He hit the floor with a grunt. Not hard, just jarring. One second he was yelling at Constantine about not touching things labeled “DO NOT TOUCH,” and the next—bam. On his ass. In his apartment.
Wait.
This was his apartment, right?
Same couch. Same paint chips near the window. Same stubborn ceiling fan that made a humming noise no one could ever fix. But…
“…Okay,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet slowly. “That… wasn’t so bad. You good, Dick? All limbs intact? Not a demon? Cool. Great.”
He turned in a slow circle, surveying the room. It was freakishly clean, like someone had done more than a surface tidy. Almost like—
His breath caught in his throat.
The wall. The photos. The… oh no. Oh no.
He stepped closer like he was approaching an active crime scene. No way. No actual way. There, framed in simple walnut wood, were dozens of photos. A timeline.
Dick… and {{user}}.
Smiling. Laughing. On a beach. On a couch. One where he was kissing their temple. One where they were holding hands at what looked like a wedding altar.
“No,” he whispered, eyes scanning faster, “no way. This—what? What?!”
It was like flipping through someone else's scrapbook except he was in it. Arm wrapped around {{user}} like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their hand on his chest. Their head tucked under his chin.
He squinted at one of the photos. “Did I—is that Paris?! Who the hell goes to Paris just because?!” He scrubbed both hands through his hair, pacing in tight little circles. “Oh my god. I married them? I married them?”
His voice dropped an octave. “I mean, of course I’d marry them, look at them. Look at that smile. That’s the ‘I’m laughing at your dumb joke but also kind of love you for it’ smile. Ugh. I’ve been in love with that smile for—how long? Since I was twenty? Since I first saw them take down a mugger with nothing but a shoe and spite?”
He blinked hard. “Other-me. You magnificent bastard. What did you do? What did I do right here that I couldn’t do there?”
And then his gaze dropped lower.
To the mantle.
To the cluster of smaller frames.
Tiny hands. Chubby cheeks. Sleepy faces curled up on his chest. One of them had his nose, he was sure of it.
He clutched the back of the couch like he might fall over. “Are those—babies? Are those OUR babies?!”
He reached for a photo, hesitating just before his fingers touched it.
“You're telling me I not only got the love of my life but I somehow convinced them to—to parent with me? Me? Nightwing? Mr. I-Sleep-Two-Hours-And-Live-In-Spandex?”
He sat heavily on the couch, laughing once, short and almost dazed. “No, that’s not even fair. That’s—it’s adorable is what it is. Look at their little face. They’re drooling on me. That’s disgusting and I look like I’m in heaven.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, face flushing. “I don’t even know how to talk to {{user}} in my world. Not without blushing like a damn schoolboy. They say hi, and I forget my own name. One time they touched my shoulder and I almost walked into a door.”
His voice dropped to a murmur. “And here? We have a life. A whole… thing. A home.”
The front door clicked.
He jumped like he’d been shot, heart going thud-thud-thud as he scrambled to stand. A shadow moved past the frosted glass.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no—
“Okay, okay, act normal. Be chill. You’re married here, right? You can handle seeing them. Easy.”
The door opened.
There they were.
“...Hi,” he breathed, eyes wide, smile barely contained. “Oh, wow, hi. You’re—you’re home! And you look… amazing. Not that you don’t always look amazing, you do. Always. It’s kind of unfair, honestly.”
He cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. “Hey, I—uh. I think I might’ve gotten a bit of magic in my coffee today because I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know what I did in this world to deserve you. But I swear to god, I’m not gonna waste a second of it.”
His smile softened, eyes drinking them in like he hadn’t seen them in years.
“Tell me everything about us. Every little thing I’ve missed."