Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wally was in a bed, that much he knew. Actually, that’s all he knew. There was a man in black and blue running around like a chicken with its head cut off barking orders and a big dude - like a big dude - sitting in the chair beside the bed.

He’s seen this movie before. Poor unsuspecting young lad gets nabbed by ill-intentioned peoples of ambiguous origins. One of them runs around acting like there’s a crisis of one sort or other while big muscle, threat-y man guards the prisoner who is not chained down or restrained in any way and has what can be assumed is full cognition. Although if he didn’t have full cognition, would he know? Okay, maybe, just maybe he hadn’t seen this metaphorical movie before but acknowledging that would mean admitting that he had no idea what was going on. Wally did not want to do that.

People in dark hero suits and bright solid colors scurried past the door of what, upon further inspection, must have been an infirmary. With its stark, white interior, patented bed plus single uncomfortable chair combo for extra psychic damage, it wasn’t a hard conclusion to come to. The open door, blinds covered window that looked out into the hallway instead of outside and strategically placed thriving potted plant really helped sell it. That didn’t mean they had good intentions, but it allowed the teeny-tiniest glimmer of hope to take over his mind in its entirety.

The good news was he must not have been out very long because words traveled easily from his throat and out his mouth. No sandpapery tongue, no scratchy throat, sticky mouth, or chapped lips. Which meant his “what the fuck?” came out crisp and clear.

Must have been too quiet for blue finger stripes to pick up through all the hubbub, but red helmet dude definitely heard him. “Great, you’re up.”

Despite the guy's word choice, Wally inferred that it was not, in fact, ‘great’ that he was ‘up’. He didn’t detect any malice in his tone, it was more resignation, adding fuel to his already overwhelming sense of hope that his captures weren’t going to kill, torture, experiment on, or dissect him. It’s the small thing, ya know?

“Wing dragged you in here after fuck-face hit you with that blue light thing. Been up everyone’s ass since then instead of worrin’ like a regular well-adjusted person like yours truly. Put me on babysitting duty, been sittin’ here doin’ fuck all since.” He muttered something about Wally’s breathing sounding fine before slipping a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket.

Wally must have been hallucinating or on some really high-quality drugs. “Ya don’t mind, do ya?” helmet guy asked, though Wally got the feeling it wasn’t actually a question.

He did mind. Rudy smoked. It smelled like shit, and that smell permeated clothes and furniture until no amount of detergent or Febreze could make it better. It cost money better spent on food and college funds. But mostly it smelled like shit.

Wally had yet to say anything beyond his initial exclamation, but burly dude didn’t seem to notice or care. “You know the drill, West. Name, date, location? Gotta clear you before N runs this place to ground.”

So, he knew his name. Great.

He had two options: play dumb or play dumber. Full transparency, Wally still had no idea what was going on so playing dumb would really be an act. Playing dumber… that had potential. But, despite his confidence that helmet man was not going to shuffle him off this mortal coil, he didn't look like a guy Wally wanted to piss off. Well, he never prided himself on his survival instinct. “Sorry, mama told me never to talk to strangers.”

“Don’t got time for games, Kid.”

Kid. As a title, not an acknowledgement. Or an acknowledgement not a title? Either way Wally knew that his bedside vigil-ante wasn’t addressing his age but rather his superhero persona. Probably a hero group then. Wally should probably know what’s going on then. He did not.

“Seems you’ve got me at a disadvantage, Mr. Helmet Guy.”

Aforementioned Helmet Guy gave him a critical look. “No jokes?”

“Dude, why would I joke about being completely in the dark?” Wally offered.

Helmet Guy was giving another critical once over which he would have appreciated if the look held anything but analysis. He was too old for him, and Wally was a minor, but his thoughts never had to leave the confines of his speedster brain.

“Name, date, location?”

Wally wasn’t worried about giving up information. Seems Helmet Guy knew more about Wally and his situation than he did. “Wallace West, August 27, 19XX, and I’ve got no clue. Some hero headquarters somewhere.”

Wally didn’t know Batman had any sidekicks. There were whispers of a kid dressed like a traffic light, but it’s Gotham. That’s just as likely to be true as it is untrue. Helmet Guy was a Bat. It was the only thing Wally was absolutely sure of. All the clues came together once he voiced his idea that he was in a Hall of Justice Junior building or something. The way he held himself, even his carefully chosen syntax, the glaringly obvious - how did he miss it? - red bat emblem on his chest. Wonder which one gave it away.

