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Dick is just starting the long drive home to the 'Haven after a frustrating night in Gotham with Bruce, chasing down a series of baffling false alarms and dead ends, when he gets sharp pinging 'priority!' alerts for three texts on his personal line. He pulls his bike over into the shoulder lane and grabs his phone.
The Nightwing symbol. Tim's stylized R. And a link to a private video. All from a number he doesn't recognize, which doesn't really happen, ever. Not with Babs' pre-screening system.
Dick has the link scanned for red flags and viruses, then taps it open immediately, already on high alert.
It's...a camera pointed into Dick's empty bedroom. Dick goes tense, hair standing up on his arms and the back of his neck. He'd put his foot down with nosy Bats and Oracles alike on the line between reasonable security and invasive surveillance - plus he conducts regular searches, he's not stupid - so he knows it's not any of them. His apartment has been compromised, culprit as yet unknown. Creepy and violating - fucking fantastic.
Nothing changes in the video for at least forty seconds, except for momentary shifts in light as cars pass by on the street. Dick is about to try skipping forward, itching to throw his phone in his bike's glove box and kick off towards Bludhaven to start hunting, when there's finally movement in the video, and he focuses back in.
The bedroom door swings open, and Dick - it's definitely Dick, dressed down in civvies - stumbles backward into the room, laughing. He's followed by a slighter figure, dark-haired, being pulled by Dick's coaxing grasp on his forearms. It's - Tim. Also laughing a little as he's dragged forward into Dick's octopus grip.
Dick stills. This - isn't a thing that happened. Yeah, Tim is in his apartment a lot, but he doesn't typically end up in Dick's bedroom. It would be crossing some nebulous line that Dick knows is better to just - not, so. What - ?
A pit of apprehension yawns in his stomach, worse than when the video first opened.
The Dick onscreen reels Tim in, the both of them giggling together like they sometimes do when silly with sugar and bad puns. But then he. The other Dick cradles Tim's chin in his hand, thumbing tenderly along his jawline. He lifts Tim's face, smiles at Tim's flushed, undeniably starry expression, and - presses their mouths together.
"What the fuck," Dick whispers. His grip on the phone has gone white-knuckled, drawing it up close to his face. Watching his little brother moan into the mouth of some guy who looks just like - him.
It's a deep-fake. Got to be. Maybe just the imposter Dick, and maybe the stage setting - there's no reason why Tim would be sleeping with some stranger in Dick's Bludhaven apartment - but more likely the whole thing. He should forward this to Barbara right now, should have done so fucking immediately at the security breach of the first text.
The other Dick runs his hand down Tim's back, curling low and possessive in the dip of that slim waist, exactly the way Dick would have, if - no.
It's evidence, Nightwing. Compartmentalize. Observe, then analyze. It'sfakeit'sfakeithastobefake. Look for the details that don't fit.
Except, however carefully he scrutinizes, strictly tuning out the...wet sounds, the breathy murmurs, the touching, the way the other Dick maneuvers Tim to sit on the bed, then smoothly pulls his own shirt off in a fluid motion over his head, fucker....the details all fit.
The random detritus of Dick's life strewn about the room - both his lives. The color of his sheets, and his walls. The friendly little spiderweb he's allowed at the top corner of his window. The angle of moonlight streaming through below it, and the dynamic lighting and shadows on the moving figures in the room.
And more - the healing scrape on Tim's elbow that he got just two days ago, knocking out a goon's teeth. Tim's dumb print T-shirt that Dick has seen him wear at least a dozen times - that the imposter Dick is skimming his hands up underneath, making Tim shiver, motherfucker. The faded Hudson U shirt that not-Dick had been wearing, and each and every scar revealed by stripping it off.
And the way they both move. Dick knows himself, and he's memorized Tim's every motion for years. The taunting angle of Tim's shoulders as he leans in - catch me if you can, Dick! - the familiar glee in his grin as he dodges the kiss not-Dick tries to plant on him. The hitch of his breath and his cute, annoyed squirm when not-Dick tickles mischievously up his ribcage. The way his toes curl when he's happy.
