s gonna be sick.”

“You mean barely visible?” Tim sighed.

“You wouldn’t know what was cool if it hit you in the face.”

“Like that knife hit you?”

“Worth it.”

“I highly doubt-”

Two arms appeared in Dick’s field of vision, leaning in to rest on Steph and Tim’s heads. Jason. “Nah, she’s right, Timberly. It’ll be cool as fuck.”

Steph perked up. “See, this is why you’re the only one in this house I respect.”

“You don’t even live there,” Tim grumbled.

“In a way, isn’t a house just something we made up as a society?” Jason leaned further in, a devilish grin dashing across his face.

“Why did I ever let you two meet?” Tim said, hand reaching up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

Bantering. Happy. Breathing. Breathing. Breathing. No one… no one… “No one died?”

Jason’s sharp eyes landed on him in an instant, recognition dawning across his features. How much he figured out, Dick wouldn’t know, but enough that it kept his mouth shut.

“You think I would kill someone?” Tim asked, incredulous. He looked at Dick like he had grown another head. “With Cass here?”

No one? Everyone was… ? “Cass is here?” Dick asked, blinking, removing his gaze from his siblings for the first time to re investigate the road. He hadn’t seen her. How did he miss her?

Did the red dot…

Dick’s heart leapt to his throat.

“Was,” Steph finally answered, the single word driving through his heart. No, he was- “She took Dames back to the Cave like twenty minutes ago.”

So she wasn’t...

No one had…

“Still think it would’ve been funny if she stayed,” Tim said suddenly.

“And I told you I need Jason whole for a gambling ring bust next week,” Steph argued back.

“I’m right here,” Jason reminded them, digging his knuckles into both of their heads.

They were okay. They were all okay. The bust was over, the red dot never appeared, everyone was alive.

Water tapped on his shoulder, falling down the gentle curve of Tim’s nose, darkening Steph’s hair.

Rain.

It was raining.

It never rained.

It was over.

It was all over.

It was all finally over.

He pulled away from his siblings, stepping back a few feet before doubling over laughing. The full-bellied cackle tore its way through his throat without any of Dick’s permission; his hands having to reach over and grasp at his stomach.

It was not the reaction he expected. It was definitely not the reaction his siblings expected.

“Dick?”

“You good?”

“Bet he’s imagining if Cass were here.”

“Oh, shut up.”

It was over. It was over.

He was free.

Free.

Free.

Free.

The laughter died off after too long a moment, air finally returing to his lungs. “That’s all it took?” Dick gasped, the words only really meant for himself, but if Dick were paying attention, he’d have seen Jason perk up. “I… I’m free?”

Jason was the one to approach him this time. Red filled his vision, but for the first time, it brought him immense relief. "Jase, I'm free."

"You owe me one hell of a..." Jason's voice was soft, eyes piercing into his own before flickering up. What did…? "Oh."

It was a quiet exclamation, but one that would forever echo in mind. In the one moment, within that one measly breath, just when Dick let his guard down and allowed himself to breathe, his entire world was ripped away from him as he was roughly shoved to the ground.

It was hard to process much after that.

There were screams. That much he could register. Were they his own? Possibly? Were they Tim or Steph's? Equally likely. Besides that, it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Just the pitter patter of rainfall.

Jason's face was tucked into his ear and Dick couldn't hear anything.

Jason was slumped over him, still in a way that haunted Dick’s dream. Something wet and thick was pooling onto his shoulder, into his hair, just below his head.

Jason still didn't move.

"Jase…?" Dick's voice was barely audible, falling back to the ground with the rain. He lifted a hand, carding it through Jason’s thick, matted curls. "Jay? Jay?"

He stayed like that for who knows how long, calling out to his brother, fingers getting caught over and over again in slick knots. Looking over was a mistake, Dick knew, but he had to… he had to see.

And all he saw was red. Red red red redredred -

It wasn't a good red.

Dick stopped processing anything after that.

The rain kept falling and Dick finally hit the ground.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

So.

He was right.

He had never wanted to die again. For all his nonchalance, for all the jokes he loved to crack, there was absolutely no part of him that was willing to return to the devil’s doorstep. Well… so he thought.

Then… Well, then Dickie was so relieved. Something bad happened at the end of his loops, that much Jason knew for sure. Something so incredibly horrible that Dick was spiraling bad, but something Dick was unwilling to let change, even if it would save him.

So.

One of them was supposed to die.

Oh well. It was Jason’s turn then. How many loops did Dick say he was stuck in again?

Jason was going to get out in less. Game on, Dickiebird.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.