Chapter Text
Richard John Grayson is a natural-born performer.
Having grown up in a circus and in front of full-tent crowds, he’s a master at handling himself under the spotlight. It’s his second nature to read the room and bring forth the personality and skills it requires of him. The audience, regardless of the mantle he wears, only sees what he wants them to — and nothing beyond that.
The confidence and charm brought about by his tenure as part of The Flying Graysons is only enhanced by his years as Batman’s Robin. Which, rather indirectly, his persona as Gotham Prince’s ward and, later, eldest adopted son benefits from.
Richard Grayson takes pride in his ability to excel in whatever performance expected of him. It doesn’t matter if it’s as the Gotham elite Richard Grayson-Wayne, the Gotham and Blüdhaven protector Nightwing, or the eldest of the Wayne brood Dick. Trust that he’ll do his best to give the most satisfying stage — and only to leave with nothing but roses.
Effortless as each act may be, he still relishes the rare times there is no mantle presently tied on his back like a cape. It’s only within these times does he get to be off-stage — devoid of expectations and responsibilities — and be just Dick. Whoever Dick is during his scarcely available alone time, that is.
However, just when he’s wrapping up his surprisingly uneventful and uninterrupted day off with a good night’s sleep, he dreams.
There’s a woman in a hospital bed. Her reddish brown hair contrasts well against the white pillow under her head. He doesn’t recognize her, but she somehow feels familiar to him.
He knows he loves her. He can feel it from deep within him somehow. He just doesn’t know why.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" It’s his voice. It sounds a little older, but he’s sure. He’s the one who voiced that question.
"Like I just gave birth," the woman replies with humor laced in her voice. She looks beyond exhausted, but the happiness that escapes through her soft chuckle reaches her eyes. "I want to see him— our son."
Dick catches a glimpse of the identification band around her wrist. PARKER, MA. CORDELIA, it reads. He doesn’t know anyone with that name — nor relatively close to it.
"A nurse should be bringing him soon," his voice utters like a promise. And, as if on cue, the room door opens to reveal a nurse wheeling in a bassinet.
The next thing Dick registers is Cordelia — his wife? Dream-him’s wife? — cradling a newborn in her arms. "He’s beautiful."
"He takes after you." His attention glues to the sleeping bundle of joy. An overwhelming sense of something indescribable blooms in his chest.
He hasn’t registered how alone he feels as the only surviving member of his blood family until he sees a child that shares half of his DNA. Sure, his five-plus adopted siblings don’t give him time to feel lonely, and he cares for each and every one of them, but . . . it’s different. His parents survive through him. And, now, they survive through his son, too.
(For a split second, Dick forgets it’s just a dream.)
"Our Peter." He boops their son’s little nose with a feather touch.
An oath etches itself into his soul, one about doing anything in his power to keep Peter — his son — safe and happy. He intends to see it through whatever it takes.
The dream shifts. Dick prepares himself for the next scene to be a nightmare. After all, people like him — whatever that means — don’t really get happy endings. They merely get breaks between the finished battle and the next. He has already learned years ago that not even his dreams are safe from such fate.
Breath figuratively gets caught in his throat when his mind registers his brother Jason. Only it isn’t the Jason he knows. Dream-Jason is missing the white streak on his black hair and his blue eyes are void of any green. "Ben! May! You made it!"
He’s understandably confused. What did dream-him just call dream-Jason? Ben?
He has so many questions.
"Of course." Dream-Jason — Ben — sounds similar to Jason, too, just like his dream-self does with himself. "We wouldn’t miss this for the world."
There are a few other things to note about the dream version of his younger brother. He holds himself with relaxed confidence. The seemingly perpetual tenseness on his shoulders is nonexistent — and so does the ‘threat’ and ‘danger’ he wears like an armor. Instead, his heart resides on his sleeve.
It’s almost as if Ben is Jason, had the latter lived Robin’s magic without necessarily donning the cape; had the latter still received the good things bestowed by Robin’s magic without suffering from its deadly consequences; had he not had any reason to don the cape and trip over it.