Uncle Barry talked about Batman often enough and Wally had even met him a few times. He was under the impression that the vigilante was the ultimate Lone Ranger. Although, he supposed, even the Lone Ranger had Tonto. Wally knew the Lone Ranger was more than a little problematic, but growing up they couldn’t afford the good cable so he took what he could get. Besides, you can recognize the faults in something while still enjoying it.

Helmet Guy sighed. “Couldn’t make it easy on me just this once, West?”

Before Wally could ask what he meant by that, and better yet, what the hell was going on, Mr. Blue, Black, and Built came in. Must have taken a break from being, as his companion put it ‘up everyone’s ass’.

“He’s awake. Why didn’t you tell me!?” he asked, but Wally could recognize an accusation even when not aimed at him.

“Hold on, Wing I think you should -” Helmet Guy did rise to the bait. Wally did.

“Who the hell are you to come in here and start talking to people like that?”

Blue and Black heard him but the man, also a Bat - seriously how many sidekicks did the guy have - Wally surmised, didn’t talk to him, instead choosing to speak with the guy that knew the most out of those in the room, however little that was. Blue and Black took measured breaths. “Hood, update?”

“Y’all are both off your respective rockers. That’s clearly a helmet. I don’t know much, actually, I don’t really know much of anything right now, but I know that’s a helmet.”

They both ignore him. “Hood?” Black and Blue prompted.

“That’s what I was tryna tell ya. He thinks it’s 19XX.”

“Hold up. Whaddya mean ‘thinks’? Cause that implies that it isn’t 19XX or at least you guys don’t think it's 19XX. Considering I don’t know where I am and y’all seem to be at home here,” he’d slipped into speed talking but he was spiraling and didn’t have enough give a shit at the moment to stop himself, “I’d wager that I travel forward rather than y’all traveled backward. But I’ve time traveled before and the heroes, especially Bats, have treated me with unwavering suspicion. You guys are acting like I should know what’s going on or at least know who y’all are which sort of rules out time travel. That’s my preferred theory, though, so I really don’t want to rule it out.

“My other option, and of course it's the most likely because God doesn’t exist but if she did, I’d be her favorite of the three stooges, is magic.” Wally heard Blue and Black whisper something to Helmet Guy about it being ‘better to let him ramble’ but was too far into his thought process to take time to be offended. “Taking into account Helmet Guy’s earlier statement a blue light hitting me, it’s not stretch to assume we were fighting some kind of sorcerer, or wizard, or magician, whatever they like to be called and now I am suffering to consequences of some rogue spell or sloppy footwork. Which would mean that none of us are time travelers, I’ve just been magically whammied giving me amnesia or deaging my brain. Which would explain why I am suddenly taller than I remember and why y’all have restrained or threatened me.”

Blue and Black and Helmet Guy, who Wally had begun thinking of as Thing 1 and Thing 2 respectively to save time while speed thinking, waited a few seconds after Wally’s tirade before reacting. “That’s the runnin’ theory. Didn’t know the effects of the spell ‘til you told me the wrong date.”

Wally snorted. "Heh, running theory."

“Wait,” Blue and Black said - referring to them as Thing 1 and Thing 2 seemed too dehumanizing now that he’s slowed down. “You mean you don’t know who I am, Walls?”

No one called him Walls, not even his mother. “Sorry, dude.”

If Wally wasn’t so used to analyzing and identifying microexpressions for his childhood of walking on eggshells, he would have missed the devastation on Black and Blue’s face.

Black and Blue moved toward Wally, but he didn’t feel threatened, not even when he brought his hand from his side to his face and peeled back his mask. Wally’s breath caught in his throat. His neurons stopped firing.

“You don’t recognize me at all?” the unmasked man asked.

This time, looking the man in the face, Wally still didn’t recognize him, but he wanted to. Einstein, he really wanted to.

“Should I?”

It was a dumb question. Even to Wally, who didn’t believe in dumb questions, it was a dumb a question. Of course he should, Wally knew he should.

“My name is Dick. We’re going to figure out what’s going on, okay?” Blue and Black, Dick, offers. “Jason, take the helmet off, the sorcerer got away.”