It all matches.
Tim's own shirt is urged up and over his head and raised arms. He's biting his lip when he emerges from its depths, fluffy-headed and definitely a bit shy. Something in Dick's chest aches.
Tim tentatively touches the old, jagged knife scar on the bottom edge of Dick's pectoral, dangerously close to a dark nipple, then boldly ducks down to kiss it. Not-Dick's breath sucks in sharply at the same time as Dick's own punched-out exhalation, before not-Dick lifts Tim's head again and tackles him onto the mattress with another kiss.
The snake wearing Dick's body puts his hands all over Dick's little brother, as Tim clutches him eagerly back - sucks his pink tongue and swallows his moans. Pulls their bodies close and tight, rocks their hips together slow and sensual, the way Dick likes best when he wants to take his time with partners he - cares about deeply.
The worst part is Dick's - not-Dick's - face. The way he's looking at Tim. It's not sly or cruel or perverse in any way. He never peeks at the camera, smug and knowing. He's wholly focused on Tim, heavy-lidded and intense with not just desire, but adoration.
The worst part is Dick knows himself. Knows that's the exact expression he would make if he ever - not that he would ever, ever -
....Dick is going to kill him. He's going to kill him. He doesn't care if it's a shapeshifter or an illusion or shape-shifting alien illusion or whatever, he's going to hunt down and kill whoever that motherfucker is for doing this to his little brother.
(For making Dick see this.)
But he can't - he doesn't want Barbara to see any of it, not even in order to help. This is - sick, is what it is. He knows it's nothing compared to what Oracle sorts through from Gotham's scum on the daily, but this is different. It's personal. Not Nightwing and Robin, but Dick and Tim.
The other Dick drags his mouth down Tim's chest, his quivering abdomen. Pops the button of Tim's jeans and has to hurriedly hold down Tim's hips as he bucks helplessly. Laughs, a goddamn low rolling chuckle like he's thrilled with the world and everything in it, like he's getting everything he could ever want. Presses open-mouthed kisses to Tim's belly as he squirms, as Dick - not-Dick - draws down Tim's zipper and shimmies his pants and underwear down.
Killhimkillhimkillhimgonnakillhim oh GOD
Dick dips his head and swallows Tim's cock down in one smooth slide, lips touching his fingers circled tight around the base. Tim shouts his name, high and sharp, head thumping back onto Dick's pillow, hips straining against the hold of Dick's other hand. His knees draw up, bracketing Dick's broad shoulders. Dick's pulse is pounding so hard he can barely see; he can taste salt on his tongue, he can smell -
He's bitten his lip. Blood, the salt is blood. Dick's lungs are painfully constricted, breathing thin and shallow. His vision tunnels as he goes light-headed, narrowing in on his little brother's face twisting up in pleasure, his little brother's thighs, spread and shaking, Dick's head bobbing between them.
Dick's cock throbs. His jaw is working, his mouth is too empty -
The video abruptly cuts to black. Dick makes a violent, strangled noise, jerking on his bike and digging his nails into his thigh so hard they would have broken skin if he hadn't been armored.
It cuts back on in a matter of seconds (not long enough to drag in more than a few winded, heaving breaths; not nearly long enough), but the scene has - changed. It's still the bedroom, Tim is still - there. Dick's eyes follow the long line of Tim's bare back, trip hastily over the upturned curve of his ass, and zero in on his relaxed face, one closed eye visible from where he's half-planted in a pillow. His back is rising and falling, steady and slow.
It's skipped forward. He's asleep. Peaceful and sweet.
Dick's focus is so intent on Tim's face that he nearly startles when that other fucker suddenly steps into view, crouching right in front of the camera and looking straight at him.