Ben embodies the Jason who loves literature and didn’t have any strong reason to not pursue what he loves.
"We brought you guys food," May — the woman next to Ben — pipes up. Dick’s eyes zeroes in on the white gold band around one of Ben’s fingers when he places two tiffin lunch box down. In a stroke of genius, he looks over to May — and immediately spots a daintier cut of the same white gold.
"You guys are the best. Thank you," he hears Cordelia express her gratitude. He hears himself follow similarly, albeit he doesn’t comprehend what his dream-self said exactly. For his mind is focused on something else.
They’re wedding rings. Ben’s married— Jason’s married.
Holy Batman.
He needs a moment.
He has absolutely no idea where the inspiration for this very mundane dream sequences comes from. The show he was watching before going to bed wasn’t related to hospitals, giving birth, weddings, nor families. His thoughts within the last two weeks weren’t remotely close to those, either. In fact, he hasn’t thought about settling down — right now nor in the future — at all. Nor does Jason, as far as he’s aware. After all, their lives are far too dangerous to bring in innocents. They can’t just get up and leave, either, because the guilt of abandoning their post will certainly eat them alive.
Thus, understandably, Dick has never thought — much less imagined — he’ll get to see his younger brother happily married with someone he visibly loves. And himself, too, he supposes.
However unrealistic and far-fetched from the reality this dream is, he’s still somewhat soaking up the unattainable what-if it presents. Especially since any semblance of the life in it is so far down the line, if there is at all.
"Meet your nephew, Peter Benjamin Parker."
Ben’s eyes widen at the revelation, before softening upon comprehending the significance. "You— You named him after me?"
The response takes a form of a justification rather than an actual answer, but the sentiment remains. "There’s no better role model for him."
Dick has half a mind to disapprove of his dream-self’s reasoning, until he puzzles that there must not be a Robin mantle in his dream — and, ergo, no Red Hood. Or maybe there is Robin, but Jason’s Robin never got beaten with a crowbar. Maybe Jason’s Robin never became self-destructive and just stayed as the better Robin he saw him as.
He turns to like the dream even more after that realization. (Un)Fortunately, it ends soon after, before another shift occurs.
He wakes up well-rested with the remnants of what he has dreamed about still replaying at the back of his mind.
Dick must admit, out of all the mantles he performs with, the one reserved for the Gotham elites has got to be the most boring to wear. Not only is he required to wear a fancy suit, but he’s also expected to socialize with the self-righteous crowd. He’s not really a fan.
When he was younger, he was more or less allowed to swing on the chandeliers to cure his boredom and, consequently, provide entertainment to the onlookers down below. However, as years passed, forms have turned into steel — unbending with the elites’ eagle eyes and venomous tongues. It was not proper for someone his age and station to act so openly like a zoo escapee.
Really, the only relief about being forcefully kept on the ground is the knowledge that all his siblings also would rather be anywhere else. It’s relieving to know that he’s not the only one internally hurrying the gala to come to a close. Perhaps if they all wish at the same time, it’ll come true. (It never does. They jokingly think it’s because there aren’t enough Waynes to manifest it.)
The gala that required their presence tonight is for a birthday, organized by another Gotham socialite Selina Kyle. As she is a close family friend to the Waynes, him and every one of his siblings are explicitly invited to attend. Even Stephanie and Barbara are in attendance, as Selina extended her invitation outside the usual crowd.
Dick is frankly supportive of her decision, as it mixed the crowd up a bit and gave him and his family other, non-stuck up people to converse with. He’ll be sure to ask Batman to go easy on Catwoman next time in thanks.
Unfortunately, even if this gala isn’t as strictly fancy and formal as the others, Bruce’s rule about them not huddling in one corner still applies. Thus, there they are — scattered around the ballroom either by themselves or in pairs.
His current partner for the night is Jason. Jason Peter Todd who cryptically said, totally unprompted, "Don’t name your kid after me," before disappearing to get them both drinks.
