Chapter Text
When the bright yellow portal started to grow in the air above the heads of agents sitting at their desks in the White Collar Division, Dick did his best to project “alarmed” rather than “exasperated.” One of the reasons he had agreed to go undercover in the FBI was to get a respite from all of the weird shit he dealt with as Nightwing (and as an auxiliary member of the Justice League, and the leader of the Titans before that, and the leader of the Teen Titans before that — not to mention his time in the cowl .)
But no . It seemed like the weird was following him. In the six months he had been with the White Collar Unit, the amount of times they had encountered something tangentially JL related had been steadily increasing to the point where, last month it had hit a shiny total of 643% more encounters than the average FBI investigative unit. Dick wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep dancing the line of no I’m not doing anything illegal Peter, it only looks like it because I'm keeping you from noticing just how much Justice League nonsense you’re tangled up in.
When the portal finally opened, and three costumed figures fell through, Dick gave up and laid his head down on his desk. What did he do to deserve this?
Dick kept his head down and his eyes closed, but he could hear the startled yelps as everyone reacted to the situation, hear the agents pulling their guns, the shuffling of kevlar weave that meant the guests were standing, the startled gasps coming from the agents when they realized just how young the visitors were.
It was silent for...One...Two...Three...Four...
“Hey all, not that I’m not super stoked that you’re ready and able to defend yourselves, but I am not loving having guns pointed at me or my friends. Judging by the look of this building, I’m going to guess that you’re all law enforcement type people, and we certainly aren’t the bad guys, so if you could just, like, stop pointing your weapons at us, I would really appreciate it—”
The achingly familiar (but oh so young) voice was cut off with a small squawk and another voice Dick could barely make out (but still unfortunately recognized) whispering, “Slow down KF.”
And that’s when it hit him that he’s probably one of the few people in the room that even understood what had been said. Because his best friend may have changed a lot in the last 15 years or so, but he still speedtalked when he’s nervous—Dick's just gotten used to deciphering him.
“Right, sorry.” If Dick didn’t already have his face covered, he would have facepalmed. Just how young was this version of Wally that Dick could hear the meekness in his voice, even when they were in costume?
“Jesus Christ, can all of you put your guns down now? We’re obviously not here on purpose, and we don’t intend to hurt anyone. Get your shit together and stop pointing deadly weapons at literal children.”
Dick registered the sounds of the stunned office slowly coming back to life as the unique charm of a pissed off Roy Harper took effect. The clicks of guns being returned to holsters and non-slip rubber soles shifting on government issue carpet faded as Dick ran back through what exactly this younger version of Roy said, and why it sounded off to him.
Dick didn’t care to note how much time passed between the answer exploding in his brain like a firework and him putting himself in front of the three boys, but number of agents surrounding them hadn’t dissipated much from his initial mental tally and Peter appeared to be in the middle of a sentence. Oh well.
“You're older than them. How much older?” Dick doubted he’d get an actual answer out of Roy, who he now realized was dressed in his Speedy costume, but seeing his reaction to the question would help narrow things down.
All three of the visitors immediately diverted their attention from Peter the moment Dick spoke, but Dick kept his gaze on Roy. He may not be the one Dick ultimately needed to trust him, but unless there were very specific circumstances, Roy Harper would always be the most openly hostile.
“What the hell does it matter to you?” Dick bit back a swell of emotion at the anger in Roy’s response. Because while he had taken an aggressive half-step toward Dick, Roy had also reoriented the protective formation the three teens were in to better protect the smallest member and place himself in the most vulnerable position.
Dick had to take a second to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Because in this dimension, you three are the same age, and it will be easier to get you back if we can pinpoint the differences.”
Other than a sharp inhale, Roy didn't react.
Dick still hadn’t made eye contact with the other two heroes, but he felt them freeze (whether he saw them in his peripheral vision or he just knew them that well—he wasn't going to speculate).
(There was also a corner of his mind that was wondering why Peter, Diana, or even Hughes hadn’t stepped in by now. After all, why would Neal Caffrey know anything about portals or alternate dimensions? But he was also not going to look too hard at the one thing going in his favor when the silk ribbon he had tied around his emotions was vibrating looser with every word spoken.)
“How do we know we can trust you? Prove it.” It was Roy, still running on rage and his protective streak, that managed to speak.
Dick let some of his resignation and sadness at the situation seep into his expression. He didn’t know what it did to his face, but the genuine surprise in the widening of Roy's eyes was enough for Dick to drum up a small smile.
This time, when he spoke, it was in his first language. A language he barely used anymore, but one that was seared into his soul with the love of the woman who passed it down to him. He in turn passed it to those he considered family.
With that sad smile and a nostalgic fire behind his lungs, Dick finally broke eye contact with Roy, looked at the young teenager wearing the bright colors of the Robin uniform, and spoke in Romani, “Why would I lie to myself? ”