The communicator in Dick’s ear must have come online because he tilted his head slightly, turned around, and walked out the still open door.

Wally looked at Helmet Guy, Jason, for guidance or explanation. “He’ll be back,” was all Jason provided. “In the meantime, we should figure out exactly when you think you are so we can properly catch you up. Which isn’t usually my job, but it seems I’ve been relegated.”

Still reeling from the avalanche of recent developments, Wally's brain to mouth filter, already comically thin to begin with, experienced complete systems failure. “That’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

Jason laughed as Wally’s face flushed.

“Not to overwhelm you, KF, but I've got the best news of your life.”

Wally was pretty sure nothing could top finding out that his experiment to emulate Barry’s accident worked but he’d play along. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he gestured vaguely to Wally’s hand. His left hand.

“No way.”

Chapter Text

The tower was not what he thought it would be. That’s not to say it was bad, but the sleek whites and harsh lines weren’t his cup of tea. He hadn’t seen his supposed husband - how the hell did he pull that off? - since he rushed out of the recovery room to respond to his communicator. 

Jason turned, assessing Wally’s reaction. “Yer confined to the Tower for now, ‘til we find out what to do with ya. I’ll give ya the grand tour.”

Wally followed, taking in every sight along the way. There was a chance that Dick and Jason were lying to him, spinning an elaborate web of complex fabrications but realistically, what did Wally have that they could possibly want? He had no money. He was Kid Flash but they already had that information and he didn’t have any other information to give. The identity of Flash, maybe, but they already knew who Wally was and it wasn’t a leap to find out about Barry. Safe to assume they knew that, too. Also safe to not volunteer any information, though. And, okay, perhaps he wanted to hold on to the thought that was married to Mr. Blue Black and Built.

 He spun the gold band on his finger, the motion more muscle memory than conscious thought. That, he supposed, led credence to Jason and Dick’s story. He’d been wearing the ring long enough to develop an unconscious habit. 

His exploration of his sexuality recently came to a close. At first he thought he was bi but after seeing Richard Wayne in his Wayne Gala get up on TV all doubts evaporated. Celebrity crushes are so embarrassing. Wally didn’t have any posters or pictures of Bruce Wayne’s ward but still, thinking about him so openly brought the warmth of bashfulness to his cheeks. Luck for him, Jason was too busy narrating their tour to notice Wally’s predicament. 

“That’s short range weapon’s training,” he gestured toward an open room with mats covering the floor and halfway up the imposing walls. Two of what Wally assumed were teenage vigilantes were hopefully sparring with dual blades.

The building, although bland in design, was fascinating. He’d never been to the Justice League HQ but it had to be similar to this. Along that line of thinking, these people were being very trusting of a guy with no memory of them or his apparently exciting homosexual lifestyle. With less than nothing to lose, Wally voiced his concerns.

Jason has the audacity to laugh at him. “Dickie had Raven scan your brain while you were out. Couldn’t tell what yer state was gonna be when ya woke, but she confirmed that yer definitely still our Wally.”

That sounded really invasive to Wally. “That sounds really invasive.”

“We’ve got the proper paperwork filed away somewhere. Signed by a Wally much more informed than you. Had no way uh knowing you weren’t him.”

“So y’all decided that since I’m still the same Wally I could be trusted with all your super secrets? What if I run off, tell the world that Nightwing is some guy named Dick who I am allegedly married to?”

“You won’t.” His confidence was so encompassing, so sure that Wally had to bite back the yes, sir that instinctively tried to escape this throat. “Sides, ain’t no one Wing trust more in any universe on any Earth than Wallace Rudolph West. Even if you weren’t his Wally, he’d figure somethin’ out. Getcha back.”

Wally chewed on the new information. Jason continued with his guided tour. “Conference Room. Different from the mission debrief room. As the story goes, you demanded different rooms for the different vibes.” He did air quotes to signal that he was apparently quoting Wally before saying “Conference rooms are for hosting, housing, and updating guests. Debrief rooms are for serious talk and mission planning.”