Dick is left wondering after him. His brother’s words only have one thing connected to it, in the red-stringed map his mind conjured. Only the connection shouldn’t even be there in the first place, because he never told anyone about the dreams concerning an alternate reality that come and go. He never told Jason he dreams of a world where they’re both married to the love of their lives and he has a son that he named after him. And yet, the red string is there. Unwaveringly so, because he can’t think of any other reason his brother brought it up.
Another string is added when Dick gathers enough nerves to consider that Jason has been having similar dreams. An additional one quickly follows suit because that connection is near impossible without something — someone? — making it possible. He makes a note to ask Zatanna, Raven, and Doctor Fate later, just in case.
"Woah there, kid," Jason’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. He turns in time to his brother steadying a child back to two feet. "You good?"
"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that." Dick slips closer to Jason just before the kid can properly collect himself. "I was looking for my aunt."
The world slows as soon as the kid in question looks up to meet Jason’s eyes. Suddenly, he’s hyperaware of the familiar brown locks that rest on his head, the slope of his nose, and the hidden shape of his jaw.
It’s Peter. His son from his dreams.
But how?
Has Dick fallen as sleep without realizing—
"Your aunt?" He hears Jason ask in a daze. His brother clears his throat before mindlessly handing him his drink, eyes never leaving the kid in front of them. "Who’s— Do you need help finding her?"
No. He can’t be. Because then Jason should be Ben right now. And he’s obviously not.
To his part, the kid also looks slightly dazed. He soon shakes his furiously, notably alarmed. "Oh, no, no, that’s okay! I’m sure she’s just around here somewhere! I’ll find her!"
Jason doesn’t seem fond of the answer he received, but opts to not press on, "If you say so."
Dick decides to enter himself into their conversation before the kid can take his leave. "Say, have we met before?" You look really familiar goes unsaid.
He forgets how to breathe when he comes face-to-face with the striking white lock that mixed in with the brown and the green that devoured his irises and the whites of his eyes.
They look wrong. So wrong.
His Peter doesn’t have a white streak in his hair. He has brown doe eyes he inherited from his mother.
Yet it’s undeniable that this kid has everything else his Peter has.
"Definitely not," the kid denies easily. Awkwardly, almost. "I’m not from around here."
"Ah," is all Dick manages to say. His mind is reeling with questions he can’t voice. Not with the ears of gossip vultures all around. Not in front of the kid that has his son-from-his-dreams’ face. Especially not when he can tell the kid doesn’t recognize him, but recognizes Jason with no problem.
Selina seemingly materializes behind the kid before any of them can say anything else. No one flinches at her sudden appearance. "There you are, Peter."
Dick hopes it isn’t obvious that he has momentarily froze upon hearing the kid’s name. He has unconsciously taken it as a preliminary confirmation, since mere coincidences are rare for them Waynes and Wayne-adjacents.
"Aunt Selina!" Peter sounds extremely relieved.
"‘Aunt Selina’?" Jason echoes. He suddenly looks paler under the ballroom lights. "You’re taking in human strays now, too?"
Selina ignores them both in favor of only acknowledging the youngest in their group. "Kitten, your Aunt Jo is about to turn feral looking for you."
"I’ve been trying to find her, too," Peter pouts. He spares Jason another glance before taking off. He doesn’t even bother giving him the same courtesy, much to Dick’s pained confusion.
His dreams about his son are filled with bonding moments. As far as they go, Peter seems to reciprocate his love and adoration for him. At the very least, his son seems to enjoy his presence with the way he constantly clings onto him.
The reality seems too far off. It doesn’t sit well in his stomach. Unfortunately, there are too many unknowns for him to arrive at a conclusion— an explanation why a copy of his dream-son is there. (Different and older, per his latest dream, but his son just the same.)
"Paws off," Selina turns back to them with a warning. She stares the both of them down like she can hear the thoughts that now plague his mind. "The kitten is under my protection."
Dick hears the warning as a suggestion.