"So," the other him says quietly, and bloodlust pounds sickeningly at Dick's temples. "I'll be heading back to my own dimension soon...my own Tim...but I couldn't leave without taking care of yours at least once. Since you seem to be dropping the ball."
"You fucking pervert, I'm going to kill you," Dick promises, utterly sincere. "How dare you fucking touch him - "
Of course the son of a bitch can't hear him, or any of Dick's other seething threats as he pads back over to Dick's sleeping brother. He presses a soft kiss to the back of Tim's lax neck, then just lingers there, rubbing his nose into the sweat-damp fluff at his hairline, breathing him in. Dick's snarling dies in his throat as jealous want stabs him like a shiv.
"So yeah. Call this an intervention, a wake-up call...a little friendly advice, one Dick to another. Whatever." The other him finally lifts his head and looks at Dick, blue eyes dark with sympathy. "You should give our Timmy what he needs - what you both want. You'll both be happier for it."
The video goes black, leaving Dick staring at the reflection of his face in the dark glass of his phone.
***
Dick gets back to his apartment and Tim is still in his bed, naked and warm and smiling a little in his sleep, and Dick nearly has a panic attack realizing he has to wake Tim up and tell him that he was raped. That it wasn't actually Dick he spent the night with. That Dick has never - has never thought about him that way (it's the truth it's the truth it's the truth, it is), but someone else took advantage of Tim's - his - his trust and affection for Dick, in order to violate him.
That he opened up wholeheartedly to someone he thought was Dick, gave himself, only to have the warm memories shattered by deception, and rejection.
He imagines Tim's face going pale in confusion and horror, Tim shrinking in on himself with humiliation and shame - Tim feeling every dizzy sickened thing that Dick had felt when Mirage impersonated - no, no, god, something like this was never supposed to happen again. Not to Tim.
Dick wouldn't even be able to blame Tim if he couldn't look at Dick after this, couldn't stand to be around him, but he also. Dick also couldn't bear it.
He drops to his knees silently, folds down until his forehead rests on the bed, and hyperventilates a little. He can smell himself on the bedsheets, as always, and Tim, stronger, more familiar and visceral than he would have expected. And sex.
It really, really doesn't help.
He's still kneeling there next to Tim, a frozen statue in supplication, as the first light of dawn creeps through the window.
Dick slowly straightens and just stares woodenly as Tim stirs, lean muscles shifting under pale skin littered with kiss-marks and scars. Tim's eyes flutter open, achingly clear and pure, and then crinkle in a warm, sleepy smile when he spots the man he thinks is his lover. "Mmm, you're up early."
Then Tim visibly registers that Dick is fully dressed in his Nightwing gear, save for his mask. His smile fades, and Dick's stomach lurches in dread. He still can't move as Tim sits up slowly, running a hand through his tousled hair.
"Did you - did you sneak out of bed to patrol in the middle of the night? Jeez, Dick." He's laughing just a little, but Dick can see the uncertainty in the corner of his mouth, the flick of his gaze from Dick's face to examining the sheets. "I didn't think it was that bad."
And Dick - goes insane. Or he's possessed. Or both. There's a hot howling thing in his chest, clawing at his insides, and all he knows is that breaking Tim would break him.
His muscles loosen all at once, and after a moment he gets up, moves to sit lightly on the edge of the bed. "...I got restless, but I didn't want to wake you," he murmurs, ducking his head sheepishly.
"Last night was - pretty sudden," Tim says tentatively, blushing a bit, and god. He's going to give Dick an out. He's going to try and take care of Dick, like he always does. Dick is going to lose it. "I understand if you're having second thoughts - "
Dick's throat tightens, closes up. He swallows hard to clear it. "No." He leans in, slow and deliberate - watches Tim's eyes dilate, his face tilt up and flush beautifully in welcome. "No, I'm sure."
Dick kisses his little brother, warm and soft. He lingers, memorizing it - their first kiss. Their first, but Tim can't ever know.