It should be weird to hear some random guy quote him saying things he doesn’t even remember thinking, much less uttering, but Wally talked a lot. Like a lot a lot. Like grandpa ran into an old friend at the grocery store a lot. Mom telling your whole life story including that unquantifiably mortifying fifth grade talent show debacle you laid in bed until the witching hour praying everyone forgot about to the hairdresser at the Great Clips, a lot. So, he was no stranger to forgetting the many things he’s said over the years, or not said yet in this hopefully very niche and uncommon case. 

“Also, conference room’s got a window,” his babysitter pointed out, peering through the large, tinted glass to their left. Wally made to follow suit but Jason jerked back before he made it. “The hell is he doin’ here?”

Wally didn’t know who this ‘he’ was and still only vaguely knew where he himself was so it was safe to assume the question was either a) rhetorical or b) not aimed at the speedster.

Jason threw the conference room door open, which was a common enough occurrence that it necessitated a handle cushion on the reinforced wall it smacked against. “The hell is he doin’ here?” 

Ahh, so option b then. 

Dick brought his hands up in a surrender. Jason was staring daggers at the man standing at Dick’s side. “Look, Jay. We need a magician and Z is off world. John owes me a favor.”

“Cash that one in any time, luv.” It could have been an innocent addition to the conversation, but something told Wally it was a proposition. Out of all the things Wally noticed about the mysterious man the fact that he was British should not have been the biggest surprise. He smelled like cigarettes, but so did Jason. Unlike Jason, Scruffy British Trenchcoat Dude - John, Dick called him - also smelled like whiskey. 

“The fuck did you do to make him owe you a favor?” By Wally’s albeit incredibly limited experience interpreting the tones of Bats, it was more concern than anger.

Dick glanced over at John, then back at Jason, then at Wally. He gestured for Jason to come closer, leaned up and in and whispered something in the taller man’s ear. 

Wally, who could apparently get a tour of their headquarters, know what he assumed were their real names, and meet their…friends? Associates? Who was this John? But was not privy to the information carefully relayed so that only Jason could hear. The information that made the six plus foot tall pure muscle man with a Kevlar suit and three guns - that Wally could see - strapped to his body pale, dramatically.

He shoved Dick away. “No, the Fuck you didn’t! Of course, you did. Are you an idiot?”

Again, Wally couldn’t tell if this question was rhetorical, but it wasn’t his problem because this time he was sure the question wasn’t directed at him considering the daggers he was staring into Nightwing. 

Dick didn’t even get a chance to answer. “Ya know what? Don’t answer that.”

Wally noticed his Gotham accent earlier but now it was thick and unmistakable. His anger transformed the -er at the end of words to an -a so instead of “answer” it came out more like “ansa”.

Jason pivoted to British Dude, transferring his ire. “Are you a fucking idiot? Ya know what? Don’t fucking answer that either. Why the hell are you here?”

“Wait, wait.” Wally interrupted. “I wanna know what-”

“Don’t worry, luv. I didn’t defile your bird.” He shot a wink at Dick. “Never too late, though. You’re obviously invited.”

“Cut the shit, Constantine. He’s mentally like thirteen, you're gonna traumatize the kid.” 

Wally was fourteen and three months but that didn’t seem important at the moment. Although they never did finish their conversation regarding his mental age and current knowledge level. His current knowledge level could only be classified as minimal or perhaps abysmal but they didn’t know that. Or, more accurately, he hadn’t told them that. They probably knew. If they were anything like Uncle Barry described Batman, they knew everything about him and the current situation, or at the very least pretended to in order to both maintain an illusion of control and an air of calm. 

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Red. I’m here to help. Gotta reverse this amateur amnesia spell on Flash Jr.” 

Without consulting Wally, without consulting anyone for that matter, John muttered some words in a language Wally had no hope  of deciphering and honest to Einstein sparks appeared in where he waved his hands. He stood there, shifting slightly from foot to foot. The was under the incorrect assumption that there would be some form of preamble or explanation or anything, really. 

Dick and Jason took a step back. The moment continued to intensify as the magician kept incanting and the sparks grew brighter and brighter creating a weird circle filled with equidistant runes. It floated up vertically from between Wally and Constantine then flattened to the horizontal above Wally’s head. The room was filled with a nearly blinding light and three pairs of eyes met Wally’s. 

Wally felt exactly the same as he had before John started doing whatever it was that just happened. “Uhh, I don’t think your glowy thingy worked."

Honestly, he should have expected this. Magic isn’t real, it’s just science and theatrics. Should have known some random alcoholic in a tattered coat couldn’t fix this clusterfuck. Oh, that’s a strong word. He tended to avoid those. Must be a combination of his situation and the fleeting thought that Constantine had traded favors with Wally’s husband. Husband-to-be? Either way.

“It’ll take ‘bout 24 hours to work. Should be good as new,” John explained. The brit opened what Wally could only describe as a portal rimmed with the same orange sparkle stuff. 

“We’re even now, Dickie.”

“Ya are not,” Jason bit out at the same time as Nightwings “Absolutely not.”

Constantine grinned at Wally, body framed by the imposing but dilapidated manor visible through the portal. “It’s an open invitation, darling.”

Wally could only watch as he disappeared, the portal closing behind him. 

Nightwing rushed forward, placing a warm hand on Wally’s cheek. He didn’t have to resist the urge to lean into the gentle touch for long, because just as quickly as it arrived, the hand retracted. “Sorry. Are you alright?”

“I, uhh, it’s…” 

There was no way this beautiful man was his husband. The longer he spent around Dick, which granted at this point was about five minutes total, the more Wally believed he possessed no flaws. Thoughts began to swirl around his head without his say-so.

I bet he’s good with kids, and smart, and obviously kind, and loves dogs.

Jason put him out of his misery, just staring at the man in front of him, floundering for words. “Where we gonna put ‘im for the night? KF’s gotta stay holed up somewhere ‘til the Constantine’s glowy glitter shit takes effect.”

Dick backed away from Wally, taking Jason’s interruption for the out that it was. “Can’t stay in the Tower. It might scare the kids. He’ll come home with me."

“Dick, ya sure that’s -”

“Yeah, as long as it’s okay with you, Walls?” Dick asserted. “Sorry, Wally,” he corrected.

Wally wanted to protest. Not the idea of going home with Dick, but Dick’s correction. He wanted to assure him that he could absolutely call him Walls. He shouldn’t call him anything else. It’s the only thing Wally wanted to hear from his mouth. Well, Wally could think of a few other things. 

“Ya got options. We can call Barry and Iris. You could stay with them,” Jason offered but Wally immediately disregarded the idea upon seeing Nightwing’s slight frown.

How did older him manage to do anything against this man’s wishes? He probably didn’t. “No, no. I'm okay going with Dick.”

Wally watched as Dick’s tense shoulders seemed to loosen just a bit. “Good,” he smiled. 

Wally was already down so bad. Is it reasonable to be jealous of future him? 

“Great,” he continued. “We’ll finish vetting and updating you, then we can go home. Everything’s gonna be okay, Wally.”

He looked over at Dick’s face, noticing for the first time that Wally was taller than him by a good few inches. Weird being taller than someone his brain perceives as an adult while he perceives himself as a teenager. Wally couldn’t tell if Dick was trying to convince him or himself. 

Wally couldn’t read him, not really, but it was probably both. Definitely both.

Chapter Text

Dick’s apartment - their apartment? - was eclectic. Eclectic was the only way to describe it. The opposite of the sleek, smooth interiors of what Wally learned was called Titans Tower. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the decor. If it could be called that. 

The place wasn’t dirty, just lived in, with a bit of personality sprinkled on top. The kitchen table was clean, but a bright pink lawn flamingo was leaning in the corner of the living room. What it was doing in a sixth-floor apartment with no balcony, much less a lawn, was anybody’s guess. The bookshelves were cluttered with various knick-knacks, but the TV stand was dust-free. It reminded Wally of those apartments you see on sitcoms - clean but a little kooky for plot reasons. That was probably a bad line of thinking for his train of thought to turn down, he’ll start spiraling. 

If this was a sitcom and therefore a story then every element included should be important, shouldn’t it? Then the pink plastic lawn flamingo should mean something because he took special notice of it. If a pink plastic lawn flamingo is introduced in the beginning of the story, then it should be utilized by the end of the narrative. Was the pink plastic lawn flamingo going to come back to haunt him? Unlikely but not impossible. Chekhov’s pink plastic lawn flamingo.

Oh, yeah, and there’s the kid. Dark, stabby, without a doubt Batman’s kid. Like 100% Batman’s kid. Even Wally, with his limited Batman related experience could tell he was Batman’s kids. Which brings him his main question. Why was mini-Batman (Batmini) living in his and Dick’s apartment? His and Dick’s apartment, he was still getting used to that. His and Dick’s apartment. He’s married. He lives in this apartment that he’s in right now with his husband, which he has. He has a husband who lives in this apartment with him because he married him and he’s his husband and he lives in this apartment. The apartment with the neon pink lawn flamingo and Batmini. 

It’s fine.

Introduction would have gone off without a hitch except they didn’t because why would they? It was a friendly reminder that yes, this was Wally’s life, it had to be, because no one in the history of someones could possibly have this concoction of good and bad luck existing with them except Wallace Rudolph West.

He could accept that he was married. He could accept that his husband was Batman’s son. He could very nearly come to terms with the fact that he and his husband were raising Batman’s youngest together. He was doing remarkably well considering the situation if he did say so himself. And he did. 

But then Damian - that was Batmini’s name - called his husband “Richard”. Understandable. Wally hadn’t thought to ask if Dick was short for something, but Richard made sense. He also hadn’t thought to ask about Dick’s last name, or his own last name for that matter. So, in a moment of exasperation, when Damian called Dick - Wally’s husband - “Grayson” in the middle of showing Wally their photo albums, the pieces fell ungracefully into place. Ungracefully is an understatement, in fact, it was the wrong word entirely. The pieces slammed into place like a baseball to the face.

“This is you, me, and Dami at the Keystone Renaissance Festival last year. You lost a bet with Roy and had to go as a court jester.”

Wally was barely registering the information, although that did explain the ugly-as-sin hat and outfit duo he was sporting in the half a dozen images in the two-page spread. Nightwing. Dick. Richard Grayson.

Richard Grayson was Dick. Richard Grayson was Nightwing. Richard Grayson was his husband. Wally West married Richard Grayson. His brain was buffering. It was almost enough to make Wally believe in a higher power. Almost.

For him, it was yesterday he was staring starry-eyed at the untouchable Richard Grayson on the shitty old TV in his parent’s living room. To accept that the man before him, his husband and best friend according to Jason and the seemingly endless photos, the hottest man he’d ever laid eyes on, was his celebrity crush and gay awakening was like a gift. 

Damian and Dick didn’t notice Wally’s moment of joyful distress, he just barely managed to swallow down the laugh that bubbled up to his throat. He knew, logically, that this probably meant Bruce Wayne was Batman and that that information should hold some value to him, mean something, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. A family, being a superhero, getting out of his parent’s cycle of poverty and abuse, this was all Wally ever dreamed of.

The pictures kept coming and Wally sunk into it, like you slip into a worn pair of leather work boots. Into a space specially molded for him. 

Dick and Damian were good-naturedly arguing about something Wally couldn’t follow, so he kept flipping through one of the many albums. He was working under the assumption that it was probably best to let them duke it out - 

“West will back me up.” - until his name popped up in the conversation. A pair of green eyes looked over at him expectantly. 

“Uhh.”

Damian frowned. Add that to the list of things Wally never wanted to see again. It did instant psychic damage. “Tt. You are not West.”

“Damian!”

Wally had let the environment drag him from reality for a second. Damian’s words yanked him back. He felt bereft, like he’d lost something that was never his. At first, he compared it to the ocean through his finger, temporary and fleeting. He was grasping it one second, holding nothing but vague remnants the next. But it wasn’t like that at all.

He was reaching out for water in the desert, a desperation fueled hallucination, only to realize it was never there. It wasn’t real. It isn’t real. He’s Wally West, but he’s not. He’s not the man they went to a renaissance festival with. He’s not the man co-parenting Damian. He’s not the man Dick Grayson married. He wasn’t the man looking back at him from the mirror.

Knowing that this was temporary, that in less than twenty-four hours everything would be back to normal, and he probably wouldn’t remember this was both a small comfort and Shakespearean tragedy. Wally felt he was going to exuent pursued by a bear, never to be seen again. 

He lamented on this metaphor through a game of multilingual scrabble - Wally might be a polyglot in the future but current Wally was very confused. Is he Antigonus being chased off stage by a bear, or is the infant being left behind? At the moment, he didn’t feel much like a man or a baby. 

Was he the bear? A simple plot device?

[-]

Dick still had to go to work in the morning and given how dark it was when they left the Tower, Constantine’s fix-it probably wouldn’t take effect in the time Dick was away. 

He was a social worker, because of course he was. The more Wally learned about Dick Grayson-West - and wasn’t that a thing to behold - the perfecter he got. Perfecter isn’t proper grammar but what other option did Wally have to describe someone who’s perfectness just continued to magnify? The more time that passed, the perfecter he got. Like Morgan Freeman’s voice or Dolly Parton’s wardrobe.

This left Wally in the apartment with Damian, and other than an incident where Damian called him Dad, frowned, then didn’t talk to him for an hour, nothing really happened. Well except for the apology, a skill Damian must have picked up from his mother because if there was one thing Wally knew about Batman it was that he did not apologize. It was highly unlikely his children did either.

"West," Damian said, pulling Wally's attention away from the Star Wars movie Wally had no context for.

"Yeah?" Technically, the kid was older than him by two years, but Wally was having oddly paternal feelings toward him.

"I was out of line last night. I should not have said those things to you."

Wally didn't really know what to say to that, so he just smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. The Bats, at least the three he'd met, seemed to rely heavily on non-verbal communication anyway.

At around two in the afternoon, Wally decided to lay back down in the guest room and take a nap. The pajamas he wore last night fit just right, because they were his pajamas, because he was in adult him’s body. Still it felt weird to wear them so he stayed in the day clothes Dick brought him, which somehow felt slightly less weird, that morning and just curled up under the blankets. His sleep was dreamless. He couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was because he already had everything he could want.

Talking from the direction of the kitchen slowly pulled him from the veil of sleep. Several seconds passed before he managed to recognize them as Dick and Jason. He used the justification that this was technically his apartment and that they were talking in a public area of the house to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“I just - it’s just,” Dick started. “He doesn’t even recognize me, Jay.”

They’re talking about him.

“Feels like shit dudn’t it?”

Dick sighed like Jason was beating a dead horse, like this conversation had been rehashed hundreds of times. Wally wasn’t the best at reading people but with Dick it came easily. He knew. He just knew.

“Jason, this isn’t like-”

“I know. Wasn’t yer fault. Feels a bit like karma, though, eh?” There could have been humorous intent or undertones in his voice, but Wally couldn’t be sure. “Least he didn’t move to a different city and refuse to take your calls.”

Okay, Wally was definitely missing something here. 

“It’s not - I’m not articulating this well. He is my ozi. My heart, my everything. Ever since we met, it’s been us. KF and Robin. Nightwing and Flamebird. I've known Wally for over twenty years. I've known Wally longer than I've known you. He’s right there and I miss him. I can’t do this without him. I don’t - I don’t. Jason.”

“I know, Dickie. I know.” Whatever Jason said next was too muffled for Wally to make out.

“Demon told me you kicked both of their asses a multilingual scrabble last night, so things can't have changed that much." Wally could recognize a subject change, especially one was blatant as that.

"He's a white, middle-class, American, fourteen-year-old. I'm fairly certain he only speaks English. Most fourteen-year-olds are going to suck at multilingual scrabble," Dick observed. "It wasn't a hard-fought victory."

"You've been crushing the entire Bat brood at multi-lingual scrabble since there's been a Bat brood to crush, Dickie."

"La excepción, no la regla, pequeña ala. Y no me llamaste un  estadounidense blanco."

"Si el gringo calza."

"Now you're just butchering idioms and erasing my identity at the same time."

"Dos pájaros de un tiro."

Wally wasn't sure what they were saying anymore, but Dick was laughing and that was a blessing unto itself.

Was it reasonable to be mad at himself? Mad that older him went up against a magician and could have lost this forever. What the hell was he thinking, putting all this at risk?

Sneaking out of the room, Wally made eye contact with pink plastic lawn flamingo.

Suddenly, Wally didn’t care if Raven, whoever that was, went through his mind without his - current, past, future, whatever him he is right now - permission. He couldn’t bear it if this wasn’t his life, if he wasn’t sure that he was the him that was married to the man he shared this apartment with. The man with the bright smile and sunny disposition. The thought of losing this after so recently discovering it, the thought of giving this to some other alternate-universe version of himself, was gut-wrenching, nightmarish.